The Art of Stealing a Duke’s Heart: Thieves of Desire Book 1

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “It won’t move!” Matthew grunted as he tried to open it. Calli attempted herself, wondering if it was just stuck, but it was most definitely locked.

  “Hmm,” she said. “I’m not sure what it could be.”

  “What could Uncle have hidden away?” Mary asked, her lips turning down as though her uncle had purposefully hidden something just from her.

  Calli crouched beside her and squeezed her hand.

  “I’m sure it’s just because there is something unsafe in there. Or something valuable.”

  Valuable. Calli considered the make up of the house and where they were situated. She didn’t know particularly much about large estates such as this one, but she would have guessed there would be a room like a large gallery up here. It was what she had been hoping for, anyway. Was Jonathan hiding more priceless paintings up here?

  She bit her lip. She had no wish to steal anything further from him. And yet, if Arie ever found out and knew she had been here…

  “We best get back to the nursery,” Calli said, deciding she would think on it later, not having the heart to do so now. “It must be near dinner time.”

  “Do you think we can dine with Uncle?” Mary asked eagerly. “Maybe it’s different here in the country.”

  Calli wasn’t so sure.

  “I don’t know—” she began, but they had just reached the stairwell and found Mrs. McDonald bustling by. “His Grace asked me to share that dinner shall be at eight o’clock.”

  “For all of us?” Calli asked her as she continued on.

  “For all of you!” Mrs. McDonald called over her shoulder with a smile, and Calli turned to find the children beaming up at her.

  “Well, then,” she said to Mary. “I suppose you were right after all.”

  Now she just had to get through dinner without throwing herself at the duke. Surely that shouldn’t be a problem. Should it?

  * * *

  Jonathan knew this had likely been a bad idea.

  But there was something about this big empty house out here in Kent that made him lonely. Even lonelier than usual. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was, in truth, the reason he spent most of his time in London. Kent held too many memories — happy and unhappy. Of his father, who had left him far too young. His mother, who’s interest in his life was negligent at best. His sister, the only person he had left in the world, who had abandoned him with her two children.

  Besides, what was he supposed to do with himself in this lofty home alone?

  At the very least, he wouldn’t have to entertain the children himself over dinner. For the truth was, he had no idea what to do with them, what to say to them. He cursed his sister anew, wishing he knew where she was so that he could tell her exactly what he thought of her decision to leave the children with him. She had said in her note that she hoped he would provide for them.

  Of course he would provide for them. Of that, there was no question. He would have done so even had his sister not left.

  He heard them down the corridor before he saw them, their footsteps pounding over the carpeted hardwood before Miss Donahue called after them to slow down and mind their manners. She stopped them before they reached the dining room, and he heard her remind them in hushed tones to be polite and mind their uncle.

  He smiled to himself. Miss Donahue had been a rare find indeed… for more reasons than should matter.

  Jonathan sighed. He was just going to have to wrest control of himself. He knew from the past that he couldn’t fully trust just anyone — not even a governess who had come highly recommended.

  He stood from the end of the table when they walked into the room.

  “Uncle!” Mary exclaimed, even as Miss Donahue placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to curb her enthusiasm — although she wore a slight smile as well, and Jonathan could sense that she somehow approved of his invitation to them this evening.

  “Mary. Matthew. Miss Donahue,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn. “Shall we?” He swept his hand out to the table in front of him, and all three of them became rather wide-eyed at the elaborate settings.

  “I’ve never seen so many spoons,” Mary said, her voice just above a whisper as they took their seats, and Jonathan chuckled.

  “Well, this will be the perfect opportunity for your governess to school you in table manners, then, would it not?”

  He looked over at Miss Donahue with a smile, surprised when what seemed like panic crossed her face, although she quickly covered it with a nod.

  “Of course,” she said as the footmen entered with the soup, placing a bowl down in front of each of them.

  “How have you found Wyndmere?” he asked as he picked up the soup spoon, after which the rest of them followed suit.

  “It is ginormous!” Matthew exclaimed, to which Miss Donahue let out a slight laugh.

  “Gigantic or enormous, Matthew,” she said softly, although not critically, before she turned the force of those violet eyes up at Jonathan, eyes that tonight matched the dress that she wore, as reserved as it was. Jonathan was no great expert in ladies fashion, but he had the impression that she was not the first owner of the dress — it did not seem to fit her properly and was worn in a few places. He had a sudden urge to see her in the finest silks and satins — silks and satins that he commissioned himself to drape her in. “You have a beautiful home, Your Grace,” she said. “We are lucky to see it.”

  He shrugged self-consciously as Mary chimed in.

  “We were exploring, and we found a locked room,” she said, her voice just above a whisper as though she was sharing a great secret, her soup spoon clanging against the side of the bowl. “What have you hidden away, Uncle?”

  “Mary,” Miss Donahue admonished, but as her eyes flitted over him, he could tell that she was just as curious as the children were.

  “Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head. “A few valuables, is all, to be kept away so that they cannot be damaged.”

  “Is it art?” Miss Donahue asked, raising one eyebrow in what he could tell she thought was a nonchalant manner. “You have a fine collection adorning the walls. I cannot imagine anything even grander.”

  Jonathan remembered the sketchpad he had found in her possession the one evening in London.

  “Are you interested in art, Miss Donahue?”

  The footmen cleared away the soup course and brought in the beef. Jonathan looked down the table, seeing the salad and cheese still in the center, and asked if Miss Donahue would pass it around.

  “Of course,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “And I would say that I appreciate beautiful paintings, but I know not much about them.”

  “Do you paint yourself?”

  “As an idle pastime,” she said, waving a hand in the air as though it was nothing. “My sketches and paintings are nothing exemplary.”

  “I should like to see them sometime.”

  “Oh, that would only embarrass me,” she said, looking down at her plate, “for I’m sure you have seen the very finest.”

  “All art has something to offer, Miss Donahue,” he said, looking at her curiously, now more interested than ever seeing her work. “It is why I find it difficult to answer the question of just who is the greatest master painter. For each has something to offer, and it is all a matter of taste.”

  “There is much truth in that,” she agreed, but her attention wavered when the footmen appeared again.

  “What is that?” Mary leaned in and whispered in her ear, though loud enough that Jonathan could hear.

  “I’m sure it’s quite tasty,” Miss Donahue whispered in return, and Jonathan had to work hard to keep his laughter in check.

  “I hope you enjoy the artichokes,” he said with a nod, and Miss Donahue looked up in some relief.

  “Of course, I know we will,” she said, and their gazes held for a moment until Matthew caught her attention from the other side of the table.

  “Which fork to do we use, Miss Donahue?”

  �
�Which fork?” she repeated, before looking down at the array remaining. “Ah, I would say…” her gaze flickered over to Jonathan, seeing the smaller fork in his hand. “This one,” she said holding it up.

  “Miss Donahue,” Jonathan said, suddenly curious and a slight bit suspicious about her lack of knowledge in one of the subjects every governess of noble children should be well versed in. Collins had highly recommended her, as had the additional references he had contacted. “Just where did you say you had your education?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I ever said,” she said with a demure smile that wasn’t fooling him.

  “Then do tell,” he said, waving out a hand in front of him as though clearing the air for her words.

  “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

  “Bore away,” he said, hearing the slight edge in his tone. He didn’t enjoy it when people tried to evade him.

  “Very well,” she said, placing her utensils down in front of her, looking around the table at each of them. “Most of my education was taught to me by my brothers and sister.”

  “You have brothers and sisters?” Matthew asked eagerly.

  “I do,” she said with a small nod. “Three brothers and one sister.”

  “Lucky,” Mary said, stretching out the word. “I would like a sister.”

  “You have me,” Matthew said, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown.

  Miss Donahue nodded. “That is right. You are fortunate to have your brother.”

  “Who is your family?” Jonathan asked, needing to know more.

  “We do not have noble blood,” she said quietly. “I hope that does not preclude me from this job?”

  “I am not that conceited,” he said indignantly, “as long as you provide the children with what they need to know.”

  “Of course,” she said with a slight nod. “My family is in… trade.”

  “Trade.”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. I do a great deal of investments in shipping myself,” he said.

  “I didn’t realize that many noblemen did.”

  “Most don’t. They find it beneath them. But it makes me a good deal of money.”

  She nodded as the dessert course was brought in, much to the children’s delight.

  Miss Donahue laughed, a sound that Jonathan found he rather enjoyed.

  “This is one course it doesn’t look like we shall have to explain,” she said with a grin toward him, and he shook his head.

  “No, we do not.”

  She picked up one of the cakes to pass it to him.

  “Would you like some?” she asked, and he shook his head, holding a hand up. He tried to keep himself from such enticements.

  She shrugged and served herself enough for two. She dug in a spoon and at the taste of sugar on her lips, she closed her eyes and sighed, before licking off a spot of whipped cream that had remained on her plush upper lip.

  Jonathan stilled, unable to remove his eyes from her.

  She was sensual without trying to be, had stirred his curiosity for no grand reason other than she was different from anyone he had ever met.

  Jonathan enjoyed certainty. He preferred to know what to expect, from himself and from others.

  But at the moment, only one thing was certain.

  He was in trouble.

  Chapter 11

  Calli thanked the duke, grateful that the dinner was over, as wondrous as the food had been.

  The cook in London was excellent, of course, but Calli had never before experienced a feast as she’d just had. She had caught the duke staring at her after she had stuffed the dessert in her mouth, leaving her a slight bit ashamed over how gluttonous she must have appeared.

  Between that and the fact that she clearly had no idea how to properly address such a meal, it was a wonder that he could even look at her, so obviously did adhering to such things appear important to him.

  She settled the children into bed, a feat made difficult from their exuberance over the meal with their uncle and the sugar they had imbibed at the end of it.

  Finally, mercifully, after insisting on more than one tall tale, they were sleeping, and Calli returned to her room, eager to spread out her canvas and get to work.

  Only to find that she couldn’t seem to sit still.

  Perhaps she had eaten far too much sugar herself. Perhaps the duke’s questions were nagging at her, unsettling her. Or perhaps she was too curious about just what was held in those secret rooms of his.

  She opened her bag and found, at the bottom, the small kit that one of her siblings had packed for her. Only her family would consider a lock picking kit an essential item.

  Calli opened the door, finding the corridor blessedly empty. She had no idea how much staff was employed here in the country home, but it seemed quite a small contingent for such a large house. The duke must not spend much time here.

  She hurried up the stairs to the third floor, soon finding herself in front of the door. Her heart pounded, knowing she had no business being here, but finding herself overwhelmed with curiosity. It wasn’t as though she was going to do anything with whatever she found, she told herself, even though she could practically hear Arie’s voice in her head as she crouched in front of the door. She just wanted to have a look, to see what other masters could be lurking within.

  She had never been the best lock picker. That had been one of Xander’s specialties, which meant she didn’t often have any reason to utilize such a skill. Arie had made them all practice, however, and Calli couldn’t help but let out a small, triumphant, “yes!” of a whisper when she heard the lock click in the mechanism.

  She stood and took the doorknob in her hand, but just as she turned it, she was suddenly snatched up from behind.

  “Help!” she tried to cry out, even as a hand clamped over her mouth. She attempted to bite down on it, but strong arms held her firm.

  “Miss Donahue,” came a low, soft yet steely voice in her ear. “Looking for something?”

  The arms loosened just enough to allow her to turn within them, and she found herself face to face with the duke. His expression was, well… slightly murderous.

  “Your Grace,” she managed. “How… unlikely to see you here.”

  “This is my home,” he said through near-clenched teeth. “I believe I have the right to go where I’d like. As we have discussed before.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, even as she wiggled in his embrace in an attempt to back away.

  “And what,” he bit out, “might you be doing?”

  “I…” she tried to look around him, but he was too close, held her too tight. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she near whispered. “I was just curious.”

  “I do hope that lock picking is not a skill that you plan on teaching the children.”

  “Of course not,” she said, looking down at his chest, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “My sister often locked me out of our bedroom, so I learned as a child how to allow myself entry.”

  “I see,” he said, his grip loosening slightly, although his eyes didn’t lose their suspicion. “Well, Miss Donahue, you want to see what’s within? Go ahead.”

  He released her so suddenly she nearly fell, and he gestured in front of him. As much as she would have liked to turn around and run for her room, Calli found that she most certainly could not back away now, and she took a hesitant step through the door.

  Only to find Aladdin’s cave awaiting.

  * * *

  Jonathan knew that he should be irate at finding her here.

  Snooping. Spying. Prying.

  She had no business being here. In this room. In his home. In his life.

  But he couldn’t force her out of this house any more than he could from the imaginings that wouldn’t leave him. As soon as he’d found her, he should have sent her on her way, at least back to bed if not out of this house and his employ completely. And yet, instead, here he was, inviting her into his sanctuary.

  “Oh, Your Gra
ce,” she said, a hitch in her voice. “This is… this is…”

  He smirked at her loss of words. He hardly showed anyone this room. It hadn’t always been locked. But with the children in residence, he had been worried that they would mistake the long gallery for a place they could run amok, and so had decided that it might be in his best interests to keep it locked.

  It seemed there was someone else who found the room captivating.

  “How did you come to discover your passion for art?” Jonathan asked quietly, watching the rapture on Miss Donahue’s face as it danced over the paintings that adorned the tall walls from ceiling to floor.

  She took a few steps into the room, her hand hovering overtop of one of the sculptures that stood atop a pillar. “May I?” she asked quietly, and at his nod, she ran her hand reverently over the top of the bald man’s head.

  Suddenly Jonathan had a sudden wish to be a statue.

  “I suppose I first fell in love with the paintings I saw in my brother’s collections, which he acquired for clients,” she said as she began to wander around the room, taking a closer look at the paintings he had collected over the past ten years. “I asked for paints, and soon found myself nearly obsessed with it. I always wanted to be better. One of the only ways I discovered I could do so was to study those who were considered the masters. I was always searching for more, wanting to learn more, discover more. My glimpses of valuable work is fleeting, and I don’t have much access to the masterpieces themselves, but I try to take advantage when I have the opportunity.”

  “Well, now you do,” Jonathan said. “You are welcome to visit this room anytime you’d like.”

  “Really?” she whirled around, her skirts flying about her so quickly that she nearly knocked over one of the marble pillars and she had to reach out to right it. “Are you sure? You don’t have to. I—”

  “Of course I don’t have to,” he said, straightening. “I can do as I please.”