Unmasking the Thief, page 3
No, Maida was not at all the thing. And Matty began to realize she was not really much less sheltered than Catherine. However, she was older, wiser, and very determined. Throwing back her shoulders, she sailed into the pavilion and paused to look around her.
The place was well lit, and the orchestra, playing constant waltzes, was really quite good. There were all sorts of people here, from all walks of life and all types of character. A microcosm of the outer world.
Remembering her purpose, she walked slowly around the edges of the dance floor, looking for any signs of the man Catherine and Hope had described. Black domino, black mask, black, waving hair. She noted a couple of doubtful possibilities, although they lacked the gentlemanly posture the girls had described. But the thief, no doubt, was some kind of flim-flam man who could adopt whatever character suited his purpose. No doubt he had spotted Catherine’s quality—whatever he had made of Hope in disguise—and suited his approach accordingly.
Well, if his preference was for fleecing gently born ladies, she would do her best to be seen. She began a second circuit of the dance floor, this time weaving around the tables, keeping her searching gaze cool and glancing, never meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Perhaps you’d care to dance?” a voice asked beside her.
She turned her head to see a man with straight brown hair and a blue domino. “No, thank you.” She passed on, realizing from his astonished expression that she had probably broken one of the unwritten rules. Certainly, at a private or even subscription ball, it was considered rude to refuse an invitation to dance. No doubt it was the same here, but she could not afford to waste time dancing.
Of course, her quarry might be out in the gardens, picking the pockets of the lustful and scantily dressed…
Well, she was not brave enough or stupid enough to go wandering the paths of this place alone and unprotected. Surely, if he was here at all, he would visit the pavilion eventually.
Coming upon a flight of stairs, she climbed them and discovered a dining room with many booths, a few of them curtained off for privacy. At the center of the room was a very large table laden with food of all descriptions. Several of the platters were already almost empty. But although it seemed likely to be a long evening, she was too nervous to consider eating.
As she toured the floor, she saw no one resembling her quarry, and none of the booths were closed to her view—time to return to the ballroom.
But as she reached the staircase, someone slid around in front of her, blocking the way. A fair man in a scarlet mask, smiling at her in a manner she supposed was meant to be engaging. “Allow me to escort you.”
“Thank you, there is no need,” she replied distantly.
“There is if we’re to dance together.”
“But we are not. Excuse me, sir, you are blocking my way.”
“Don’t be like that, my beauty.” The man took her hand as though to place it on his arm, and when she instinctively jerked to free it, he held on tighter.
She gazed up at him with her governess’s stare. She wasn’t used to using it on adults, and behind a mask, it was surely diluted. But after a moment, his gaze faltered and fell, along with his hand, and he stood aside, slinking past her back into the dining room.
And revealed the man who had been waiting patiently behind him on the stairs. A tall man with black, waving hair, a black mask, and a black domino cloak.
Chapter Three
The dark eyes glinted through the slits of his mask. His lips curved in clear amusement. “I am impressed. Like my grandmother, you can kill a strong man with one basilisk-like glare.”
At last. He even spoke with a foreign accent. “I, however, am not so impressed by being compared to anyone’s grandmother.” Let alone a basilisk.
“She was beautiful,” he offered.
“Too late,” Matty said flippantly. “The damage is done. Your pardon, sir.”
“Granted, though I see no reason.”
“I mean,” she said patiently, “I would like to go downstairs.” She could only hope he would follow her, for she could not hold this conversation where any passerby could hear.
He turned, offering his arm. “Madam.”
Her heart lurched, for this was really too easy. Nevertheless, after making him wait only a moment, she laid her hand on his sleeve and walked downstairs with him into the ballroom.
“May I bring you wine? Or perhaps you would prefer to dance?”
Matty hesitated. She positively did not want to dance, and yet waltzing would provide the opportunity to talk with more privacy than at any of the available tables that she could see. And one could be just as threatening on the dance floor as across a table.
“I believe I would like to dance,” she said as though she were given the choice every day.
“I rejoice,” he assured her.
It struck her that he might well be mocking, but since she didn’t really care about such trivialities, she merely allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. Then he took her hand in his, placed his other hand on her back, and began to dance. And suddenly, nothing was trivial at all.
With new trepidation, she gazed into his masked face and found, too late, that his dark eyes were unreadable, profound, and…something else. Something she recognized but could not name. Her whole being tingled with awareness.
His face around the mask was sharp boned and lean, his mouth, smiling faintly, and yet equally unreadable. He did not hold her too close, though his grip was firm, his dance steps sure.
A thief who preyed on innocent, vulnerable, if foolish, young people, her young people. And yet suddenly, she could not despise him. He might have been all those things and more, but what wiped away the last of her superiority, what rendered her speechless, was the sudden recognition that he was unsafe.
He was dangerous.
The dark gaze left hers, dipping unhurriedly over her face and lips to her throat. “What a pretty way to wear your flower,” he observed.
Matty swallowed, reminding herself she still had a task to complete and no time to waste. “I got the idea from a young friend of mine,” she said boldly. “She attended the last ball held here.”
“Did you?” His gaze returned to hers.
“No. But I think you did.”
His eyes did not change, but neither did they leave her own. “What gives you such a thought?”
“The knowledge that you could not have stolen my friend’s brother’s ring had you not been here.”
Still, his steady eyes gave nothing away, though his lips quirked upward into a half-smile. “You shoot straight, madam. I admire that.”
“You do not deny it,” she noted.
“I never argue with a lady. The question is, what do you wish to do about it?”
“I want you to return the ring to me.”
His fingers caressed hers, depriving her of breath. “It would never fit you.”
“I mean, as you know perfectly well, to return it to its owner.”
“He won’t thank you for it,” the thief remarked.
That was true enough. With any luck, Rollo Darblay would not notice its absence, never mind its return. “I’m prepared to risk that. Do you still have the ring?”
He seemed to think about it. “Yes.”
“Here? Now?”
He smiled. “No.”
No, that would have been too simple. “Well, if you bring it to me tomorrow morning in…in Barclay Square gardens, I will pay you a guinea.”
This time, the amusement gleamed briefly in his eyes. “A whole guinea,” he marveled. “It is worth rather more.”
“Not to a man whose life is about to become as difficult as I would ensure yours did.”
Now, he looked genuinely intrigued. “How will you do that?”
“Speak a few words in the right quarter. To the magistrate. To the Maida management. Even if you escape arrest, a guinea will surely be better than no income at all.”
“You strike a hard bargain,” he said gravely. “Perhaps you had better give me two days.”
“One.”
“Well, if you insist, but if you want it tomorrow, you’ll get it back in bits.”
She frowned. “Bits?”
“I broke it. But perhaps I could give you it back, repaired, still for a guinea. Just not until the day after tomorrow.”
She stared at him, baffled. She could not convince herself she had frightened him into submission, and yet he was quite politely offering her more or less exactly what she had come for.
The insidious temptation of curiosity pushed her on.
“Come now, sir,” she mocked. “Are you telling me a man of your considerable if dubious talents is not capable of having the ring repaired for a whole thirty-six hours? I will give you until ten o’clock. Tomorrow morning.”
For a moment, she forgot to breathe, for laughter danced across the visible parts of his face, dazzling her and, she suspected, surprising him.
“You drive a harsh bargain, madam,” he observed, a beguiling smile in his voice. “But I cannot work quite so hard for a mere guinea. You must give me something else. Will you tell me why you want the ring back so desperately that you come here alone to do so?”
A flush of fear surged through her. At least, some of it was fear. “No,” she managed. “That is not your concern. I merely want what you stole returned to my friend.”
The fathomless eyes considered her. “You understand it is merely an opal set in gold? There is nothing…unusual about it. Nothing that makes it unique.”
It was hard to think while his thumb idly caressed the side of her hand, while she was swamped with awareness of the large, elegant body controlling her every movement. She could not understand whatever point he was making, so remained silent.
He danced her backward, his thigh brushing hers as he turned her. Now, she was too close to him, and if her mind knew to be frightened, her body seemed to rather like it. What on earth was the matter with her?
He bent his head nearer her. “Do you still want it back?” he murmured.
“Of course,” she managed, making a huge effort. “Tomorrow, at ten of the clock.”
“As I said, I can’t do it for a mere guinea,” he said regretfully.
He smelled of woodland and cinnamon and clean, male skin, which helped no one. “Can’t or won’t?” she snapped.
“Won’t,” he admitted, still holding her gaze. “But I will do it for a guinea and a kiss.”
She jerked in his hold, and his grip clamped on her fingers, on her waist, holding her in place—and even closer than before. She could feel the heat of his body, his breath in her hair—when had her hood fallen back? His strength was terrifying, and yet that wasn’t what frightened her.
Between her teeth, she said, “I do not deal in such coin.”
“If you did, the kiss would have no value.”
She stared at him, fright fading into the electrifying butterflies playing in her stomach. “I am not so foolish as to go anywhere alone with a thief.” The barb might have worked better had her voice remained steadier.
As it was, a gleam of amused understanding lit his eyes. “I would not ask that of you,” he assured her and bent his head.
Only then did his blatant intention enter her head. Gasping in outrage, she balled the hand on his shoulder into a fist and pushed at him. “Don’t you dare! You cannot kiss me in public!”
“Darling, it’s Maida, not Almack’s. Do you want the ring tomorrow or not?”
She stared into his unreadable eyes, fascinated to find little flames of amber glowing there. He was right. No one at Maida cared for propriety. No one knew who she was or who he was, and she would never, ever come here again. And she did want the ring back as soon as possible. Nagging at the back of her mind was a terrible anxiety that she was using the ring as an excuse, for God help her, she had begun to like the heated tumult in her veins, and she could not help wondering, shamefully, what his kiss would feel like.
One mere moment, and I am free of him and will have secured the return of the wretched ring. If he keeps his word… There were no guarantees, of course, but she would have to take the chance.
He was waiting with apparent patience, his eyes mocking her struggles. She uncurled her fingers and slid them back to his shoulder.
“Very well, but be quick. And I expect you to…” As she spoke, his lips curved into a smile and parted, causing wild confusion in the depths of her stomach, and then, obliterating her words, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her.
She was wrong again. It didn’t take one mere moment. That might have covered her shock, the period of his lips brushing against hers with cool, tantalizing promise, teasing her awareness, tempting her to some sin she couldn’t quite grasp. And then his mouth sank and sealed, and her bones melted to liquid heat.
Somewhere, she was aware they had stopped dancing, that couples moved around them, and the music continued its relentless, energetic rhythm. But that was all on the fringes of her consciousness. All she could focus on was the silken sweetness of his mouth, firm and yet soft, warm, tasting, and persuading.
Sensation battered at her. Wonder held her captive in his arms against his lean, powerful body. Without meaning to, she leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth and her person to his onslaught. His tongue dipped over her lips, arousing, seducing. And time ceased to matter.
His mouth left hers, and she gazed, utterly dazed, into his glittering eyes. For the space of a heartbeat—or perhaps three since her pulses were galloping—they did not move.
And then his lips quirked. “Damn. I believe I’d forego the guinea.”
Reality rushed on her, along with humiliation and not a little shock. “Tomorrow, at ten,” she said harshly, breaking free largely because he let her.
If she had a plan, it was to walk sedately off the dance floor and out of the pavilion without looking back. She had not bargained on the ribald comments from the other dancers or the male hands reaching out to her.
Panicking, she dodged one hand, and another plucked at her arm. Before she could pull free, the importuning hand was gone, and her own was tucked in her erstwhile partner’s arm.
“This, too, is Maida,” he said ruefully. “I had better take you home.”
At least they were off the dance floor, and he made no effort to redirect her steps as she made for the main door. “Under no circumstances,” she managed in a clipped, harsh voice that she only hoped covered everything else. “You have done quite enough.”
He did not answer.
A few guarded glances to either side showed her they appeared to have left the insults on the dance floor. Her companion opened the door, and she stepped outside into welcome chilly air.
She dropped his arm immediately. “Good night,” she said carelessly, to prove her only problem was with the vulgarity of the other guests.
“Until tomorrow,” he replied. He might have bowed, but she did not look, merely walked on alone toward the main path to the gates.
Please, God, let there be a hackney.
At least the fresh air and her brisk walk restored some semblance of reality. She even felt a breath of laughter shake her. Well, I got more than I bargained for there! But I believe I might actually have won back the ring for a mere guinea and a brief dent in my pride that no one need ever know about. Well done, Matilda.
Perhaps her posture was now thoroughly repellant, for no one addressed her, let alone accosted her as she strode toward the gates. She was relieved to see two hackney carriages waiting at the stand and realized with a surge of relief that the hardest part of her mission was complete.
Only after she had given the driver directions and climbed into the carriage did she notice the masked figure watching from the shadows on the other side of the gates. A tall man with black hair, a black mask, and black domino.
Had he been seeing her safely into the carriage? Or merely following her?
*
Francisco watched her departure thoughtfully and with a hint of unaccustomed shame. Kissing her was hardly the worst crime he had committed in the service of his adopted country, and it had certainly been more pleasurable than most.
He had wanted to see how much she knew and how far she was prepared to go in order to retrieve the ring, but he had also just wanted to kiss her. Because she was out of the ordinary. Because she was pretty and spirited enough to dispose of unwanted admirers with no nonsense and had a withering stare quite as worthy of his formidable grandmother as he had told her. And because she hid the fact that she was struggling, well out of her depth, and was determined not to give in.
Such determination intrigued him on a professional level but also on a personal one. Even masked, he had liked looking at her. And when he had touched her, attraction sizzled through his veins, taking him by surprise. As for the kiss…
Inside her carriage, she turned her head to look out of the window. Francisco resisted the urge to step further into the darkness. He thought of bowing, but fortunately, the hackney moved off, and he could no longer see her. She would probably have thought it more mockery instead of the apology he probably meant.
He could follow her, he supposed. Find out exactly where she lived. But it seemed rude somehow, for he doubted she was anything to do with his mission. She was simply looking for the ring he had taken in error. Which really exonerated her from having anything to do with the message-bearing ring he still had not found and was now unlikely ever to do so. On one hand, he was not particularly sorry. On the other, he never left things unfinished. And so, he would be in Barclay Square tomorrow to ensure he was correct about Miss Basilisk and her youthful friends. And then, he would need another talk with his instructor.
As he walked out the gate, he squashed something underfoot. Bending, he picked up the red tulip that had been threaded into the frogs of her domino. Red like the younger girl’s, worn, perhaps, to attract his attention. Which it had.
Another memory flitted in from nowhere. At Saturday’s ball, Emma Carntree had worn red flowers, too. Stupidly, he had been too determined to avoid her to notice. Or to appreciate, now he thought of it, that the boy whose ring he had taken was, in all likelihood, a girl.
