The Devil's Thief, page 14
Blackman swallowed and wiped his mouth on a dirty napkin. “Well, now, I’ve got to earn a little something, too, don’t I?” He smiled and Julianna was reminded of a rat. “If you got four hundred for it, why shouldn’t I? So I’m only asking for what you got. Fair’s fair, girl. A man has got to make a living.”
“Making one and stealing one are two entirely different things,” she drawled sarcastically.
Blackman laughed. “Now, I like you, miss. Every time you come to see old Blackman you forget that you stole the pearl in the first place. So you’re the pot calling my kettle black, seems to me. And I’m not stealing your money.” He shrugged. “I’m simply telling you how much what you want will cost.”
Julianna’s heart was beating like a deranged hammer. “I haven’t got eight hundred pounds, Mr. Blackman. If I had, I would have had no need to steal the pearl in the first place.”
He shrugged again. “Then we got nothing to talk about.”
“Mr. Blackman—” she began, but the burly guard Cam came up and grabbed her arm.
“You heard him,” he barked, shoving her toward the door.
“Now, see here,” Julianna protested. “I am heartily sick of your shoving me about, Mr.… Cam, and I would appreciate it if you would stop doing so.” She tried in vain to yank her arm free, but he just tightened his grip. “You’re hurting me!” Julianna cried out as he opened the door and threw her into the hall. Once again she fell into Mr. Wiley.
“Now, Cam, no need to be so rough. I’ve got her,” the youth said soothingly. He maneuvered Julianna behind him and held out his hands in a placating manner toward the bristling guard. “I tried to tell her, didn’t I? But women has always got to find out for their selves, don’t they?”
“Get ’er out of ’ere, Wiley,” Cam growled. “I don’t like ’er. Her kind are always trouble.”
“You’re absolutely right, Cam. Trouble from the word go, I tell you. More than their worth, ain’t that the truth.” While he was talking Mr. Wiley was gently pushing Julianna toward the stairs.
“I am not done,” she told him in a frantic whisper. “I’ve got to get that pearl back.”
He shushed her with a hand waving behind his back. When they reached the top of the stairs, he took her arm and hustled her down the first few steps.
“Mr. Wiley,” she said more loudly. “I really must go back and see Mr. Blackman. I have to get that pearl back. It is a matter of honor.”
“Honor won’t chew your food nor lift your fork,” he said in a rather angry undertone, “so’s I’d shut my mouth if I were you. Blackman’s done with you, and Cam would like nothing more than to go a round or two with you.”
Julianna reared back in surprise and quickly turned her head to look back at Cam. He was standing at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed and his heavily booted feet spread wide. He smiled at her, and the sight of it made her skin crawl.
“Yes, I see your point,” she agreed in a shaky voice, letting Mr. Wiley guide her down the steps.
This time when the door closed behind them, Julianna had to stop and lean against the side of the building for a moment because her legs were so shaky and unreliable. She rubbed the spot on her arm where Cam had grabbed her.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” Mr. Wiley said sincerely. He stepped close to her and took over rubbing her arm very gently. “Are you all right?”
Julianna nodded, watching his hands on her arm. She was lucky. She could have been hurt far worse, and might have been if Mr. Wiley hadn’t been there to help her. On impulse she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He awkwardly patted her back.
“There now,” he said. “Wiley didn’t let anything happen to you, now did he?” He stepped back and took hold of both her arms, being very gentle with the sore one. “No more coming back here, do you understand? That little pearl is gone, and you’d best forget about it.”
“Oh, Mr. Wiley,” she cried, miserable. “What have I done? I have to get the pearl back for Mr. Sharp. It’s been in his family for generations. It’s his most valued treasure, and he will never forgive me for stealing it. Never.” She wiped a tear from her cheek only to have another one take its place, and then another. She sniffed pathetically.
With a sigh he lifted her reticule from her arm and searched inside until he found her handkerchief. He handed it to her with a pat on the shoulder. “Like that, is it? Tell old Wiley all about it, then.”
Julianna dabbed her eyes and delicately wiped her runny nose. She glanced at Mr. Wiley from the corner of her eye. He seemed genuinely sympathetic, and that made her want to cry more.
“I know that the home is important.” She sniffed, the thought of having to close it down breaking her heart all over again. “But I just can’t justify what I’ve done to Mr. Sharp, not even for the home.” She bit her lip. “He’s a good man and he didn’t deserve it. And the money from the pearl will only be a temporary reprieve for the foundling home. I simply can’t do it all myself, and I have nowhere else to turn for funds.” He started to speak and she held up a hand to silence him. “And I cannot in good conscience continue to run the house on ill-gotten money.” She laughed sadly. “It’s quite ironic, really, since that is how I was raised.”
Mr. Wiley’s eyes got big. “Was it now? Your mam was a pincher, was she?”
Julianna stared at him uncomprehending for a moment. “My mother? Oh, no! My father was a … a thief, not my mother. My mother died when I was very young.” She grabbed his hand. “But he only took small things and many of them were gifts from lovers. He wanted me to have fine things, after my mother died, and he didn’t know how else to get them.” She sighed. “I wish he’d learned to live in straitened circumstances rather than resorting to an immoral life of crime and … and …” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Selling himself?” Mr. Wiley offered helpfully.
Julianna closed her eyes, pained by his words. “Yes. Exactly.”
Mr. Wiley squeezed her hand, and when she opened her eyes, he was looking at her with an expression that was wise beyond his years. “Seems to me that was his choice. He thought you were important enough. Lord knows, I do what I does for my chicks, no mistake. And I’d do more if I had to, if you see what I mean. Fathers have to make the hard choices, don’t they, so their little ones don’t have to.”
All these years of secretly condemning her father, and it took a simple speech by a street ruffian to make Julianna understand the choices he had made when she was growing up. Her laugh was a little watery. “But I made a hard choice, and it was the wrong one.”
“If your Mr. Sharp is such a grand fellow,” Mr. Wiley told her as he led her out of the alley and toward the waiting carriage, “then he’ll get over losing his pearl if it means he can have you.”
This time her laugh was bitter. “I am no substitute for a priceless jewel, Mr. Wiley.”
He handed her up into the carriage and regarded her seriously. “I know value when I see it, miss,” he told her. “And yours is beyond price.”
In that moment Julianna understood completely why Mr. Wiley had so many children.
Chapter Twelve
Julianna paced the pavement in front of her father’s townhouse. She’d been wearing a hole in the sidewalk for the past hour, hoping that Alasdair would appear outside his house. It was already two o’clock in the afternoon. Yesterday he’d been up with the cock’s crow to catch her. Today he was apparently catching up on his lost sleep. Every two or three steps she glanced across the street only to be met with a firmly closed door. She could see nothing through the curtains and his balcony, of course, which faced the mews behind and not the street.
So attuned was she to every sound on the quiet street that when his door finally did open, it sounded like a shot in a tunnel. She spun to face his house, suddenly unsure of her plan. She frantically looked for a place to hide and found nothing save a very skinny tree that wouldn’t even shield one of her limbs, much less her entire person. She froze on the spot, exposed, uncertain, and ridiculously frightened.
He appeared in the doorway, then he turned to speak with his man, who was handing him his hat and gloves. He stepped outside and put the hat on, tilted just so at a rakish angle. He pulled on one glove and then started down the steps slowly while he put on the other.
He was beautiful. How many times had she sat inside at the parlor window, ostensibly to take advantage of the light for sewing or reading, when she was really waiting for a glimpse of him? Tall, broad shouldered, sure in his step, commanding yet approachable, greeting the world with a smile. Too many to count, surely. Until she’d grown tired of waiting and watching and had snuck into his house and stolen his pearl to get his attention. It was quite, quite lowering to have to admit that to herself.
Today he looked different to her than he had all those other times she’d watched him. Today he was the lover who had tenderly introduced her to the pleasures shared by a man and a woman, and then roughly shown her another side of that pleasure and of him. He’d held her close, whispered desperately in her ear, kissed her breasts and filled her with his heat and his release. He had taught her to fly on wings that she had long thought clipped. And yet, he was a stranger. What were his deepest secrets? What kept him awake at night? What fears haunted his waking hours? What dreams kept him going when he believed all was lost?
Julianna leaned against the tree weakly, her shoulder and her hand pressed against the bark. Weighty issues aside, she didn’t even know the simplest things about him. What was his favorite food? His favorite color? He knew Shakespeare, but did he like him? Perhaps he preferred the modern poetry of Lord Byron. Did he prefer fish or fowl? Sweet or savory? She knew he liked strawberries, was jaded but caring, and that he had a dubious history of carnal relations.
Just then he looked up and saw her. He stopped halfway down the steps and stood there. Just stood there, staring at her, still in the process of pulling on his glove. He was too far away for her to tell what his expression was. She hoped he was glad to see her. But wouldn’t he wave then, or in some way indicate his pleasure at seeing her again? Julianna pushed away from the tree. She took a hesitant step toward the street and he slowly lowered his hand to his side. She took another step and he didn’t move. Was he waiting for her? If she stopped now she’d feel a fool, and look like one, too, no doubt. Her mind made up, Julianna began to cross the street.
Her approach spurred him into action. He continued down the steps and then spoke to his groom, who had just brought his horse around. The groom turned back toward the mews and Alasdair continued toward her. They met in the middle of the quiet street, only a few passersby around to notice them.
“Good morning,” she said, after they stood there staring at each other like idiots for a solid minute.
He blinked and looked around, and then took her arm and led her back over to her side of the street. Once they were on the sidewalk, he stopped and faced her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Well, she hadn’t expected that gruff tone. She tried to hide her surprise. “Waiting for you.” She figured honesty, as far as it went, was her best policy at this point.
He looked cynical for a moment and she couldn’t blame him. “Why?”
She bit her lip and worried it for a moment, not sure where to begin.
His eyes grew hot and narrow as he stared at her. “For that, hmm?” he asked quietly. “Still not sure how to ask for it? That seems odd, and a bit inconvenient, considering how often you appear to be receiving it.”
Julianna’s mouth dropped open into an unbecoming O when she deciphered his meaning. He must have taken it for agreement because he gripped her upper arm and steered her around the side of the townhouse and through the gate of the tall fence that separated the gardens from the street.
“Is anyone at home?” he demanded, pulling the gate shut behind them. He took a moment to survey the garden and then dragged her across the open lawn to the trees at the back of the lot.
“Alasdair,” she gasped, “what on earth are you doing?”
He tightened his grip on her arm. “Answer the question. Are your father or stepmother home?”
Julianna shook her head. “No, only the servants are about. Alasdair!” she exclaimed as he shoved her behind the garden shed into the far corner of the yard, deep within the trees. There was not much space between the shed and the fence, and she was trapped against the back of the small building when Alasdair squeezed in front of her. He pressed himself against her from chest to groin, and he tried to shove a leg in between hers, but her skirt was too tight.
“This won’t work at all,” he muttered. He grabbed a handful of her skirt and pulled it up to her waist, and then his thick, hard thigh was there, rubbing against her mound deliciously. Julianna moaned and thrust against him, a surge of desire coursing through her that was almost alarming in its intensity. Alasdair laughed, but it wasn’t an amused sound. “Yes, I rather thought you’d like that. Is that what he does?”
Julianna couldn’t think clearly with his hands on her, his thigh driving her mad, his mouth a hot, moist temptation against her ear. “ ‘He?’ ” she asked breathlessly.
“Don’t even speak,” Alasdair growled. “This will be better if you don’t speak.”
“W-What?” she stammered. He raised his leg and Julianna squeaked as she had to go on her tiptoes to maintain contact with the ground. It was dizzying, and felt so rough and wonderful.
Alasdair whipped off his hat and threw it to the ground and Julianna got her first good look at his face. He was furious. Before she could say something, anything, he slammed his mouth down on hers.
The kiss was brutal in its intensity, but no less arousing for its leashed violence. He tried to twist his head, to slant his mouth on hers, but her bonnet got in the way. With a growl he tore his mouth away and wrenched the bow open beneath her chin. Her hair was pulled as some pins came loose when he ripped it off her head to join his hat in the grass. The pain brought with it a brief moment of sanity.
“Alasdair,” she begged, pressing her hands to his chest. “Stop. Please! We must talk.”
But there was no talking. He came back, his mouth hot and open on hers, his tongue demanding entry, and she couldn’t deny it or him. She stopped fighting him and instead threw her arms around his neck and buried her hands in his hair, gripping his head tightly. He grunted his approval and drove his tongue into her mouth again, tangling it with hers.
His hands were suddenly gripping her backside, and he thrust his hips against her as he pulled her hard against his thigh. She could feel his arousal, hard and wanting, and she moaned and wiggled into the rough caress of his thigh. His fingers dug into her hips almost painfully as he made the same movement over and over, never taking his mouth from hers, never letting her come up for air. She was light-headed and her sex was hot and aching, and she felt a yawning emptiness inside.
He was panting into her mouth, as desperate as she. These were not the tender caresses she longed for, but it was Alasdair, hot and demanding and in her arms. She knew what was coming, could feel the pleasure spiraling out of control within her. From his deliberate movements it was what he wanted. He wanted her to come in this harsh, desperate way. Was it a punishment? It didn’t feel that way. It felt glorious. She almost told him so, but words were too difficult, her thoughts too unfocused. She could only feel and want and writhe on his tight, hard body as it drove her onward.
He pulled his mouth away at last, his breath ragged in her ear. “Come, damn you,” he rasped. He wrapped his arms around her, protecting her back from the rough wood of the shed. Then he canted his hips and pressed against her body perfectly and Julianna fell apart. But she didn’t want to, not like this. Not alone, not without Alasdair. Though he held her tight, she felt empty, and she sobbed as her sex clenched tightly, seeking him, seeking his hard length and finding nothing except this desperate, aching pleasure and nothing more.
He raised his leg so that she had to grab him to stay on and not fall to the ground. She clutched a handful of his coat, her fingers digging into his back. She held him to her, not because she was afraid of falling but because she needed an anchor in the emotional storm her peak had left behind. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but he remained motionless, letting her hold him as he breathed heavily in her ear, his muscles rigid under her hands.
“Why are you so angry with me?” she finally whispered. He hadn’t been this angry yesterday. Was it because of her lie at the patisserie? But his anger was out of proportion to that small offense. She blinked, nearly laughing aloud in disgust at herself. So she was classifying her lies now, was she? This one was not so bad, not as bad as that one, surely?
“I’m not angry,” he said coldly. “I’m just getting what I paid for.”
She fought him then. This wasn’t right. She tried to stop him from doing something she knew he’d regret. He might be angry now, but tomorrow he would hate what he had done in anger. She wanted him, but not like this. He yanked his head back then and in his expression she could see the war raging within him between his anger and his desire. Then he leaned in to kiss her and she turned her face away.
“Alasdair, please don’t,” she begged desperately.
He cursed roughly and grabbed her hands, which were pushing ineffectively at his chest. He put all his weight against her, pressed her hands into the wood of the shed wall. “Why?” he growled in her ear. “Why should I stop? Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this all you want? Because I haven’t got anything else to steal, Julianna. Not a damn thing.”
Julianna bit her lip to hold back her tears. He hated her, and he hated this passion between them. One of the most glorious things in her life was something he detested.
“I do not want this, Alasdair,” she said firmly, trying to be calm though her voice shook. “Not like this. Not when you are so angry.”
