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noble—oh, the glowing adjectives grow too wearisome to recount—actually married the gel. But she settled nicely, I’ll grant her that. Never made a cake or coxcomb of Wilder once he’d given her his name. Not that the marriage ever set well with Mama Wilder. The old biddy still won’t have anything to do with her.”
    “How did Wilder die?”
    “How did any of us die? In the war. Captained a ship, I believe. But from the way Anne Wilder acts, one would have thought she’d died. I’ve never seen a woman so greatly changed. I swear, I’m all agog to see who finally pierces her shell. I liked the hoyden, yet I admit—along with several dozen other fellows here, I’ll wager—I quite lust after the saint.”
    “You keep saying saint,” Jack prompted. “In what way?”
    “As I said, she’s just recently returned to society, ostensibly to chaperone Sophia. However, she spends a great deal more time eliciting funds for a charity she’s founded than checking the teeth on Sophia’s beaus. She calls it the Soldiers’ Relief and Aid Something or Other.”
    Soldiers? “And you, of course, have contributed,” Jack said.
    “Of course. Her cause is quite the darling of society. Everyone donates to it or appears cursed tight-fisted. And you know how important appearances are in my little world.”
    Jack did not respond. Perhaps he should cross Anne Wilder’s name from his list. A well-heeled do-gooder with wealthy sponsors for her pet charity would have little reason to clamber about roofs. Still, he reminded himself, the thief was not motivated by avarice alone.
    “Have a care, Jack,” Giles said. “She may surprise you. And not in an altogether comfortable way.”
    “Why ‘soldiers’?” Jack asked, still pondering the widow.
    “Oh, soldiers, sailors, any uniform will do,” Strand said in bored tones. “I believe she feels she owes a debt to her dead husband’s men. He wasn’t a very good captain, I’m afraid. Got his ship shot out from under him. Lost a number of men. Or pieces of men. Anne Wilder takes care of them and any veteran who can’t quite remember who he was before the war. Lucky me, Jack, I remembered,” Strand ended bitterly. “Even luckier you, the war never changed what you were to begin with.”
    “I daresay you’re correct,” Jack replied. “She doesn’t seek to remarry?”
    “No. There’s not the least bit of coquetry left in her. I believe it was truly a love match.” For a second Strand’s face grew pensive, as if presented with a puzzle he knew he could never solve. “Matthew Wilder doted on her. I remember thinking how perversely in love he was, even after several years of marriage.”
    “And now the grieving widow has donned a cap and plays guardian dragon over Sophia,” Jack murmured.
    “What I would like to know,” Strand said, “is who is going to play dragon for her? A nun with the eyes of a procuress.” He began his own leisurely perusal of the widow.
    “Will Malcolm North know me?” Jack asked.
    “Hm? Oh. He jolly well had better. You’re at Prinny’s own party. Who would risk his wrath by snubbing you? Besides, the Norths aren’t really of any consequence.” Strand spoke the cruel words with the pragmatism of the elite. “No money, no property. North simply had the foresight to belittle Brummel when the rest of us were still sure he and the prince would patch things up. Prinny has proven a grateful sovereign.”
    Jack frowned. If the thief were Sophia North or Anne Wilder—though both seemed most unlikely—they might seek shelter in the prince’s expansive arms, and he would be stymied. He could not allow that to happen.
    “If you’d be so kind?” Jack motioned Strand ahead of him.
    Chapter Four
    Anne’s gaze searched the crowd milling near the bottom of the staircase. She was almost sure she’d seen Jack Seward. Her pulse quickened with trepidation. That would be three times in the last week she’d seen him at the same entertainments she and