The Kid.
Delgatto instinctively shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.
“How in the hell did you get here?”
The young man shrugged. “Same way as you, I suppose. Big swirling vortex, bright colors. A little Star Wars, a lot of Star Trek. Very impressive. But that’s right.” He paused to tap his temple with his finger as if being seized by a memory. “You probably don’t remember the trip. You were already safe in the arms of Morpheus.”
“More like morphine.” Realization dawned. “You booby-trapped the box.”
The young man smiled. “I did, didn’t I? It was a brilliant idea, if I say so myself. What’s the old saying? ‘It takes a thief to catch a thief’?” He clapped his hands together, the sudden sound making Emily jump. “Track you, drug you, and get your ass hauled to jail.” He made a face, then doffed an imaginary hat at Emily. “Pardon my language, Miss Drewett.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said with surprising strength. “I’ve heard the word ‘ass’ before.” She leveled him with a steely stare. “I’ve even met my share of them.”
He nodded in acceptance. “Touché. But do we want to sit here and play with words—and I do realize the popular culture references are completely over your head—or shall we get down to business? Name your price, Emily. I want the necklace.”
Delgatto took a step closer. “Why? You stole it already.” He stopped himself before adding the damning phrase, “In the future.”
The Kid lost some of his bluster. “You know, there’s a rather funny story about that. After all the work it took to get into the place, you know what I found in the safe? Same as you. Almost nothing. Just that damned empty case. Turns out the collector never had the Heart, just the box it came in. But we were able to salvage the moment. We decided to pin the theft on you and split the insurance money.” His face darkened. “Only you missed your cue by about a hundred and twenty or so years. I saw you enter the tunnel with a woman, and I decided to follow. Simple as that.”
Emily crossed her arms. “Would one of you start making sense, please?”
“It’s a long story,” Delgatto offered, “but trust me, he’s not who you think he is.”
Her face remained expressionless. “He introduced himself as William Kidder. For some reason, I have no problem believing the kidder part.”
You don’t know how right you are.
She turned to The Kid. “You want to buy the Heart of Saharanpur?”
He nodded. “Name your price, sweetie.”
She crossed her arms and met The Kid’s gaze with her own. “Twenty thousand dollars.”
The Kid blinked, then smiled. “Five thousand.”
“Twenty thousand,” she repeated.
“Six thousand.”
She wore an impossibly calm expression, saying the words with unerring clarity: “Twenty thousand.”
The Kid made a face. “Evidently you’re unclear on the concept, Emily. You’re supposed to come down while I go up.”
She barely twitched. “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
The Kid released a ragged sigh and turned to Delgatto. “Would you talk to her? Explain how these things are done?”
Delgatto smiled and turned to Emily. “Thirty thousand dollars.”
“Hey, wait.” The Kid’s eyes grew large. “You can’t bid against me.”
Delgatto smiled. “Yes, I can. My money is just as good as yours.”
The Kid stared at him, his wide blue eyes betraying all the little gears turning in his head. Both of them had unlimited funds. However, all of their invisible bills had pictures of invisible presidents on them. “Th-thirty-five thousand dollars,” he finally stuttered.
Delgatto crossed his arms, parroting Emily. “Forty grand.”
“Fifty.”
“Seventy-five.”
The Kids almost shouted, “One hundred thousand dollars.”
Delgatto kept his cool and displayed his most genuine smile, knowing exactly how it would infuriate the man. “We can go on forever. I’m willing to top any figure you mention.”
The Kid contemplated his options, then held out both palms in mock surrender. “He’s left me no choice, Emily. One million dollars.”
Although the figure was absurdly high, especially in nineteenth-century dollars, Emily looked as if she were unwilling to summarily turn down the offer if there was any remote possibility it might be honest. Her look of determination wavered.
The Kid smirked.
Delgatto knew he had only one chance to stop this charade, but then again, what he was about to do was no bluff. He moved between Emily and the young man, and dropped down to one knee. The look of anticipation on her face almost made him stand back up again and grab her.
And kiss her.
“Emily, we haven’t known each other long, but I know your heart and you know mine. I can see you don’t want to sell the necklace, that it means more to you in terms of fond memories and sentimentality. So . . . don’t sell it Let me give you my heart instead, and we’ll find a way to help your family without selling the necklace.” He looked up and saw tears in her eyes. “Will you marry me?”
She held him spellbound for several seconds until she nodded. “Yes, Mr. East. I’ll marry you.”
The Kid began to laugh. “Mr. East?” he mocked.
She stiffened. “He’s James East of the U.S. Secret Service.”
The young man almost doubled over in laughter. “James East? Have you no shame, old man? No imagination? You couldn’t come up with anything better than that? I hope Will Smith sues you for everything you’re worth.” He laughed so hard, tears trickled down his face.
Growing recognition dawned on Emily’s face, along with a bit of revulsion. “Wait,” she said, pointing at The Kid. “Now I know who you remind me of.” Her gaze narrowed. “No, not remind. I know who you are. “ She stepped closer to him as if to get a better look at him, and caught him by surprise by hauling back and slapping him as hard as she could. “How dare you? How dare you pretend to be my friend?”
The Kid rubbed his cheek. “In a word. Ow.” He turned to Delgatto. “What does the bad guy usually say about now?” He spoke in a theatrical voice with a villainous lisp. “ ‘Quite a little spitfire, isn’t she?’”
Emily almost shook with rage. She turned toward Delgatto. “He . . . he’s . . .” She sighed and closed her eyes. “He was . . . Fannie.” A tremor of disgust coursed through her.
“One and the same!” The Kid took a bow with several flourishing hand gestures. “I’ve been doing successful female impersonations for years now.”
Delgatto stepped closer, wanting to get between the young man and Emily, who was too wrapped up in her own revulsion to realize the danger she was in. “That’s because you’re not much of a man.”
“Ooh . . . he shoots, he misses. Can’t you do better than geriatric retorts, old man? Of course, what else could I expect from a geezer like you? You know the difference between us, old man? Besides twenty years or so?”
Delgatto motioned for the young man to come closer. “Let’s take this outside. I owe you one for the stunt in the closet.”
At The Kid’s look, Delgatto nodded. “Yeah, I realize now that Fannie wasn’t your first role. You also went to the Christmas ball. As the court jester, right?” Delgatto crooked a finger at him. “You and me. Mano a mano. Winner takes all.”
The Kid paused as if to contemplate the idea. “Winner takes all, eh? Hmm. Why go through the hassle of a fight? We both know who’s going to win. Winner takes . . . her!” With lightning-fast reflexes, he grabbed Emily, slamming one arm around her waist, pinning her arms to her side, and placing his other hand around her throat. He could just as easily snatch the necklace as break her neck, and Delgatto wasn’t sure which he might do first.
“Let’s not waste my time. I’ve come for the necklace and I intend to take it back with me.”
Delgatto took a step closer, but the young man tightened his grip on Emily’s throat.
“You would like for her to breathe, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t hurt her.” Delgatto held up his hands in pseudo-surrender and took a step in retreat.
“Good.” The Kid nodded, then relaxed his grip. “Very good.”
Emily gasped for air, but rather than seeing debilitating fear in her eyes, Delgatto noticed some very healthy anger. Hopefully, he could channel that to their advantage.
The Kid released her neck and used his free hand to fumble with the chain’s clasp. He made a face, evidently unable to manage it one-handed.
“It’s hard to do, even with two hands,” Emily offered quietly.
“So I see. I suppose I could let you do it.” His free hand snaked into his jacket pocket and reappeared, clutching a very modern automatic. “Lucky for me, I’d just put a new clip in before I set off on my . . . trip to Oz. It’s hard to find the right type ammunition around here, but I’ve been quite thrifty with what I brought, so rest assured I have plenty for this little problem.”
Although Delgatto knew Emily had never seen a gun quite like that one before, she seemed to recognize its inherently lethal qualities. With rather steady hands, she undid the clasp, allowing The Kid to snatch the necklace away. His hand betrayed only the slightest tremor of excitement.
“Well con-gra-tu-la-tions,” Delgatto drawled. “You got yourself a priceless necklace. But let me ask you one little question: how do you get it . . . home?”
The Kid waved the gun in Delgatto’s direction. “I was hoping you could help me with that.”
Delgatto held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. Courtesy of you, I was asleep when it happened, remember? I have no idea how I got here or how to get back.”
“I did it.”
Miss Sparrow stepped into the room, her thin face calm and serene. “I brought him here. And if you promise not to harm them, I’ll send you back. With the Heart of Saharanpur.”
Delgatto couldn’t help but gape at the woman. “But I thought you said—”
Miss Sparrow silenced him with a schoolmarm-like stare. “No time for arguments, sir. The young man has a gun. I suggest we give him exactly what he wants.”
“Sounds like a brilliant idea to me. Now where’s the case that goes with this thing?”
“I have it.” Emily dipped her hand slowly into the pocket of her dress and pulled out the wooden case.
Behind her back and out of The Kid’s view but fully in Delgatto’s, she made an odd gesture, her fingers closing quickly.
What are you trying to say, Emily ?
“Now, put it inside,” The Kid ordered.
She dutifully opened the case, dropped the necklace inside, then held the open case out to The Kid. When he reached for it, she snapped the spring-hinged lid shut on his outstretched fingers.
Delgatto realized what she was going to do about a split second before she did it. While The Kid yelped and reacted to the pain, Delgatto leaped at the man, trying to get himself between Emily and the gun. Miss Sparrow fell behind the sofa. Delgatto didn’t know if she’d fainted or was simply diving for cover.
The Kid made the fatal mistake of trying to retain possession of both objects, necklace and gun, evidently unable to decide which was the lesser evil to lose. As they fought, he lost control of both; the gun flew off in one direction, the ammunition clip skidded in another and the emerald in a third direction, leaving the two of them in a tangle on the floor.
Delgatto landed a good foot in the young man’s face and reached out, hoping to find the gun. First he found the clip, which he batted away, and then his hand landed on the open box, his fingers grazing the smooth emerald.
Electricity shot through his arm. Green sparks flew from the stone. Then a pinpoint of light formed in the middle of the room. It began to rotate as it grew larger and brighter. A great roaring sound emanated from its center, as if wind was rushing into a vacuum.
Loose papers fluttered around the room, being pulled into the vortex that had begun to form.
The spinning tunnel grew larger and larger, demanding their attention. Delgatto scrambled away from the swirling light, backing into his opponent, who had unfortunately recovered his gun.
The young man grabbed him and jammed the gun barrel against his temple.
“The necklace,” he demanded. “Now.”
Emily stooped down and retrieved the case.
“C’mon, faster—or lover boy here gets it.”
She took a step toward them.
In the span of a single second, Delgatto knew what he had to do, exactly how far he had to go in the name of true love.
“Stop, Emily.”
She halted.
He tried to draw a deep breath, but his lungs refused to cooperate. “My name’s not James East. And I’m not an agent with the Secret Service.”
“Oh great,” The Kid muttered. “Now you decide to play true confessions. I don’t have time for this.” He ground the gun even harder into Delgatto’s skin. “Shut the hell up, please?”
The look Emily gave him almost broke his heart, but he continued. “I’m no better than this idiot,” he shouted in order to be heard over the roar coming from the vortex. Luckily, it seemed to have reached its full size and had stopped expanding.
“He”—Delgatto gave his captor a sidelong glance, afraid that a nod might set off the young man’s trigger finger—“pretended to be Fannie, to be your friend in hopes of finding the necklace. I . . .” He faltered. The words were harder to say than he ever could have imagined possible. “I-I was just as bad. Worse, even. I didn’t merely become your friend. I pretended to fall in love with you, but for the very same reasons. I came here to find the Heart of Saharanpur, just like he did. I lied, I schemed, I broke into those rooms, all because I was searching for the necklace.”
She continued to stare at him.
Oh God, please let her believe me.
There was no way he was going to let her give The Kid the necklace. She was going to keep it, even if it meant he would have to die to protect her.
The Kid twisted the barrel, just for spite. “Aw, c’mon. Tell her everything. Get to the good part. I want to watch her try to twist her brain around the time travel part.”
“Time t-travel?” she repeated.
“Yeah, me and lover boy aren’t from your century. Heck, we’re not even from the one after that. We’re what you call twenty-first century guys. Cool, eh? And we’ll be going”—his voice adopted a sudden television announcer-style polish—“back to the future.” He shrugged. “At least I will, with the Heart of Saharanpur. You guys can stay here and rot as far as I care.”
While The Kid prattled on, Delgatto glanced down, spotting the ammo clip that had been knocked under a chair.
Hope flared in his heart.
The Kid had at most only one round, possibly already jacked into the chamber. Only one bullet which could be used against two . . . no, three possible opponents. Miss Sparrow had just made an appearance, holding on to the sofa as she pulled herself upright.
All Delgatto had to do was make sure that bullet came nowhere near either woman, especially Emily. Miss Sparrow slipped behind Emily, offering Delgatto an oddly serene smile as she placed her hand on Emily’s shoulder. The two women shared a fleeting look. Then Emily faced him again.
Her look of utter devastation was gone. In its place, she wore a smile that spoke of love and acceptance and, best of all, forgiveness.
“I know what you’re doing. And as much as I appreciate your efforts, it’s really quite unnecessary.” She shifted her attention to The Kid, holding the wooden jewelry case out toward him with two hands.
“If you want this badly enough to kill for it, then take it.”
The gun muzzle eased back. “Now you’re talking my language, lady.”
As the young man reached out for his prize, Delgatto pushed backward with all his might, throwing The Kid off balance. As they fell, The Kid managed to snag the sleeve of Emily’s dress, pulling her into the fray. Delgatto jabbed an elbow in The Kid’s gut, but the young man recovered too quickly, coming up and catching Delgatto beneath the chin with his head. Stars exploded in his head. Or was it the gun?
Emily!
Delgatto’s vision cleared in time to see The Kid cock a fist back and let fly a punch that knocked Emily to the floor. Yet somehow, she had managed to hang onto the jewelry case. Delgatto’s vision not only sharpened to twenty-twenty, it went blood red.
No one touches her . . .
“Give it to me, you bitch,” The Kid screamed in a shrill voice.
Delgatto lunged at The Kid, and their momentum carried them over Emily without landing on her. They rolled on the floor, Delgatto giving as good as he got. They traded punch for punch, dirty trick for dirtier trick. In a perfect world, experience would have triumphed over youth.
But this world had its flaws.
Finally, The Kid stood over Delgatto, delivering a kick to the stomach just for spite. He turned to Emily and reached out for the box. But instead of taking it from her, he backhanded her.
“That’s for not giving me what I asked for the first time.”
Dazed, bruised, and bleeding, Delgatto tried to stand, but could barely make it to his hands and knees. Emily sat on the floor, holding her hand to her bleeding mouth. The wooden box was sitting in the folds of her dress.
“Now give it to me,” The Kid commanded, standing over her, hand outstretched.
She picked up the box, and gave Delgatto a glance he couldn’t quite interpret. Then she turned her attention to The Kid.
“Here,” she said, holding out the box. “Fetch.”
And she flung the box into the whirling vortex.
The Kid didn’t hesitate for a moment to dive into the gaping maw of the tunnel.
They could see him tumble and fall, but he reached the box, pulling it tight against his chest and smiling. His laughter of triumph echoed within the vortex, multiplying until it sounded like that of a hundred men, all laughing hysterically.
“Good-bye, Delgatto,” a chorus of identical voices sang. “So long, sucker . . .”
The laughter and the words combined in hideous echoes that turned into a terrible roar.
Delgatto crawled over to Emily and pulled her into his arms. As the noises grew louder, Delgatto pulled her closer, cradling her head against his chest, trying to cover her ears and shield her eyes from the awful light that poured from the vortex.
Then, with no warning, the vortex suddenly closed, silencing the noise. The light collapsed on itself until it was nothing more than a brilliant pinprick.
And then it disappeared.
“Emily?” He pulled her away slightly to inspect her injuries. “Are you all right?”
She offered him a brief smile that faded into a wince. “It hurts to smile.”
He reached up and wiped away a drop of blood forming at the corner of her mouth. Then he pulled her closer, never wanting to let go of her again. “Just as long as you’re safe.”
Emily sighed and settled into his shoulder, then pulled away with a jerk. “Where’s Miss Sparrow? She didn’t . . . he didn’t . . .”
“I am unharmed.” Miss Sparrow reappeared from behind the sofa. Her usually neat bun had been knocked lopsided and several hairs dared to dangle in her face. Her perfectly pressed apron now had some distinct wrinkles, as well as several soil marks. She calmly nudged the offending bits of hair from her eyes. “Are you two all right?”
“He hit Emily.” Delgatto felt the anger build up in him at the mere thought
“But I’m not hurt,” Emily added. She stared into his eyes. “What about you . . . Mr. Delgatto, is it?”
“I’ve had worse.” He tried to shake his head, but the room threatened to spin. “And it’s not Mister Delgatto. Just Delgatto.”
“That’s your real name?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I go by.”
Miss Sparrow dragged herself to her feet, and came over to them, trying to affect repairs in her appearance. “Then it appears we have all survived this rather unsavory encounter.” She glanced toward the spot where the vortex had been. “With one unfortunate exception.”
“Unfortunate? I wouldn’t say that. He got the proverbial last laugh. He got the Heart of Saharanpur and a one-way ticket back home.”
Emily squinted at the spot where the vortex had existed, then turned her furrowed attention to him. “Exactly where is ‘home?’”
He swallowed hard. “Not where as much as . . . when.”
“When?” she repeated faintly.
“That . . . thing connects with the future. Only the future it connects with is actually my now.”
“You’re from the future.” She stared at him with total disbelief.
He nodded.
“How far in the future?”
He closed his eyes. “2014.” He cracked open one lid, curious to see her expression.
She sat there as if pondering a great mystery. “So you came back in time to steal the Heart because you couldn’t find it in your time. Somehow, you knew I’d worn it to the Christmas ball.”
“There was an article in the paper about it, describing the stone.”
“So in your future, you have the ability to go places . . . in time?” Before he could answer, she turned around and faced Miss Sparrow. “Wait. You told Mr. Kidder that you did it, that you brought them here.”
Miss Sparrow stiffened slightly. “I only intended to bring Mr. Delgatto, not the other gentleman.”
“It’s Delgatto,” he repeated out of habit. He turned to Miss Sparrow. “So you lied when you said the vortex-time tunnel thing worked only on the winter and summer solstice?”
“I never lie,” the woman said with a sniff. “On those two days, the vortex connects The Chesterfield with its counterpart in the future. I didn’t know until today that I could open it at any other time. Until today, I never had the need . . .” Her expression darkened. “But I’m fairly sure that tunnel wasn’t like the others. It did not connect with the future from which you came.”
“Then, where did he go?”
She heaved a troubled sigh. “For the life of me, I have no idea. It could have been anywhere. Any time. Past, present, or future. Essentially, he’s lost in time.”
Delgatto shook his head. “Poor bastard.” Then he looked at Emily’s bruised face. “Maybe he deserved it. I don’t know. I’ll let someone higher up be in charge of his fate. Who knows? Maybe he’s happy wherever he is. He got the Heart of Saharanpur. That’s what he wanted more than anything”—he massaged a sudden pain that flared in his temple—“other than using my head as a football, that is.” The pain subsided with a new, more uplifting thought.
“Hey, I just realized something. It’s gone. Forever. The Heart of Saharanpur, and I couldn’t be happier.” Delgatto felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “He can have it. I give up.”
His sense of relief turned into giddiness. “This feels wonderful!” He reached over and kissed Emily. “It really does. I don’t care if I never see the thing again, and I don’t want to go back to my future. I want to stay here. With you.”
A strange look dropped over Emily’s face and he grew alarmed.
“What’s wrong?” He suddenly remembered the words he’d been forced to say in order to protect her. “If it’s about those . . . those terrible things I said, I’m sorry. They were all lies.” His conscience pricked him. “Well, most of them were lies. I did come here to steal the necklace, and I was planning to charm it out of the hands of the woman who owned it. But what I felt, what I feel, for you is real. It has nothing to do with the Heart of Saharanpur, but with this heart.” He tapped his chest
He took her hands in his. “Emily, I fell head over heels for you long before I discovered you were the fairy princess and you were the one who owned the necklace.” He was starting to babble now, unable to anticipate her response. “Honest.” He drew a solemn cross on his chest. “On my honor, Emily.”
She caught him with a straightforward gaze from which he couldn’t turn away. “Your honor . . . as a thief?”
He winced. “As a reformed one.”
She graced him with a wincing smile. “I realized why you were saying what you did. I didn’t believe you for one moment.” She stopped suddenly, concern blossoming in her face. “Wait . . . you’re talking about the ‘I don’t love you’ part, not the ‘I want to marry you’ part, right?”
He grinned enough for both of them. “Exactly. I do love you, and I do want to marry you. But there is one small problem.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure what reformed thieves do for a new career. I’ve never made a living any other way but”—he gulped—“stealing things.”
“Like hearts?” Emily supplied.
He shrugged. “Only ones made out of stone. I’ve never had time until now to deal with the other types.”
“My heart’s still made out of stone.”
His own heart crammed itself into his throat. Maybe her forgiveness was harder to receive than he’d expected. “Emily . . . you have to believe me. I—”
She placed her finger on his lips and shushed him. “I’m talking about this heart.” She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out . . . the Heart of Saharanpur. “I slipped it out of the box before I threw it into that . . . hole.”
To Delgatto’s surprise and delight, his own heart didn’t skip a beat. He didn’t yearn to hold it, to have it, to do anything with it, other than move it out of his way. The only desire he felt was for Emily.
He pointed to her pocket. “Put it back, please. I don’t want to ever see that thing again.” He pulled her into his arms and started kissing her, but Emily broke away.
“Will you at least help me sell it?” she asked.
“Gladly” He leaned forward and began nibbling her ear. “I do know a bit about precious jewels.”
“See?” she said in triumph. “A potential career.”
“Sure . . .” He was more interested in kissing her than discussing his professional future.
She wrapped her arms around him, nestling her chin in his bruised shoulder. He didn’t even mind the twinge of pain if it meant holding her.
“I’ll send this thing back home to Chicago and let my father sell it.” She slipped the stone into her pocket. “According to his last letter, he already has elaborate plans on how to use the money to save the family business.”
“How?”
“He’s going to join a group of men who are financing one of the buildings that’s being built at the Columbian Exposition.”
The hairs rose on the back of Delgatto’s neck. “You mean the exposition in Chicago?”
“Yes.” She arched her head back, exposing her very luscious throat. It took all his willpower to control himself.
“What building?” he prompted.
She pulled back, a bemused look. “I’m not sure. Something about mining, I think.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “What difference does it make?”
Delgatto stiffened as his mind jumped back . . . er . . . ahead to history as he had memorized it. One of the many unsubstantiated stories about the Heart of Saharanpur was its supposed demise in the great fire that gutted a large portion of the exposition in 1894.
He reached up and pulled her arms from around his neck. She still had the Heart of Saharanpur in her hand. “A big difference.” He turned and saw Miss Sparrow watching them. From her expression, he couldn’t tell if she was playing voyeur or was merely lost in her own pleasant thoughts. When she realized his attention was on her, her usual aloof but serene expression dropped into place.
“I . . . know something. About the exposition,” he explained. “Are there some sort of. . . cosmic rules against this sort of thing? You know, telling people about the future and screwing around with the space-time continuum or whatever?”
She contemplated his question for a moment, then asked, “Would it result in your personal gain?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“Then I see no reason why you should remain silent.”
“Good.” He turned to Emily, “You can’t let your father invest in any building at the Columbian Exposition. Sometime in 1894, I don’t remember the date, maybe summer, there’s going to be a huge fire. It’s going to destroy several of the buildings. I can’t exactly remember which ones.”
“How do you know this?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“I’ve memorized every fact, every figure, even every rumor—anything that has to do with the necklace. The stuff was drilled into my head from the day I was born. One of the stories—actually a rumor—was about how the stone was destroyed in the fire that decimated the exposition. I don’t know if that was true or not, the bit about the stone, but the fire—that’s a sure thing. It’s going to happen.”
Emily mulled over his explanation for quite some time before she looked up and gave him a resolute nod. “Then we don’t give father the money if we sell it. We invest it for him.” She rose to her feet, then held out her hand to help Delgatto up. Her smile bordered on the slightly wicked. “Perhaps you can remember something from your history lessons that might make a good investment for him.”
He accepted her hand and stood as well, albeit with a little more difficulty. He stretched, trying not to groan. “I might be able to remember a thing or two that could be . . . profitable for him.”
“Good.” They started out of the parlor, but Emily stopped before reaching the door. “Is your name truly Delgatto? Just the one name?”
His collar started to tighten around his neck.
She stared at him. “You’re blushing. Why?”
Miss Sparrow provided the answer. “Because he’s the Prince Charming to your Cinderella.”
Emily’s brow knitted in confusion. “Come again?”
“May I introduce you to His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Charlemagne Alphonso Thierry of Bendavia.”
Delgatto closed his eyes, willing the thin woman with the big mouth to go away.
Emily stuttered over the name. “C-Charlemagne Alphonse . .
“Alphonso,” he corrected automatically. He opened his eyes. “Now you see why I refused to use it.”
“But you’re a p-prince . . .”
“Not really. It’s just a title. There’s no country, no kingdom, no land, no royal treasury. Just a pretentious title that I’ve had to lug around all my life. And Bendavia? It’s nothing but a forgotten small blue spot on maps that even you’d consider to be old. The only royal title I’ve ever been entitled to was King of Thieves. And my cat burgling days are behind me forever.”
She cocked her head. “Charlemagne Alophonso Thierry. C. A. T. Cat. Delgatto means ‘Cat,’ right?”
He nodded. “Great Uncle Antonio was the very kind individual who took pity on the kid with the unpronounceable name and nicknamed me ‘Delgatto. ’ It’s stuck ever since.”
“Prince Delgatto,” she said as if testing the sound.
“It’s just plain—”
“Delgatto,” she supplied. “I know, I know . . .” They continued on until Emily stopped again. “Where’s Bendavia?”