Autumn Glory and Other Stories by Bárbara Metzger Page A

sounding like that addlepate George. “You wished to see me about something? If you had rung, one of the staff could have taken care of your problem, I am sure.”
    “Since one of the staff is possibly the culprit, that would not have been wise.”
    Culprit? What, did one of the footmen ogle her? It was Miss Thurstfield’s own fault for being so deuced pretty. Arthur found himself staring, if not precisely ogling. One of those brown curls was caressing her cheek, nearly touching her mouth. He almost reached out to brush it aside. “I am afraid you’ll have to be a bit more explicit, Miss Thurstfield.”
    “The robberies, Mr. Arthur. I have come about the robberies.” At his continued blank look, she went on: “There is no need to pretend, sir, to protect the hotel’s reputation. All of the maids know things have gone missing recently.”
    “They have? That is, we have an investigation going on at this very minute. I am certain you have nothing to fear.”
    She plunked the embroidered reticule on Simmons’s desk. “I am not so certain. I very much fear for the safety of my jewelry and wish it locked in the hotel’s safe.”
    “The safe?”
    “Surely the hotel has a safe for the day’s receipts and the patrons’ valuables. Even posting houses sometimes offer such a precaution.”
    Surely the hotel did boast a safe, but deuce take it if Arthur knew where it was or how to get into it. Now was the time to confess his imposture, but hell, she had a fiancé; he could have some fun. “Sorry, but only the night manager has the combination.”
    “That’s ridiculous. What if I want to wear a ring in the morning?”
    He shrugged. “It’s a new hotel, you know. All of the difficulties have not been worked out.”
    “I see what it is. They have not trusted you with the information.” She eyed the bottle he’d placed on the desk.
    He might not be a hotel manager, but he was no sot either, by George. “The head manager trusts me implicitly. Why, he lets me sleep in his room. It’s just that I have not been here long enough to learn all the ins and outs of the hotel. Luckily I did know about the special reserved suite. I trust the rooms met with your satisfaction?”
    Reminded of what she owed this man, who was like no other employee she had ever encountered, Hope smiled. “Everything is perfect, thank you, especially the view.”
    And the view from Arthur’s eyes was perfect, too. That smile was worth all the faradiddles he was telling, even if his soul were sentenced to purgatory. “I’ll take charge of your treasures, then, and hand them over to Simmons myself. And I promise to watch him put them in the safe. If you come to me whenever you wish to remove a bit of jewelry, I’ll make sure Simmons is available.”
    “Excellent, Mr. Arthur. Now here is a list of the pieces. Do you want to go over it, to familiarize yourself with the contents? You will be responsible for them, after all.”
    He had absolutely no desire to view her hoard of gems, of course, especially not when they might have come from the bastard she was betrothed to. On the other hand, he didn’t want her to leave, so he nodded and swept his hand across the desk, clearing it of Simmons’s notes and papers.
    Hope poured the expensive jewelry out of the pouch, and ticked each item off her list as she showed it to Mr. Arthur, who was standing quite close to her in order to see better. She could smell his lemon and spice cologne and see the fine gold hairs on the backs of his hands. “My, it is growing warm today, isn’t it?”
    “Hmm,” he agreed, inches away from nibbling on a dainty earlobe. He hadn’t seen one necklace or ring, only her silken cheeks and long brown lashes.
    “That’s the lot, then,” Hope said with a sigh, stuffing her fortune and her future back into the reticule. She handed the drawstring pouch and the list over to Mr. Arthur. “I suppose I should have a receipt, you know.”
    “A receipt?” His mind was benumbed