“Then why did you lie about it? You said you never came by it.” He didn’t sound angry so much as curious.
“Because I do not have what you want, and if I told you the truth, you would demand recompense. Mr. John sold the brooch to us and was paid a fair price for it. But you would demand the gemstones back, and you would threaten the constable or worse, all because a foolish boy sold something that did not belong to him. That is not our fault, my lord. And we cannot willy nilly return jewelry to every nob who sold something that did not belong to him merely because he wants it.”
Though they were a legitimate business—the buying and selling of jewelry—a single, angry aristocrat could bring it all down. It was, in fact, why they had left Germany so long ago. A wastrel prince had made them fear for their lives. They had run here to England, called themselves Gold, and set up beneath a gambling den. And any hope of respectability for their daughter disappeared the moment they opened up shop. The English did not wed nobody foreigners who worked in a den.
“So, you lie?” he asked.
“Yes. Because gentlemen like you do not like being told no. Much better to say, I know nothing about what you speak. Nothing at all.”
He grunted in acknowledgment. “Yes, I suppose that is the wiser course.”
Amber gaped at him. She had not expected him to be so reasonable. But she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She smiled, curtsied, and rushed her next words. “If there is nothing else—”
“Could you fashion it again? I could pay you for your work, of course. A reasonable sum. You have the gemstones, you said.”
“Of course, she can,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Thisbe is a genius with jewelry. She has created the most magical pieces, my lord. Simply magical.”
“No!” Amber cried out. “I can’t!”
Lord Byrn’s expression was surprised, but it was Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s face that made Amber pause. It was hard and angry. This was the Lyon’s face, the one that forced men’s hands, making them wed where they did not will it. The one that had become infamous throughout London. “But, of course, you can, Thisbe. Because that is why you are here. Unless I should speak with another jeweler. There have been so many lately asking to rent the space where your family’s shop resides. Perhaps it’s time I revisited the terms of your lease.”
It was a real threat. Any jeweler in town would be thrilled to set up here to buy gems from desperate gamblers. And if her family was unceremoniously tossed out, there was nowhere else for them to establish themselves. It had been a godsend that they found the Lyon’s Den.
“I am, of course, willing to try,” Amber amended hastily. “But I do not remember the design.” She looked at Lord Byrn. “Do you have a sketch of it?”
His hands lifted in a gesture of confusion. “Only the description I gave you. A blood-red ruby and eight diamonds.”
“Seven,” she corrected. “And that is not enough if you want me to recreate a brooch to match a set from the time of William the Conqueror.”
Lord Byrn blew out a breath as he stared at her. His expression was heavy, and his…well, his eyes were quite lovely. She hadn’t noticed it before now, but they were the most striking shade of green with just enough blue to make them the color of the rarest form of emerald. They startled her enough to cut off her breath and words.
“Could you do it from a painting, perhaps?” he asked.
She frowned. “If it were a good painting.”
“The very best, I’m told.” He nodded as if that decided it. “I shall come for you tomorrow at three. I’ll say you are a cousin or something from the Continent with an interest in portraiture. That should gain us admittance. The family is quite proud of the damned thing.”
She blinked. “What thing?”
“The portrait of the dowager countess wearing the brooch back when she was first presented at Court. Painted by Joseph Wright of Derby. He’s quite famous.”
She nodded. Even she had heard of the man. But painting faces and painting jewelry were two different things. Still, she had no room to argue, though she searched and searched her thoughts for a reason. Mrs. Dove-Lyon had no such reservations.
“Excellent, my lord. She shall be ready. We shall await you at the Dragon’s Hoard.”