The Devil's Thief, page 8
Cam made no concession to her fear and when they reached the bottom of the steps, he shoved past them and threw open the door. The sunlight streamed into the hall and Julianna nearly cried out with relief at the sight of it.
“Out,” Cam said in his abrupt way. Julianna was only too glad to oblige him. “I’ll be seeing you,” he sneered knowingly as she walked past him.
“Why do you say that?” she asked tremulously.
“They all come back,” he said with a cruel grin. “They think it’s only the one time, but they all come back.” With that parting comment he put his index finger against her shoulder and pushed her out the door, then closed it firmly in her face. She just stood there staring stupidly at the closed door.
“Come on, then,” Mr. Wiley said quietly. “Time to put you back in your carriage, miss, and send you home.” Julianna was startled when he pulled her toward the carriage that held a nervous Tessa and the waiting hackney driver.
The driver began to hand her up into the carriage and Mr. Wiley turned away before Julianna came to her senses. “Wait! Mr. Wiley,” she called out. He turned back. She stepped over to him and held out her hand. “Thank you so much for your assistance,” she said sincerely. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”
He was frozen with shock for a moment before he gathered his wits about him. He shook her hand and then looked around at the gang of youths still loitering on the pavement and thumbed his nose deprecatingly at their catcalls. “And don’t you forget it, miss,” he said seriously. “Don’t you be going to any of them other flash houses. You won’t find old Wiley there. You hear?”
Julianna finally let the driver help her into the carriage. She leaned out the still-open door. “Oh, I won’t forget, Mr. Wiley. Believe me, I won’t forget.”
Chapter Eight
“What about that one?”
“Too plump.” They had been walking along Bond Street for several hours and still Alasdair hadn’t caught sight of his mysterious little thief. This had seemed like a good idea when he’d suggested it a few hours earlier, but now he was beginning to despair.
“I don’t think she’s too plump,” Hil commented. He was leaning against a streetlamp, listening as Roger and Alasdair discussed each woman who passed them by. So far he’d been rather quiet and relatively useless.
Roger looked at him askance. “I didn’t know you liked plump women.”
“I don’t necessarily,” he said with a shrug. “But that one looks friendly. I think I should like to shag a friendly woman for a change. A great deal of laughter and tenderness sounds rather nice right now.”
“When did you become such an old woman?” Roger asked incredulously.
Alasdair laughed, but he was truly frustrated. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair as a couple of young ladies passed by, followed by their maids. All three men tipped their hats politely and the ladies burst into a flurry of giggles. Roger looked at him but before he could even ask, Alasdair said, “Too young.”
Roger turned to Hil and raised his brows in mock inquiry.
Hil nodded. “I completely agree. Too young by far.” He shuddered and Roger laughed.
Alasdair pointed at various women on the street. “Too young, too old, too tall.” He sighed. “Either that or they’re too silly, too short, too thin, or too flat chested. And, good God, look at that arse.”
Roger and Hil both looked at the woman he was describing and Roger whistled under his breath.
Hil frowned at them both. “That was unconscionably rude. She looks like my Aunt Gertrude, whom I adore.”
“My apologies,” Roger said, giving him a slight bow. “I had forgotten your predilection for plump women.”
“Yes, well, they’re rather friendly, after all,” Alasdair added with a grin. He and Roger burst out laughing while Hil made a rude gesture.
“How about that one?” Roger asked, nodding toward a different woman. “She’s about the right height,” he held his hand up to his shoulder, “and she has a nice figure. I believe that’s dark hair under her bonnet.”
“Roger,” Alasdair exclaimed in exasperation, “she’s at least forty!” Although he had to admit she was holding up rather well. She had noticed their attention and was frowning at them, so Alasdair tipped his hat with a smile. She turned away haughtily. “Definitely not my thief,” he murmured. “Too unfriendly.”
“Well, she’s far too thin, that’s why.” Hil’s tone was professorial. “Women who don’t eat are naturally unhappy because they are hungry all the time.”
Roger barked with laughter. “Is that it? And all this time I thought it was just a woman’s natural inclination. I had no idea they were all starving to death.”
Alasdair snorted. “In your case, Roger, I believe their unfriendliness has more to do with your presumptuous and immoral suggestions than hunger.”
It was Roger’s turn to make a rude gesture. “Women adore me.”
“Arrgh,” Alasdair growled in frustration as he spun away from the building where they were standing. Several people looked at him in alarm and scurried away.
“They think you’re having some sort of fit,” Roger said drily as he peered down the sidewalk at the people rushing away.
“Oh, dear,” Hil said. “I left my vinegar water at home.”
“This is hopeless,” Alasdair cried out, alarming yet more people. There was now a wide berth around them. “We shall never find her this way.”
“It’s about bloody time you figured that out,” Hil said. “My feet are aching from standing idly about all day.” He flipped the top up on his walking stick, revealing a timepiece. “Come on. We’ve wasted half the day already.” He flipped the top down again with a resolute click. He tugged Alasdair’s arm, and in defeat Alasdair allowed himself to be pulled down the street, with Roger trailing behind them. “Don’t be so melancholy,” Hil admonished him. “I have a plan.”
* * *
“This is his brilliant plan?” Alasdair groaned under his breath to Roger the following night. They were at Hil’s again, but not alone. Half of Mayfair was there with them, drinking Hil’s champagne and eating hors d’oeuvres. “We will never find her here. This is folly. She cannot possibly be one of these ladies.” The two men were standing near Hil just inside the door of his townhouse, watching as Hil and his aunt Gertrude welcomed his guests. Hil’s aunt was indeed very sweet and Alasdair felt guilty for laughing yesterday on Bond Street.
“What I want to know is how Hil got all these people to attend on such short notice,” Roger said. “This time of year most people have an engagement every evening, many planned well in advance. And yet he sends out a spur-of-the-moment invitation and it appears as if everyone dropped everything to come. I’m expecting Prinny to walk through the door any moment.”
“The Prince Regent will most likely not show,” Alasdair told him. “He and Hil had some sort of falling out after Hil was knighted.” On Hil’s behalf, he resented the gawking throng that had shown up tonight. They were treating Hil more like an oddity at the fair than their elegant host. “He is Sir Hilary St. John. He’s an enigma. A rake, a scholar, a patron of the Royal Society, an eligible bachelor, a figure of great renown and even greater mystery. How could anyone turn down a coveted invitation to see the lion in his den?” Alasdair was only half-joking.
“There is also the fact that he is an eligible bachelor,” Roger mused. “Every single person here is either an unmarried girl, related to an unmarried girl, or chaperoning an unmarried girl. I’d say Hil’s bachelor state and his income have more to do with the guest list than anything else.”
Alasdair snorted. “Are we so cynical then?” he asked rhetorically. “For I believe that you are right.”
Roger gave him a wry look. “It’s not cynicism, it’s self-defense.”
After welcoming the last of his guests, Hil turned to Alasdair and said, “Come, Sharp, let us go around and greet our guests.” He bowed over his aunt’s hand. “You have done me a great service, Auntie, and I am in your debt.” She smiled at him benignly and waved him off, turning to greet an older woman who hailed her across the hall.
“Didn’t you already greet your guests?” Roger asked curiously as he followed them into the drawing room.
“Not in any great depth.” Hil surveyed the room as if searching for someone, and steered them into the thick of the crowd. “Now we must remember the clues and use all our skills to detect if Alasdair’s thief is here with us tonight.”
“Is he going to seduce every girl here?” Roger asked in amusement.
An older woman overheard them and gasped, yanking the arm of her young charge and leading the protesting girl quickly away from them. Alasdair sighed. He was quite sure that between his behavior on Bond Street yesterday and that little on dit his already-tarnished reputation had received irreparable harm over the past two days.
“I certainly hope not,” Hil replied. “The effort would no doubt render him ill and he would be unable to retrieve the pearl when we ascertain its whereabouts.”
“Thank you for your concern,” Alasdair said drily. “I shall try to refrain from any unwarranted seductions this evening in order to keep up my strength.”
“Very good. But if you feel that one is warranted in order to identify your thief, simply give us the signal and we shall disguise your intent.”
“What?” Alasdair exclaimed. “You don’t actually expect me to compromise someone in order to determine if she is my Juliet, do you?”
“I should certainly hope not,” a stentorian voice proclaimed next to him.
Alasdair winced as he turned to see a distinguished older gentleman glaring at him, standing in front of what was obviously his innocent young daughter. Or perhaps not so innocent—she was leaning around her father and giving the three of them a saucy grin.
“Of course not,” Hil answered smoothly. “The answer to his question was no, I assure you. He was appalled that anyone would even consider such a thing. We were just discussing the alarming lack of morals in today’s youth. What is England coming to these days, I ask you?” Hil pulled Alasdair up beside him. “Lord Percival, let me introduce you to Mr. Alasdair Sharp, a dear friend from my school days.”
“How do you do, my Lord?” Alasdair inquired politely with a small bow. Lord Percival looked unimpressed, and now his daughter did as well.
“And this must be your lovely daughter,” Hil said, gesturing at the bored girl.
Lord Percival guided her forward with a firm but gentle hand. “My eldest daughter,” he said with pride.
“How do you do, Lady Margaret?” Hil answered politely. And it was a good thing, too, because Alasdair had no idea who the chit was.
“How do you do?” Alasdair said stiffly, at that moment hating everything about polite society and the manners that had been instilled in him as a child.
Hil had much more torture planned for him. The evening dragged slowly by as they made their way around the room greeting every person they passed; some of the guests Alasdair already knew. At some point Roger abandoned them. Alasdair didn’t see him in the room, so he must have escaped the proceedings. After greeting the fifth girl—or maybe she was the sixth—Alasdair finally noticed that they were all dark-haired girls of approximately the same height, and all were slim and fit. He was astounded. How had Hil known which girls most closely resembled his Juliet? Clearly he had paid more attention to the current crop of young ladies than Alasdair had. Not all of these women were that young, however, some were older, in their twenties perhaps.
“Hil,” Alasdair whispered as they left one proud mama and her much-too-young charge, “Juliet said she was twenty. Why are we bothering with the younger girls?”
“Because we can’t be certain that she didn’t lie to you. Also, I wasn’t sure of the exact age of some of these girls, and it would be impolite to ignore them,” Hil whispered theatrically out of the corner of his mouth. His actions were so blatant that Alasdair could practically see half the room leaning in their direction to catch whatever he was whispering.
Much to Alasdair’s delight and relief, Hil suddenly took a straight path through the room to the far corner without stopping to greet anyone else on the way. He smiled widely at a fortyish man and his small, birdlike wife. “How do you do, Mr. Harte?” Hil positively oozed congeniality. “And the lovely Lady Linville.” Hil bent down and kissed her hand. “Marriage agrees with you, ma’am.” He turned to Alasdair. “Doesn’t it? I believe I mentioned that to you the other night when we saw them at your house, Mr. Sharp.”
His house? Marriage? He nodded and smiled at the blushing Lady Linville. Oh, yes, he placed them now. They lived just across the street from him, if he wasn’t mistaken. He’d spoken to Harte on several occasions. “Why yes, you did, Sir Hilary. And how do you do this evening, my Lady?”
“How do you do,” she replied in a sweet voice. “We so enjoyed your reception the other evening, Mr. Sharp. What a beautiful pearl! Truly amazing. And it’s been in your family for generations?”
Alasdair answered through gritted teeth. “Yes, ma’am. It was farmed out of the River Tay by one of my maternal ancestors over three hundred years ago.”
“How thrilling to have such an interesting family history,” she said enthusiastically.
Mr. Harte smiled indulgently at her. It was clear that theirs was a love match. How nice for them. As soon as the churlish thought went through his head, Alasdair was chagrined. He’d never begrudged anyone his or her happiness before. Apparently his newest bout of moral degradation knew no bounds.
Alasdair glanced over at Hil, who was giving him an expectant look. “It appears as if several of the people here this evening were also at my reception,” he ventured hesitantly. He was rewarded by a smile from Hil. So, he had one more clue to Hil’s master plan. He tried to surreptitiously look around the room again, picking out the familiar faces. He really was no good at this. He’d been forced to pay more attention to the physical appearance of strange women over the past two days than he’d ever expended in his life.
“Oh, yes,” Lady Linville agreed. “We were just discussing that with my stepdaughter. It seems one is always running into the same people wherever one goes, doesn’t it, Julianna?”
* * *
Julianna was frantic. She’d managed to maneuver her father and stepmother into the far corner of the room early on in the evening. It had been quite a feat to get in unnoticed. When she had seen Alasdair standing off to the side as she and her parents waited to greet their host and hostess, she’d made a hasty excuse and fled to the retiring room. When she emerged, her parents had already greeted Sir Hilary and Alasdair, who had been busy talking with new guests, and she’d slipped into the drawing room and worked her way over here. She’d thought she was safe. Over the years she had developed the ability to blend into the background when necessary. Most people overlooked her ordinary appearance and she tended to listen rather than speak.
What was Alasdair doing here? She’d noticed Sir Hilary at his reception the other night, but there had been a great many people there. She’d had no idea the two were such bosom beaus.
As she hid in her corner and hungrily watched Alasdair—half wishing he’d find her and half terrified he would—she noticed something awful, something horrifying. All the young ladies here looked like her. And Sir Hilary and Alasdair were making a point of speaking to each one. He was looking for her. And he was going to find her. There was no way to escape without alerting her father and stepmother.
Then Sir Hilary spotted her father and made his way over to them and she thought her heart would jump right through her throat.
Why? Why now? She had the money. She hadn’t been able to slip away and meet with the solicitor yet. But Alasdair wouldn’t want the money. He’d want the pearl. As soon as he spotted her, he would denounce her. Her father would be ruined. She’d be treated as a common thief. The children would be turned out of the foundling home and sent to some overcrowded orphanage, or worse.
Blood pounding in her ears, she shrank back into the shadows of the corner, nearly slipping behind the curtains of a nearby window. Every instinct she had was telling her to run. But she was rooted to the spot, watching her doom approach on impossibly long, muscular legs, his wonderful blond curls artfully mussed, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he scanned the room. He was magnificent. He was awful. He was going to kill her.
Suddenly Alasdair and Sir Hilary were standing before them and Julianna could feel Sir Hilary’s gaze burning into her. She stood as still as a statue, trying as hard as she could not to be noticed. And Alasdair didn’t notice her. He wasn’t even aware of her presence. Relief coursed through her as he exchanged empty pleasantries with her stepmother. But that relief was short lived, quickly replaced by anger. How could he fail to notice her? How could he not see through this silly wallflower disguise of hers to his Juliet underneath? She berated her own foolishness. It was best this way. He must surely hate her now. Why would she wish to lose her anonymity now, when it could cost her so dearly?
She was a fool, fool, fool. Because she would give anything for one smile from him.
“It seems one is always running into the same people wherever one goes, doesn’t it, Julianna?” her stepmother asked as she turned in her direction.
Julianna wanted to scream in frustration. What on earth was she doing? Why couldn’t Lady Linville just let her fade into the wallpaper? She nodded and mumbled her agreement, desperately hoping the conversation would move on, and take Sir Hilary and Alasdair with it.
Her father gave her a sharp look, concern etched on his features. “Are you all right, my dear? You do not sound well.”
As Alasdair was talking with her father and stepmother, Julianna had been trying to slide away into the shadows behind him. But now he was turning around at her father’s comment. Oh, God, what should she do? Sir Hilary was still staring at her intently, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He knew. How? She glared at him, glad to have an outlet for her anger. He looked surprised for an instant and then darkly amused.
