Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  He bounded up the steps to Lord Gunther’s townhouse with his fist prepared to knock, but the front door swung open to reveal Lord Gunther himself.

  A very furious Lord Gunther.

  “Lord Gunther—“ Cart said, his words cutting short at Gunther’s narrowed stare.

  “Cartwright,” he hissed. “I am surprised you would show your face here again.”

  “Excuse me?” Cart stood on the stoop as the man made no move to invite him inside. “Is all as it should be?”

  “As it should be? Far from it!” With each word, Gunther jabbed his finger at Cart’s chest. “You think I am a bloody dullard? You think you can take advantage of me in such a manner and get away with it?”

  Unease filled Cart at the man’s harsh words. Something had happened since he’d met with the man and asked for the money Jude requested for the vase. “My lord, I am unsure what you speak of.”

  Gunther took another step toward Cart, forcing him to back down the steps. “You think you can come into my home and lie to me—take my money and disappear.”

  “I have not disappeared, my lord,” Cart reassured the man. “I am here, with your banknotes.” He patted his coat’s breast pocket where the envelope resided. “If you will allow me to come in, I will explain everything.”

  “I have no doubt you have had ample time to concoct another harebrained scheme to foist on me.”

  “My lord, please,” Cart said, raising his hands in surrender. “Let us retire to your office and discuss whatever has happened to negatively affect your opinion of me.”

  Gunther stepped aside and Cart entered, following the man through the entry toward the hall that led to his study.

  “Sit,” Gunther commanded, closing the door soundly behind him.

  As Cart made to sit, his eyes alighted on the object atop Gunther’s desk.

  “The vase,” Cart whispered.

  “Yes, the vase!” Lord Gunther boomed as he moved behind the desk and sat.

  Cart still stood, too shocked to say or do anything.

  “Would you care to explain how the vase appeared in my home?” He raised his brow in question. “I can assure you, my servants searched every square inch of this house before I contacted you to help find the stolen piece. Imagine my utter astonishment when I walked a guest out earlier today and turned to see it—sitting right on a shelf off my entry.”

  “How?” Cart was far more dazed than irate. He’d left Craven House less than two hours before, with the intention of telling Lord Gunther everything and laying himself at the man’s mercy. And somehow, Jude had beaten him to it. The woman was infuriating and meddlesome. “My lord, I was coming today to return your money.”

  Gunther entwined his fingers, creating a steeple, and then re-folding them, all while keeping his hardened stare on Cart. “I am sure that was your intent.”

  “I can assure you, it was.”

  “And what of this note you received, offering the vase in exchange for fifty pounds?”

  He’d known since he’d used his left hand to scribble the note that he’d one day come to regret it—today was that day. And from Lord Gunther’s angry demeanor, that day may also be tomorrow and the day after.

  “I am as puzzled as you are.” Cart sat heavily in the seat Gunther had offered him. “After receiving no further communication from the individual purportedly possessing the vase, I came today to return your funds and discuss other options for finding the piece.” To show his honorable intentions, he removed the envelope from his pocket and set in on the desk. With two fingers, Cart pushed the envelope toward Gunther, who only stared at it—making no move to take it and count its contents. “You see, I was on my way to discuss things with you. Possibly the person never had the vase and, therefore, had no intention of meeting with me for the exchange.”

  “That still does not answer how the thing turned up in my home.” Gunther sighed. “I am overjoyed to have it back in my possession, do not misunderstand me, but it all seems a bit too convenient—and you are the one person at the center of it all.”

  “I agree it appears odd, but let us focus on its reappearance and not dwell on the other stuff.” Cart directed the conversation away from who could have possibly taken the vase—and then returned it without being discovered. The woman had some gall, indeed. He’d arrived with the intent of explaining to Gunther exactly the con he’d been a part of, but somehow, Cart was ending up protecting Jude once again. Though he’d sworn to himself he would not. “If that will be all, my lord.” Cart stood, pushing his chair back on the hardwood floor. “I will be going.”

  Gunther also stood. “Do not mistake my aims, Cartwright. I plan to look into this matter further and find out what happened. And as of now, nothing appears honorable on your part. It is certainly advantageous that you hold a title, but once everything becomes apparent, that may be the only thing you have in your favor.”

  “I will certainly be investigating this, as well,” Cart said in response to the man’s threat. And Cart knew the only place to find the answers he sought—the one place he’d promised himself to never go again, no matter how badly he longed to see the woman within. “I will show myself out.”

  “You should do that,” Gunther said in way of dismissal, nodding to Cart before he turned and left.

  Another convenient coincidence, certainly, Craven House was a short walk from Lord Gunther’s townhouse, far closer than Cart’s home was.

  To focus his thoughts and calm his irritation at Jude, he began counting the steps as he walked, leaving his carriage behind. The fading evening light gave way to a far cooler night breeze as Cart moved down the sparsely crowded street. The farther he walked, the fewer carriages drove past him and the number of people on foot lessened. It was the time of day when most of society was arriving at their nightly entertainment—the dinner hours quickly approaching.

  Cart ignored his own stomach’s rumbling, realizing he hadn’t eaten a bite since his morning repast with Theo.

  With only eight hundred and thirty-four strides, Cart rounded a corner and Craven House came into view, every room on the ground floor had lights ablaze.

  Jude hadn’t told him her family was entertaining that night and the household had appeared quiet when he’d been there earlier in the day—not that he’d been very aware of his surroundings due to his incessant anger with her. It was very unlikely that she’d share her plans for the evening with him, as he’d not given her much opportunity to speak.

  But he was prepared to do just that, allow her to speak—say her piece before he gave her an ultimatum.

  Stop her criminal activities or he’d turn her over the magistrate himself.

  She could not continue as she was without being caught at some point. If that happened, Cart would be unable to help her. It mattered naught that it had been Jude who’d broken into his home, it had been Jude who’d lied to him about where she’d gotten the vase, it had been Jude who’d given him false hope for his future.

  There must be consequences for her actions—a debt to be paid.

  He shouldn’t care about her—or her safety—but the fact remained that he did…far more than he’d realized.

  The stark realization was that his safety was in jeopardy because of his feelings for her.

  His rational brain knew no woman who’d been proven a liar was deserving of any feeling but scorn from him. Then Cart thought of the pure kiss they’d shared. There’d been no hiding for either of them in that moment. She hadn’t been discouraged by his peculiar tendencies or that on their previous stroll he’d ended up face down in a pond with mud saturating his clothes and boots. He hadn’t questioned her mysterious appearance at Lady Haversham’s garden party—completely disrupting his well-ordered life.

  Everything about him and his priorities had shifted since meeting Jude. So much so, that he barely recognized who he’d become. The worst part was not knowing if it had changed him for the better…or for the worse.

  A carriage pulled into
the rounded drive in front of him and three men departed the conveyance, each dressed in far better-tailored coats than his own, their boots polished until they shone from the light spilling from the open carriage door. One man even made use of a cane, making him appear decidedly distinguished. Cart had never pondered the use of a cane…odd that a man who looked virile enough would weaken his presence by use of a walking aid.

  Cart kept a close eye on the trio as they approached the door, which swung open without them knocking to announce their arrival.

  The men were expected guests, but who exactly had they arrived to see?

  Cart’s awareness of the men grew as they chuckled at something said by whoever greeted them at the door. The person stayed just out of sight for Cart. He felt his judgment slipping, a primal need to follow the men into the house and demand to know the reasoning for their attendance at Jude’s home taking hold.

  He’d never been a man to puff his chest and demand anything of others. That all changed when Jude was involved. These men did not belong at Craven House. And certainly, they did not belong anywhere near Jude. They appeared the high-stepping peacocks that were all too prevalent in society these days. He would not be astonished to find the trio was known scoundrels.

  Without further thought, Cart marched to the open door just as the butler pushed it closed, nearly smashing Cart’s nose. Instead of knocking—as any other gentleman worth his title would do—Cart took firm hold of the doorknob and pushed it open once more, stepping over the threshold unannounced.

  It was not until he stood solidly in the house with the three men turning to greet him and several others—servants by their dress, gawking at his impromptu arrival—that Cart comprehended the overwhelming feeling coursing through his body and taking over his actions.

  Jealousy.

  Red-hot jealousy ran through him as one of the men stepped forward to greet him.

  “Lord Cartwright?” the man asked with a grin.

  Cart didn’t say a word, not trusting his temper to remain within if he spoke.

  “Gideon, Duke of Davies,” the dark-haired man said by way of reception. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting, though I have heard of your great work from Lord Barton. I am happy to make your acquaintance. This is Lord Humberton and Sir Giles.”

  Cart nodded to the three men as their names were called.

  “Lord Cartwright is an academic man known for his vast knowledge of antiquities,” Davies said to the room at large. “We missed one another by only a short year at Eton.”

  “Good evening, my lord,” Sir Giles bowed. “Will you join us for a round at the card table?”

  Giles’ invitation did nothing to dampen Cart’s foul mood. “I am here to see Miss Judith, but thank you for the invitation to play. Maybe another time.”

  “I will be sending for her, my lord,” the older man, Curtis, called to him and shuffled down the corridor away from the great amount of noise emanation from a room to Cart’s right.

  “It was good to see you, Cartwright.” Davies patted his shoulder in camaraderie and moved toward the celebration. “Who is ready to lose their treasured money to me? Giles, I hope you collected your pin money from your wife before coming out tonight.”

  Cart watched the men as they disappeared down the hallway, laughter floating back toward him. He would never understand the gesture of slamming another man on the shoulder to show kinship. It seemed more of a punishment than a means of showing another you cared.

  Around him, the servants returned to their tasks—none stopping to greet him or pay him any mind. That pleased him more than having to engage in idle talk of inconsequential subjects with strangers while he awaited Jude’s arrival in the foyer.

  He noticed no new painting hung where he’d removed his father’s artwork earlier in the day. At least she hadn’t departed Lord Gunther’s and immediately located another precious object to steal. It was ludicrous to think she had actually been able to get away with stealing the vase and returning it, all while escaping notice.

  Her ability to enter his home without remorse, her guilt being so great as to drive her back out irked him. She’d visited his home and performed as if it had been her first time within.

  “Lord Cartwright.” Cart swung around to the main stairs as Jude rushed down, casting a nervous glance around the entry. “What are you doing here?”

  His anger returned quickly. “I find it insulting that you should need ask such a question.”

  Jude took hold of his arm and pulled him in the direction Curtis had left, away from the laughter and boisterous noises coming from deeper in the house. “Please, come with me to Marce’s private room. We can talk there without interruption.”

  It was the same room she’d attempted to lead him to earlier in the day—thankfully, at the moment, his mind was not consumed with taking her into his arms and kissing her soundly. Cart acquiesced and allowed her to lead him down the hall.

  When the door shut behind them, Cart instantly moved away from her, needing the distance to keep his thoughts straight. This was his final-final time seeing her. To avoid the need to return, it was imperative that he say all he need say before walking out the door.

  “Why would you risk yourself once again to return that blasted vase?”

  “You gave me no choice, my lord,” she said, throwing her arms wide in defeat. He did not relish her accepting defeat, but in this situation, it was a necessity. “I am not the horrible person you think I am. And the only way for me to show you that was to return it to Lord Gunther’s home.”

  “And what did that prove, except that you are foolhardier than I’d suspected?” he accused.

  “It was to prove I care.”

  “About what, exactly?” Cart challenged. “Your need to possess things that belong to others? Your need to prove your skill as a thief? The need to see if you can evade the magistrate’s noose once more?”

  “None of those things matter to me!” she shouted, taking a step toward him. He held up his palm to stop her.

  “Then what?”

  “That I care about you.” Her confession should have meant something, cooled his fury at her, or had least given him pause about her true motives, but it did none of those things. It only convinced him that along with being a skilled thief, she was experienced as a manipulator, as well. “Cart, I have had an affection for you since the moment I noticed you making your way across the lawn at Lady Haversham’s garden party.”

  A lie, for certain. Using his emotions and feelings for her against him.

  Her soul was as white-cold as her delicate, porcelain skin.

  For a brief moment, Cart only wanted to flee, get as far from her as was humanly possible. He could never understand a woman like her. Jude’s motivations were foreign to him; a perpetuated cycle of misuse and deception brought upon him by a woman who most certainly lacked a heart. Even their kiss was tainted forever in his memory by her dishonest nature.

  Chapter 22

  Jude hadn’t planned to see Cart until she was ready to tell him everything: her family’s past, their current struggles, and how his abrupt entrance into her life had changed everything she’d thought she wanted for her future.

  It had been important for her to settle all the chaos in her life before making her amends with him. She owed him that much. Jude knew she owed him far more than that, possibly far more than she had to give. But first, she’d decided to resolve and remedy everything once and for all, truly be done with her past as a thief and come to terms with knowing it was something she could never revisit. It was something she’d never desired to do in the first place, yet her options for helping her family were almost nonexistent.

  She could not seek employment in the workhouses, Marce would never allow it. She was reluctant to leave her family to pursue a life dedicated to being a tutor, children’s maid, or a hired companion, though that fate looked far more desirable than being sent to Newgate or the Tower. It was only now, faced with Cart’s scorn for her,
she realized her options were far more prevalent than she’d first thought. Her fingers were more than skilled enough to gain work mending clothes. Or she could have sold some of her finer gowns. She shouldn’t have grasped on to the first notion for helping her family, but thought of another way, a less criminal way, to keep her family’s home—but she’d needed the money quickly. Her plan hadn’t worked out in the slightest and she’d likely have made more money hiring herself out as a lady’s companion.

  Anything to avoid standing here while the man she cared for stared daggers at her, apparently so angry he stood across the room from her. He obviously found her so repellant he couldn’t be within several feet of her.

  “I know you have no reason to believe anything I’ve said,” Jude’s voice cracked with hurt, the anguish inside finally pushing its way out. “But I swear I have been honest with you. About my feelings, at least.” She looked away, her hair falling before her face, unable to maintain eye contact as the many things she’d been less than truthful about filled her thoughts. They far outnumbered the things she’d been honest about.

  She turned back to him as he turned from her and began to pace the small room, his mouth moving as if he recited a poem or counted but no sound passed his lips.

  His lips.

  Jude glanced away once more, knowing nothing good would come of her being lost in the sight of his lips or the broadness of his shoulders. Or the way his light brown hair fell forward across his forehead, much like her much darker, auburn hair had moments ago. Or the way that, even now, the bridge of his nose showed tiny indentions where his spectacles sat when he worked.

  Why hadn’t she noticed all these subtle things before?

  Before it was too late.

  “You broke into my home, Jude.” His expression was blank, unreadable. “You frightened my little sister half to death.”

  “I can explain that,” Jude rushed to say. “It was a mistake. A misunderstanding.”

  “I’m beginning to believe our entire relationship is a mistake, which for me,”—he paused before continuing—“is far worse than any misunderstanding.”