An Honorable Thief

by Anne Gracie

  Sir Bartlemy led her up to Mr Devenish, limping heavily. He bowed. "Thank you, Miss Singleton, for a most... memorable dance," he said. He turned to Mr Devenish and handed her over with every evidence of relief, adding, "I believe you're her next vict—er, lucky partner." He winced as he touched his cheekbone, which was still red under the powder.

  Mr Devenish bowed slightly.

  "Mind your feet, old man," Sir Bartlemy whispered as he passed. "Pretty little gal, but devilish clumsy. Looks graceful enough, but damme, kick on her like a mule." And he hobbled off in the direction of the exit. Sir Bartlemy had apparently decided on an early night.

  Mr Devenish stared after him, a thoughtful look on his face, then turned to Kit. "How very interesting. I seem to recall you are particularly light on your feet." His brow arched in a silent question.

  Kit had no intention of enlightening him. "I am well enough in a dance which I have been taught, but that one was new to me, so I am afraid I may have been a trifle clumsy."

  "Indeed? So you are skilled in the waltz, a new dance that is all the rage, yet have never danced a traditional dance like the Sir Roger de Coverley before?" he said smoothly. "How very odd. I quite thought it was a fa­vourite with all the ladies."

  Kit had no answer for that.

  He regarded her sceptically. "Yes, I thought so," he murmured. "I do not suppose your extraordinary clumsi­ness had anything to do with Sir Bartlemy's reputed ten­dency for, er, shall we say, excessive familiarity." His statement ended on a faint upward inflection.

  Kit said nothing. She glanced vaguely around the room, trying to look like a brainless ninny, hoping for some dis­traction to draw his attention away from her. The Watchdog was all too perceptive for her liking.

  She cursed herself for her impulsiveness. She could not regret her punishment of Sir Bartlemy, but it should most certainly have been kept for a less conspicuous occasion. Heavens, it wasn't as if she had never had to put up with unpleasant male attention before. It was vital to her plans that she stay as inconspicuous as possible. She groaned inwardly.

  She became aware of what Mr Devenish was saying in a rather irritated and gruff voice.

  “And there was no need to jeopardise your come-out in such an outrageous fashion. Of course you have no male relatives, but that doesn't mean others cannot act on your behalf, curse it! That little worm won't bother you again. I will see to it."

  He was offering to protect her from the likes of Sir Bar­tlemy, Kit realised. The thought hit her with a rush of warmth. What a nice Watchdog!

  She'd never had anyone offer to protect her before. Apart from Maggie, that is, and that was not quite the same.

  What would it be like to have a watchdog of her own, acting as her protector, her shield? A watchdog to protect her from octopi like Sir Bartlemy. Someone to whom her welfare would be important; who would worry if she were hungry, or frightened, or in danger.

  She recalled the way he had come to the rescue of an unknown female in the park, thundering down on the foot­pads on his magnificent black horse, a mysterious black knight appearing almost magically out of the morning mist. And the charmingly solicitous way he had enquired after her state of mind afterwards. He had even escorted her home—or would have if she had not been forced to escape him. All that protectiveness for an unknown female.

  Kit did not need a watchdog, of course. She had survived the last twenty years quite well and had learned to deal with a vast range of unpleasant and even dangerous situa­tions with very little help from anyone. So she did not need a watchdog...

  But the thought of such protectiveness aimed at her was very appealing.

  It could not be. She shook herself mentally. It was simply not possible. She had a job to do. She had made a promise to her father. And to herself. There was no place in her schemes for a watchdog.

  Kit shook her head decisively. "No, I thank you," she said, smiling at him warmly, so as not to hurt his feelings. "I am very well able to deal with the likes of Sir Bartlemy. And besides, as well as punishing Sir Bartlemy, I was dem­onstrating to my friend Miss Lutens how she could—" Kit stopped, aghast, as his lips twitched in a sardonic glimmer. She had as good as confessed to Mr Devenish that her clumsiness had been deliberate.

  Mr Devenish's lips twitched again. He was clearly en­joying her evident confusion. “There is no need to look so appalled," he murmured. "I would never have believed that you were capable of such accidental clumsiness. I have danced with you myself, do not forget, and found you ex­ceptionally light and sure on your feet."

  Kit mumbled her thanks.

  "Yes," he added cynically, "I am much inclined to be­lieve that every instance of clumsiness you have exhibited has been with an ulterior motive in mind."

  Kit froze. His next words confirmed her sudden fear.

  "That stumble at supper the other evening, for in­stance..."

  His faint, mocking smile bored into her. Kit felt like a mouse encountering a cobra. She waited with bated breath for his next words.

  Was he planning to denounce her as a thief here? At Almack's? Oh Lord, Rose Singleton would die at the dis­grace. Up to now, the worst she'd feared was that Kit would do something as shocking as dance the waltz before she'd been approved to do so by one of the patronesses. That was the worst Rose could conceive of.

  Kit closed her eyes briefly. Rose Singleton would rue the day when she succumbed to the blandishments of Kit's fa­ther. What a way to repay Rose for her kindnes^; her pro­tegee being pilloried for theft. She opened her eyes again, prepared for the worst.

  He picked up her dance card and scanned it briefly. "You are free for the next dance. Shall we?'' And he held out his hand to her in a masterful fashion.

  Breath left her body in a great whoosh of relief. He had not meant to denounce her at all! She had panicked over nothing.

  She glanced up at him to read his expression. He stared down at her, his eyes, cold, shrewd, knowing and a trickle of ice stiffened her spine. He might be saying nothing, but his eyes told her the truth. He knew she'd stolen his tie-pin. He was holding it over her head.

  Oh, he was a formidable watchdog, all right. She'd just forgotten whose watchdog he was. Not hers. He was protecting others from her. He was protecting Thomas, his nephew, Lord Norwood.

  Kit made three resolutions at that moment. The first was that she would have to turn Thomas's interest away from her. And very soon. Secondly, she needed to be far more wary of Mr Devenish in future—he was far too percep­tive—dangerously so, in her case.

  Her third resolution was that she really should not ever dance with him again. Most particularly not the waltz. That was even more dangerous. She had learned at the Parsons's ball that whirling around the room in his arms had a very definite weakening effect on her common sense.

  Even when not dancing, he had the power to weaken her defences; his offer to protect her from the importunities of Sir Bartlemy had completely undermined her natural war­iness and look what had happened—he'd led her straight into a trap!

  No, she could not possibly dance with him again.

  She stared at his outstretched hand. It was strong and unfashionably tanned, not at all the hand of a gentleman. She shouldn't touch it, not if she had any common sense left. But how to refuse him, when she had no acceptable polite reason? And when her foolish female brain was tell­ing her one more little dance wouldn't hurt. Foolish female mouse brain. Dance with the big handsome cobra, go on...

  The opening strains of the music for the next dance be­gan. As she heard it, common sense returned in a rush. A beatific smile spread across her face. The mouse had won.

  "I am most terribly sorry, Mr Devenish," she cooed, "but as yet, I have not been approved by any of the patron­esses to dance the waltz at Almack's. And I would not dream of disobeying my aunt's strict advice in this matter. I must, reluctantly, refuse you."

  Mr Devenish frowned, bowed curtly, and walked away.

  Kit watched him passing through the crowd with a m
ixture of triumph, relief and regret. She could not afford any more encounters with Mr Devenish. He was by far too knowing.

  ... every instance of clumsiness you have exhibited has been with an ulterior motive in mind... that stumble at sup­per the other evening, for instance.

  So if he knew, then why not denounce her? That, quicker than anything, would solve the problem of his nephew's interest in Kit.

  No, he could not possibly know it. How could he? In his world, ladies did not steal gentlemen's tie-pins at supper. Her guilty conscience had led her to see more significance in his words than there actually was.

  If he truly thought her a thief, Kit would even now be residing in Bridewell Prison, instead of very properly sitting out a waltz at Almack's. Perhaps he might suspect...but that was all.

  If Kit was to succeed in her plan, she had to ensure no one, no one at all showed more than a passing interest in the activities of Miss Catherine Singleton. Mr Devenish was interestednn Catherine Singleton for one reason only— Thomas, Therefore, to be free of Mr Devenish's unwanted interest, Catherine Singleton would have to get rid of Thomas. Immediately.

  Kit had few qualms about it. Thomas was no more en­amoured of her than the next woman. If it was love Thomas felt for Kit, it was what Maggie called cupboard love— love of Kit's supposed diamond mine.

  Yes, she would give Thomas, Lord Norwood, his conge immediately—tonight, if at all possible.

  And then Mr Devenish would leave Miss Catherine Sin­gleton alone.

  Kit, the determined daughter with a great deal of com­mon sense and the plan to retrieve the family honour, knew it was the only possible solution.

  It was the other Kit, the foolish female mouse-brained one, who wistfully wished it could be otherwise...

  Kit glanced around the room. Aha, there was Thomas, standing leaning up against a pillar, chatting to—good Heavens! He was chatting to Libby Lutens and another young lady. How very interesting. Clearly he was still pro­tecting Miss Lutens from the attentions of the Octopus. Perhaps watchdoggery ran in the family.

  Kit watched approvingly. Up to now, she had not been at all impressed with Lord Norwood; he had stuck her as a dull and rather feckless young man. This protectiveness of Miss Lutens showed her a new side of him. Possibly it was new to him, too. Whatever, she liked Thomas the better for it. It was almost a pity she had to spoil his night by giving him his conge.

  But it had to be done.

  She rose from her seat and began to cross the floor.

  "Miss Singleton." It was a warm, feminine voice with a decided air of command. Kit turned. She recognised that voice.

  "Lady Cowper." She curtsied to the lady, one of the formidable Lady Patronesses of Almack's.

  "It has come to my attention, Miss Singleton, that you are lacking a partner for this dance," said Lady Cowper. “May I present Mr Devenish as a desirable partner? I can recommend him; he dances the waltz exceptionally well." She smiled at Mr Devenish in an almost roguish fashion. He smiled and bowed to her. Kit gritted her teeth.

  "Shall we, Miss Singleton?" He held out his hand to her, a faintly mocking smile on his lips.

  Kit, aware of Lady Cowper's eyes upon her, curtsied demurely and laid her hand on his proffered arm. She darted him a smile of saccharine sweetness. "I hope I shall not dithappoint you with my clumthiness, Mr Devenish," she lisped pointedly. He was quite aware she had no wish to dance with him again. No serious wish, at any rate.

  "Oh, I do not fear any return of that old problem," said Mr Devenish, escorting her on to the dance floor. “After all," he murmured in her ear, "continuing vouchers for Almack's will depend on your ability to rid Lady Cowper of the impression that you are cow-footed in the extreme. You would not wish to distress your aunt by being refused, now would you?"

  Kit jerked back and stared up at him in surprise.

  "Your performance in the Sir Roger de Coverley did not go unremarked," he remarked dulcetly. "If you wish to accompany your aunt to these occasions in the future, you will ensure that no doubt remains in Lady Cowper's mind of your lightness and grace on the dance floor. She was by no means inclined to approve you to waltz, but I managed to convince her to give you a second chance."

  "You managed to convin—"

  Kit was given no opportunity to finish her sentence, for in one masterful swish, he swept her out into the twirling throng on the dance floor and she was lost.

  She hoped she was giving a demonstration of lightness and grace, but she had no idea; all she was aware of was the music and the man in whose arms she floated.

  At the end of the dance, it was all she could do to re­member to thank him for the dance. She suspected she had just continued to stare at him for some moments after the music had finished and they had stopped dancing. Finally she recalled herself, and she managed to mumble some sort of a thank-you-for-fhe-dance-sir.

  He stood, staring down at her, a smug look of satisfaction in his eyes. He was aware of her state of...of floatiness— drat the man—and was enjoying it. He knew the effect waltzing had on her.

  She must never dance the waltz again—it should never have been allowed. Lady Cowper did not know what she was doing...or maybe she did.

  Kit sourly recalled the look in Lady Cowper's eyes when she referred to his exceptional abilities on the dance floor. Hah! She knew, all right! The waltz truly did undermine morals—especially when danced with a big black Watch­dog.

  Kit resolved never to dance with him again.

  Suddenly all her resolutions of a few moments before came rushing back. She'd already resolved not to dance with him and look what had happened!

  She had to get rid of Thomas, immediately. Then she would be safe.

  "Thank you for the dance, Mr Devenish," she said again, and headed immediately to where young Lord Nor­wood was handing an ice to Miss Lutens.

  "Thomas, I must speak with you, immediately."

  Mr Devenish watched as his nephew escorted Miss Sin­gleton to a less crowded part of the room. He noted the alacrity with which Thomas abandoned the pretty Miss Lu­tens to follow Miss Catherine Singleton. He scowled as Miss Singleton sat down on a bench and patted the seat beside her invitingly. He glared as Thomas sat down close beside her. He ground his teeth as she laid a hand on Thomas's arm and began to murmur softly in Thomas's ear.

  Confound the wench! She'd floated in his arms, all soft-eyed and a little bit dazed from the waltzing. And then she'd wrenched herself away from him and headed across the room, like an arrow, straight to Thomas.

  Blast Thomas! If he wasn't such a worthless fribble, he'd have no need of an heiress!

  Blast society for frowning on a gentleman earning an honest living in trade! If it wasn't for that, he could teach Thomas how to be independent, not to need an heiress. But

  Thomas would not risk social disapproval merely for the freedom to marry for love; he had heard his uncle dispar­aged for his vulgar connections too often to risk the same himself,

  Hugo flung one last jaundiced glance at the couple in close conversation on the other side of the room, then raised his hand to call for a drink. He lowered it again in annoy­ance. And blast Almack's and its ridiculous rules on re­freshments! He needed something much stronger to drink than orgeat!

  On that bracing note, Hugo left.

  Kit was feeling a little nervous. It was one thing to tell herself that she didn't like Lord Norwood very much; it was another to tell him so, directly. And she was going to have to be very direct; so far none of the hints she had been giving him so delicately had taken root in Lord Norwood's handsome head. She was going to have to be blunt. But she did not wish to wound him.

  She told hejself crossly that he was not seriously inter­ested in her; that he had merely been going through the motions of courtship in obedience to his mother's behest.

  But he had spoken pretty words to her and though she did not believe he meant them, she may have been wrong.

  Kit disliked the hypocrisy she'd found in England where m
en, believing she had a fortune, pretended love. It was more honest in India or China, she decided, where everyone haggled openly over the dowry. At least then, no one was deceived.

  It was better to be blunt, she decided.

  "Lord Norwood, I think it would be better if we were no longer seen together," she said firmly. "People are start­ing to speculate, and as there is no possibility of us ever making a match, we should nip such conjecture in the bud. Do you not agree?"

  "Hmm, yes, indeed," agreed Lord Norwood, his gaze fixed on something or someone out of Kit's view.

  "I am sorry," Kit murmured.

  "Ah, well."

  "I did not intend to upset you. I didn't, did I?" persisted Kit.

  “Hmm? What?'' Thomas glanced down at her. “No, no, not at all," he said heartily and returned to his observation of the room.

  Kit felt a little annoyed. "Then that is all I have to say." She stood up to take her leave.

  He jumped up, startled. "Oh, is that our dance? Righto." And he tucked her hand under his arm and led her towards the dance floor.

  "Thomas!" she hissed.

  He turned, puzzled.

  "I am not going to dance with you!"

  "You aren't?"

  "No. We shall not be seen together any more, do you understand?"

  He blinked.

  "There is no possibility of you and me, er, of any..."

  He looked puzzled.

  "No possibility of a match between us," Kit said bru­tally.

  "Oh. No possibility. You are certain, then?"

  Kit nodded firmly. “Absolutely certain. I am very sorry for it, and I have no wish to wound you, but I feel it is best to be honest."

  He nodded. "Yes, honest. Righto, then." He made as if to go.

  Kit hesitated. She laid a hand on his arm to detain him and whispered, "If it's any consolation, I don't have a for­tune, you know."

  "Oh? no? Pity, that." His eyes were fixed on something across the other side of the room. A face-saving tactic? Kit wondered.

  "No, I have no fortune, no money at all."