The Devil's Thief, page 4
“But, Father, you helped me to start the home, and you still provide a small stipend each month. If you truly wish me to close the home, why are you still helping me?”
Her father sighed. “I do not wish to make you unhappy, Julianna. I understand helping others is important to you, and I did make a promise to you. But there are many acceptable forms of patronage, my dear. Perhaps you could consider putting your limitless energy to work at one of those?”
Yes, it was the same speech as always. Julianna stopped listening, merely nodding her head at intervals.
Her father was still quite good-looking, even at forty-three. His hair was a thick golden brown, with just a hint of gray at the temples. Very distinguished. He had a few lines forming around his deep blue eyes, but the dimple in his cheek made him appear almost boyish at times. With his trim, athletic physique it was no wonder the baroness had pursued him despite his lower rank and empty coffers. She certainly couldn’t have done better.
Her new stepmother was still an enigma to Julianna. She was older than Julianna’s father by at least ten years. Small, thin, worrisome, she reminded Julianna of a little bird always pecking away, worried about the coming winter. Her hair was the same nondescript gray as a robin’s feathers. She kept it cut quite short, and was always wearing a delicate hat or a turban sporting colorful plumage. Her features were dainty, with small, round eyes of a surprisingly bright shade of hazel green, and a tiny, pointed nose. She had never been unkind to Julianna, but she was childless from her first marriage, and Julianna rather thought she had no idea what she was supposed to do with a fully grown daughter. Well, Julianna had no idea what to do with a fully grown stepmother, either.
“So we shall see how you like him, hmm?” her father ended with a smile, and it took Julianna a moment to return from her woolgathering to comprehend his words.
“See if I shall like whom?” she asked with alarm.
“Juli-anna,” her father admonished in that special way he had when he was annoyed with her, stretching her name into two distinct halves. “The baroness has arranged a dinner party for Friday so that you can be introduced to that nice barrister she told you about. The one from Hampstead.”
This and the baroness’s refusal to help Julianna in her patronage of the foundling home were the two areas in which Julianna and her stepmother openly disagreed. Lady Linville was determined to see her married off to someone “suitable to her station.” Which was a nice barrister, it would seem, since this would make the fourth that she’d been introduced to in as many months. Oh, yes, they were all nice, until they figured out she had a brain and was not averse to exercising it regularly.
“How delightful,” Julianna drawled, and her sarcasm was not lost on her father.
“Your stepmother only has your best interests at heart, Julianna,” he told her crisply. “She has the connections to make a fine match for you, and you have the opportunity to lead the life of a wealthy matron. Many young women would envy you.”
“Would they?” she murmured, then immediately went on the offensive. “Father, did you marry the baroness so that you could marry me off to someone suitable?”
Mr. Harte turned a delicate shade of pink, and began to fumble with his cutlery, avoiding her eyes. “I married the baroness for several reasons, but yes, one of those reasons was so that I could provide you with the opportunity to assume your rightful place in society.”
Julianna sighed deeply and put her hand over her father’s, drawing his gaze back to hers. “Oh, Papa, I do wish you had consulted me first. For I would have told you that I did not desire that, and that I certainly did not wish you to sacrifice yourself for my sake.”
He looked surprised. “Sacrifice myself? My dear, how you exaggerate. Lady Linville and I get along quite well, you know. There are …,” He coughed delicately into his hand. “Yes, well, marriage is a tricky thing, you see, and there are things between a man and a wife of which the world knows nothing.” He cleared his throat and sat up straight, looking as if he’d said too much, his face a bright shade of red now.
“Handley,” he called out. “Do bring the tea, Handley.”
Julianna could only stare at him in shock. Was he talking about … no, surely he wouldn’t discuss that with her. Father? And the baroness? Her mind rebelled at further thought in that direction. She was as glad to end their conversation as he seemed to be.
She needed some information from him, and decided now was as good a time as any, since he might be more forthcoming in an effort to forget the awkwardness of a moment before.
“Father, do you remember the pearl? The one we saw at Mr. Sharp’s the other night?”
He scoffed. “Remember it? How could I forget? One doesn’t see that quality often, my girl. A pearl of the first water,” he added with a mischievous grin.
Julianna bit her lip to keep herself from laughing out loud. Glory, how marvelous. The pearl should fetch enough to cover the back rent on the foundling home.
She looked around, and then leaned toward her father conspiratorially. “How much, Papa?” she whispered.
He didn’t like to discuss the past—how he had liberated items from their owners over the years to keep his young daughter clothed and fed. It was how they’d gotten the money to start the foundling home. But he had been good. Very good. He’d never been caught, but then he’d never taken large items. Just a little something here and there. But he had learned to gauge an item’s value with uncanny accuracy. And he knew his jewels better than most. It was how he picked his mistresses. The ones with the best jewels won. They’d lived on his little thefts and the gifts he’d received from his mistresses. He was one of the only men she knew who could talk a woman out of her diamonds.
Her father darted an alarmed glance around the room, but he relaxed when he saw that no one was paying them any attention. He leaned in toward her slightly. “Priceless,” he purred. “Forty-five grains at least, perfectly round, brilliant luster, thick nacre, gorgeous. And besides being the most perfect Scottish pearl ever farmed from the River Tay, it has been in the Stewart family for generations. Bonnie Prince Charlie himself wore it in a pouch around his neck for good luck, although personally I think it was in case he found a good fence when his purse was light.”
Julianna dropped her fork and felt her face blanch. “Priceless?” she whispered. Oh, Lord, what had she done? She’d known it was famous and valuable, but priceless?
“Well,” her father drew out the word with a frown, “nothing is priceless. It depends on the receiver, of course, but it would bring a good, oh, five hundred pounds at least.” He rubbed his chin. “But the sentimental value to the family makes it priceless. And its notoriety would make it hard to sell.”
“How hard?” she demanded. Then, realizing that she sounded a little too frantic, she tried to temper her voice. “I mean, surely there are some unscrupulous persons who would buy the pearl despite its notoriety?” She hoped she sounded merely curious, and not desperate.
Her father gave her a strange look. “I suppose so. The Black Horse, over in Tottenham Court Road, or the Rose or the Bear, they would all probably take it I suppose. But I only ever went to those as a last resort. Too rough by far. Why do you ask?”
Julianna licked her suddenly dry lips. “No reason in particular, Papa. Curiosity, I suppose.”
Her father patted her hand. “Those days are gone, my dear. You needn’t fear that I will return to my old ways. We have all we need now. Lady Linville brought us security. For that alone you should be grateful.”
“Yes,” Julianna mumbled, shocked and dismayed. What on earth was she to do with the pearl now? She needed funds quickly. The solicitor of the building’s new owner had come to the foundling home to tell her that the rent was increasing, and the bank would need the back rent to be paid in full within the week. So Julianna had to pay or the owner would turn the children out onto the street. The solicitor had been very apologetic, but firm nonetheless. His client had no choice but to demand the money or let the building to someone else. Otherwise the bank would foreclose and seize the property.
She was fortunate that her father signed the lease for her before he remarried. He understood her need to help the children and had left the entire management of the home in her hands. He’d given her a budget to cover expenses and left it at that. She’d hired Mrs. Eden to handle the day-to-day operations, but she still kept a close eye on the home and handled the books. It had been a shock to realize how much she was in arrears on the rent. The problem was that over the last year, Julianna had gotten in the habit of spending most of the rent money on incidentals for the home, planning to cover the missed rent in small payments over the next few months. But each payment had gotten smaller. The previous owner had been amenable, and simply turned a blind eye to what she owed, letting her make it up at her own pace. Julianna really did not want her father to find out about her predicament. If he knew, he would do one of two things: either help her with the payment, which would upset her stepmother; or, more than likely, end the lease, and the children would be sent away, the older ones probably to the workhouse. And, of course, he’d never trust her with so much responsibility again.
She took a deep breath and tried to think. She must find a way to visit the receiving houses her father had spoken of, today if possible. She had no choice. It was too late to ask her father for help. How on earth could she tell him she had stolen the Stewart Pearl, when he’d left his own criminal past behind to seek a better life for her? She had taken Alasdair’s pearl and she could not give it back. So she was going to make sure that it was used for good. She was going to sell it and save the foundling home, with her father none the wiser. Julianna vowed that after this entire ordeal was over she would never take a risk like this again. She would do as her father and stepmother asked and meet the new barrister and try to keep an open mind. And maybe, possibly, she would eventually stop feeling guilty that she had stolen Alasdair’s priceless treasure in return for unparalleled pleasure and the memory of a lifetime.
Chapter Five
Alasdair rolled over and pulled her close. But instead of warm lavender-scented hair, he got a nose full of linen.
“Juli—?” he said sleepily, raising his head and looking around. He had to blink several times against the glare of the sun through the open curtains.
The room was quiet except for the noises drifting up from the street. Alasdair shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his brain. The sun was high. He’d slept late. It was no wonder, considering how little sleep he’d gotten the night before.
“Juliet?” he called again. There was no response, and he realized that she was gone. The room was empty. The open curtains and street noise took on a new meaning. The balcony doors were open. She had climbed down off the damn balcony.
He threw back the sheet and rose from the bed, anger beginning a slow boil inside him. He looked around and confirmed that her things were gone. He leaned down and picked up a forgotten hairpin, all that was left of her. She had snuck out the damn window like a thief in the night.
The thought stopped him in his tracks. His stomach lurched and he was afraid for a moment that he might lose its contents. With a sinking sense of dread, he spun around and ran over to his dressing table. His hands were shaking as he found the small key in his drawer. He hurried over to the lockbox on the secretary in the corner and shoved the key in, but he knew immediately that it was too late. The box was unlocked. He raised the lid and stared with dawning horror at the empty space inside.
She had stolen it. She had stolen his pearl. His family’s most priceless possession. The pearl that he had been entrusted to keep safe. It was gone. Stolen by a wanton, lying, deceiving little bitch who’d used him and then snuck out his window with it.
He stood there, immobile with disbelief for several seconds, his ragged breathing blocking the noise from the street.
Damn his lustful, careless, useless soul. As if his cock alone would make a thieving harlot forget about her prize. What a colossal, vain idiot he was.
And now he’d proven them all right, had he not? His cousin Ernest, the Earl of Throckton, had wanted to keep the pearl for Alasdair. They had much more secure places at his estate for such a priceless treasure. Ernest had been so condescending, just as he’d always been, and he’d looked down his nose at Alasdair, the offspring of his uncle’s unfortunate marriage to a Scots woman. Alasdair had refused his offer because he enjoyed taunting his cousin with it, enjoyed having a treasure that Ernest, with all of his investments and his properties and his possessions, had no right to. The pearl had come to Alasdair from his mother’s side of the family.
Alasdair pulled his hair and screamed in rage, as a horse whinnied in fright in the street below. “How could I have been so stupid?” he bellowed.
He stalked over to the open door of the balcony and slammed it shut. He punched his closed fist into the frame and leaned there, his head hanging down. This was his fault. He could shift the blame to no one. All his life he had taken the pearl for granted. He’d complained about it, telling everyone what a terrible burden it was. His family had placed such importance on the pearl that people gazed upon it with awe. And now it was gone. He’d lost it.
No, he raised his head and glared at the wall unseeing. She’d stolen it. She’d taken it from right under his nose, laughing all the while. She must have known he hadn’t truly meant to give it to her. That was why she’d snuck out and he’d awoken alone to an empty box.
There was a timid knock on his door. “Mr. Sharp?” He heard his valet inquire tentatively. “Is everything all right?”
Alasdair started to reply, to raise the alarm, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t let anyone know. He had to find her himself. He did not want his cousin to find out what he’d done. He would never live it down. He would be the laughing stock of Great Britain, and the scourge of Scotland.
“I’m fine, Evans,” he called out, regulating his voice and breathing. “I just … had a dream and fell out of bed.” Good Lord, as if that didn’t make him appear like a raving nincompoop. “Bring me some coffee, please, and I should like to get dressed,” he ordered, a plan forming in his mind. He needed to find her immediately. After all, how hard could it be to find a lying, deceitful little thief in London who may be trying to sell a stolen pearl? He shook his head in despair at the enormity of the task. But, he promised himself, when he found her, when he had the pearl in his possession again, she would pay, and pay dearly, for her deceit.
Fortunately, he knew just the man to help.
Chapter Six
“I need help finding a woman.”
Sir Hilary St. John looked up with a curious expression as Alasdair burst into his study without being announced. Hil was sitting at a table near the window, sipping his tea and reading the paper. He wore no jacket and the sun glinted off the red-gold hair that curled onto his neck—too long for fashion but just right for the eccentric Hil.
“Do you? How unusual,” Hil commented blandly, as if frantic men burst into his study routinely. “I’ve never known you to have difficulties in that area before.”
A bark of laughter sounded from the other corner of the room, and Alasdair glanced over in surprise to see Roger Templeton draped over a chair, a cup of tea in hand. “Roger! When did you get back?” Alasdair exclaimed. He walked over to his old friend with a delighted smile, his hand outstretched. They hadn’t seen each other in over a year.
Roger straightened and took Alasdair’s hand, shaking it warmly. With his height and muscular build and his dark, curling hair framing his chiseled features, Roger had the face and form of a Greek god. He’d always had the temperament to match. “Sharp. I’ve only just gotten back. I’ve been in London for no more than two days, and most of that was spent sleeping in one of Hil’s beds, which I’ll be occupying for the foreseeable future.”
“My home is yours,” Hil said graciously, and Alasdair knew he meant it.
“The continent didn’t change you a bit,” Alasdair told Roger with a laugh.
Roger smiled conspiratorially. “Au contraire, my friend. I learned a great deal there. You’d be amazed.” He accompanied his comment with a wag of his brows and Alasdair laughed again.
“You never cease to amaze me, Roger.”
“Why don’t we go out this evening and I’ll tell you all about it?” Roger offered slyly, one dark blue eye winking roguishly. “I’d tell Hil, but he already knows everything about everything.”
Alasdair shook his head. “No, but thank you. My licentious days are behind me now. I’m not one of the Saint’s Devils anymore,” Alasdair said, referring to the silly nickname their group of friends had earned years ago in school, based on Hil’s surname. “I may still cross a line or two, but I don’t live my life that way anymore.”
“Of course you’re still a Devil,” Hil said absentmindedly behind him, and Alasdair turned to see him gently place his perfectly folded paper on the table and give him a smile. “We were never about licentiousness. We were about living life to its fullest, experiencing all we could and learning as we went. Aren’t you still living your life that way?”
“So it would seem,” Alasdair replied wryly, thinking of why he’d come to Hil for help.
As Hil took his arm and led him over to the sofa situated in the center of the room, some of the tension dissolved from Alasdair’s neck and shoulders, reminding him that true friendship was rare indeed and not to be treated lightly. Alasdair loved this room. It was a man’s room, all dark wood and rich red upholstery. A large group of sofas and chairs were arranged in a loose circle in the center of the room, open on one side to the fireplace. There were also small tables with two or three chairs surrounding them placed around the room. The walls were covered in large bookcases, filled with well-used books. Roger hadn’t been far off the mark when it came to Hil. He was a student of the world. He wanted to know everything one man could learn in a lifetime.
