Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Thief and the Rogue
By
Rachel Donnelly
Copyright 2012 Rachel Donnelly
Chapter One
Cornwall 1816
Kay closed her eyes to concentrate, swirling her tongue while her mouth moved rhythmically up and down. The low sound of voices beyond the study door grew louder. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Little rivers of excitement trickled over her. She tightened her lips and sucked harder. The possibility of discovery sent blood rushing through her veins, making her realize how dull her life had been these past few months. The risk they were taking now far out weighed any past exploits. The thrill of danger, mingled with fear, made her senses sing—her whole body feel alive.
“Suck harder,” Charlie moaned in frustration.
“It isn’t working!”
“Give me your hand. We’ll have to cut the finger off.”
“That isn’t funny, Charlie,” she whispered fiercely, feeling panic well up inside her. “We’re trespassing. And if I can’t get this ring off, we’re stealing as well.”
Charlie spread his hands and flashed a half-crooked smile—a sure sign he was about to break into a nervous fit of laughter. He gulped it down at her narrowed look of warning. “Well, we can’t get it off, so we’ll have to bring it back. Come on! Hurry up! I’ll go down first to steady you.”
She gave a quick nod of agreement then raced to the window after him. Charlie swung the window wide. He was over the ledge in a flash. Kay looked down, swallowing convulsively. It seemed so high—much higher than it had been climbing up. But there was no time to think about that. The voices were getting louder. Any moment they might be discovered. She scrambled out onto the ledge, praying the trellis would hold, cursing herself a thousand times for coming there in the first place.
Wallshire Manor had been boarded up and all but deserted for three years. Just their luck the caretaker would choose today to have a look round. Or worse, the family had returned. But that was unlikely. The Duke hadn’t set foot in the place in three years, since the family had been torn apart by some terrible scandal.
Kay shivered in the bright sunlight, imagining what it might be. She took one last look round the darkly paneled room then threw her legs over the side of the window.
“Hurry up, Kay!” They were on the first floor, only ten feet up, but hampered by the heavy skirt of her riding habit, it was a precarious climb down the thin vine-covered trellis. When the trellis ran out, she had no choice but to jump. Thankfully Charlie was there to break her fall.
“Ohhh,” he groaned as she landed against his ribs. “I think you’ve ruined me for life.” His hands went round her waist and his lips parted as though he meant to kiss her. Charlie had kissed her once before when they were swimming. She hadn’t minded the feel of his lips on hers, but now wasn’t the time for kissing experiments.
“We’ve got to hurry!”
She attempted to wriggle away, but he tightened his hold. His lips curled in an irresistible smile. “Has anyone told you what nicely shaped legs you have?”
“You’re a terrible letch Charles Galloway! Now let go of me!”
“I’ve missed you,” he breathed, looking down at her with laughing blue eyes. The sun-streaked curls tossed about his head, gave him a wild, elfin look. For the most part he was exactly how he appeared—happy, reckless, and hopelessly unreliable. Though she had to admit, he’d grown more handsome during his time away. His features had matured, and his lanky frame had filled out from the muscle he’d gained playing cricket at Oxford.
But to her, he’d always be Charlie. Her wild devil-may-care companion whom she would dare anything with and confide everything to.
“Come on!” She pulled away from the warmth of his lithe body, then gave him a gentle push to urge him down the path.
“Stop!” Someone shouted from above.
Charlie grabbed her wrist. They went skidding down the grassy bank, then flitted down the erratic path, over craggy rocks and driftwood, never stopping, never looking back. By the time they reached their horses, tied by the shore, they were both laughing and panting for air. Her hair had escaped its pins, floating over her shoulders and down her back in a tangled mass of silvery waves. The salty breeze whipped at her clothes, stinging her hot cheeks while the gush of the frothy surf rushed past her ears.
“You look like a freshly tumbled scullery maid, Katherine Elizabeth Hamilton.”
“Keep your tongue in your head, Charles Edwin Galloway,” she tossed back with suppressed laughter, before bounding into the saddle with one graceful leap. She urged her mare, Storm, forward. Soon they were plunging across the wet sand at a dangerous speed.
Charlie’s bay gelding could barely keep up with her smaller full-blooded Arab.
A wicked bubble of joy rippled through her as she leaned into the wind, enjoying the power of the horse beneath her and the salty wind in her hair.
A few miles up the beach they waved farewell. Charlie veered south and she wove her way down a path through the gently sloping dunes. Though their daring escapade had fired Kay’s blood and made her quiver with delicious excitement, she couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the road. Her arms felt bruised and scratched, but she was no worse for her morning adventure. Likely, it hadn’t fazed Charlie at all. To him everything was a lark.
As she cantered into the courtyard at Butterfield Hall, Kay heard the distant pounding of hooves. The thought of being followed made her heart drum in her ears. She pulled Storm to a halt and listened. The sound grew louder and louder, blocking out every other. Little sparks of fear darted over her, making every hair on her body prickle.
The sound stopped.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She stood as still as a statue, frozen with fear.
It came again.
Then, slowly, the steady thud of hoof beats began to recede.
She closed her eyes in silent thanks. Her hands shook clutching the reins and her legs wobbled as she swung them to dismount. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“Carter!” she expelled in a loud whoosh, staring stupidly at the dark-eyed groom.
“Shall I take her for you, milady?” Carter scratched his auburn head, averting his appreciative gaze. “Begging your pardon, but you look all done in.”
Kay handed over the reins with a grateful smile. She usually cared for her precious Arabians herself, as she had long dreamt of breeding them one day, but just now she was too frazzled to think. Uncle Fergus thought it outrageous and improper that a woman should dream of having the best breeding stables in the country, but Uncle Fabian supported her unconventional passion. Of course, he would support anything that got under Fergus’s skin.
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Kay strode toward the hall, sending quick glances over her shoulder as she went, heading straight for the servants’ entrance round the side of the ivy laced, stone house. Before ducking inside, she stopped to button the jacket of her Bishop’s blue riding habit, smoothing the velvet collar with the tips of her fingers.
The large emerald set in gold glittered back at her accusingly, making her swallow a guilty lump in her throat. As she made her way through the warren of corridors and up to the main floor, she fished inside the pocket of her riding habit for her gloves. With any luck Uncle Fergus had already breakfasted and was in his conservatory tending his orchids.
The foyer was empty.
Perfect.
She raced up the stairs, sliding her gloved hand along the polished oak banister as she went. By the time she reached the landing, her heart had slowed from a gallop to a trot.
The heavy brass knocker banged loudly against the front door.
Her heart leapt to her throat. She sprinted to a tall graceful palm at the end of the landing. Thanks to Uncle Fergus, there were many such tropical specimens strategically placed about the house. She had made use of this one many times as a child. It was a good place to view arriving guests, or overhear conversations from the drawing room without being seen.
Despite the urgency of the summons, Cecil, their butler glided to the door at his usual dignified pace. Only the tightness of his lips showed his annoyance at the audacity of the visitor’s impatient knock.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” he said with an air of surprise and reverence. Kay froze, envisioning the Duke of Wallshire with the authorities in tow, ready to drag her off to Newgate. She dared not peep out to look, though her fear was so real, she imagined it could be felt all the way down the stairs.
The answer came swift in a deep, rich baritone—younger than she imagined with a distinct note of authority, bordering on arrogance. “Is Lord Hamilton in residence?”
“He is, Your Grace. Perhaps you would like to wait in the drawing room.”
“That won’t be necessary. This won’t take long.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
The sharp impatient snap of a riding crop against leather, followed by the sound of pacing footsteps on the polished marble floor, reminded Kay of a hungry tiger prowling for his supper. A shiver rattled up her back. All she could do was wait and hope she wasn’t devoured.
It wasn’t long before Uncle Fergus hustled onto the scene, purring a gracious welcome. “So good of you to pay us a call, Your Grace. We had no idea you’d taken up residence again at the manor.”
The Duke’s tone came harsh and edged with impatience. “I’ve only just arrived, and to the shocking sight of a thief, or rather two thieves, climbing out my study window.”
“Oh dear, yes, my, that must have been a shock. I trust you apprehended the villains?”
“No, I regret to say I did not, which brings me to the reason for my visit. I followed one of the culprits to your gate. How many women do you employ at Butterfield Hall?”
“Don’t tell me one of them was a woman? Oh dear! Why, there are a number of female servants employed here. It takes a large staff to keep the hall running smoothly. But I assure you, none would have the gall to steal a horse from my stables.”
“How many with fair hair?”
A space of silence followed in which Kay could almost see her Uncle Fergus with his hand on his elbow while his finger tapped against his pursed lips, golden eyebrows raised below his matching halo of curls. “Fetch Beatrice and Amy to me at once.” This was supposedly said to Cecil who must have been standing at the ready. “I hope you’re mistaken. I shouldn’t like to lose either of the gals. It has taken a devilish long time to train them to our standards.” Uncle Fergus’ standards were high indeed. He took great pride in his home, and was always in the processing of having one room or another refurbished. Right now, it was the drawing room.
While Cecil was off searching for Beatrice and Amy, Kay crouched with her heart in her throat behind the palm, rehearsing a silent confession. If she admitted to trespassing, things might not go so badly for her, but revealing the theft of the ring was definitely out the question. Trespassing on your neighbor’s property might be forgiven, but theft was another matter.
Charlie would just have to sneak it back into the house before it was missed.
“These are the only two girls with fair hair, Your Grace.”
Kay felt a pang of guilt at poor Beatrice and Amy being herded into the foyer for inspection like livestock led to market.
She was about to rise from her hiding spot when the Duke said, “No, neither will do. The one I’m looking for is fairer. She has an unusual hair color, almost silvery blonde.”
A long silence followed. Kay cringed, imagining Uncle Fergus digesting this information with his lips scrunched up like a prune. “Silver, you don’t say. Well, I wish I could help, but as you can see, no one in my employ fits that description.”
“No one in your employ would be riding a fine Arab.”
“Precisely! I’d say you’re looking for a thief, a common criminal. Perhaps the local authorities may be of help.”
“You could be right.” The Duke didn’t sound convinced, but his next words made Kay’s heart beat slower. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Lord Hamilton. I bid you good day.”
When the door closed, Kay breathed a long sigh of relief.
The gathering in the foyer dispersed in hollow silence.
With a groan, she hastened down the hall to her bedchamber, feeling exceedingly foolish.
Dolly, the new upstairs maid, turned her face toward the wall as she passed.
“Good morning, Dolly.”
The maid turned around with a blank stare.
“Whoever are you hiding from?”
She bobbed a short curtsy, bouncing the red curls under her cap. “Begging your pardon, miss, but I was taught at the Galloway’s to make myself invisible to the family.”
“Well at Butterfield Hall there’s no need to melt into the woodwork. My eyesight is quite good,” Kay said with a chuckle. “So, I assure you, your efforts are pointless. I’d much rather see your pretty smile than the back of your head.”
“Yes, milady.” Dolly gave her a tentative smile and curtsied again.
Kay dreaded to think what the servants’ lives were like at Lord Galloway’s. According to Charlie, his father was a terrible old tyrant. Charlie had been counting the days before the season began when he must join his father in London.
Kay detested London and everything that came with it. Luckily a bout of fever had cut short her season last year, and she had been whisked back to Butterfield Hall to recuperate. Of course, now Uncle Fergus insisted she suffer through the entire humiliating process again.
Returning to London would be pure torture. Kay hated the thought of leaving her horses and giving up her early morning swims. But Uncle Fergus was adamant they return for the season, believing it unhealthy for her to be closeted in the country without young people her own age. She disagreed. As far as she was concerned it was unhealthy to be cooped up in stuffy drawing rooms, listening to senseless gossip and uninformed conversation.
But there was no help for it. It was safe to wager, after today’s events, Fergus and Fabian would cart her off to London right quick. Kay groaned. A bet was what had gotten her into this mess. Charlie had bet her she wouldn’t have the nerve to come with him, saying how proper and boring she had become while he’d been away at school. And she, like a fool, had allowed herself to be goaded along. Not that she blamed Charlie. It was her own reckless nature and thirst for adventure that made her agree.
Still, something wasn’t right.
Where was the cat Charlie insisted they must rescue—the one he saw in the Duke’s study window, looking half starved—about to expire at any moment? Despite searching high and low, she had found neither hide nor hair of it. They should have sought out the caretaker as she suggested. But Cha
rlie would have none of it.
Come to think of it, he had spent most of his time rummaging around in the Duke’s desk, as though he were searching for something.
Had Charlie lured her there under false pretenses?
No.
He wouldn’t.
Charlie would never involve her in anything improper—anything criminal.
Well, whatever his motives, the end result was the same. A whole week tacked onto their stay in London, thanks to one impetuous act. She loathed the thought of celebrating her twentieth birthday there. It served her right, she supposed. Suffering the stifling heat and stink of London would be her penance. That, and keeping Fergus and Fabian from squabbling like a pair of peahens.
They were both her dear hearts, but didn’t they realize, there was such a thing as loving a person to death. If their bickering and fussing didn’t drive her mad, then being paraded around like a piece of meat up for auction certainly would.
So much for Grandmere’s story of love at first sight; nature could hardly take its course with Fergus and Fabian snapping and snarling at every prospective suitor’s throat.
But, at the moment, London and her Uncles were the least of her worries. She had to return the Duke’s ring, before it was missed.
Chapter Two
“I can’t believe he’s back.”
“Yes, and in the same room as Lord Galloway. Such a scandal…”
“Quite extraordinary…”
Hunter, more properly known as the Duke of Wallshire, wove his way through a sea of taffeta and fluttering fans, thinking grimly how nothing had changed. Hypocrisy and gossip still ran rampant amongst London’s social elite. Three years had done little to quell their malicious tendencies or still their rapier sharp tongues. The only difference was, now he didn’t give a whit.
The feverish excitement his presence created only amused him. He’d tired of society years before, and would have shunned it completely, if not for the connections it afforded his shipping business.
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