The Thief and the Rogue

by Rachel Donnelly

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He leaned over to open the window. “I had thought to walk, but since we have so much to discuss, perhaps you’ll give me a lift.”

  Her heart pounded so fast, she could barely breathe, but she schooled her voice to a neutral tone. “I’m afraid that’s quite impossible. As you can see, I have no chaperon. It would be highly improper for you to be seen alone with me in my carriage.”

  “The longer we sit here, the greater chance we will be seen. All the more reason for us to be under way, wouldn’t you agree?” He banged on the roof with his fist. Before she could open her mouth to protest they were in motion.

  She sat stiff and upright, outraged by his high-handed tactics. The more she knew the man, the more she disliked him. No gentleman would force his company on a lady or put her in a compromising position as he was doing now. He might be virile and handsome, but he was also a complete bully. This gave her the courage to be direct, if not forceful. “I’ve told you everything. What more do you want from me?”

  He smiled lazily then drawled, “Tell me Kay, what else have you lied to me about?”

  Her heart gave a start before she turned her attention out the window.

  He chuckled knowingly, leaning back to casually rest his arm along the back of seat.

  She flashed him what she hoped was a scalding look. His arrogance grated on her so fiercely, she gritted her teeth in vexation. Oh, how she’d love to slap that smug look from his face. For all his elegant manners and fine clothes he was still a beast and a brute. How could she have thought him so handsome? How could she have dreamed about him after that night in the Carbery’s garden? Now she hated him—hated the way he looked down his nose at her with such superiority and contempt, when he was the only true villain.

  The force and violence of her feelings came as a shock to her. She’d always prided herself on her control—on her ability to see the best side of any situation, the good qualities in a person’s character rather than the bad. In him, she saw none. In that respect, he and Phelia were alike. Perhaps they both deserved what happened to them. “Why do you persist in tormenting me?”

  “You might as well tell me the truth. I know that you weren’t alone.” He smiled, lifting one brow. “Are you lovers? Is that why you agreed to accompany young Galloway on his search?”

  “What!” She sucked in a breath in outrage. “How dare you!” She pounded her fist on the wall of the carriage. It came to a slow rolling stop. “Get out! I don’t know what you want, but I’m not about to sit here and listen to your slanderous accusations.”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest. “You’re hardly in a position to refuse me, knowing what I know about you.” He smiled again. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve got what I came for.”

  Kay came to her feet and made to vacate the vehicle.

  His arm snaked out, grabbing her before she could reach the handle on the door.

  She gasped in fright, biting back the urge to scream.

  When he pulled her down beside him on the seat, she quickly jerked her arm free, but stayed where he put her, not wishing to arouse his anger further.

  He pounded on the roof. “Drive on!” The carriage began to roll once again. “Now,” he coaxed softly, with both arms braced on either side of her. “Tell me. What were you and young Galloway looking for?”

  His nearness stirred her senses, making her aware of the warmth of his body hovering over her and the clean masculine smell of him. She swallowed hard, then attempted to suck in more air. His gaze strayed downward and her breath caught in her throat. “We weren’t looking for anything. I told you, there was a cat in the window.”

  “Such a pretty mouth. I wonder… do those lying lips feel as soft as they look? Perhaps, if I taste them they’ll reveal the truth.”

  His lips crushed down on her mouth before she could utter a protest. Panic welled up inside her. Was this what he’d done to Phelia? Would she share the same fate?

  When the kiss changed to a softer caress, confusion took hold. Her hands dropped. She melted against him, lost in the bliss of delicious sensations rippling through her. Her mouth softened and opened, wanting more of the heat—more of the ecstasy his mouth offered. She drifted away, to a place of ecstasy, wanting to feel him closer—his lips to go on caressing hers forever. The feel his hard body pressing against her—the heat of him, radiating through his white linen shirt made her wonder what he looked like without any clothes.

  When he pulled away, she couldn’t help but stare back at him in awe. He must have great control to tear himself from such great pleasure. Unless, only she felt that way? Her cheeks grew hot. Lord! What had she done? He must think her a common strumpet.

  “For a little liar, you taste pretty good,” he said with a hint of wonder, as though he’d been sampling a sweet with a surprise in the center.

  Kay wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Her voice came as a quavering whisper, but there was an unmistakable determination in her tone. “Lonely widows might welcome your mauling, but I assure you, I do not.”

  The insult failed to permeate his composure. He chuckled softly. “You play the outraged virgin to perfection, don’t you, Gorgeous? But you and I know there’s no truth in the act. I haven’t had the opportunity to thoroughly examine the contents of my property, but should I find anything missing, I’ll know where to look. Wherever you are, I’ll find you.” To prove what he said was true, his insolent gaze raked over her thoroughly, as though committing every detail to memory.

  Kay raised her chin, though her knees trembled beneath the frothy white silk of her gown. Looking out the window, she saw she was home. She wasted no time scrambling from the carriage. Once safely outside, she drew herself up, thrust her chin forward, saying with frosty politeness, “Good evening, Your Grace. My driver will deliver you wherever you wish.” She hurried to the front door without a backward glance.

  Once inside the house, she leaned against the sturdy oak barrier for support. What on earth had just happened? The Duke of Wallshire had actually threatened her. And kissed her. His passionate kiss added weight to the warning—a tangible reminder of who he was. He was not only a man but a very powerful one at that.

  Well, he wouldn’t get away with it! She refused to let him intimidate her. She’d never tell him what Charlie was looking for, even if she did know. Which she didn’t!

  Charlie.

  Wait until she got her hands on him!

  Kay ignored Cecil’s lifted brow. She bid him a hasty good evening then raced up the stairs. Rather than face Lily’s questions over her agitated state, she undressed herself. But, even after she was safely under the covers, she couldn’t manage to quell her trembling heart. Why wouldn’t he leave her be? Did he know about the ring? Was it his plan to stalk and torment her until she confessed, then march her off to Newgate?

  She tossed and turned in a film of sweat half the night fretting about it. Gold-flecked eyes haunted her dreams, following her around every corner. No matter how far or how fast she ran they were there—searching, accusing. She awoke once from an image so real, she expected to find herself encased in a squalid dark cell, surrounded by iron bars.

  Her heart galloped in her breast as she flung the covers aside, then padded to the opened doors of her balcony. She paced the length of it, hugging her white muslin night-rail against her body, while attempting to work the demons from her head.

  With a sigh, she leaned against the banister to inhale the warm night air. The memory of warm demanding lips intruded on her mind, making her fling herself from the rail to resume her pacing. How dare he accuse her of impropriety when his own reputation was far from pure. After being at the receiving end of his lusty advances, it was easy to believe how Phelia had succumbed to his lovemaking. He obviously made a habit of seducing young women. And she had all but melted in his embrace, savoring every moment. How could she have been so weak, so stupid?

  She could almost hear his m
ocking laughter—see his satisfied smirk. Oh, how good it would feel to set the arrogant clod back on his heels. She should keep the ring as payment for the torment she’d already suffered—as recompense for Phelia’s shame and suffering!

  But, no, if she kept the ring she’d never be free of him. The only way to be rid of him and clear her name was to return it, and before she left for France.

  Chapter Five

  Kay eased herself over the ledge with a grimace. Her knuckles were bruised and her knees scraped, but at least she’d made it up the wall to the window. After much begging of Uncle Fergus to accompany him back to Butterfield Hall, with the excuse of checking on her horses, and the long trip home, she was finally here. Hopefully her labors this night would end her troubles, as well as any future connection with the Duke, forever.

  With so many workmen milling about the manor by day, she’d had little choice but to wait for a moonlit night to sneak the ring back. As a precaution, she’d borrowed a pair of black breeches from one of the grooms, and donned the dark blue jacket of one of her riding habits. One of Fabian’s black felt hats completed her costume and concealed her hair from the light of the moon. Catching her reflection on her way out the door, she’d looked like a runaway cabin boy from a pirate ship.

  Moonlight streamed through the opened window of the study to spill across the polished wood floor, making a shimmering path to the large oak desk dominating the room. The smell of beeswax and the absence of cobwebs spoke of a thorough cleaning, but besides that, the room appeared much the same as it had when she and Charlie had been there—deserted and vacant. That was not to say the place was uninhabited. According to Uncle Fergus, an army of servants now occupied the premises. It seemed the Duke was bent on restoring the manor to its former glory, as well as adding a new, updated wing.

  Kay crept along the trail of dappled moonlight to the desk. Miraculously the black velvet box still sat on the edge, where she’d left it. She tipped opened the lid, then reached for the chain around her neck where the ring dangled like poison fruit.

  The scratch of a key in the lock stilled her progress.

  Her heart tripped with a faltering thud against her ribs.

  No!

  Not again!

  The distant rumble of voices in the hall was followed by a louder, deep voice. “I’ve kept the door locked as you instructed, Your Grace.”

  Kay gulped so hard she almost swallowed her tongue. She snapped the box shut, then raced to the window. She was over the ledge in a trice, but had no time to close the window. With surefooted speed, she clambered down the trellis and hit the earth feet flying, with her heart in her throat.

  In her terror stricken flight, she lost her hat somewhere along the windy path to the beach. But she kept on running. Never looking back.

  Tomorrow she would depart for France.

  Gad!

  A fine mess!

  How would she ever return the ring now?

  ***

  Alex blinked, then hesitated with his hand on the window latch. He’d seen a flash of light down on the starlit beach—an unearthly floating cloud. At least, he’d thought he had.

  He drained the last of his brandy, then turned back from the window to discover Hunter planted at the desk, unrolling the drawings of the ship he was having built in Plymouth.

  After a lengthy explanation of the placement of the cabins, the number of cannons, and its storage capacity, Hunter crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, go ahead, say it. I know you’ll never be happy with a keel laid in an English harbor.”

  “Hmm?” Alex glanced back at the window, rubbing his chin, thinking more about the apparition than the ship. “Since the construction is almost complete my input is a tad late, don’t you think?”

  “Come, you must have some criticism. You always do. I doubt you’d be satisfied unless I agreed to have all my ships built in Charleston alongside yours. Not that it’ll do much good. By the end of the week the ship will be built, and we’ll be sailing her across the channel to Calais.”

  “I’m guessing her maiden voyage is the perfect excuse for you to investigate Captain Hartley’s death.”

  “Damn right it is! I want to know how he died, and if Galloway had anything to do with it. With Hartley dead, the letter is the only thing standing between Galloway and his political aspirations. That’s why he wants it so damnably bad.” Hunter leaned back in the oak chair, giving Alex a searching speculative look. “Are you ailing? What in bloody blazes are you looking at?”

  Alex gave his head a shake and tried to focus his attention on Hunter’s chiseled features. “I saw the strangest thing when I closed the window. Like a floating cloud of thistle down.” He sent forth a hoot of laugher at his own imagination. “Must have been a mermaid splashing down the shore.”

  Hunter’s smile slowly faded.

  He leapt from his chair and strode to the window, flinging it wide to lean out. He stood, silent and motionless for a long moment, scanning the moon-kissed shore.

  “What the deuce are you looking for? Whatever it was is long gone.”

  Hunter turned from the window. “Of course she’s gone!” He ran one hand through his hair, then began to pace. “The little witch is probably tucked beneath an eider down, chuckling with glee, having trespassed and escaped again.”

  Alex suppressed the smile tugging at his lips. Such an unusual display of emotion from Hunter could only mean one thing—he was bent on catching more than a thief. Clearly he was smitten with the wench.

  It wasn’t Galloway’s treachery that caught Hunter’s interest.

  ‘Twas the fairy with the moon-kissed hair.

  ***

  After her failed attempt at returning the ring, Kay determined the best course of action was to put it from her head.

  Upon arriving safely at the haven of her Grandmere’s chateau outside of Paris, she was free from the burden of her crime. The shadow on her soul lifted and life was happy again.

  Gazing up at the chateau in the bright sun, Kay fell in love with it on sight.

  It appeared a magical place, built of blonde stone with twin turrets and white shutters, where flowering vines rambled over the stone exterior in a riot of pink and white. It made Kay’s breath catch in her throat, capturing her imagination, completing one side of her history, in a way that secondhand memories could not.

  She’d returned at last on her mother’s behalf, to that sacred place called home where her mother had taken her first sweet breath.

  Thank the stars Grandmere, by some miracle of fate, had been able to buy back the family estate lost to her during the revolution.

  Unfortunately, upon being ushered within, Kay discovered her Grandmere to be ailing, and confined to her bed with a cough. Nevertheless, an upstairs maid hustled her directly aloft to her Grandmere’s sunny bedchamber.

  The parquet floors glowed warmly down the long hall. Massive paintings of the French countryside dominated the walls in splashes of green and lavender and pink. A warmth spread in Kay’s belly. This had been her mother’s home. Yet, it all seemed so familiar—so safe.

  As she entered the bedchamber, her gaze was drawn to the huge carved bed. The magnificent pink marble fireplace seemed small in comparison. As did the large gilded mirror, stretched above it to the molded ceiling. And yet, to Kay, the fragile figure reclined against a mountain of pillows seemed the biggest part of all.

  “Come.” The Countess patted the side of the bed.

  Kay perched on the pink satin quilt to take her hand. Her white hair, swept up in a loose bun, had grown thin, her body frail, enfolded within her quilted blue dressing gown. But, despite the shadows beneath, mischief still twinkled in the depths of her eyes. Kay had forgotten how she blinked when she talked, making her eyes seem like twinkling emeralds.

  “Ah, Ma petite, I have missed you so,” she declared, clasping Kay’s hand tightly. “Let me look at you. Oui, I think you will drive all the young men in Paris wild. You are ravishing, like a delicate exoti
c flower, eh! I must dispense with this ailment vite and have the pleasure of showing you off to everyone.”

  “I’ve missed you so much, Grandmere.” Kay squeezed her hand. “I’ve so much to tell you. But first, we must get you well again.”

  “Where is Fabian?” Grandmere wiggled upward, craning her neck. “They did not send you this far alone I hope?”

  “Uncle Fabian went on to Vienna. We’re to join him there at the end of the month.”

  “I haven’t been to Vienna in years.” Grandmere’s voice turned wistful. “I should like nothing better, but if I haven’t recovered by then you must go, if only for a fortnight. There is magic there! You must experience it before you settle down. I fell in love with your Grandpere there, you know.”

  Kay had heard the tale many times, but she listened to it again, amazed at the vivid details her Grandmere could still recollect. It was a fairytale story of love at first sight. She told it like it was only yesterday, every look, every smell, every touch. Though she’d never known her Grandpere, the dashing Count held a place of reverence and wonder in Kay’s mind. He was the fairytale prince—the stick by which her suitors were always measured.

  “You were very lucky,” Kay said when Grandmere finished her tale. “I don’t think they make men like that now, at least if they do, I haven’t met one.”

  The Countess gave her a long searching look. “No, I can see you have not. They have kept you too long in the country, I think.”

  “But, I like the country. I have my horses. I can do whatever I please. It isn’t the same though, since Charlie’s gone off to school.”

  “Ah yes, that rascal you got into so much mischief with. But you are a young woman, and there are different adventures ahead of you now. You are restless, non? Too much like your mama, I think. Life was a grand adventure to her as well. She was always laughing and full of love. You are very like her with your heart so opened and ready to trust. The man who wins you will be very lucky, if this great `energie of yours does not kill him first.”