Page 113 of Too Sinful to Deny
“My parents. Well, not myparents.” A self-deprecating smile flashed at her lips. “Father would never do anything so vulgar as step outside London with the Season under way, and Mother swore off travel altogether after our last misadventure. I had hoped—ah, but that doesn’t signify. The point is, the arrival of their carriage means the help I requested cannot be far behind. If my parents heeded my words enough to send for me, they undoubtedly also put their not insignificant influence toward an exhaustive investigation.” She nudged up her spectacles with a dirt-stained knuckle. “I expect nothing short of Town judiciaries and full militia. Very soon.”
She glanced over her shoulder, as if bysoonwhat she really meant wasnow.
“The smuggling crew isn’t likely to still be here,” Evan said. “This weekend’s mission has been canceled, and I have no idea where any of them go when they’re not aboard ship.”
“There are bigger crimes being committed than those against the Sovereign, and I cannot stand back and let the perpetrators of true evil live free.”
He did not pretend to misunderstand. “Lady Emeline?”
She nodded. “There are three men who have conspired against her and her whole family. To an inhuman level. They deserve nothing less than their heads on a gibbet. If I must risk myself for the chance to save an innocent like her, then so be it. If you would not do the same...” The breath she drew in was shaky, but her blue gaze never wavered from his. “Then you are not the man I hoped—believed—you to be.”
Evan looked into her eyes for a long moment without responding.
An excellent point. What kind of manwashe? A bacchanal adventure-seeker and wastrel, who cared naught for others, who took idle entertainment wherever it could be found, and left for greener pastures at the first sign of clouds?
No. That was the man hehadbeen. That was why she had refused him. The old Evan was not worthy of anyone’s love. His only thought had been for himself. If the new Evan, the man hecouldbe, the man he believed he’d become, was no longer the self-centered bastard of before—this was the time to prove it.
“I need the evidence,” she said softly.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “There’s no getting that box open.”
“Nothing is indestructible.” She arched a brow as she tossed his words back to him.
Evan snorted. He’d better be right about that.
He turned toward the stables. He needed to see—and, perhaps, filter—whatever proof the strongbox contained before he found himself up Newman’s lift alongside Ollie and the rest. But he would do his part to help Lady Emeline. He had to. Because Susan was right—some men deserved to die for their crimes.
With her at his heels, he plucked a shovel from the stable wall and cut straight to the strongbox. Well, almost straight. It was a damn good hiding spot. Even knowing the location, it still took a couple tries before he finally cleared the dirt from atop the locking mechanism.
He lifted the heavy jewelry box from the chasm and placed it gently on solid ground. He turned it on its side so that the crease between lid and receptacle faced skyward. He grabbed the shovel like a spear and drove the blade into the box with all his might. Jewels and gold filigree sprayed across the muck-covered dirt.
Evan very nearly took out his shoulder.
“Nothing is indestructible,” Susan called out from behind him, with a bit less conviction than she’d had just a few moments before.
He smiled grimly and let the box have it one more time.
As the shovel blade hit the strongbox, more jewels and tiny gold roses went flying. Evan’s spine jumped as though it were about to do the same. Yet he couldn’t give up. He slammed the blade into the box again and again, destroying its beautiful exterior until only the iron core remained. He went for his pick, his ax, his hammers, and kept trying.
Nothing worked. Perhaps the damn thingwasindestructible.
Which would be splendid insofar as the safety of his neck, but a terrible blow for Lady Emeline. Damn it. Even if he handed the box over as-is to the first lawman to appear, that man would be equally incapable of opening it on the spot. Perhaps back in London, there were better tools, savvier locksmiths. But by that time, it would be too late.
He turned to Susan, planning to apologize, to swear he’d tried his best. But she was on all fours on the dirty ground, picking up handfuls of jewels and broken filigree with a shocked expression on her face. Evan frowned. She could not possibly be concerned about the loss of antique craftsmanship at a time like this.
“It appears,” he said tentatively, “I may have damaged Ollie’s box.”
Susan’s head jerked up. Instead of anger or censure, her face was alive with hope and laughter. Between her thumb and forefinger, she held up an intricate whorl of sparkles and gold, no less beautiful for being broken.
“It’s not his jewelry box.” She pulled herself to her feet, one fist closed around the scrap of bejeweled gold and the other hand splayed against her chest. “It belonged to Lady Beaune.”
Evan blinked at her in confusion. “How do you know? And why would the original owner make a difference?”
“Because I now believe,” she said, pulling at a thin chain about her throat, “I’ve had the key all along.”
Chapter 48
Susan tugged Lady Beaune’s crucifix free from her bodice and compared the artistry to the shard from the strongbox. The same fine-spun gold, the same tiny swirls, the same choice in jewels. If only shehadfound the box before the others! Upon studying its workmanship, she might’ve made the connection between the ornate crucifix at her neck and the erstwhile splendor of the intricate jewelry box. Now all that remained intact was the gold-encrusted cross. It was a shame to ruin such artistic genius, but there was no other choice. She tried to carefully lift the crucifix up over her head, but jerked it free when the chain caught in her hair.
