The Thief and the Rogue

by Rachel Donnelly

  But the warmth of his body and the strength in his arms around her waist told her otherwise.

  She remembered Miska’s words.

  And her limbs began to tremble.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A gentle breeze stirred the curtains. The bedside clock ticked like a steady drip. Though her eyes remained closed, Kay could not sleep. One short week in London and she was bored stiff and restless for home.

  It wasn’t so much her surroundings. The house in Berkley Square was lovely, the recent handy work of Mr. Nash, who’d certainly outdone himself. The entire house had been refurbished under his guidance. It wasn’t the house, but the lie inside the house that caused Kay torment.

  The day after their arrival she’d been forced to relate a gushing, purely concocted tale to her Uncle Fergus concerning their hasty courtship. He was clearly pleased with the match and puffed with pride when she gave him a tour of the house.

  In the drawing room, he ran his hands over the Chinese furnishings, staring in awe at the crimson silk drapes and sumptuous pale blue carpet. Upon viewing the dining room with its rosewood furniture and silver and blue accents, he declared it spectacular! When he learned Mr. Nash was to blame, he swore to engage his services immediately.

  More painful still, the next day she was obliged to repeat the performance for Lady Carlisle, who’d called round to extend her best wishes. Kay had dreaded the awkward moment she must face her old friend. It seemed a terrible betrayal to marry the man Lady Carlisle had set her cap on, but she appeared unconcerned. She immediately insisted on throwing a ball to honor their nuptials and then hastened home to begin making plans. Her gracious acceptance of the situation and kind generosity only served to compound Kay’s guilt.

  Or was it sadness?

  She could not tell.

  But by all accounts, her marriage was a sham.

  When Hunter requested she accompany him to a dinner party tonight, she’d pled ill and closeted herself in her room. She was tired of pretending. She couldn’t face another barrage of congratulations, or more simmering looks from disappointed females like she’d suffered at the dressmakers that morning.

  She felt ill every time she came down the stairs to see another pile of cards or another extravagant gift. The Duke was an important man. All of society wanted to extent their happy wishes. She just didn’t want to look at it. So, she bid Thornhill pile everything in the Duke’s study. She didn’t care if the servants found it curious that she’d opened none of the parcels.

  In the country, she could escape to Butterfield Hall and pretend nothing had changed, but here, things were different. Society must be faced. It was as inevitable as the stench off the Thames on a blistering day. Fall was approaching, and with the opening of parliament the ton would be returning from their summer retreats to fill the assembly houses again. She could only pray their stay in London wouldn’t last that long.

  The only blessing was her husband’s conspicuous absence. At night, she’d sometimes hear him coming in late. She’d lie in bed listening to the sounds coming from the adjoining room. Her pulse would quicken as her body grew warm, imagining his finely sculpted form stretched out on the bed. And she’d remember Miska’s words.

  With a groan of frustration, Kay rolled over to turn up the lamp. She swung her legs over the bed, then slipped her blue silk dressing gown on over her chemise.

  If she were a man, she might seek refuge and company at her club.

  But that was not the case.

  Perhaps a glass of wine would help her to sleep—if she could scavenge such a thing. The servants had long since retired, save Thornhill, who would be waiting up for the Duke’s return.

  Kay pattered downstairs in her bare feet through the silent stillness to the dining room. But to her great disappointment, the half bottle of wine left over from dinner was gone. Oh well, brandy would suffice. With glass and bottle in hand, she headed back up the stairs.

  She’d never drunk brandy before, but right now, in order to sleep, she was willing to give anything a try.

  After dragging the dressing table chair out onto the balcony, she sat down and drew in a long breath of cool night air. She raised the glass to her lips, took a long sip, then began to gag. It took several wheezing gulps before she could catch her breath. Brandy was a fiery brew, to be certain.

  Another sip and she grew warm straight through to her core.

  No fog blurred the lights of the houses, or muffled the song of crickets in the garden below. The quiet, clear night soothed her senses. Gazing up at the stars in search of the constellations Uncle Fabian had taught her, she eventually lost track of time. Her troubles all but floated away.

  Soon the glass was empty. Her mind grew peaceful—no longer plagued with restless thoughts. Perhaps one more dribble was in order. Unintentionally, she poured out a great deal more, then shrugged. Waste not—want not. The stuff wasn’t so vile once your tongue grew numb.

  It did make her warm though. She set down her glass to shrug off her dressing gown. There was no one to see in the dark and she yearned to feel the cool night breeze on her bare skin. A few more sips and she felt so blissful, she lifted her legs to prop them on the black iron railing. So this was why men enjoyed brandy so much.

  By the time the second glass was empty her troubles had all but flown away. A smile curved her lips as she gazed up at the stars.

  If only Hunter loved her.

  If only she loved him.

  Perhaps Miska was right—she should take a lover.

  But first she must maneuver herself out of the lie she was in.

  ***

  A light streamed out under Kay’s bedchamber door.

  Hunter paused for a moment, then continued on down the hall.

  But guilt stopped him before he got very far.

  Damn! He supposed he should check on the little minx to see if ought was amiss. Perhaps she hadn’t cried off spending the evening with him out of stubbornness, but was actually ill as Cora had said.

  He retraced his steps, then gave two short knocks on the door.

  Nothing.

  She must have fallen asleep, forgetting to turn down the lamp. He turned the knob, then entered the room as stealthily as he could. But to his surprise, the bed was empty.

  A fresh breeze drew him to the balcony.

  Kay sat slumped in a chair—scantily clad in only a chemise, with her hair flowing over the back of the chair in a silvery cloud.

  His heart thudded hard in his chest.

  Had she wandered outdoors in a fever?

  Guilt stabbed through him like a rusty blade.

  Bloody hell! He should have checked on her earlier—before he left.

  He put his hand to her forehead. Her skin felt cool. A sensual smile played over her lips.

  When he gathered her up in his arms, she snuggled against his chest. “You’re home.”

  He blinked in disbelief. Was that brandy he smelled on her breath? “Have you been drinking?”

  She leaned her head back to gaze up at him with half closed lids, then slashed a crooked smile. “Just a lil’. It made me very sleepy.”

  “Strong drink can have that effect,” he said dryly. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, brandy is for sipping not gulping?”

  “I only had a few glasses, and I assure you, I sipped every drop.” She tilted her head to one side. “Perhaps I was sipping too fast.”

  “Call it what you will, Madam, but you’re completely foxed.”

  She thrust out her lip in the faint pout. “I’m just a tad sleepy.” She dropped her head on his chest and closed her eyes. “Mmm, you smell good.”

  “Let’s get you to bed.” He gritted his teeth, fighting to control the lust raging through him like flames in a burning house. But with her warm body, so soft and responsive against him, hot flashes of desire surged through him faster than he could squelch. The sight of her rosy nipples, thrusting against her paper thin chemise damn well didn’t help.

  He lugged he
r to the bed, then swept the covers aside, anxious to be gone before he lost all control and did something he’d regret.

  Kay opened her eyes just as he’d finished drawing the blue satin quilts up under her chin. Her brow wore a slight pucker. “Hunter?”

  “Hmmm…”

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “I suppose it can happen.” His chest grew tight, imagining why she might ask—imagining the man who may have captured her heart. “Why do you ask?”

  She shook her head, then closed her eyes. “Nothing.”

  Unable to resist the angelic picture she presented, with her glorious blonde hair spread across the pillow and her half-smiling mouth, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Good night.”

  He stood staring down at her for a long moment, shaking with desire, as well as anger at her question. What had prompted her ask such a thing? Had she met someone?

  Something twisted in his gut.

  A rush of possessive jealousy washed over him.

  She turned her face into the pillow with a sigh. “I don’t really hate you.”

  He closed the bedchamber door. Well, that was something he supposed, but hardly enough to make his head swell. In fact, it filled him with a keen sense of dissatisfaction, that rather than like him she should only not hate him.

  By the time he reached the drawing room his mood was darker still.

  Alex stood by the fireplace, nudging a log with the toe of his boot. A shower of orange and gold sparks shot up like fireworks. “Well, is she still here? Or should we start counting the silver?”

  Hunter plunked down on the sofa. “I have no fears of her escaping.”

  “Then why in the blazes did you insist on leaving the club so soon?” Alex gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “If I’d known you make a habit of tucking her in every night, I’d have waited for you there.”

  “As it turns out, she did need tucking in, but not for the reasons you might think.”

  “Then she wasn’t avoiding you as you thought. She was actually ill.” Alex’s brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t you send for the doctor?”

  “Why?” Hunter slashed him a mocking look, “So that he can advise me to lock up my brandy?”

  Alex’s jaw flapped wide. “Are you telling me she’s foxed?

  “Nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? This is your chance to further your investigation—pummel her with questions!”

  “I have questioned her.” Hunter tone sharpened at Alex’s prodding. “She doesn’t know anything.”

  “But you married her anyway,” Alex rolled his eye heavenward. “Just to rub it in Galloway’s face.”

  Hunter sent him a smoldering glare. “Don’t look at me like that. She isn’t entirely innocent and you well know it. She broke into my house—stole my property. She may not have known what Galloway was up to, but she damn well deserved what she got.”

  Alex gave a dark chuckle. “Keep telling yourself that, and maybe someday you’ll believe it.”

  Hunter threw his hands wide. “What do you want from me? Even if I didn’t believe it, it wouldn’t change anything. It’s done.”

  “Then cut her loose—end it.”

  “I’ll end it when I’m damn well ready to end it. But, not before I’ve gotten to the bottom of Hartley’s death. He came to my aid, saving me from Phelia’s treachery. The least I can do is to name his killer.”

  But to do that, he needed to enlist Kay’s help.

  Rays of light streamed between the curtains, penetrating Kay’s eyelids like hot knives. The sharp pain in her head, coupled with an unaccountable thirst reminded her of the brandy she’d imbibed the night before.

  Her gaze strayed to the chair on the balcony. A vague recollection of Hunter carrying her to bed flitted through her brain. Slowly other bits filtered in—the spicy scent of him, how secure she felt in his arms. Had he kissed her on the forehead? No. She must have imagined that. Such a tender gesture seemed too far removed from his character to be real.

  She sat up in bed to give a tug to the bell.

  A few moments later, Cora skittered in. “We best get you dressed, Your Grace. The Duke bid me to tell him the minute you were presentable.”

  “He’s here?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. He’s been working in his study all morn.”

  Rot!

  He was usually down at the docks by now, or at his boxing club. Why had he lingered so long? Was he planning to take her to task for pilfering his brandy?

  If so, he’d be sorely disappointed. She didn’t have time for a proper chewing out. Lady Carlisle would be arriving directly to whisk her off to the dressmakers. She’d insisted on Kay procuring a new gown for the ball she was throwing, and had kindly offered to assist in the choice.

  Kay sipped away at her chocolate, while Cora buzzed about tidying up the bedchamber. Kay grimaced when Cora returned from the balcony with the half empty brandy bottle in her hand.

  “What shall I do with this, Your Grace?”

  “You can put it in my study,” Hunter said from the adjoining doorway. “Unless of course my wife thinks she’ll have need of it tonight?”

  Kay shuddered and shook her head.

  Hunter smiled as he swaggered toward her. He appeared fresh and devilishly handsome in snug tan breeches and a blue frock coat. The snowy cravat encircling his neck emphasized the golden hue of his skin.

  Kay snatched the sheets closer about her.

  “Tell me Kay,” he said folded his arms across his broad chest. “How much do you know of your betrothed, or should I say, almost betrothed?”

  Kay sucked in a sharp breath. The question took her by surprise. She’d been expecting a lecture on sobriety, not old suitors.

  He towered over her at the end of the bed with the look of an accuser, eyes narrowed, mouth firm and unsmiling. “Before you say anything to further incriminate yourself, I might as well warn you, I have it on good authority that he offered for your hand, but you never accepted.” He cocked a wry smile. “One lie inevitably leads to another, doesn’t it?”

  She pulled the sheet tighter. “What interest do you have in Lord Herrington?”

  “He was in the company of a friend of mine near the time of his death.” His tone grew serious. “He may have been the last men to see him alive.”

  “Oh. I’m dreadfully sorry,” she said, wondering how the two men could be possibly connected. “But, I don’t know what I can tell you. Lord Herrington was a soldier. He fought at Waterloo in the same regiment as Phelia’s husband, Captain Talbot. Other than that, I know very little about him.”

  “And their relationship now?”

  “Very agreeable, I think. They fought side by side during the entire campaign. Lord Herrington was his right hand man. He was completely dedicated to Captain Talbot from what I understand.”

  “Yet, they’ve not been seen together at any social functions since.” He sent her a long look. “Word has it they’ve had a falling out.”

  She opened her mouth to deny the claim as she’d just seen Herrington at the market, and who would he be visiting in Cornwall if not the Galloway’s. Then she remembered she’d gone to meet Charlie that day. Not wishing her husband to grow suspicious, she shrugged. “I can’t think why.”

  “That’s what you’re going to find out.”

  “Me?” The last thing she wanted was to involve herself with Herrington. He was a strange duck if there ever was one. He gave her the willies. “Why should he confide in me? I told you, I barely know him.”

  Hunter lips curved in a sardonic smile. “Yet you were prepared to marry him.” He shook his head. “It’s so hard to get the truth out of you, isn’t it, Kay.”

  She sent him a heated glare. “Women rarely know the men they marry. Marriage is a gamble—a leap of faith. Something you would know little about.”

  A slow sensuous smile played over his lips. The heat in the tawny depths of his eyes belayed
his impassive tone. “You may be right, but in this case my wager has served me very well.”

  She bristled at his arrogance. It only served to remind her of the powerless position their false marriage put her in. She sent him a challenging look. “I, on the other hand, am counting the days until this mockery will end. Better a real lover than a false husband any day.”

  His mouth flattened, yet his tone remained dangerously smooth. “You expect me to be a real husband, yet you’ve made no effort to play the loving wife.”

  She flashed him saucy smile. “I cannot tell what the role entails without a proper teacher.”

  His tawny gaze narrowed, telling her he did not take kindly to the insult. “Perhaps I should remedy that.”

  Her pulse quickened. “What I mean is…”

  “Yes?” When he made to come closer round the side of the bed, she scrambled out the other side with a yelp, pulling the sheet along with her. He chuckled, changing his course to slowly stalk her around the other side of the bed.

  She held up her hand to ward him off. “Don’t come any closer. If you touch me, I’ll scream, and all the servants will know what a lying lecherous beast you really are.”

  With one swift movement, he pulled her hard against him. She could feel his heart pounding beneath his white lawn shirt—see the desire glittering in the depths of his eyes. His voice came smooth as silk. “You enjoy taunting me don’t you, Kay? It’s become a game to you, your own little revenge.”

  She pushed at his chest in an attempt to escape, but his hold was firm—so close, she could feel the hard muscles in his thighs under the thin cloth of his breeches. “I don’t know what you mean!”

  “Oh, yes you do, Gorgeous.” His lips twisted into a half cynical smile. “You flaunt your charms before me, daring me to touch you. And when I do, you lay all manner of insults at my head.”

  When he put it that way, it did sound a tad cruel. She passed the tip of her tongue over her top lip. His hardness, pressing against her belly sent a thrill of anticipation through her, making her loins contract. Her only thought was to get away from him—away from her own treacherous thoughts. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a lecherous beast.” She couldn’t help the note of laughter in her voice. With him so near, she could barely breathe. It was making her light-headed, if not a little giddy. “Now please! Let me go! I have to get dressed. Lady Carlisle will be here any moment.”