Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  He snorted. “Listen to what…your half-truths and outright lies?”

  There was nothing more she could say. Nothing she’d ever told him had been grounded in truth. The things Theo had shared about Jude’s family meant nothing to him now. He was wrong to have hoped for the best with her. He’d actually put himself in peril to untangle the mess she’d made for herself.

  “Tell me, does your family know about all of this?” When her eyes widened, he continued, “Your twin, very likely. I should call for the magistrate on the pair of you. A bit of time spent locked in a room to think about your actions would do you well, I am sure.”

  He should have seen her for what she was long before she’d showed him the vase and certainly before he’d seen his family’s picture hanging upon her wall. Right out in the open as if to rub her skill in his face. And he’d been so blinded by her that he hadn’t noticed the painting on his first visit to Craven House.

  Cart could not control his feelings or trust his instincts where Jude was concerned, that much was grounded in fact.

  And to break into his home and scare Theo so, then try to win her forgiveness—what game did Jude play?

  “I suppose you have had your sights set on me for some time,” Cart mused aloud.

  “Until Lady Haversham’s garden party, I had no idea of your existence. I swear.” It was her turn to grab his arm, lightly pulling him toward the privacy of a room, but he would not allow it.

  A room with a closed door would only lead to a private moment. Cart did not trust himself to be completely secluded with the woman before him.

  “You think I can ever trust another word that comes out of your mouth?” He was speaking only in questions and accusations, instead of his usual facts and logic. Everything about Jude had him throwing reason and caution to the wind. “I highly doubt you can give me a sensible explanation for how you came to possess a stolen vase or my family’s precious heirloom.”

  “Can you at least give me the opportunity?” she asked. “You owe me at least that much.”

  “I owe you?” His voice thundered down the hall and into the foyer, unrecognizable even to him as Jude shrank away from him. “Let me make one thing clear. I owe you nothing. You are in possession of something belonging to my family with no plausible explanation, you sought to embroil me in illicit dealings, and most of all, you called into jeopardy my integrity. And then, if that wasn’t enough, you pulled my sister into all of this. Not only have you hurt my standing within the antiquities community but in society as a whole. This not only harms me—I could care less about my standing with the ton—but you have brought a new kind of peril upon my sister. Society will judge her by the actions of her brother. I will not have her life ruined by a scandal she had no involvement in. Do you hear me?”

  The offer from Cummings to consult at the British Museum raced through his mind, certainly an offer he’d be unable to accept.

  “What is going on here?” a male voice yelled behind him. “Step away from my sister, you scoundrel!”

  Cart took a breath, realizing at some point his hands had balled into fists at his sides. As he released them, he held Jude’s eyes, needing her to see his rage at her deceit.

  “I said unhand my sister. Now!”

  “This is not over, Miss Judith,” Cart spat before turning and removing his father’s painting.

  “What are you doing?” the other man asked.

  Cart only stared the man down, daring him to stop Cart’s retrieval of his family’s painting. Though he did recognize him as the man who’d departed the night watchman’s house with Jude and Marce. Her brother, certainly.

  He paused before Jude’s brother, knowing he owed this man something, even if it wasn’t the complete truth. “My apologies for disrupting your household, sir, but it would behoove you to keep a better watch on your sister.”

  “Why…I…” the man stammered.

  But Cart didn’t pause for further explanation. Tucking the framed portrait under his arm, he walked to the foyer and directly out the door, ignoring the many people standing stunned at his angry departure.

  With finality, Cart slammed the door behind him.

  Ending his association with Miss Judith and promising to himself he’d never again speak her name—or embark on a single path that would benefit her in any way.

  And there was one thing Cart could trust in…his own promises.

  Chapter 20

  “Who in the bloody hell was that?” Garrett demanded, striding toward her.

  Jude wanted to flee. A chance to be alone to think through all that Cart had said—all that he’d accused her of. The paintings, the vase, the ancient books—they were all objects, things…things could be replaced and no one had ever been hurt by her thieving. She’d never thought her actions could wound others for all she’d done was relieve them of pieces they scarcely noticed. However, Cart was hurt—deeply.

  But she could no longer delude herself into thinking that was true—for Cart was certainly hurt. Jude slipped her hand into her skirt pocket and touched his calling card, the paper feeling rough and uneven against her skin.

  “He is Lord Cartwright,” Sam called from wherever she stood out of sight.

  Jude never meant to hurt anyone, especially Lord Cartwright—though that was not entirely true…she knew the possibility of injuring him and had taken the risk with very little remorse or forethought. Jude hadn’t spent time pondering the lasting consequences of Cart being found in possession of stolen art, nor had she truly absorbed the magnitude of the harm they were inflicting on people.

  “And why did he call on Jude only to yell at her—in her own home?” Garrett posed the question to the household at large, suspecting someone would give him an answer, though it wasn’t likely to be Jude. “Then to walk out with a painting from our wall? The man is certainly senseless. Someone had better start giving me the answers I seek.”

  Instead, Jude whirled around and started for Marce’s private salon and the vase.

  “Come back here!” Garrett yelled. “Do not walk away from me.”

  But Jude had faced the ultimate wrath of Cart—and that had frightened her far more than her brother’s false bravado.

  “I will speak with her,” Sam called to Garrett, following Jude down the hall.

  A favorable thing, because Jude was going to need her twin’s help if she was going to return the vase to Lord Gunther’s and make things right with Cart.

  “Close the door,” Jude said curtly when Sam followed her into the room.

  “What is going on?”

  Jude had kept much from Sam of late, including her meetings with Cart, and especially their kiss and Jude’s growing attraction for the man.

  “We are returning the vase.”

  “What?” Sam asked with bewilderment. “That is not possible. What will happen to our home?”

  “All hope of selling the vase is gone and Lord Cartwright is more than prepared to send for the authorities.” It was a threat that Jude was certain he’d never follow through on, but one that would ensure Sam’s assistance. Sam was too vain and self-involved to ever suffer the risk of being taken to Newgate—for any amount of money. “Hurry, we do not have time—it is likely the magistrate has already been sent for and could be knocking on our door at any moment. There will be naught Garrett or Marce can do for us then.”

  Sam continued to watch her, paralyzed with fear, as Jude collected the vase and peeked out the door. “Garrett is gone. We can leave through the side door, but I will need your assistance to return this without getting caught.”

  Her twin only nodded.

  “You must keep Lord Gunther occupied—and his servants, as well.”

  “How in heavens do you expect me to do that?” Sam squeaked.

  “You are always most comfortable being the center of attention,” Jude reassured her. “I am certain you will find a way to distract his household long enough for me to slip the vase back into the house.”

  “
But what if I fail?”

  “That is not an option.” Jude set the vase aside and pulled Sam close, wrapping her arms about her sister’s stiff frame. “We do this last thing and it is over. All of it is over. We let things happen as they will. If Marce runs out of ideas for supporting Craven House, then we will find other ways—legitimate ways—to help.”

  Theodora had obviously shared her visit to Craven House with her brother, infuriating him all the more, which Jude understood. She’d lied to the young girl, just as she’d been doing to Cart this entire time.

  Sam pulled back and stared at Jude, their eyes perfect mirrors. Jude knew their depths held far different truths. “Let us get this over with,” Sam sighed. “Make sure we do not get caught.”

  “I will do all in my power, I assure you of that.”

  After slipping out the side entrance, the walk to Lord Gunther’s townhouse passed uneventfully, even though Jude noticed Sam glancing over her shoulder as if waiting for the magistrate to pounce on them at any moment.

  Jude was a bit more at ease, knowing that Cart could not—would not—do that to her, at least not before allowing himself to calm down, and possibly giving her an opportunity to explain. He was not a man who made decisions rashly without immense thought beforehand, though his erratic behavior made her fear she did not know him as well as she assumed.

  Even if he gave her a day, he would not overlook her crimes for long, and would eventually do what she knew to be the only thing that would appease his need for justice—he would turn her over to the magistrate.

  Hopefully, long enough to return the vase and prove to Cart she was not the horrid woman she appeared to be.

  Jude hid around the corner of the townhouse as Sam raised her hand and knocked on Lord Gunther’s door. She hoped he was in residence. Otherwise, their ruse would be far more complicated.

  The door opened and Sam handed the butler her card. “I am here to see Lord Gunther. Is he receiving this afternoon?” Sam’s voice appeared a bit strained and high-pitched, but the servant didn’t seem to notice as the door opened wider to allow her twin entrance.

  Now, Jude waited. Sam had assured her she could create enough distraction for Jude to slip into the house unseen if given five minutes. If there was one thing her twin excelled at, it was gaining the complete attention of a room. But to also divert a household of servants? It seemed more than even Sam was capable of.

  True to her word, Jude heard a female scream and then the sound of something large crashing to the ground within—and then the shattering of glass. Next came the frantic shrieks of several other women, likely maids hurrying about.

  Jude crept to the front door and pressed her ear to it. She heard loud footfalls deep within the house, but none directly opposite the door. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching her. Thankfully, the front stoop was concealed by overgrown ivy and other potted plants, making it impossible for anyone to see anything other than her feet unless they were close by.

  The door opened easily and Jude entered the deserted foyer. The vase was tucked safely in her satchel. She glanced around the entry to spy a suitable place to set the vase; somewhere it would be noticed immediately, and its return announced to Cart. Certainly the table beside the front entrance was far too visible and obvious.

  She moved farther into the foyer as another round of footfalls and hurried calls sounded within the house. Jude wasn’t certain what scheme Sam had concocted to keep the household in a frenzy, but she was eternally grateful for it.

  Two other tables in the foyer were overly cluttered with flower arrangements or other odds and ends, leaving no room for the vase without Jude needing to move the objects to different locations. It was her intent to have the vase appear as if it’d never been taken from Lord Gunther’s, only misplaced within the large house.

  Down a hall to her left, Jude heard Sam’s voice. “I am most fine. I must have fainted—oh, look at this dreadful mess I have created. You must forgive my appalling manners, my lord.”

  Jude was running out of time. She scanned the area again, spotting a small shelf mounted on the wall with only a small, framed portrait occupying space. Transferring an object the size of her palm was far more agreeable than an entire table housing a statue, plant, and candle display.

  Taking the vase from her bag, Jude grabbed the picture and replaced it with the delicately painted ceramic pot, rotating it to show its most stunning side to the room at large—needing the vase to be found quickly. Satisfied, she quickly moved to the table bordering the front door and shifted a statue of a woman reading to a gaggle of children at her knee.

  Jude paused for a second, pondering the value of the piece before shaking her head, remembering that was exactly what had gotten her into the current situation she was in.

  Setting the portrait next to the statue, Jude cracked the door and slipped out as she heard voices returning to the foyer. “You certainly do not need to call for a doctor, my lord. I will be just the thing after a short rest. I am sorry to have disrupted your day.”

  “You will call again—or allow me to call upon you?” Jude heard a man ask as she closed the door without a sound and hurried down the steps to await Sam’s departure.

  She’d only just pressed herself against the wall of the townhouse when the door opened again. Glancing around the corner of the structure, Jude watched her sister walk out of Lord Gunther’s, a weary smile on her face with her palm pressed to her forehead.

  “My carriage is only just down the road,” Sam said, removing her hand from her forehead to point in the direction of several parked carriages down the lane. She even waved in their direction to convince the man. “See my coachman? He is ready for my departure. I bid you good day, my lord.”

  Lord Gunther must have agreed that Sam could see herself to her waiting coach—or that her lowly status did not require accompaniment—for the door closed and Sam hurried down the stairs to where Jude waited.

  Sam’s hand was once again pressed to her forehead, pain clearly etched on her face.

  “Whatever did you do?” Jude asked, her brow furrowing with concern.

  “You said you needed a distraction grand enough to draw the entire household—so, I fainted,” Sam confided, wincing.

  “What happened to your head?” Jude reached forward to remove Sam’s hand.

  “I wagered that fainting would not be enough, so I decided a bit more theatrics were necessary.” Sam pulled her hand away revealing a bump that was already starting to bruise. “So, I took a painting off the wall and a side table down with my fall. I think my wager paid off and I very well may be set for the stage. How much do you think I could earn working at the playhouse?”

  “Oh, Sam.” Jude lightly touched the bump. “I did not mean for you to injure yourself in any of this. We must return home and have a compress readied, or your face is likely to turn all shades of blue by morning.”

  Sam brushed Jude’s hand away. “I assure you, I will heal and the pain will last far less time than if we are taken by the magistrate.”

  Jude had never imagined her twin would risk her own safety for her. It was far more than Jude could have asked, even though their scheming had been a joint endeavor from the start.

  “Very true, Sister,” Jude conceded. “Let us be away from here.”

  “But,” Sam said, slipping her arm around Jude as they started toward Craven House. “If Lord Gunther follows through on his promise to call on me, you will take my place. The man is certainly not to my liking.”

  “Agreed.” Jude would do anything, if only Lord Cartwright would learn of the vase’s return and forgive Jude her transgressions. Even if it meant they never saw one another again, it was unbearable to imagine him thinking the worst of her forever.

  Chapter 21

  Anger infusing every bone in his body, Cart leapt from his carriage before it had fully stopped in front of Lord Gunther’s townhouse. Even his trip home to return his family’s painting to its rightful
place hadn’t diminished his rage at Jude and the situation she’d placed him in. At some point, he’d made his decision regarding what to do—it might not be the most thought out conclusion, but it was a solid path he was dedicated to taking.

  It was simple. He’d return Lord Gunther’s money, give him the name of the woman who’d stolen his vase, and let him handle the situation as he saw fit. That way, Cart was not responsible for Jude’s fate. The consequences of her actions rested solely on her shoulders, not any decision Cart made—or didn’t make. Undoubtedly, he believed she deserved some sort of punishment for her illicit activities, but did that include being detained by the magistrate? It was not for Cart to say or decide.

  He was removing himself from the entire situation—and Jude’s ultimate fate. He could not jeopardize his own future for a woman who could not be honest with him.

  When he’d shut the door to Craven House behind him, it was for good. Miss Judith had to be cut permanently from his life, especially if he were to regain some semblance of his normal self. It was similar to his course of action after his uncle, Julian, had absconded from England with much of his family’s fortune in tow. Cart had moved past the scandalous family betrayal by doing just that—moving on, not dwelling on what he could have done to prevent it all. He’d simply made the decision to never allow it to happen again.

  And he’d failed once again. But this time around, he had the chance to make sure all of society didn’t witness his fall from grace.

  A man who spent two hours reading the London paper in the morning instead of tying an intricate cravat. A man who dedicated time to learning, not debating the appropriate social hour to call on a woman. A man devoted to restoring his family’s prestige and traditions as opposed to squandering money on frivolous niceties deemed necessary by society, such as the calling cards he’d sent for the previous week.

  That was the man Cart needed to return to.

  Sensible, self-assured, decisive.