Page 97 of Gone with the Rake

He slashed the envelope open, his eyes roving over the contents, then frowned.

Then, he read it again. And again.

Lydia stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

Art scoffed and shook his head.

“The Marquess of Rivendale requires my presence in London.”

Lydia frowned. “Now?”

Art extended the letter to her. “He wants to discuss some business regarding a redheaded woman I am harboring inside my home.”

Chapter 25

They’d found her.

But never—not in her worst nightmares—had Lydia imagined that a bloody marquess would be the one to do it.

What did he care? She had stolen one little trinket from him years ago. Had he truly spent all this time investigating such a minor loss just to hunt her down?

Arrogant. Petty.

She should have expected it. The most powerful were always the first to chase her down—and the first to find her.

And now that a marquess was involved, she had no doubt he would demand prosecution.

Which meant she couldn’t let Art get tangled up in her dealings.

Lydia took the letter in her shaking hands and read it for herself. Then she reread it.

Again.

And again.

Just to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

The marquess claimed she had taken something very important to him. Invaluable.

Damn.

He also stated that if she didn’t come forward and return it, he would take the case to trial.

And if she or Art—or rather he addressed the Marquess of Wakefield—failed to arrive in London by the end of the week, he would ruin them both with a single stroke of a pen.

Lydia’s stomach twisted.

She had nothing to give back. She had sold everything she ever stole. That was how she had stayed undetected for years—using the most notorious underground auction house to ensure her name remained a ghost among thieves.

God only knew where that blasted locket was now.

The most reasonable course of action was to run.

So much for her dream of marrying Art.

But the marquess had made his threat clear. If Art didn’t give her up, he would be ruined too.

And that Lydia could not allow.