“Wot do ye want?” the boy asked, white faced.
A corner of Pierce’s mouth lifted as he regarded his quarry. “You look bewildered.”
The lad dropped his gaze, kicking the dirt with his toe.
“Your eye is good, but your touch is heavy,” Pierce instructed quietly. “You also made an inexcusable, often fatal, error. You allowed yourself no path by which to flee.”
“Wot?” The urchin’s chin shot up.
“You chose your target well, and positioned yourself perfectly. Then you ruined it with a clumsy execution and, no planned means of escape.”
“I…Ye…” The pickpocket swallowed. “Ye saw me take th’ wallet.”
“Of course.”
“How did ye get it?”
Pierce’s grin widened. “My touch is light and my execution is perfect.”
“Ye pilfered it from me?”
“Under the circumstances, it seemed prudent.” Pierce extracted a few shillings from his pocket. “Here. Take these. Buy yourself something to eat. Then go home and practice what I’ve taught you. A light touch and a well-thought-out plan. The advice will serve you well.”
The lad looked from the coins to Pierce and back again. Then, with an awed expression, he bolted.
Keenly satisfied with the results of his handiwork, Pierce resumed his course. Slicing his way through the crowd of enthusiastic racegoers, he scanned the grounds, easing past beer-drinking men and fortune-telling Gypsies, past the tents where loud betting was taking place, toward the pavilion where the fashionable crowd readied themselves for the first race.
Just outside the stands he spotted his mark and bore down on him.
“Tragmore. What a surprise.”
The marquis turned, his face draining of color when he saw Pierce. “Thornton. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here? The Champion Stakes are exhilarating to behold. Besides, I’m feeling incredibly lucky today. How about you, Tragmore? Are you feeling lucky as well?”
An angry flush spread up Tragmore’s neck and suffused his face. “Don’t toy with me. If you’ve sought me out, it’s for a reason.”
“Why do you assume I’ve sought you out? Perhaps our encounter is no more than mere coincidence.”
Tragmore wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. “When you’re involved, there are no coincidences.” He lowered his silver-white head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It was you who bought that bloody note, wasn’t it?”
“Which note is that?”
“The only one of mine you had yet to acquire, damn you. The one held by Liding Jewelers.”
“You owed Mr. Liding a considerable sum. Not to mention the fact that you were three months late with your payments. Liding was on the verge of calling in the full amount.” A sardonic smile twisted Pierce’s lips. “Perhaps you should view my purchase of the note as your salvation.”
“I view it by another name.” Tragmore’s fists clenched. “Why have you come here today, Thornton? To gloat? To remind me that you own me, body and soul?”
“Harwick? The horses are lining up.” A woman’s tentative voice reached their ears. “You mentioned that you didn’t wish to miss the onset of the race, so I thought perhaps—”
“A moment, Elizabeth,” Tragmore fired over his shoulder. Tight-lipped, he turned back to Pierce. “My wife and daughter accompanied me today. Therefore, if you’ll excuse me.
“Excellent! I’d enjoy meeting your family.” Pierce squinted, ignoring the marquis’s furious sputter. “Is that the marchioness over there? The lovely woman with the flowered hat who’s waving in our direction?”
“Thornton, Elizabeth knows nothing about—”
Withdrawing his pocket watch, Pierce declared, “We have just enough time for an introduction.” Snapping the timepiece shut, he strode through the congested pavilion to the box where Tragmore’s wife and daughter awaited.