"Ah, I see I shall have to prove myself." He accepted her suspicions with ease. "My first task shall be to lend my aid in your effort to help Lord Chance."

Her eyes widened in dismay. The Devilish Dandy and Lord Chance together? The mere thought was enough to make her break out in a rash.

"Absolutely not."

He blinked at her fierce tone. "Who better to locate a jewel thief than a jewel thief?"

"I am perfectly capable of locating the jewels on my own ..."

She bit off her low words as Watts abruptly stepped into the room. The butler revealed only the vaguest hint of surprise at the sight of his former master.

"Pardon me, miss, but Mrs. Surton is here to see you. She refuses to leave."

"Oh ... damn." Sarah threw her hands up in frustration. Mrs. Surton was the leading patron of the school Sarah had founded and an endless source of irritation. Not a day passed that she was not arriving upon her doorstep with some officious demand or some complaint of Sarah's inadequacies. As a rule, Sarah accepted her unpleasant companionship with a calm grace. After all, the woman did donate a great deal of money to the school and just as importantly bullied every other matron of Society to follow her example. Sarah considered the woman's rudeness a small price to pay for keeping the school doors open. At the moment, however, she was in little mood for the woman. "I shall have to see her." She pointed a finger directly into her father's thin countenance. "You stay here."

"But, my dear . . ."

"Stay."

With one last warning glare, Sarah turned on her heel and marched from the room.

So far today she had endured an arrogant lord, a renegade father, and now an overbearing tartar. Perhaps I should be the one to retire to the country, she acknowledged ruefully. Feeding chickens and tending a garden had never seemed so appealing.

Three.

Mrs. Surton was a tall, gaunt woman with sour features and an unfortunate manner of speaking her mind. It was generally conceded that her timid husband had hastened to his grave to avoid her poisonous tongue, a rumor Sarah readily believed.

Still, for all the woman's annoying faults, Sarah could not deny her school had flourished because of Mrs. Surton's generosity. From a cramped cellar with five students, they had moved to a refurbished warehouse with thirty students and three teachers as well as a kitchen that served a much needed meal to the poor children. Sarah had assured herself she could endure the cutting remarks and endless rudeness to save so many children from the streets. That, however, did not make it any more pleasant to receive daily visits from the obnoxious woman.

On entering the foyer, she found Mrs. Surton bristling with impatience. As usual, she was attired in forbidding black, her thin brown hair scraped into a knot. Her narrow features could have been chiseled from stone as she watched Sarah approach.

"Mrs. Surton," Sarah murmured.

The woman's thin lips nearly disappeared. "Do you realize that ruffian you have hired as a butler attempted to have me turned away?"

Sarah swallowed a smile. Watts had been a top bruiser in his day, knocking out no less than fifty-seven men. He had saved her father on countless occasions and had proved to be a valuable source of protection for a maiden on her own. But not even he could prove a match for Mrs. Surton. "I fear I have been suffering from a headache and requested that Watts announce that I was unavailable."

Far from sympathetic, Mrs. Surton regarded her in an accusing fashion. "I never suffer from headaches. I hope you are not of a sickly constitution."

"Not at all."

"Good. It would not be at all convenient if you were always taking to bed with some malady."

Sarah was in full agreement. She had never pretended to be fashionably delicate, but instead maintained a robust constitution that was hardly seemly for a maiden.

"Is there something you need?" She attempted to bring the conversation to the point of Mrs. Surton's visit. On a normal day, she found Mrs. Surton's presence annoying. On a day with her father just upstairs, she found her presence nerve shattering. She did not trust the Devilish Dandy any farther than she could toss him.

Mrs. Surton sniffed at her abrupt tone, but thankfully allowed herself to be diverted. "I wished to inform you that Lady Milhouse has agreed to become a sponsor for the school."

Sarah did not need to pretend her flare of pleasure. Lady Milhouse was not only extremely wealthy, she was also of a social position to ensure that where she led, others would soon follow. Her patronage would certainly inspire further donations.

"That is wonderful."

"Yes. It shall mean we will be able to take in at least five more students."

"I shall have them there by the end of the week," Sarah promised.

"We might also be in the position to purchase a few coats and boots for the children if we practice the utmost economy."

"Of course."

"I hope tomorrow that you . . . Oh."

The officious words stumbled to a halt as Mrs. Surton glanced over Sarah's shoulder. A deep foreboding filled Sarah's stomach as she slowly turned to view her father mincing down the stairs with a smile she knew all too well. The Devilish Dandy was intent on mischief, and there wasn't a bloody thing she could do to halt him.

"Ma petite," he drawled in an outrageous French accent, "why do you hover in this so damp foyer? Surely your guest would be more comfortable in the salon?"

Rigid with fury, she flashed her father a speaking glare. "Mrs. Surton was just leaving."

"Before we have been introduced?" Solomon protested with a wicked grin. "Mon Dieu, it shall not be." Turning, he offered the startled visitor a lavish bow. "Allow me, madam. I am Monsieur Valmere, Miss Cresswell's uncle, recently come to London from Paris."

Sarah held her breath, awaiting Mrs. Surton to pronounce him as the Devilish Dandy, or at the very least protest at being forced into an introduction with a member of Sarah's less than respectable family. But, shockingly, the tatar appeared as flustered as a schoolgirl by the attentions of the flamboyant Frenchman. There was even the faintest hint of a blush on the angular cheekbones.

"Oh ... I did not realize that Miss Cresswell possessed French relations," she simpered.

"Only through marriage. I was wed to her father's sister."

Seeming to have forgotten Sarah, the older woman batted her stubby lashes. "I see."

"Unfortunately, my dearest wife passed some years ago. To relieve my loneliness, I sought the companionship of Sarah. She has kindly agreed to introduce me to her friends-although I did not realize her friends would be quite so lovely."

Sarah blinked in amazement as Mrs. Surton uttered a shrill giggle. Before this moment, she would have bet every quid she possessed that Mrs. Surton did not even know how to giggle.

"Uncle Pierre," she gritted out through a stiff smile, "Mrs. Surton and I are rather occupied at the moment."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Surton interrupted, her gaze never leaving the Devilish Dandy's countenance.

Sarah smothered a sigh. She had witnessed that bemused expression on too many occasions not to recognize the symptoms of yet another female felled by the dashing charm of Solomon Cresswell. Egads, Mrs. Surton did not even seem to mind the waxed mustache and absurd eye patch.

"We can easily postpone our discussion until later."

"Bien, allow me to escort you to the salon. Far more comfortable than this drafty hall." With exquisite care, he placed Mrs. Surton's hand upon his arm and began leading her up the stairs. At the same moment, Watts appeared on the landing. "Ah, Watts, you will kindly bring your best ratafia."

"At once, monsieur."

Stone-faced, Watts headed down the stairs, pausing at Sarah's side as she glared at her father's retreating back.

"There shall be no need for a noose, Watts," she muttered. "I shall strangle him myself."

After leaving Miss Cresswell's, Lord Chance had enjoyed a busy day. He had called on his tailor, stepped into his club, attended a private lecture on Egyptian artifacts, and devoted a few hours to a charming musicale. But while the activities had been pleasurable enough, he could not deny his thoughts had been persistently occupied with meeting the Devilish Dandy's daughter.

Perhaps not surprising, he had forced himself to concede. She was without a doubt the most unusual woman he had ever encountered. Not once had she giggled or blushed beneath his piercing regard, and certainly there had been nothing remotely flirtatious in her manner. Indeed, she had met him stare for stare and thrust for thrust. Not once had he felt he held the upper hand in the encounter. A most unusual situation.

With an odd sense of anticipation, Chance arose from his bed the next morning and attired himself in a warm coat of dark burgundy and a silver waistcoat. He even took special pains with his cravat before daring the chilled November air. It was still quite early when he made his way up the stairs of Miss Cresswell's home, but the door was readily pulled open and he was allowed to enter the foyer uncontested. "Good morning, Watts," he murmured as he handed over his coat and hat.

"Good morning, my lord. Miss Cresswell is in the salon."

"I shall see myself in."

Climbing the stairs, he pushed open the door to the salon and entered the room. He had expected to discover Miss Cresswell once again seated on the sofa awaiting his arrival. He discovered instead a young lad attired in one of his own groom's uniforms.

Just for a moment, Chance gazed at the stranger with a suspicious frown. Then, with a sharp stab of disbelief, he realized beneath the heavy uniform and powered wig was not a young servant, but Miss Cresswell. "Good gads," he muttered, a frown forming on his wide brow.

There was a distinct sparkle in her blue eyes. "Welcome, my lord."

"Where the blazes did you get my groom's uniform?"

"No questions, my lord," she reminded him.

Chance discovered himself strangely discomposed. He had expected Miss Cresswell to be less than conventional, but he certainly hadn't expected this. At the moment, he could not decide whether to be furious at her audacity or admire her cunning. In the end, he could not prevent a rather wry smile. "May I at least inquire why you are attired as my groom?"

"Certainly," she graciously conceded. "I desire you to drive to your brother's home so you might gather a list of those who knew he possessed the diamonds. "

Chance was quite certain there was something far more devious to her plan than a simple visit to his brother's.

"Surely that does not require you to be my groom?"

"Of course it does." Moving forward, she managed to capture the loose-limbed gait of a young lad. Chance felt a prick of admiration at her skill. Had he not known with absolute certainty there was a very fine female form beneath that uniform, he might have been fooled himself. "While you are distracting your brother and the various servants who must attend to a guest, I shall make my appearance in the kitchen and distract the remaining staff. At that point, Lucky will search the servant's quarters for the missing diamonds."

Chance was almost afraid to inquire. "Lucky?"

Without warning, a thin urchin with a shock of black hair and dark eyes stepped away from the wall. Chance silently cursed his inattention. He had never even noticed the lad. With a narrowed gaze, he watched as the child of thirteen or fourteen strolled to Miss Cresswell's side.

"My father won him in a card game," Miss Cresswell explained. Then, as Chance's features predictably tightened, she gave a low chuckle. "Oh, you needn't look so pious. His previous employer was a reprehensible brute, and Lucky was quite happy to become a member of our household. My father claimed he brought us a good deal of fortune, and so his name."

Chance gave a slow shake of his head, wondering if Miss Cresswell weren't a bit mad. "Surely you do not propose to have a mere boy search my brother's home?" he demanded.

Miss Cresswell reached out to place a slender hand on the urchin's shoulder. "Of course. Lucky is extraordinarily talented in slipping about unnoted, besides which he possesses a sharp wit that is never rattled. I haven't the least doubt he shall someday make his fortune upon the 'Change."

Chance did not doubt the boy's ability. He possessed an odd maturity for one so young and there was a decided glint of intelligence in the dark eyes. Still, that did not ease his concern in involving a mere child in such a dangerous scheme. "That is all very well, but what if he is caught?"

Lucky abruptly stepped forward. "Begging your pardon, sir, but no one can catch me unless I wish to be caught," he said with unshakable confidence.

"He is quite right," Miss Cresswell concurred, her lips twitching with a hint of humor. "How else could I possess this uniform?"

Chance felt himself stiffen. Miss Cresswell possessed the audacity to have this child break into his own home? The woman was beyond impertinent. She was . . . Words failed him as his own sense of humor thrust aside his initial irritation. He was not such a poor sport that he could not appreciate being bested, even by a chit who was far too clever for her own good.

"I hope he did not help himself to any other of my belongings," he drawled.

"No, sir," Lucky protested in indignant tones.

"That was quite unworthy, my lord." Miss Cresswell offered him a chastising glance. "Lucky is a fine boy and was only following my directions."

Chance was far from contrite. He was beginning to wonder just what he had gotten himself into. "Did it occur to you that you had only to ask me to acquire the uniform?"

That twinkle returned to her blue eyes. "Yes, it occurred to me. It also occurred to me your natural instinct would have you conveniently forgetting to bring it with you today."

He wasn't about to admit she was absolutely right. It was quite disturbing enough to have been surprised by her transformation. Had he been given the opportunity to consider her scheme, he would certainly have put a firm end to it. Now he could merely shrug. "What a poor opinion you have of me, my dear."

"Then you have no objections to my plan?"

A wry smile touched his lips. "Several, but I am quickly becoming of the opinion that I should only be wasting my breath."

"Quite true," she retorted in firm tones.

"And a promise is a promise," he reluctantly forced himself to concede.

"Very well. Shall we go?"

Although located in an elegant neighborhood, Ben's town house was rather cramped and sparsely furnished. Ben had little interest and fewer funds to create a showplace. Still, for a gentleman on his own, it was an adequate establishment that was well situated.

Seated in the library, Lord Chance watched through narrowed lids as his younger brother paced the patterned carpet. He discovered it surprisingly difficult to concentrate on his simple task with the knowledge that Miss Cresswell and Lucky were currently established below stairs. Perhaps not so surprising, he conceded with an inward grimace. A gentleman in his position could hardly be accustomed to young women who readily posed as grooms nor urchins who slipped in and out of homes uninvited. But while he might not approve of such tactics, he could not deny it was a clever scheme.

Recalling his own small contribution to the plan, he tapped impatient fingers on the arm of his chair. "Think, Ben," he charged in low tones.

"I am," Ben muttered, turning about to retrace his steps. "It was all such a muddle. Goldie and I went to Mother's to get the jewels . . ."

"And no servants witnessed you?" Chance interrupted as he thought of Miss Cresswell's words.

"No, Goldie was keeping watch. Then we came straight here and put the jewels in the safe . . . Oh, I say."

"What is it?" Chance demanded.

With his brow furrowed Ben struggled to recall the events of the fateful evening.

"We were putting the jewels in the safe when Moreland and Fritz called."

Chance was only vaguely acquainted with the two dandies. From what little he did know the two were much in the same mold as Ben's friend Lord Goldmar, more affectionately known as Goldie. They all possessed a fashionable lack of intelligence and love for madcap dares. They were also notorious for living well beyond their means.