The Devil's Thief, page 11
He tried to pour himself another drink and spilled whiskey on his Hessian boot. He was sure his valet, Evans, would have a thing or two to say about that.
“Well, it seems everyone around me is turning into a veritable sot.” Hil’s voice startled him and he nearly dropped his glass.
“Damn,” Alasdair muttered. “Forgot you were here.”
Hil came over and appropriated his glass, taking a meditative sip as he watched him with those all-seeing eyes. “Did you? I can’t say I’m surprised. I imagine you’re not remembering much from one moment to the next.” He held up the glass and peered into it. “Is it helping?”
Alasdair shook his head and felt his gorge rise. He stopped himself immediately. It wouldn’t do to cast up his accounts on his stained Hessians. He hadn’t done that in years, and he was relatively sure Evans would give notice if he did.
“No, hmm?” Hil asked sympathetically. “What’s harder to forget? That she didn’t tell you where the pearl is, or the way she looked while you ravished her on my desktop this evening?”
Alasdair looked at him in shock. “How did you know?”
Hil laughed and set the glass down. “For one, my papers are scattered all about the floor and there appears to be a rather large ink stain on my Aubusson.” He looked at Alasdair with a raised eyebrow. “You’ll pay for that in the morning.” He walked over and began to pick up the papers, peering closely at the desk before putting them back on it. “For another, Miss Harte was walking rather gingerly when she reentered the drawing room, and I cannot remember seeing a woman who looked as though she had been so thoroughly fucked for a very long time.”
“Don’t talk about her that way,” Alasdair demanded, but it came out as more of a slur.
Hil looked at him with an amused smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. “No?” he asked. “Well, then I shan’t mention Miss Harte and fucking in the same sentence ever again.”
“Her father know?” Alasdair asked in alarm.
Hil shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so, although I’m sure it is only because he’s her father and doesn’t want to see that sort of thing. He believed her story about tripping and falling and spilling lemonade all over herself.” Hil tilted his head. “Do I want to know why she had lemonade all over her person?” He shook his head. “No, don’t tell me. It might entail using the words Miss Harte and fucking in the same sentence again, and we’re not allowed to do that.”
“Damn right,” Alasdair agreed in a huff.
Hil sighed. “This is going to be more work than I bargained for, isn’t it?” he muttered. Alasdair had no idea what he was talking about. “I thought she was quiet and pretty and highly intelligent, with deep reserves of passion and integrity, just the sort of girl for you. But you’re going to make me work a little harder for it, aren’t you?”
“Got to work hard,” Alasdair mumbled, as Hil wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him stumble out of the library. “Got to earn what you’ve got, Hil,” he admonished. “Don’t expect someone to hand it to you on a silver platter.” That was good advice he’d received from his Scottish mother. “Or steal it. Don’t steal it.” That seemed important, too, for some reason. What was Hil working for? “Thought you had everything,” Alasdair told him, confused.
“I do not want what I have not got,” Hil said enigmatically. “But sometimes I wish for what I cannot have.”
Alasdair sighed. “Don’t we all?” he asked plaintively. Then the lights dimmed, as he heard Hil echo his sigh.
Chapter Ten
Alasdair rubbed his throbbing temple as he leaned against a tree in front of his house, watching Miss Harte’s door. She wasn’t going to avoid him today. He’d dragged himself over here at an ungodly hour, even though he was worse for the drink, in order to catch her.
When he had awoken that morning with an aching head, he had suddenly remembered his first meeting with Julianna.
Mr. Harte had introduced them. It hadn’t been at a ball or some other function; it had happened there on the street one afternoon. He’d been in a rush, late for the races, and Harte had stopped him so he could introduce his daughter. Alasdair hadn’t even looked at the girl properly. He’d had the impression of a slight, nondescript girl, too shy to meet his eyes. And then he forgot her as soon as he rode away. The memory shamed him. He hadn’t seen the fire in her, hadn’t known the depth of passion she was hiding under her unremarkable exterior. Somehow he felt that he should have seen it. Now it was all he could see.
“Why are we here again?” Roger whined from the stairs in front of Alasdair’s door, where he sat in abject misery, his head clutched in his hands.
Hil tapped his walking stick on the sidewalk. “We are here to follow Miss Harte,” he said cheerfully. “And hopefully she will lead us to the pearl.”
“We’re going to follow her the whole bloody, damn day,” Alasdair growled, “if that’s what it takes. The whole damn week.” He sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. His head really was throbbing.
Hil tsked loudly. “Really, the two of you should learn to hold your drink. One would think you’d both been to a gaming hell last night as opposed to a rather tame entertainment at my house.” He glanced at Alasdair with wry amusement. “Well, tame for some.” When Alasdair gave him a dark look, he assured him, “Yes, I know, I’m not to mention them in the same sentence.”
“Mention who?” Roger asked irritably. “And I don’t see why I have to be here. Can’t you two do anything without me? Why was I so indispensable?”
Alasdair dropped his hand and said, “You aren’t. Go.”
Hil put his booted foot on the step next to Roger and leaned down to say, rather loudly, in his ear, “Sharp is right. You weren’t. But I thought you needed punishment today for your behavior last night.”
Roger cringed away from him. “What behavior?”
“Accosting Miss Harte in the library,” Hil answered as the door across the street finally opened.
“What?” Roger exclaimed, coming unsteadily to his feet. He groaned, and Alasdair turned to glare at him. “Please, tell me I didn’t,” Roger said, grabbing his head with both hands. Alasdair’s only response was a continued glare. “Damn me, Sharp, I’m sorry. My only excuse is I don’t remember it. I was cup-shot rather quickly.” He sighed. “Did I apologize to the lady? Or is that part of my punishment?”
“You apologized,” Alasdair told him in clipped tones. “If you hadn’t, you’d be sporting a black eye at the least.”
“And I would deserve it,” Roger mumbled. “I deserve it now, apology or not.”
Alasdair turned back and watched Julianna walk out of her house, dressed smartly in a dark blue military-style ensemble that swallowed her fine figure. A maid followed closely behind her. Julianna paused and turned back to say something to the girl, who joined her at her side. Smiling kindly at the girl, Julianna looked delicate and bookish and sweet. It made Alasdair want to march across the street, toss her skirts up, and take her until she screamed.
“Why on earth would I accost her?” Roger asked bemusedly. “She is hardly a siren, nor even my usual type.”
Alasdair spun about and grabbed Roger by his lapel, his arm already swinging back to deliver a blow before he knew what he was doing. Hil used his walking stick to stop him, and it hit his arm.
“Ow!” he yelled, releasing Roger, who stumbled back out of reach.
Hil glared at them both. “What are you doing, sparring in the street?” he demanded. “I have looked the other way at your previous ungentlemanly behavior, but this is unacceptable.” He pointed at Roger. “Apologize to Sharp.”
“For what?” Roger demanded. “For stating the obvious? She’s no beauty, and you know it.”
“Roger,” Alasdair said dangerously. “If I hear one more disparaging word from your mouth, I will silence you permanently.”
Hil put his hands on his hips and stared at the sidewalk, breathing deeply. He finally looked up at Roger, his disappointment clear on his face. “Have you learned nothing, Roger, in all these years?” He shook his head and stared across the street at Julianna, who had noticed the ruckus they were making and stood staring back. “She is a beauty the likes of which you may never see again.”
Alasdair suddenly wanted to hit Hil, too. “Stay away, Hil.”
Hil shook his head and pointed at Alasdair with his walking stick. “And you, Sharp. You had better get yourself together or we are heading straight for failure. Do you understand?”
Alasdair swung around to face Julianna again, frustrated beyond imagining. “Yes,” he said shortly. “You are absolutely right. I apologize.” He gave Hil an angry glance over his shoulder. “You knew. You knew who she was all along, didn’t you? Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Hil’s grin was maddening. “I thought it would be much more fun this way.” He turned to watch Julianna again. “If it were not for her father, I would never have guessed.”
Alasdair frowned. “Her father? What does he have to do with it? I very much doubt he would condone his daughter committing larceny.”
Hil gave him another mysterious smile. “Hmm, didn’t get that far in your conversation yesterday evening, I see.”
Alasdair shook his head in confusion. “Dammit, Hil, if you have something to say, be clear for once instead of turning it into a puzzle.”
“When the time is right,” Hil told him, turning away. Alasdair knew what that meant. The subject was now closed.
Roger sighed and came to stand beside Alasdair, placing a tentative hand on his stiff shoulder. “I’m sorry, old man. I didn’t mean to disparage your little thief. She is quite pretty, and I’m sure there is a great deal to her that I know nothing about. But she is, you must admit, far from my usual woman. That is, of course, not a bad thing, since my usual women tend to be, shall we say … evil. But even drunk I stay clear of her type. Sweet, pretty, well-bred young ladies are anathema to me.”
Alasdair could tell a heated conversation was occurring across the street. Julianna and her maid were arguing in hushed voices. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Julianna’s maid was pointing to them and Julianna was shaking her head. She looked over at him and he took an involuntary step toward her. She backed up, as if afraid, and he froze where he stood, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Just then a carriage pulled up and a footman jumped down and opened the door for Julianna. She took her maid’s hand and they hurried inside.
As the carriage pulled away, Hil grabbed both Alasdair and Roger by their arms and steered them to their waiting horses. “We must go, gentleman, if we do not wish to lose her.”
* * *
Her first stop that morning was the fishmongers at Billingsgate Market. She was shopping for food for the foundling home and could afford the best. After today she would need to start economizing again. Mrs. Eden would be so happy. The older woman who ran the home constantly worried so about their lack of funds, and was always trying to stretch a pence into a pound.
She glanced around nervously as she wandered from shed to shed. She wondered again what Alasdair and Sir Hilary and Mr. Templeton had been doing on the street this morning. They had appeared to be fighting about something. About her? Alasdair had started to walk over to her, frowning fiercely, and she had run away like a frightened rabbit.
He had looked so incredibly handsome, and so incredibly unhappy to see her. She, on the other hand, had been inexcusably delighted to see him. After his behavior last evening she should have been hoping a carriage would come along and mow him down in the street. Had he followed her? She snorted at the thought. Why would he follow her? He knew exactly where to find her now.
Half an hour later she turned to leave the last shed, her footman and maid trailing behind her carrying the baskets of fish she’d bought. She was mentally ticking off items on her list of errands, including meeting with the solicitor at two o’clock to deliver the rent monies, when she ran right into a gentleman who was blocking the doorway.
“Oof!” he said as she barreled into him.
“Oh, dear!” Julianna cried, stumbling back. She would have fallen if he hadn’t reached out a gloved hand and grabbed her arm.
“Thank you,” Julianna said sincerely as she regained her footing. “I’m so sorry—” She broke off as she looked up at the gentleman’s face. “You.”
Alasdair swept off his hat and bowed formally. The sun glinted off his golden curls and highlighted the breadth of his shoulders in his hunter green coat. “Good morning, Miss Harte. How do you do?” His smile was wide but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We began to worry that you may have slipped out the back without our knowledge.”
Julianna could hear Tessa gasp at Alasdair’s familiarity. Her lips thinned in annoyance. He had followed her here. Part of her was thrilled, but the sane part knew it had everything to do with his damned pearl and very little to do with a desire for her company.
“If I had known you were waiting outside to accost me, I most certainly would have,” she retorted haughtily. “Shall I have Thomas call the watch?”
Thomas, her footman, was observing their conversation warily. “Miss?” he asked.
Alasdair laughed as if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if she’d just made a very enjoyable quip. “Now, Miss Harte, as amusing as that is, you must reassure the man that you are only jesting.” He smiled indulgently at her, and then winked at Thomas. “I am acquainted with Mr. Harte. We are neighbors, actually, and we have known each other for some time. I saw her on the street this morning and I was worried about her being out so early. I found it highly unusual.” He raised his eyebrow and gave Julianna a hard smile. “Is that not so, Miss Harte?”
Julianna fumed. Strictly speaking she could dispute nothing he had said except that last remark. “I do not know what you may or may not have been worried about this morning, Mr. Sharp.” She smiled sweetly at him. “But I have some ideas.”
Alasdair’s smile faltered and his eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’m sure you do.” He held out his arm gallantly. “May I escort you home, Miss Harte? Unless you have other errands to run? Perhaps a treasure or two to pick up from a shop?”
There it was. The pearl, the pearl, the pearl. Was it all he thought about? Wasn’t he thinking about last night? About the way it had felt when he took her so wildly? She was having trouble thinking about anything else. She felt a blush steal across her cheeks. She was sore from his rough possession and she’d secretly been enjoying the feeling all morning.
“Only if the treasures are to be found among the vegetables at Covent Garden or the bakehouse, Mr. Sharp.” She felt a surge of satisfaction at his obvious disappointment. Then his face brightened and he looked far too cunning for her peace of mind.
“Excellent,” he said jovially. “A treasure hunt. If you are very lucky, we will find something among the sweet cakes.” He held up his arm again. “Shall we?”
Julianna didn’t try to hide her dismay. He simply could not accompany her today. How would she explain the bank notes she needed to exchange before meeting with the solicitor later? If he saw them, he’d want to know who Blackman was, which was a frightening possibility. She shivered.
His gaze bit into her like a brand. “Are you all right, Miss Harte?”
He seemed so concerned, so solicitous. But he was clearly gauging her reaction, looking for weaknesses in her defenses. She had never felt more vulnerable. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. She would give herself away. She would ruin everything, and put him at risk. Why hadn’t she thought of that before now? If Alasdair tried to retrieve the pearl, there was no telling what Blackman might do to him.
She bit the inside of her cheek and smiled stiffly. “I’m fine, Mr. Sharp. Thank you for your offer, but there is no need for you to accompany me today.” She gestured behind at Tessa. “I have my maid with me as well as Thomas, as you can see.”
“Perhaps I desire the pleasure of your company,” he swiftly responded.
If only that were true, she thought sadly. But quite, quite impossible now.
She laughed lightly. “I hardly think that is your motive, sir,” she answered flirtatiously. “But if you wish to bore yourself with my household errands, then by all means let us be off.” She turned to smile at Thomas and Tessa and she could see the relief in their faces. It had been wrong of her to involve them.
When they reached the street, Mr. Templeton straightened from the post where he’d been leaning and tipped his hat. “Good morning, Miss Harte,” he said politely. He looked wary and embarrassed. Good, he should be. She was in no mood to grant him clemency today. She nodded stiffly at him, and his cheeks flushed. “May I take this opportunity to apologize for my behavior last evening,” he stated rather formally. Julianna glanced nervously at her servants, who were watching the exchange avidly.
“You made your apologies last night, Mr. Templeton,” she said dismissively. “It was not your fault that I was clumsy and spilled lemonade on my dress.”
She could immediately tell that he had picked up on the subtle nuances of her response. She had not accepted his apology, and she did not regret dumping lemonade on him, only that she had gotten some on her dress as well.
He gave her a wry, chagrined look. “Yes, well, I am sorry you got lemonade on your dress, Miss Harte. I would have borne the brunt of it if I could.”
Julianna couldn’t keep her lips from quirking. “I believe you did just that, Mr. Templeton.”
“We are off to the baker’s, Templeton,” Alasdair told him, patting Julianna’s hand on his arm as if in affection. But she knew it for what it was, a reminder that she couldn’t escape him.
Mr. Templeton put his tall hat back on at a rakish angle. “Very good,” he said decisively. “I have always had a soft spot for the bakehouse.”
