The Thief and the Rogue

by Rachel Donnelly

  He didn’t seem to be listening. His hungry eyes were trained on her half- parted lips.

  Kay turned her head away, but his lips found hers just the same. Her knees went weak as she sank against him. It was a thorough and devastating kiss, meant to teach her a lesson. Still, she couldn’t stop her body from responding. He tasted so good, her defenses crumbled under the onslaught of erotic sensations coursing through her. She wanted it to go on and on, and never end. She wanted to stay safe in the warm circle of his arms forever.

  When he abruptly pulled away, she had to keep her hands on his chest to support her trembling limbs.

  “Call me a lecherous beast whenever you like, madam, but never call me a liar,” he said huskily. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll gladly finish what we’ve started.” He turned on his heel and strode for the door.

  “There’s nothing to finish!” she shouted, just as the door closed behind him. His mocking laughter told her who the liar really was.

  She felt the urge to run after him—pummel her fists on his chest and scream it wasn’t so.

  Instead, she paced the room in an agitated state. She had to get away from him. She couldn’t trust him.

  Laud!

  She couldn’t trust herself!

  It was only a matter of time before she succumbed to the powerful attraction she felt for him. Each day it pulled her closer and closer toward him and the dangerous consequences that would surely follow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Now, what could Kay possibly have to say to Herrington, at a party celebrating her marriage to Wallshire? Phelia thought as she fixed her keen gaze on the pair across the room. It seemed an odd time for reminiscing with an old suitor. Perhaps the Duchess wasn’t as happy as she let on, and, an unhappy bride made for a lonely husband.

  It wouldn’t be long now and Wallshire would be begging to share her bed.

  Phelia didn’t notice the glass of punch her husband, Peter, held out for her, until he quietly cleared his throat.

  “What do you supposed she’s up to?” she wondered aloud. “They’ve been at it for nigh onto an hour. What’s her interest? I mean, what does Herrington have now that he didn’t have before?”

  Peter shrugged giving her a queer sidelong glance. “How the devil should I know? It isn’t a crime to converse with an old suitor.”

  Phelia’s tone soured. “Of course it isn’t a crime. I’m just saying, it’s odd that Kay’s fawning all over him, especially tonight. She’s said barely a word to Charlie.”

  Charlie, who’d been sloshing down whiskey punch like water, lounged against the doorway of the drawing room looking less than steady.

  At least Lady Carlisle had had the good sense to set up card tables there for those who didn’t enjoy the dancing. A wise idea since the ballroom was a crush, with every available chair taken.

  “It looks completely the opposite to me. Herrington seems to be hanging on her every word.” Peter lifted an appreciative brow. “What’s the matter, Phelia, can’t handle the competition?”

  She had to admit, Kay looked very regal in her ruby silk gown—quite the Duchess. Its simple design made Phelia feel overdone in her pale blush gown encircled in layers of lace. “Perhaps he’s just taken pity on her,” she said peevishly. “She and the Duke have barely spoken a word to each other all evening. It’s obvious he only married her for her money.”

  “Careful, my love, your claws are showing.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m simply stating the facts. What other reason could he have for marrying her? He’s not the romantic type. We all know what a mess his estate was in when his father died.” Phelia’s gaze traveled around the darkly paneled room, past the many bejeweled guests to where the Duke stood laughing and conversing with Lady Carlisle. Phelia’s lips curled into a thin smile. “There’s another cozy couple.”

  Why must he always look so devastatingly attractive—the one man she could not have? She’d had to settle for second best, thanks to Wallshire’s stubbornness. It didn’t matter how much attention Peter lavished on her, or how creative his lovemaking, she remained obsessed with Wallshire—the one who got away.

  She dragged her gaze back to Peter. “You don’t suppose Wallshire knows?”

  “Of course not.” Peter eyes widened, giving him the appearance of a startled goose. “How could he?”

  “If Herrington knows what’s good for him,” Phelia drawled. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

  “Why shouldn’t he?” Peter squawked. “It’s not the sort of thing he’d share.”

  “All the same, I’d better have a talk with Henry—see that his conscience doesn’t get the better of him.”

  Peter let go a loud huff. “A little late to finally admit his instability, don’t you think?”

  “He isn’t unstable, just single minded.”

  “Ha! In his devotion to you, you mean.”

  Phelia slipped her arm through Peter’s, leaning against him provocatively. “Don’t be silly, darling, that was over a long time ago. Henry and I are just friends. He feels very protective toward me, that’s all.”

  Peter sent her a dark look under his thick brows. “Protective enough to kill for you?”

  “Of course not, why should he do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know.” He narrowed his eyes on her. “You tell me?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Tell me the truth, Phelia.” Peter grabbed her by the arm in a cruel grip. “You told him what Hartley did? You fed him tiny tidbits of your pathetic story until he was so enraged he’d do anything to revenge your honor.”

  “I may have told him what happened, but that doesn’t make me responsible. Besides, you don’t even know if he did it. For all you know, Hartley died from his battle wounds.”

  Peter slashed her a sidelong glance. “I know there’s enough evidence to suggest his guilt.”

  “You must believe me,” Phelia thrust out her bottom lip in a pretty pout. “I’d never do anything to endanger your reputation.”

  Peter offered one of his almost smiles.

  Phelia gave an inward sigh of relief. Peter was like a dog with a bone sometimes. Hopefully she’d convinced him for the time being. She couldn’t afford his anger. He wasn’t as generous when he was in a bad temper, and she relied heavily on his generosity to keep her in the style she’d grown accustomed to.

  The string quartet struck up a waltz.

  “Dance with me, darling. It will make you feel better.” A few twirls around the floor and he’d be frothing at the mouth. All she need do was brush her breasts against him once or twice and he’d become putty in her hands. It was almost too easy. Then she could turn her mind to more important matters, like how to keep Herrington from blabbing off at the mouth.

  ***

  Kay’s heart pounded at the sight of her husband crossing the room toward her with purposeful strides. No doubt he was anxious to discover what information she’d gained. It felt good to have something that he wanted for a change. For once she held the position of power, and she planned to use it to her advantage.

  He appeared quite the aristocrat in his black attire. Despite his great height and broad shoulders he moved with an easy grace and a bold self-assurance, she could not help but admire.

  He bowed before them, extending a hand. “Please excuse us, Lord Herrington. I have yet to dance with my lovely bride.” He glided her onto the dance floor, moving with such ease Kay was able to follow his lead without thinking. Keeping her eyes trained over his shoulder, she could almost relax. She closed her eyes and let the strains of the waltz carry her away.

  Hunter’s arm tightened. “You’re enjoying yourself, I see.”

  “I am now.”

  He lifted a questioning brow.

  “What I mean is, I don’t especially like parties, but I do love to dance.” She flashed him a mischievous smile. “There must be gypsy blood in my veins.”

  “Your actions certai
nly support that claim.”

  She wrinkled her nose, but refused to be baited by his cynical tone.

  “It’s your investigative skills I’m interested in, and what, if any information you managed to pry out of Herrington.”

  “First you must tell me how it will benefit me?”

  He smiled grimly. “You’re hardly in a position to bargain.”

  “Very well, if you don’t want to know…”

  His tone remained neutral. “I should have known you’d pull some conniving little trick.”

  “You can’t blame me for looking out for my best interests.” She tilted her head to one side and puckered her lips. “If you want the information, I think it only fair you reduce my sentence.”

  His features turned inscrutable, but the set of his jaw proved he was none too pleased. “I’ll need to hear it before I know what its worth.” She opened her mouth to comply, but he shook his head. “Not here. There are too many people to overhear.”

  It wasn’t a definite answer, still Kay remained hopeful he’d offer her a fair exchange for her efforts. With any luck, he’d be in a generous mood and her freedom would soon be accomplished—her one goal when she’d agreed to go fishing for the information in the first place.

  The waltz ended.

  Hunter left her in the care of Lady Carlisle who stood by the window, entertaining a group of male admirers with the tales of her recent visit to Bath. “Lady Coulter has a passion for practical jokes.” Lady Carlisle sent Kay a conspiratorial wink. “I awakened one morning to find a suckling pig, dressed in a lace bonnet curled upon the pillow beside my head. And what do you think, at dinner I found myself staring at the very same creature on a tray in the middle of the table. Horrified by the distasteful hilarity of my hostess, I wasn’t able to eat a morsel.”

  Kay shivered with revulsion at the tale. She’d heard of such pranks but found this one particularly cruel, considering the fate of the pig.

  A tap on her shoulder came as a welcome distraction from any further gruesome details of the holiday.

  “Charlie!”

  He swayed before her, sporting a wide grin. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

  She scanned the room for her husband, but thankfully he was nowhere in sight. Perhaps he’d taken himself off to the drawing room to try his luck at the card tables. She accepted Charlie’s arm despite his obvious state of inebriation. No point in making a scene.

  After that, it became her task to lead them around the dance floor. He had lost all concentration with his brain so befuddled with drink. He could hardly hold his curly golden head up straight. Foxed or not, there was one thing she had to know. “What were you looking for Charlie? The night we went to Wallshire Manor to save the cat?”

  “Nothing. I told you, simple curiosity, just poking around.” A look of guilt passed over his face. “Don’t look at me that way.” He heaved a sigh. “Oh, very well. A document belonging to my father. My father bid me get it or I’d be disinherited. That’s all I know. I swear.”

  “So it’s true!” Hunter was right.

  Charlie’s features crumpled. “I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t.”

  “What kind of a document?”

  “I don’t know—something to do with Phelia. I was going to tell you.”

  “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Why didn’t you come to the market that day?”

  He gave her an injured look. “Did you want me to come?”

  “You sent me the message, remember?”

  “What message?” He frowned, then gave his head a slight shake. “I don’t remember any message. But now that you mention it, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” His voice escalated to a near shout. “Why in the hell did you marry that bastard?”

  “Shhh! Someone will hear you.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass who hears!”

  “Well, I do,” she whispered fiercely. “So keep your voice down.” Kay pulled him by the arm out into the hall. “You have to understand, Charlie. I didn’t intend to marry him. It just happened. I wish I could have told you myself, but there wasn’t time.” She didn’t dare tell him the truth for fear of what he might do. What was done was done. His anger wouldn’t change anything.

  “First I have to worry about you marrying Herrington, Phelia’s pathetic cast off, and then you up and marry another one. I can’t believe it! He forced you to marry him, didn’t he, Kay? He planned all of this.” He grabbed her by the arms. “Tell me the truth and I’ll call him out.”

  “Stop it Charlie! You’re hurting me.”

  He loosened his hold.

  She took a step back, leaving him standing, unsteady and alone. She’d never seen him like this, so impassioned and thirsting for blood. This wasn’t her Charlie—the Charlie she knew. His behavior frightened her. Her only thought was to calm him down, then escape back to the ballroom. “I’m sorry everything happened the way it did, but there’s no sense in upsetting yourself. I’m fine Charlie, really I am.”

  He gazed back at her with soulful blue eyes. “Say that you love me, Kay. Say that you love me and I’ll fix everything.”

  “Of course I love you, Charlie. I’ll always love you. You’re a dear friend and I cherish our friendship more than anything. But I’m married now. Nothing can change that. I’ll write to you and explain everything. I’m sorry. I have to go before I’m missed.” Kay slipped by him to glide through the doorway, back into the crowded ballroom.

  She returned to Lady Carlisle and her group of friends, her hands still trembling with shock. She folded her arms to cover the red marks where Charlie’s fingers had dug into her skin. Poor Charlie, he was so distraught, and there was nothing she could do—nothing she could say.

  Lady Carlisle’s gaze flitted down the length of her protective stance. Then, casually, she signaled to one of the footmen. “Fetch the Duchess’s shawl. She looks a bit chilled.”

  Kay smiled back at her gratefully. At least she’d be spared the embarrassment of explaining the bruises she felt certain were already forming on her arms.

  The rest of the evening passed without incident.

  But, by the time Hunter handed her into the coach, it was well past two in the morning, and the strain was beginning to show. She was dead on her feet.

  Hunter seemed lost in his own thoughts and made no move to question her about Lord Herrington—a blessing to be sure. She hadn’t the energy to bargain with him just now. She leaned her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes.

  Not long after, she was jarred awake by the ducal coach coming to a full stop. “Where are we?” she asked groggily.

  “We’re home.”

  “Oh.” She struggled to an upright position—still half asleep.

  “Shall I carry you, or will my arm do?”

  The amusement in his voice pushed the cobwebs from her head. “No, no, I’m fine.”

  He helped her down from the coach.

  She stumbled along beside him on burning feet, limping and leaning against him for support. The late hour and her row with Charlie had left her spent. She felt almost giddy.

  “You should have let me carry you,” he said when they finally reached the door. “It would have been a damn sight easier.”

  She poked a face at him. “You try dancing in new slippers. My feet are killing me.”

  “And give you grounds for divorce by reason of insanity. I think not.”

  A bubble of laughter rippled up in her throat at the thought of him prancing about the dance floor in ladies slippers. She managed to stifle it into a half-choked cough.

  “Are you laughing at me, madam?” He swept her off her feet and into his arms so suddenly it made her gasp.

  But she was far too exhausted to protest. “You’re rather too large to be passed off as a woman. Still, I’d open my purse to see you try.”

  His voice lowered, taking on a husky quality. “That’s very tempting but I’m far too tired to play the dandy for you
tonight.”

  She sobered and looked away, not willing to pursue such a dangerous topic.

  The appearance of Thornhill at the opened door cut short her embarrassment.

  After a curt good evening, Hunter strode passed him, taking the stairs two at a time. As he traversed the length of the hall to her bedchamber, she rested her head on his shoulder and tried not to think of how good he smelled, or how safe she felt cradled in his strong arms.

  She chanced an upward glance through the gold curtain of her lashes as they crossed the threshold.

  His brow furrowed as he strode with her to the blue silk draped bed. “I’ll ring for Cora.”

  “There’s no need, I can mange,” she said hastily, her senses reeling with his proximity. The sooner he left—the better. She didn’t know how much longer she could trust herself. When he deposited her beside the bed, she immediately turned her back on him, then began fumbling for the hooks of her gown. Exhausted, she wondered vaguely why he wasn’t leaving. Her fingers felt like fat sausages fighting for an egg on a slippery plate.

  “Here.” He pushed her hands aside. “I’ll do that.” His warm fingers deafly flicked the hooks.

  The cool air rushed over her skin through the thin silk of her chemise, causing her to shiver.

  He placed his hands on her arms to turn her around.

  She sucked in her breath through her teeth, then groaned. Her shawl fell to her elbows. She hastened to draw it back up, but it was too late.

  His sharp intake of breath told her he’d spotted the faint purple bruises on her upper arms. “Who did this?”

  She flashed a fearful glance upward at his harsh tone. “No one. It’s nothing.”

  “Nothing? Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Someone hurt you. I want to know who!”

  She sat down on the bed to remove her slippers. “It’s not important.” she said wearily. “It was an accident. He didn’t mean to hurt me. He would never hurt me.”