Frederick huffed, a groan waiting in his throat.
Was asking for a simple, unimpeded day too much? Especially with such an inducement as being alone with his wife?
He released a long sigh. Traveling came with its own rewards as well as struggles, he supposed, but in all of his life, he’d never experienced drama in such quick succession, not even while working in his military post. Surely Grace’s fictional world couldn’t bleed into the real world, could it? Or did an obsession for fictional suspense work as a magnet in the everyday? Lord, help him. He hoped not.
Though, as strange as it seemed, he was beginning to anticipate possible disaster on a regular basis. Military training only prepared one for so much … and certainly not the unexpectedness of Lady Astley.
Frederick took a tighter hold of Grace’s arm, increasing his pace. But he’d nearly lost his wife, and the memory of pulling her from the Egyptian tomb’s sandpit, lifeless, still haunted him. His pulse pumped in his head, his jaw set. Apart from locking her in a tower, he’d do about anything to keep her safe. He frowned. Why did he have the inclination that his daring wife would even find a way out of that? He rolled his gaze heavenward. Surely God knew exactly what He’d been doing when He bound Frederick to this darling woman in marriage, didn’t He? Was it some sort of cosmic trust exercise?
He almost grinned. But wasn’t God always working in the world to increase His children’s trust?
Up ahead the building turned, and a small gap between it and the next afforded a perfect spot to tuck Grace while he addressed the situation of the man following them. With a fluid movement, he swept Grace into the protection of the makeshift cleft and spun around to ready himself. The steps neared, and just as the person turned the corner of the building, Frederick grabbed him and pinned him to the wall, pressing his face into the stone.
“Who are you?” Frederick tightened his hold on the man’s arm, which he’d twisted up behind the stranger’s back.
“Excellent form in defense against a pursuer, my lord,” came the strained response. “Perchance, have you been reading my book?”
Frederick looked over at Grace to ascertain whether she had heard the same sentence. She blinked wide eyes at him and lowered her parasol from what he presumed was its attack position.
Frederick spun the man around and stared at the unmistakable face of Detective Jack Miracle. “Jack?”
“Yes, and if you’d be so kind as to loosen the grip you have against my arm, good man, I will be happy to explain.” Jack gave a nod of his golden head down to Frederick’s fingers digging into the man’s shoulder. “I would be much more focused on my eloquent speech than the pain in my arm.”
“I thought I recognized that jawline.” Grace rushed forward, helping dust off the man’s jacket. “I’m so pleased to discover you are not a scoundrel, Jack.”
“Don’t forgo that description, my lady.” Jack’s grin flared crooked as he dipped his head to Grace. “It does depend on the day.”
Frederick dropped his hold, still staring at the man. “What are you doing in Venice?”
“Do you mean a lowly detective like myself is not permitted an exotic holiday now and then, my lord?”
“Lowly.” Frederick’s lip pinched, and he placed his hands on his hips, hoping this look proved as credulous as the tone of his voice. “The son of a viscount?”
“Former viscount, if you recall.” Jack reordered his fedora to his preferred tilt. “Father not only lost his estate to the debtors but his title due to his prison sentence, so I can truly forgo all pretense of peerage now.”
“Ah, but you are a gentleman to the core, despite your protests.” Frederick’s smile slid wide, and he placed his palm on the man’s shoulder. “And as I recall, your father left you anything but penniless.”
Jack’s pale brow rose ever so slightly. “Comfortable and disgraced,” he clarified.
A calm fell over Frederick. He wasn’t certain why the idea of Jack being nearby took the edge off his senses, but it did. A friend. Especially with Elliott back in England for the foreseeable future and life being somewhat … unpredictable when Grace was involved.
“So you’re on holiday? In Venice?”
“Holiday?” Jack’s pale eyes took on an added twinkle. “Doesn’t my work always feel a bit like a holiday? Especially your sort of holiday, I hear?” He raised a brow, his reference to their recent Egyptian adventure loosening Frederick’s jaw.
“You’re solving a mystery, aren’t you?” Grace shot Frederick an excited grin. “Right here in Venice?”
Jack’s eyes twinkled in such a way that Frederick’s stomach tightened. Was he the only sensible person among them? They’d barely survived the previous “adventure”; the last thing they needed was another in quick succession.
He sighed. It felt very much like God had placed Frederick on earth to keep Grace Percy alive. Though in all honesty, she’d brought life back to him, so perhaps it was a fair trade.
“Maybe I am.” Jack’s smile spread. “I was particularly requested to investigate this case. All expenses paid.” He shrugged. “How could I refuse?”
Grace squeezed her fingers together in front of her, ready to jump right into another venture as if they hadn’t experienced enough thrills for one day. Her energy was endless.
“Is it some historical mystery etched into the very fabric of Venetian history?”
Jack chuckled. “Venetian history is a part, but I believe we may be dealing more with canvas than fabric.”
“Canvas?” Grace pulled her notebook from her bag. “As in paintings, you mean? Oh, Jack! How exciting. And incredibly fortunate that we’re here in case you need an extra set of eyes or two.”
“How did you know about Egypt?” At least Frederick could attempt to distract his wife from thrusting herself into another mystery. Especially since there was a quite capable detective on the job already.
“You’re British aristocracy in a foreign country with a family scandal on your hands, my lord.” He tagged on a wink. “Everyone keeps an eye out for you.”
“Is it something about stolen paintings?” Grace continued, undeterred, jotting a note into her journal. “I read about an Italian patriot who stole the famed Mona Lisa from the Louvre in Paris only a few years ago. If he hadn’t attempted to sell the painting, he may not have been caught at all.”
“Ah, you read some nonfiction in with all of the fiction you consume, my lady?” Jack sent Frederick a grin. “Are you broadening your sleuthing interests, then?”
“Not enough to brag, I assure you.” Grace shook her head. “But sometimes when Father left the paper out, if the headline was particularly gripping, I’d feel compelled to read it. It’s rather remarkable how sometimes real life proves even more tantalizing than fiction.” She looked at Frederick and flashed one of her dazzling smiles. “It certainly has been for me.”
“I feel this particular conglomeration of mysterious ridiculousness is something you would find fascinating, my lady.” Jack’s countenance sobered. “And an extra set of eyes? Well, that may not be such a bad idea.”
“Jack?” The sudden change in his friend’s tone brought Frederick to full alert. Could Jack need their help with his mystery? Frederick blinked. No, of course not! What was Frederick thinking? No, Frederick wanted to enjoy a rather delightful and perhaps even decadent honeymoon with his wife—not stumble around in the middle of who knows what with Detective Jack Miracle!
The man’s smile resurfaced, but he failed to meet Frederick’s eyes. “Oh, nothing to worry about; it’s just a bit tricky, is all.” He turned to Grace. “But since it is getting later in the day, perhaps we could discuss it over tea tomorrow?”
“Very well.” Grace’s grin resurfaced in full bloom. “I do love anticipation. It’s one of the many delights of well-written fiction.”
“To keep you sufficiently entranced, Lady Astley, I shall add that the mystery involves stolen artwork across three countries.” Jack’s lips slanted, and without moving his attention from Grace, Jack handed Frederick a card with a hotel’s name printed on it. “And a possible secret message from the grave.”
“How marvelous!” Grace gasped.
“A bit dramatic, are we?”
Frederick’s droll response merely incited Jack’s grin all the more. “Only playing to my audience, your lordship. After all, you’re the only couple I know who solves mysteries together.”
“Solve mysteries togeth—”
“We do!” Grace exclaimed into his bewildered response, wrapping her arm through Frederick’s and bathing him with a look of unadulterated adoration. He almost lost himself in the renewed awareness of how heroic she saw him, how … brave and strong. “We have already solved quite a few, and that should put us into a very elite category. There aren’t very many husband-and-wife sleuths in the world, are there?”
Frederick pinched his eyes closed. Sleuths? Heaven, help him. Surely he wasn’t made to be a sleuth.
“And this mystery shouldn’t be nearly as life-threatening as your previous adventures.” Jack raised a brow to Frederick, his expression taking on a consolatory look. “It’s merely a case of stolen art, my lord. How dangerous can that really be?”
Something in Frederick’s chest twitched, like the pinch of doubt, and underneath the twitch paired with something utterly and completely shocking.
Curiosity.
A thrill.
The memory of the rush of adventure, of dashing into the unknown. The possibility of rising to heroic stature once again. He had engaged somewhat successfully with a few mysteries since Grace came into his life, hadn’t he? And the thought of bringing escapades from the fiction he loved into the real world held a certain magnetic appeal. He glanced down at his wife, heat seeping from his face.
What was her influence doing to his pragmatism?
He pushed away the unnerving thoughts.
But as Grace’s gaze met his, he wondered if she felt his shock too, because her lovely eyes sparkled all the more.
Frederick cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the lesser of two influences, inserting clear logic to combat the fascinating draw of intrigue. “Jack, you know as well as I that when you’re dealing with unpredictable people, anything can take a dangerous turn.”
“Exactly,” Grace agreed with a nod. “Which is why you can rest assured, dear Jack, that we are at your service, should you need us. In fact, we’re sublimely intrigued by the possibility.” Grace looked up at her husband, her eyes bright. “Aren’t we, Frederick?”
His definition of sublime and his wife’s were two very different things.
His gaze locked with Jack’s, and a sudden disquiet lodged like a knot in Frederick’s throat. He drew in a breath and tightened his jaw with his smile. “Of course.”
Forcing a singular thought to the front of his mind, Frederick stared hard at Jack and hoped the thought breached the space between them to ensure his friend of one very clear unspoken understanding.
Frederick Percy was an earl, and a second-hand one at that!
Not a sleuth.
Frederick welcomed the lifestyle Grace’s dowry afforded them but still attempted to keep their travel expenses on the more practical side of extravagant. He took care to provide for his wife’s conveniences, of course, but the finest hotels? There was no need for opulence when elegant would do just as well and save them money in the long run.
However, Detective Jack Miracle’s hotel glittered with magnificence. With views of the Grand Canal behind them, they ascended the steps into an ornate and grand foyer, complete with embossed trim, dark wood highlights, a parquet floor, and dramatic red wallpaper.
A chandelier dropped from the equally ornate ceiling and lit the room with electric lights.
“Is it a palace?” Grace whispered as the concierge led them up a grand stairway and through an archway into a smaller room of white cloth–covered tables and myriad artwork at every turn. They bypassed one of the four white stone columns in the room.
“I believe it may have been once. Or owned by someone of similar importance.”
They stepped out onto a veranda lined with tables similar to those inside, except these featured umbrellas. At the far end of the veranda sat the infamous detective, as smartly dressed as ever in a beige suit and open-collared, white button-up. Jack stood as they approached, his ready smile offering his greeting before he extended his hand.
“Keeping the accommodations subtle, aren’t we, Jack?”
Jack’s laugh burst out at Frederick’s friendly jab. “Now, now, your lordship, you know if it were up to me, I’d manage quite well in an inn on the outskirts of town, but my current client would have nothing but the very best for me.”
“How you must struggle with the sheer luxury of it all.”
“Abominably.” He took his seat along with them and raised his glass to them. “Torture of the acutest kind.”
“I’m so glad I’ve caught on to sarcasm between the two of you.” Grace donned a rather matriarchal look toward two unruly schoolboys. “Otherwise, one would think you didn’t enjoy the beauty and wonder of it at all, but I am quite aware, Detective Jack, that you are almost as much a lover of fiction as I, so you would certainly appreciate a bit of magic to any place.”
“I don’t believe anyone can measure up to your fictional prowess, my lady; however, I can assure you I am enjoying the splendor with appropriate devotion. And the location of the hotel has afforded me an excellent starting point from which to do some investigating.”
“Oh, please elaborate.” Grace squeezed her hands together and leaned forward in the chair as the server left sandwiches and pastries for them. “I’ve read your book at least three times and am always curious about your cases.” She sent Frederick a look. “We both are.”
To which Jack glanced over at Frederick and then, as if covering a smile, ran a hand over his pinched lips.
“To temper your expectations, Jack, I’ve only read your book once.”
“Thank you, my lord, I was concerned my pride might prove uncontrolled at the idea of your adoration for my investigative prowess reaching the heights of your wife’s.”
Frederick’s chuckle burst free, and Grace laughed.
“The two of you are like the dearest of friends in the best of books. Did you know that? The witty conversation? The familiarity.” She sat taller. “The best stories should always include faithful friends.” She placed her serviette over her lap. “I haven’t yet met a peer for me, but I know there must be one written somewhere in my story. Aunt Lavenia is a start, of course, but she’s more mentor than peer, I think.”
“I believe your aunt Lavenia may be more protector.” Jack gave a slight shiver to his shoulders before placing a palm to his chest. “She glared at me once, and I felt it to my heart.”
“Ah, perfect,” Frederick interjected. “You are duly intimidated and can imagine your fate should anything unhappy befall us in light of your investigation.”
“Do tell us about your mysterious case, Jack,” Grace added, placing at least eight strawberries on her plate.
Jack’s lips tipped ever so slightly as he turned to Grace. The right people always seemed to appreciate Grace’s unusual combination of naivete, joy, and ready intelligence. Jack didn’t underestimate her, and for that, Frederick knew he’d grow into an even better friend for the both of them.
“Actually, the case is widely known in Venice and stretches all the way to jolly old England in its mystery.” The detective gently poured the tea for Frederick and Grace with effortless precision, a skill surprisingly untrained in upper-class gentlemen, which proved a testament to how much Jack’s life had changed in the past few years. From future viscount to famous detective. “My client has made no attempt to keep the investigation private, so having a few extra heads in the know and ears available for listening may bring this spot of trouble to a close sooner rather than later.”
“What sort of artwork is missing?” Frederick asked, raising the teacup to his lips.
“Several different sorts, but the most valued by my client are related to a collection of nine paintings known as The Juliets.”
“As in Shakespeare’s Juliet?”
Jack nodded to Grace. “Exactly the one. Evidently, the paintings were created by a famous Venetian artist of the mid- to late 1800s who once lived on his own island off the coast of Venice.”
“His own island?” Grace lowered her teacup with a little clink. “Oh, I’m not sure how I feel about him now. There is only one of two ways the story can turn out if one owns an island. Dreadful and terrifying like Dr. Moreau or adventurous and dangerous like Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic.”
“What about extravagant and mysterious?” Jack added, taking a sandwich from the salver. “Or that is what I’ve learned from my research so far. My client owns the island now.”
Grace’s eyes widened, and she turned to Frederick, who, despite all attempts to remain unmoved and disinterested, asked, “Your client owns an island?”
Jack nodded. “Which is why he’s entrenched in the mystery, I suppose. Since he purchased the island six months ago, he’s become rather fond of various art pieces related to Italy. His grandfather possessed one of the famed Juliets, and my client had added two more to his collection. A few weeks ago, one of his portraits was stolen en route from his home.”
“Only one?” Frederick asked.
“The only one being transported to a local gallery for display. This fact brings with it its own curiosities and possibilities.” Jack took another sip of tea. “Despite my client’s best attempts, he’s not been able to locate the thief. To add insult to injury, two weeks ago, a private local art gallery that houses two more of The Juliets was vandalized. Several art pieces were stolen, and among them were—”
“The Juliets,” Grace announced. There was no doubt his bride was mentally cataloging every word. “Are all the others missing? Besides the two your client still has?”
“I’m still gathering information, and since I’ve only been in Venice for a few days, I have a great deal to learn about the entire affair. But it appears no one knows exactly where most of the other Juliets are.” He took up his cup, his eyes alight with the joy of the mystery. “I am expecting a wire any day to provide more information on that score, since two of the other pieces were last seen in England.”
“And you’re to find the other stolen art pieces too, along with your client’s?”
Jack gave a shrug at Grace’s question. “I’ve only been hired to find The Juliets.”
“So your job is to locate the thief?” Even as Frederick asked, he felt there was much more to this story than Jack had expressed so far. What about these paintings made them so special that a private investigator from England would be enlisted to track them down instead of the local police? Jack wasn’t telling everything.
“My client cares less for the thief and more for the paintings.” Jack folded his hands together and leaned forward, his attention shifting from Frederick to Grace, and something akin to an elf’s grin curled the man’s lips. “According to local legend”—he wiggled his brows—“a secret message within the paintings leads to a hidden treasure on the private island.”
“What?” Grace nearly shouted. “A hidden treasure?”
Frederick sat up. “If you’re spinning this tale for Grace’s benefit, then I’d advise you to get to the true nature of the case, Jack.”
“I’m not exaggerating.” The man took another drink of his tea. “The fact that it fits into one of Lady Astley’s beloved novels is merely a boon and more support for bringing along the two of you in this adventure.”
Frederick gave his head a small shake. Was this his life? Truly? From murderous mistresses to tomb raiders to … treasure hunting? He wanted to deny the flicker of interest slowly growing to flame in his chest, but he couldn’t. After all, Jack was his friend and had clearly asked for their help.
How could he refuse it?
“It’s all very fascinating and novel-like, for certain. I can see why my particular brand of knowledge would be helpful to your investigation.” Grace sighed back in her chair and looked over at Frederick, the shadow from her hat doing nothing to hide the pure pleasure in her expression. “And since we are here for at least another week or two, I think we could certainly be of assistance. Don’t you agree, Frederick?”
If Frederick wanted to shower his wife with the types of presents she loved best on this honeymoon, the answer came clear and evident. No expensive jewelry or extravagant gifts for her.
But near-death experiences and daring adventures? His shoulders dropped for a moment. Well, at least he didn’t have to try and wrap them. “If you need us, Jack, we’re at your service.”
“Perfect.” Jack’s hands came together as his grin grew. “Then I’ll only need to ask my client if the two of you can join us at his home tomorrow.”
“Join you?” Frederick barely had the question out when a shadow fell over their table. “At his island home?”
“Ah, perfect timing.” Jack stood, his attention focusing on a spot just over Frederick’s head. “Let me introduce my client.”
Grace looked just over Frederick’s shoulder, and her bottom lip dropped before she turned those wide eyes to Frederick. A sudden dread pushed through him as he stood and turned. Standing before him was one of the “thieves” from yesterday. The one who had ridden in the gondola with Grace. The mastermind behind the entire “game.”
“Lord and Lady Astley, I’d like you to meet Mr. Daniel Laraby.”