Touch of a Thief

by Mia Marlowe

  “Three days,” she repeated. “Well, I suppose it will give us a chance to become better acquainted.”

  She’d already spurned his efforts on that score. He supposed she meant to talk to him for three days. Sanjay’s suggestion of putting her off in Le Havre was beginning to have real appeal.

  “Tell me, Lieutenant. Why did you go to India in the first place?”

  Reverting to his rank was a step backward. “I thought you’d agreed to call me Quinn.”

  “I agreed to call you Greydon, but you didn’t seem to like it.”

  She emerged from behind the sheet, her unbound hair cascading over her shoulders. Auburn highlights sparked in the flickering lamplight and Quinn decided it was one husbandly perk that had been seriously underrated.

  She wore a blue velvet robe de chambre. It was a bit threadbare in spots, but the garment covered her decently. If she was at home, she might greet early callers in it, but Quinn couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that her breasts were free of their whalebone prison beneath the silver cord frogs that marched down the front of the soft robe.

  She reached up to unhook the sheet. It seemed like a stretch for her, so Quinn stood to help her, starting at the opposite end.

  When they met in the middle, he handed her the sheet and looked down at her. At close range, the neckline of her robe plunged low enough to reveal the shadowed hollow between her breasts. He jerked his gaze back to her eyes, but not quickly enough for it to escape her notice.

  Her lips curved in a slight smile.

  The little minx was teasing him. It would serve her right if he swept her up and plunged his hand down her bodice to claim a soft breast. He knew how to tease a woman beyond bearing. She had no idea whom she was dealing with. Of course, if she was aware of the light show she’d just given, he might be in for a sensual surprise as well. In several respects, Viola Preston was no lady.

  But he was trying to be a gentleman. Mostly.

  Quinn stepped back a pace.

  “You haven’t answered my question.” She moved to close the distance between them again.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what she’d asked. “There are any number of questions you haven’t answered for me either.”

  “Well, it appears we shall not be in want of topics for conversation the next three days then.” She turned and made up the bed, tucking the corners with practiced efficiency.

  “For the daughter of an earl, you seem unusually accustomed to domestic chores.”

  She lifted her chin as she plumped the single pillow. “One does what one must.”

  “Is that why you steal?”

  She shot him a glare. “If it’s any of your business, my father died and left my side of the family penniless because I had the misfortune of being born a daughter instead of a son. I steal because I enjoy sleeping indoors and eating regular meals. And want my mother, sister and niece to do so as well. Satisfied?”

  Not even close, but his cock would just have to bear the ache till he managed to settle himself.

  “Many people live in reduced circumstances without resorting to theft.”

  “I am not many people.” She packed her toiletries back into a small bag and crouched down to stow them in the valise she’d tucked under the bed. “And you’re not many people either. You’re the heir of a viscount. Reportedly far more than solvent even before you left for India. You had no need to make the choice usually relegated to second sons.”

  “I was born a second son.”

  “But according to DeBrett’s, your brother died in childhood.”

  “You investigated me.”

  “It seemed prudent to at least look you up in the registry of peers since you forced me to travel to Paris with you.”

  He winced inwardly at the word forced.

  She cocked her head at him. “Why purchase a commission when you could while away your inheritance in gaming hells and brothels like most men who are waiting for a title?”

  A captaincy in the military meant putting the greatest possible distance between himself and his father, but he’d already revealed more about that than he should have to her. “It seemed the right course of action at the time.”

  “No doubt you always choose the right course.” Her tone was laced with subtle sarcasm. “Was it for adventure, Lieutenant?”

  “It appears you have found me out.”

  She smiled thinly at him. “Then we are more alike than you might imagine. I freely confess my thefts allow me to do things most women wouldn’t dream. Dressed as a man, I’ve roamed the city at night alone. At first, my heart pounded at every footstep, and I started at every barking dog. But later, I reveled in the choices a man’s clothes gave me.” She stopped before the porthole and looked out. The first hint of moonlight kissed her cheek. “I know that must sound incredibly tame to you, but for a woman of quality, it’s an unheard of freedom.”

  She turned to fix him with her direct gaze. “What freedom lured you to India?”

  Did she know some young bucks chose a stint on the subcontinent because it offered the opportunity for unbridled sexual experimentation? Quinn had limited himself to Padmaa and her tutelage, but in the Gorgeous East a man of means might purchase any sort of sensual escapade he could imagine.

  And some Quinn would never conjure up on his own in a million years.

  “Duty to country lured me to India,” he said.

  Her lip curled. “If that’s what you wish to believe.”

  “Why don’t you believe it?”

  “Because I think you found waiting around for your father to die boring beyond bearing.”

  “There’s where you’re wrong.” Satan couldn’t collect the old bastard soon enough to suit him.

  “Life is beastly unfair, don’t you think? My father’s death means my family is set aside. Yours means you take your place as a peer of the realm.”

  Injustice always clawed his spine. Even injustice done to a thief.

  “I’m sorry for your misfortune, Viola.”

  Her robe slipped down one shoulder. The exposed skin glowed with health in the light of the flickering lamp. His soft palate ached to taste that delectable flesh with a string of kisses.

  “Do you think the unfairness you experienced gives you license to right the wrong with another wrong?” he asked.

  “Apparently you do or we wouldn’t be bound for Paris.” She adjusted her robe to cover her shoulder completely. “Barring the fact that I’ve yet to see you on a white horse, this whole desperate escapade smacks of a quest. I suspect you tilt at windmills as often as you can.”

  “At least my reasons for wanting the red diamond have nothing to do with my own needs.”

  He realized suddenly that he was still wearing his greatcoat and the cabin was becoming deucedly warm. Or perhaps it was just because he was in it with a beautiful, barely dressed woman. He shrugged out of the coat and hung it on a peg behind him.

  “You didn’t have to resort to thievery to provide for your family, you know. A woman has other options. Marriage, for example.”

  “Not if her dowry has disappeared in a blink.” She’d been all ginger sauce up to that point, spicy but not the least sour. The sudden bitterness in her tone surprised him.

  “You’re undoubtedly well educated. You might have become a governess.”

  “How deliciously lowering. The earl’s daughter takes a position tending a baron’s brats.” She laughed mirthlessly. “The ton would have eaten that for breakfast with a spoon.”

  “There’s another choice they’d consider even more lowering, but some women make it.”

  Quinn wondered, not for the first time, about her level of sensual experience. She was old for a debutante, probably in her mid-twenties, and hadn’t been under a man’s protection since her father died. When he’d insisted on sharing the cabin with her, she had protested, but not with a virgin’s horror at the scandal of it or with demands that he marry in truth to protect her good name.

>   And she kissed like a woman who knew what passion was.

  “Are you suggesting I sell myself, Lieutenant?”

  “As frank a woman as you are, I’m certain you considered it.” He moved closer and realized she was trembling a bit but trying to control it. “You’d cut a wide swath through the demimonde. A gentleman with plump pockets would snap you up in a heartbeat to keep you—”

  “As his own private plaything,” she finished for him.

  “His cosseted, protected, adored plaything. You could name your own terms. What man wouldn’t want you? You’re wellborn . . . beautiful . . . accomplished . . .” Without conscious volition, he found himself reaching to cup her cheek. She didn’t pull away. In fact, she inhaled a hitching breath when his thumb feathered over her skin. “Passionate.”

  “How could you know that?” she whispered, her lips barely moving.

  He bent to lower his lips to within inches of hers. “A man just knows.”

  Then to his very great surprise, she slipped her fingers under his lapels and stood on tiptoe. Eyes wide open, she closed the distance between their mouths.

  CHAPTER 5

  I ’m going straight to hell.

  Quinn’s kisses melted her insides so thoroughly, she almost didn’t care.

  Her fingers fluttered down his chest, unbuttoning his jacket. Such strong, hard muscles laid beneath that fine lawn shirt. He cinched her tighter to him and she felt a rock-hard bulge in his trousers. Warmth collected between her thighs. She arched into him and rocked her pelvis against him slowly.

  He all but growled into her mouth.

  That deep ache began to throb in her private place. Hollow. Empty. Needy.

  It was wrong for a woman to even have such needs, much less act upon them. Home and family. Those should be her chief concerns.

  “Think of the joy a child will bring you and you’ll find you can bear those wifely duties,” her mother had warned her when she explained the expectations a man has of the woman he marries.

  The act was something to be endured with gritted teeth and grim determination.

  Not sought out with such languid abandon.

  Viola might have been born a lady, gently reared and overprotected, but Nature had played a cruel trick on her.

  A wanton lived inside her skin.

  Quinn’s arms tensed around her. His hands slid down to cup her bum, fondling and lifting. He raised her up, grinding her against his hardness. She hooked an ankle around his leg and moved in rhythm with him.

  He lowered her back down and released her lips. His mouth traveled down her neck to the tops of her breasts. She closed her eyes in bliss. Oh, there were his hands, stroking and circling. He parted the robe, unhooking the cord frogs down to her waist. Her nipples strained through the thin silk of her nightgown, aching for him to touch them, to squeeze them. Oh, please. To suck.

  Quinn thumbed the pearl buttons and her nightgown fell open for him. He plunged his hand into her bodice. She spiraled down into a hot dark place. His mouth followed his hand, finding her taut nipple and suckling it. He nipped her and she gasped at the fiery jolt of need that arced from her breast to her womb.

  They moved across the small space, a slow-motion dance of lust leading them toward the bed. It would all happen and Viola was powerless to stop it.

  Didn’t want to stop it.

  Then suddenly, there was a sharp rap on the door. Quinn’s head snapped up. “Who is it?” he demanded, his voice passionragged.

  “Your dinner, sahib. It is ready to be served.”

  The Hindu’s words were a dash of cold water.

  “Give us a moment, Sanjay,” Quinn ordered.

  Viola turned away from Quinn and tucked her exposed breasts back into her nightgown. Her swollen nipples throbbed for more of his rough attention. She pressed her palms flat against both breasts to still the ache.

  Quinn wrapped his arms around her from behind and planted a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” Reaching around to rehook the frogs on the robe for her, his heart pounded against her spine.

  She took a shuddering breath. “I shall have to be, shan’t I?”

  He left her then and opened the door to his servant.

  Viola kept her back turned to the men and stared at a knot in the wood of the bulkhead above the bunk. It seemed safer than facing anyone while her heart raced in her chest and echoed between her legs.

  She heard the clink of silverware, the snap of fresh napkins being folded just so, the chatter of a cup settling into a saucer. The rich, hearty smell of chowder tickled her nostrils. One of the men eased a cork from a bottle and a faint alcoholic haze wafted toward her.

  But none of it cooled the heat in her cheeks.

  Could Quinn’s servant scent a whiff of her arousal over the yeasty aroma of bread and cheese? Or hear her blood pounding in her veins?

  The servant murmured his salaams and she turned her head enough to catch the narrow-eyed glare he sent in her direction. She jerked her gaze away.

  Then she heard the click of a latch. She and Quinn were alone once again.

  And the madness was passing.

  “He doesn’t like me a bit, does he?” She turned around to find Quinn holding a chair for her. The table was set with gleaming crystal and china.

  “Sanjay doesn’t know you.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “Not yet. I intend to rectify that soon.” His eyes darkened with interest, but he seemed to have recovered from their lusty interlude. Did he still intend on knowing her in a manner most biblical?

  He swept a correct bow. “Will you dine with me, Lady Viola?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. So formal. Evidently, he needed some distance between them while he decided what to do about what had just happened. Very well. If there was one thing she excelled in, it was distance. She settled into the proffered chair.

  “Never say the captain of this vessel knows how to stock a table setting like this.”

  “No, this is Sanjay’s doing.” Quinn took his seat opposite her. His face was as flushed as she suspected hers still was. “I’d just as soon travel with a tin plate and mug, but Sanjay keeps reminding me I’ll be a viscount one day. He insists on maintaining certain standards.”

  “That makes one of us,” she murmured as he poured bloodred wine for them.

  “There is nothing wrong with your standards. Or mine.” Quinn fastened his steely gaze on her, not pretending to misunderstand her. “We have done nothing for which we ought to be ashamed. I have not pledged faithfulness to another. Have you?”

  “No.” Not now, at any rate.

  “Then no one is damaged by our actions. We’re both adults. We have needs. If we decide to act upon them, it’s no one’s business but ours.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, we were victims of bad timing.”

  She sipped the wine, which proved to be an excellent vintage, dusky and plummy with a hint of the oak cask in which it was aged. “Or fortuitous timing. We might have been making a grave error.”

  “Do you think so?” Quinn filled each of their soup bowls from the filigreed tureen and set hers before her.

  “I should amend that.” She blew on a spoonful from the steaming bowl. “I would be judged to have made a grave error. The world is quite accommodating of a man’s needs. It is both ignorant and condemning of a woman’s.”

  “I’m not.” Quinn leaned back in his chair, sipped his wine to test its worth, then drained the goblet. A smile lifted his lips. “In fact, I do everything in my power to encourage a woman to acknowledge her needs.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” She arched a cynical brow. “How very enlightened of you.”

  “No, merely practical.” He hitched his chair forward and dove into his soup bowl with gusto. “It’s folly to imagine that the Creator who gave men their primal urges failed to give women similar inclinations to match.”

  “A convenient philosophy.” But certainly not one she’d ever heard expounded by her vicar.
“Has it eased your way into many women’s beds?”

  “Careful.” He scraped his spoon along the bottom of the bowl. “Are you sure you wish to open our past sensual experiences to question? I might ask about the first man you took to your bed.”

  Did carnal knowledge leave a mark for the world to read? If so, it seemed her Scarlet A was showing. “Why do you assume there’s been a man in my bed?”

  “Your kiss.”

  “I may simply be the flirtatious sort who knows her way around a man’s lips.”

  “Perhaps, but you aren’t. There’s nothing of the coquette about you.” Quinn removed the lid from the chafing dish and filled each of their plates with bread, cheese, and a slice of shepherd’s pie. “If I were a betting man, I’d stake a considerable sum that you are a sadder, but wiser girl.”

  Viola blinked hard and focused her attention on her plate. His assessment was disturbingly accurate.

  “Let us say for the sake of argument that I am not the virgin society demands I remain until my wedding day.”

  She clipped her words as she chopped the cheese into bite-sized chunks. She didn’t think she’d be able to stomach them, but it gave her hands something to do that would keep her from wanting to scratch his eyes out simply because he was the closest available male.

  “Let us imagine that I accepted a proposal of marriage from a fine, upstanding fellow with aspirations to a title and a reputation as sterling as the British pound. Let us further suppose that I was giddy and foolish enough to believe him when he said he would love me all the more if I offered proof of my regard for him prior to our nuptials.”

  Quinn’s lips drew together in a grim line.

  “Then suppose my intended cried off on our engagement when my father died suddenly and he learned that my generous dowry would not be forthcoming.” She sawed a bite from her pie and speared it with her fork, but couldn’t bring herself to raise it to her lips. “I believe it was Sir Francis Bacon who said ‘Knowledge is power.’ Such knowledge should make me immune to your—how did you put it?—encouraging me to acknowledge my needs.”

  “On the contrary. Lack of a maidenhead gives a woman the same freedom as a man.”