“I see,” Cork murmured.

“As we both know,” Lavinia continued smoothly, “every business establishment thrives on the right sort of advertising. I propose that, in exchange for whatever information you can provide us today, I shall make it a point to recommend your wig shop to my own clients.”

Cork did not bother to veil his skepticism. “I really don’t see much use in that.”

“I assure you, sir, we are talking about some very high flyers in the ton,” Lavinia stated. “A word in the proper ears here and there is worth far more than a notice in the newspapers, as I’m sure you are well aware.”

“Humph.” Cork rocked some more on his heels and then he nodded once. “Very well, I was asked to create one or two blond toupees and a couple of puffs this past Season, but that was the lot. As I said, the color is simply not fashionable. I don’t even bother to stock the excellent German yellow anymore. The majority of the demand is for French brown and black.”

“Thank you for the information,” Tobias said grimly. “It is very much appreciated. Rest assured, Mrs. Lake will mention the name of your establishment to her clients whenever the opportunity arises.”

He seized Lavinia’s arm and propelled her toward the door.

“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” he said when they were safely outside on the street. “I vow, I have learned far more about the arts of wig-making and hairdressing in the past two days than I ever wanted to know.”

“Nevertheless, you were correct when you said that we must pursue that line of inquiry. We could not afford to overlook such an important clue.”

“We will finish the last three shops now, and tonight I will have a look around the one that was closed and that will be the end of the matter. Hell’s teeth, Lavinia, I must find another angle on this case.”

She smoothed the fingers of her left glove. “I really feel that I should accompany you tonight, Tobias. You need me.”

“Indeed?” He sounded distracted, as though he was only half listening to her argument. Why is that?”

“Because in spite of our interviews yesterday and today, you simply do not possess an adequate knowledge of fashion to know what to look for inside a wig-maker’s shop. You might well ignore a critical bit of evidence.”

He mulled that over for a few seconds and then, to her secret astonishment, he merely shrugged.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said at last. “I suppose there is no great risk in tonight’s venture. After all, the proprietor, Mr. Swaine, is out of town.”

“Excellent.” She gave him an approving smile. “I shall look forward to the expedition. When we get home you may lend me one of your picks so that I can practice a bit before we go out this evening.”

“Very well,” he said somewhat absently.

A sense of satisfaction welled up inside. Tobias was, indeed, starting to treat her like a true partner, she told herself.

But by the time they reached the end of the street and turned the corner, much of her triumph had faded. The little battle had been almost too easy, she thought. Tobias either did not have his heart in it or else he was too preoccupied with other matters relating to the case to bother to argue.

“Out with it, sir,” she said briskly. “You are not yourself today. What are you brooding on so intently?”

“The evidence of the ravages of time that has begun to appear in my hair, I suppose.”

Her jaw dropped.

“The ravages of time? Of all the ridiculous concerns.” She came to an abrupt halt, turned to face him, and surveyed the silver at his temples. It went very nicely with the interesting crinkles at the corners of his mesmeric eyes, she thought. “I cannot believe that you took Cork’s comments seriously. For heaven’s sake, he is a shopkeeper who was attempting to make a sale.”

“But he was right. I’m not getting any younger, Lavinia.”

“No, you are not,” she said crisply. “I certainly agree that you are no callow youth. You are a man in the prime of his life. Furthermore, I must tell you that I find the evidence of the ravages of time in your hair immensely attractive.”

His mouth quirked at one corner. “Immensely?”

“Yes.” She caught her breath at the interesting gleam in his seductive eyes. “Immensely.”

“That is fortunate, indeed.” He took her chin on the edge of his hand and raised it slightly. “Because I am inordinately fond of your hair too.”

The familiar little rush of heat and pleasure whispered through her. “Even though the color is extremely unfashionable?”

“I will have you know, madam, that I have never been a slave to fashion.”

She started to laugh at that outrageously accurate remark. But he kissed her, right there on the street, heedless of passersby glaring with disapproval and curiosity.

She stopped laughing.

Anthony was in a good mood for the first time since Hood’s demomstrations two days ago. He followed Emeline through the door of Mrs. Lake’s study with a sense of keen anticipation.

The first person he saw was Tobias, who was sprawled comfortably in his favorite chair, legs stretched out in front of him, a glass of sherry in his hand.

“Mr. March.” Emeline smiled warmly. “Mrs. Chilton said you were here.” She looked around the small room. “What have you done with my aunt?”

“Started her down the road to a career of crime, I regret to say.”

Tobias took a swallow of sherry. “But I must admit she does have an aptitude for the profession.”

“I’m right here.” Lavinia’s head popped up from behind her desk.

She waved a lock pick in the air. “Practicing my trade. Mr. March and I are going to break into a wig-maker’s shop tonight.”

It struck Anthony that he had never seen a lady sitting on the floor.

“How; exciting,” Emeline said. She hurried around to the other side of the desk to watch. “May I come with you?”

“No, you may not,” Tobias said decisively. “One overeager apprentice is all I can manage to supervise at a time.” He eyed Anthony over the rim of the sherry glass. “You look pleased with yourself. Did you learn something useful today?”

This was a perfect opportunity to affect the same air of cool competence that Tobias always exhibited on this sort of occasion, Anthony reminded himself.

He lounged very deliberately against the side of the desk and folded his arms. “I think we may have found the source of the memento-mori rings.”

Lavinia’s head shot up again, her eyes bright with admiration.

“Did you, indeed? Why, that is excellent news.”

“Very good work,” Tobias said quietly.

Anthony felt the facade of coolness slip a little, allowing some of his pride and satisfaction to show. Praise from Tobias always had this effect on him, he thought. This was the man he admired most in the world, his model and pattern for all things masculine, except for matters sartorial, he reminded himself with affectionate amusement. His mentor’s insistence that his coats be cut for ease of movement rather than style and his lack of interest in intricate neckcloth knots would forever keep Tobias from becoming a paragon of fashion.

“Emeline deserves most of the credit,” he said, nodding in her direction. “She charmed the owner of the museum into admitting the loss of the rings.”

“But it was Anthony who suggested that we make some inquiries at that odd little museum after we had no luck with the antiquities dealers,” Emeline said quickly. “It was a stroke of genius.”

Anthony grimaced. “More like a stroke of desperation.”

“What’s this about a museum?” Lavinia asked.

“We were getting nowhere with the dealers,” Anthony explained.

“But one of them mentioned that there was a large collection of memento-mori rings at a certain little museum in Peg Street. I thought we had little to lose, so we decided to make inquiries there.”