Lady Thief

by Kay Hooper

  “I ought to be shot for what I said,” he grumbled.

  Jenny grinned and rose to her feet. “Eight o’clock, Jason. See you then.” She lifted a hand in farewell and then slipped silently through the door and disappeared.

  Jason stared after her. After a moment of frowning silence, he rose and prepared to leave. He had much to do before he met her at eight o’clock.

  Chapter Four

  It was a dark, gloomy night; the rain that had been falling steadily since morning seemed determined to continue. It dripped incessantly from the trees, falling softly on the dead leaves below.

  The huge black stallion standing just inside the woods pawed the ground restlessly; he was unaccustomed to standing still for such a long time. The woman on his back soothed him with a gentle hand, then turned her gaze to her companion. “You’re very quiet, Jason. Something wrong?”

  Jason drew his cloak tighter about his shoulders and glared at her. “What could be wrong? You drag me out on a night like this—a night not fit for man or beast—just so I can catch my death.”

  “Don’t fuss, Jason. You have to identify that coach for me.”

  “What makes you so bloody sure the coach will even be out tonight? The gent’s probably at home hiding under his bed after being robbed the other night.”

  Quietly, she responded, “Jason, I—may not have much time. I must look for the man every chance I get.”

  “What do you mean by that?” He frowned at her.

  “There are—problems. Problems that may force me to go away for a while.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  She sighed softly. “Family problems. Never mind that now, Jason, just hope that the ‘gent’ had somewhere to go tonight.”

  Jason continued to frown. “An’ if he ain’t got somewhere to go? What then?”

  Jenny uttered a very unladylike word. “Jason, will you stop asking me questions that I cannot possibly answer? If I do not find him tonight, I shall continue my search. I have no other choice.”

  Deciding that a good argument might serve to warm his chilled bones, Jason deliberately set out to anger his young friend—a calculated risk, her temper being what it was. “Don’t be a fool. You ’ave another choice,” he said.

  Icy yellow eyes regarded him expressionlessly. “I should be delighted to hear,” she remarked with awful politeness, “what that other choice is.”

  “You can stop your thievin’ an’ go back to bein’ a proper young lady like your papa wanted. You ain’t helpin’ your papa, lass—an’ how would he feel if he could see what you was doin’? D’you think he’d be proud of his little girl? No! He’d be grieved to see you actin’ like a common thief.”

  It was a long speech, especially coming from the normally taciturn Jason, and Jenny stared at him rather blankly. Instead of taking offense, as he had intended for her to do, she merely seemed concerned.

  “Jason, are you all right? You do not sound like yourself.”

  He sighed. Addressing the heavens, he said, “Ain’t that just like a woman. They never act like you expect ’em to.”

  “Jason, what are you talking about?”

  “Nothin’, lass.”

  She stared at him for a moment and then shrugged slightly. He was, she decided, in a very peculiar mood tonight. She spared very little thought for it, however, as her ears caught the sounds of distant hoofbeats. Both the horses shifted restlessly as their riders’ tension communicated itself to them.

  As the coach rumbled past, Jenny strained her eyes to see if there was a crest on the panel, then turned a questioning gaze to the highwayman. He shook his head silently.

  When the coach had disappeared into the darkness, Jenny swore softly and jerked off her hooded mask. “That makes the fifth coach tonight,” she exclaimed irritably. “I am beginning to agree with you, Jason—this was an idiotic idea.”

  At that moment the moon made a brief appearance and, before it hid again behind the clouds, Jason was treated to the sight of Jenny’s unmasked face. Astonished by the beauty he had been given a fleeting glimpse of, he was moved to say sharply, “For God’s sake, woman, put that mask back on!”

  Jenny shrugged and carelessly responded, “It’s all right, Jason. I trust you.”

  “More fool you,” the highwayman said darkly. “There’s quite a price on your head; I could inform against you.”

  “You could,” she agreed. “I could also inform against you.” Her smile flashed white in the darkness. “I don’t want to be brutal, Jason, but ask yourself who the Runners would be more likely to believe—you or me?”

  Immediately struck by the truth of this question, Jason grinned at her. “You have a point.”

  “Of course.”

  He chuckled softly. “Now that we’ve cleared that out of the way, are we goin’ to sit out here in the damp for the rest of the night?”

  Jenny sighed in resignation. “I don’t suppose it would do any good.”

  “Now you’re being sensible.”

  The two riders turned their horses toward Maidenstone and rode back to the inn. They parted there, and Jason merely nodded when Jenny reminded him to “keep an eye out” for that coach.

  Jenny stabled the black stallion and saddled her own mare for the ride back to the manor. Her vain attempt to discover the coach that Jason had held up caused her to feel deeply depressed, and the long ride back to the manor only increased her depression.

  By the time she was safely back in her bedroom, Jenny desired nothing so much as a hearty bout of tears. But she did not cry. She lay silently in her bed and cheered herself with the thought that tomorrow night she would visit Spencer to return his jewels. On that pleasant thought, she fell asleep.

  Jenny performed her routine household tasks the next morning, until an odd restlessness drove her to saddle her mare and go for a ride. She could not understand herself; knowing that she had a long ride ahead of her that night, she should not have been restless. Nonetheless, she had to escape from the manor—for a little while at least.

  She wandered rather aimlessly through the woods near the manor, her mind on her coming meeting with Spencer.

  This pleasant occupation of Jenny’s mind was very lucky for Meg—otherwise Jenny would have been far more angry than she was when she came suddenly upon her stepsister locked in a passionate embrace with a blond stranger.

  Jenny reined her mare to a stop and calmly gazed at the red-faced pair. Lifting an eyebrow, she remarked casually, “I am surprised at you, Meg. I really think you could have found a more discreet location for this—assignation. Who is this gentleman?”

  Her calm acceptance of what was definitely a compromising situation deprived Meg of speech for a full minute. Finally, she recovered enough to say weakly, “Jenny, it—it isn’t what you think!”

  “Isn’t it really? Then if it isn’t what I think, Meg, perhaps you had better explain to me what it is. And, I repeat, who is this gentleman?”

  Having by this time regained his composure, Robert stepped forward. “My name is Collins, ma’am—Robert Collins.”

  “How do you do?” she responded politely. “I am Jennifer Courtenay.” With an economy of movement, she slipped from the saddle and tied her horse to a tree. Facing the worried couple, she said pleasantly, “You still haven’t told me what the situation is, Meg.”

  When her stepsister remained silent, Jenny regarded the young gentleman with a measuring eye and remarked outrageously, “There is no need to be afraid of me, you know—I certainly cannot reproach you for your behavior toward Meg. However much you may deserve it, the feat is beyond my capability—you’re too big.”

  Robert blinked at the remarkable young woman and said hastily (for he had the distinct feeling that the feat she spoke of was not beyond her capability), “I assure you, Miss Courtenay, that my intentions toward Meg are strictly honorable.”

  “Are they indeed? And just what are your intentions, Mr. Collins? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

  “I
want to marry her.”

  Meg entered the conversation at this point. “I meant to tell you, Jenny, but you’ve been so busy the past few days that I never got the chance. Robert and I want to be married.”

  This dramatic pronouncement brought not the slightest change in Jenny’s calm expression. “Really? This is rather sudden, is it not, Meg?”

  “We’ve known each other for days.”

  Jenny fought to control her amusement. She had no doubt that Meg was completely serious. Only a slight quiver in her voice betrayed her when she murmured, “Days! That is—er—quite some time. And yet you have not applied to Sir George for his—er—blessings?”

  “Well, of course not!” Meg exclaimed with pardonable annoyance. “What a perfectly bird-witted thing to ask. Jenny, you know Papa.”

  “Meg, do I really need to remind you that you are under age? You cannot possibly be married without Sir George’s approval.”

  “Yes, well—that’s where you come in, Jenny.”

  Jenny felt a sense of foreboding. “I? What can I possibly have to do with anything?”

  With an angelic smile, Meg answered, “You can win Papa over, Jenny—I know you can.”

  “Meg, your father and I aren’t even on speaking terms at the moment. Or have you forgotten Lord Stoven?”

  Meg’s guilty expression proved that she had, indeed, forgotten Jenny’s rejected suitor. “Oh, dear. What can we do now?”

  “Well, for one thing, you can explain to me how you came to do such an improper thing as to meet Mr. Collins in the woods.”

  “Jenny, where else could we meet?” Meg’s voice was pleading. “You couldn’t expect us never to see each other just because of Papa. We want to do the right thing, really we do, but we must see each other sometime.”

  “I understand that, Meg.” Jenny sighed. “It will do no good to talk about it now, however. You and I must return to the manor before Sir George discovers that we are missing.” She turned her gaze to Robert. “Mr. Collins, with all due respect to young love, I must ask you not to meet Meg in the woods any longer. The next time you two meet, you will be duly chaperoned—by me.”

  Jenny was completely aware of the absurdity of the situation. The Cat, a notorious thief, was calmly advising—no, commanding—a young couple to obey the laws of respectability.

  She also realized, though, that Meg was far too innocent to understand the dangers of such a situation. But Jenny understood, and she had no intention of allowing Meg to destroy her reputation. One hoyden in the family was quite enough.

  “But, Jenny—”

  “Say good-bye to Mr. Collins, Meg. And don’t look so upset. I promise that you two will meet again.”

  With Jenny’s eye on them, the young lovers contented themselves with a handshake and an exchange of intense looks. Robert assisted the ladies in mounting their horses and watched as they rode off toward the manor.

  All the way back to the manor Jenny listened as Meg praised Robert to the heavens. Yes, he was certainly a handsome young man. Yes, he seemed to be a perfect gentleman—ignoring the obvious strike against that particular virtue. Yes, his voice was certainly pleasant. Yes, his profile almost exactly matched that on a Greek coin.

  Once at the manor, Jenny was able to escape from her stepsister’s raptures. Pleading a headache, she escaped to her room for a few moments of well-earned rest.

  Lying on her bed, she found her thoughts turning to Spencer, and scolded herself sharply for her selfishness. She should have been trying to think of a way to solve Meg’s romantic problems.

  Pushing the duke from her mind, she carefully thought about Meg and Robert. Immediately, the expression in Robert’s eyes when he looked at Meg rose to her mind. Hard on the heels of that mental image came wistful thoughts of the duke.

  With a silent curse, Jenny rolled over on her stomach and firmly thrust the duke from her thoughts once again. She was only thinking about him because of their coming meeting, she told herself. It was absurd to think that her recent exposure to young love had anything to do with her preoccupation.

  Chapter Five

  Spencer gazed broodingly into the fire, thinking of wild eyes and a cool, mocking voice. He wondered irritably how a woman with such distinctive eyes could be unknown. From her manner of speaking, she was gently born and well-educated. Yet more than two weeks of discreet questions and careful search had failed to discover a single young woman with wild, glittering eyes.

  He propped his long legs upon a footstool and released a weary sigh. Devil take the woman. She was nowhere to be found.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  He jerked his head around, staring toward the window. It was her. She sat upon the windowsill, hooded and masked as before, negligently holding a pistol in one black-gloved hand.

  Involuntarily, he said, “I have been searching everywhere for you.”

  “I cannot imagine why—unless you wished for the return of your property.” Her free hand tossed a small leather pouch to land near his chair. “Your jewels. I regret that the money could not be returned as well. Unfortunately, it was needed elsewhere.”

  She turned to go, but Spencer said, “Wait. I—would like to talk to you.” He knew instinctively that if he made a move to rise, she would disappear into the night.

  Her golden eyes studied him intently. “I see no reason for a conversation between the two of us, Your Grace,” she said coolly.

  He smiled. “Humor me. I wish to get to know you. You are, after all, an enigma.”

  “By choice, Your Grace,” she responded dryly. “A well-known thief tends to have a distressingly short career.”

  Again he smiled, genuinely amused by this strange, bold young woman. “You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you. Even if I knew your true identity, I would disclose it to no one.”

  Birdlike, she tilted her head to one side. “That is a very strange statement, Your Grace. I am a notorious thief; it is your duty as a loyal subject of the king to do your utmost to aid in my apprehension.”

  He leaned his head back against the chair and studied her speculatively. “I am not entirely certain that you are a thief.”

  Small white teeth gleamed in a brilliant smile. “Have you forgotten that I robbed you?”

  “No. And yet tonight you returned the jewels.”

  “But not the money.”

  “Which you said was needed elsewhere. I have talked to most of the people you robbed and they all told me that, without exception, all of their jewelry was returned to them. Hardly the behavior of a common thief.”

  “I never said I was common, Your Grace.”

  “What are you searching for?” He saw her stiffen in surprise, and continued quietly, “The only answer I could formulate is that you are searching for a particular article of jewelry.”

  “Astute of you,” she responded abruptly. “And the money?”

  “I can only assume that you have need of the money.”

  “Why not assume that I am simply a thief—greedy for riches?”

  “There is still the matter of the jewels. If you were greedy, you would not have returned them.”

  Her golden eyes narrowed. After a moment, she said softly, “You think, Your Grace. That can be very dangerous in a man.”

  His eyes locked with hers. “It can be even more dangerous in a woman,” he responded smoothly.

  For a long moment, a silent battle of wills took place between them. Then the Cat began to smile. With a soft chuckle, she said, “You would be a formidable opponent, Your Grace.”

  His eyes were grave. “I have no wish to oppose you; I would like to help you.”

  She seemed surprised. “I believe you mean that.”

  “I do. If you would tell me what you search for, perhaps . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized that, although she was still smiling, she had withdrawn from him.

  “Thank you. I am very grateful for the offer, but this is something I must do alone.”

  There was a t
inge of regret in his gray eyes. “You do not trust me.”

  Her smile twisted wryly. “My trust in my fellow man was never strong, Your Grace; it has deteriorated sadly during the past few years.”

  Quietly, Spencer said, “Some tragedy pushed you into this strange career. Something in your past. I feel that.”

  For a moment, she was silent. Then, in a rather mocking voice she said, “You are an incurable romantic, Your Grace; I am sure that your friends have often remarked it.”

  “Perhaps.” He smiled faintly. “But I have always trusted in my instincts. In this case, my instincts tell me that you are not a thief, or a murderess, or even an essentially violent woman. I believe that you are simply a woman who searches for something which is very important to her.”

  He waited tensely, hoping desperately that she would confide in him. He had the distinct impression that she wanted to confide in him, but something held her back.

  After a long moment, during which she stared at him gravely, she stirred slightly and said, “If I hear anything concerning the spy, I’ll contrive to send word to you.”

  As she made a move to go, he said sharply, “Wait! Is there some way I could send a message to you, if need be?” There was a thick silence, and the duke, seeking to allay her distrust, spoke calmly. “I may hear something at the War Office concerning the spy.”

  Her wild golden eyes probed his serious gray ones. “Do you remember where I held you up?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Just before you reach that point, there is a large hollow tree on the left side of the road. It is very distinctive; it was blasted by lightning and now leans heavily on another tree. Place a message within the tree. If you hear nothing from me within two weeks, you will know that I am unable to reply.”

  Spencer thought fleetingly of the various reasons why she would be unable to reply—a gunshot wound, a hangman’s noose. He forced a smile. “Thank you.”

  She threw one leg across the windowsill and then paused, an alarming coldness creeping into her eyes. “Do not betray me!” she said intensely. “If a trap is set . . .”