by Darcy Burke
To desire a thief…
Daniel reached Aldridge’s office and went inside. What greeted him made him stop in his tracks. “Miss Renwick?”
She stopped, her hand on the desk drawer she’d just closed. She stood straight and smoothed her skirt. Dots of pink colored her cheeks. She would have looked alluring if she hadn’t also looked guilty. “Good evening, my lord. I do believe I’m in the wrong room.”
Wishing to conduct his interview in private—and he intended to conduct an interview as the constable in him roared to the surface—he closed the door behind him. “What are you looking for in Lord Aldridge’s office?”
“Nothing. As I said, I’m in the wrong place. I was looking for the retiring room.” She moved around the desk and made for the door.
Daniel stepped into her path. “You thought the retiring room might be contained in the desk drawer?”
The pink in her cheeks darkened and spread. “Of course not. If you’ll excuse me.” She made to move past him, but he placed his hand on her forearm.
“I will not. At least not until you tell me what you were doing. You can’t expect me to believe you were simply in the wrong room. You were looking for something. Tell me what it was.”
She moved away from him as if his touch burned her. Maybe it did. The feel of her skin beneath his palm was enough to heat him in the most inappropriate places.
“Please, my lord. I was mistaken. Just let me go.” Then she dashed for the exit.
Daniel went after her, but she’d already opened the door and was stepping into the corridor. He stopped short lest he tackle her over the threshold, but then she spun on her heel and charged right back into him, sending him stumbling backward. She gained her balance, turned, and shut the door firmly.
Daniel lurched forward and, without thinking, pinned her against the door. He laid his palms on either side of her shoulders against the wood. “What the devil is going on?”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Someone is in the corridor.”
That’s why she’d come right back into the office. He didn’t move away from her. Instead, he enjoyed the heat of her body, the flush of her exertion, the shallow pant of her breath. She kept her eyes averted, but Daniel would get her to look at him soon enough.
“Unless you want me to open this door and let all and sundry see us together, you’ll tell me what the hell you were doing in Lord Aldridge’s office.”
Her eyes snapped to his, their hazel depths flashing. She said, “You wouldn’t,” but her tone was laced with doubt.
He watched the muscle in her throat work as her pulse sped beneath her flesh, and her chest heaved. “You don’t know me well enough to say for sure. Do you want to find out?”
Also by Darcy Burke
Her Wicked Ways
His Wicked Heart
To Seduce a Scoundrel
To Love a Thief
By
Darcy Burke
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2012 Darcy Burke
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0985455837
ISBN-13: 978-0-9854558-3-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Book design © Darcy Burke.
Cover design © Hot Damn Designs.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
For Lacey, my first CP and one of the very best friends a girl could have.
I’m so glad we found each other.
Acknowledgements
I was a little daunted by writing a novella, but darn if it wasn’t tons of fun. Thank you to Lacey, Rachel, Elisabeth, and Erica for reading and making it the best little book I’ve ever written. (Yeah, it’s also the only little book I’ve ever written.) And thank you Morgan Sneed for beta reading with a wonderful eye (and lightning fast too!).
Thank you Martha Trachtenberg for your fabulous, fabulous copyediting—you are a gem! And special thanks to Steve for reading. Or at least trying to. One of these days you’ll get it.
And thank you to my wonderful children, whose patience and love continue to amaze, inspire, and humble. I love you.
To Love a Thief
Chapter One
May, 1818, London
JOCELYN RENWICK had loved a good ball—the dancing, the decorations, the costumes, the breathless excitement as guests arrived—during her very brief Season two years before. She’d been full of wonder and anticipation for a future that had seemed rife with possibility. Now, as a paid companion, she adorned the wall, and the balls she’d once enjoyed had become sadly lackluster.
It wasn’t that the balls themselves had suddenly turned dull. It was her situation. With no close relatives to turn to after her father’s death, she’d become the ward of a family friend, who’d inherited Papa’s property and meager estate. While her guardian had taken care of her, he hadn’t offered to finance another Season, and her trust wasn’t sufficient to cover the expense. And since there was no one marriageable—at least in her opinion—in her small village in Kent, Jocelyn’s options were limited.
She’d jumped at the chance to serve as paid companion to her guardian’s great-aunt, Gertrude Harwood. She was a charming, elderly widow, and Jocelyn was delighted to accompany her for what she said might be her final Season.
Unfortunately, Jocelyn’s Season so far hadn’t included meeting any eligible bachelors or any dancing. The only people she mingled with were Gertrude’s friends, who were even now clustered about.
The edge of Mrs. Montgrove’s monstrous fan—it was the size of a dinner plate with ostrich feathers jutting at all angles—caught the side of Jocelyn’s head, dislodging a lock of hair.
“Oh!” Mrs. Montgrove turned to Jocelyn with eyes widened in horror. “I’m so clumsy. Look what I’ve done to your coiffure. Here, let me fix it.” She tried to smooth the hair back up toward the rest of the curls styled atop Jocelyn’s head. However, judging from the tickle against her ear, the wisp wouldn’t stay put.
Mrs. Montgrove’s brow furrowed.
“Just tuck it behind her ear,” Gertrude said with a wave of her fan, which was decorated with small diamond-shaped mirrors.
“Let me.” Mrs. Dutton removed her glove and then licked her finger. When her digit moved toward the wayward lock, Jocelyn had to fight to keep from ducking.
Instead, she held up her hand. “I think I’ll just repair to the retiring room for a spell before the rest of my hair falls apart.”
They all stared at her, and Mrs. Montgrove looked stricken.
Jocelyn rushed to add, “It’s not your fault. My hair has a mind of its own.” She gave all of them her sunniest smile before turning on her heel and picking her way through the ballroom. She hadn’t meant to imply that Mrs. Montgrove had caused a hair disaster. Someday she would perhaps learn to think before she spoke; however, the task seemed especially difficult when neither Mama nor Papa were around to offer loving reprovals.
Oh, how she missed her parents. Tears blurred her eyes as she meandered through the crowd. Mama had been gone a very long time, but Papa’s death just two years ago was still fresh enough to elicit a sharp twinge of melancholy, if only for a moment.
She shook the emotion off. Her eyes refocused, and she attempted small smiles as she passed people she’d met two years before. Some made eye contact, while others simply looked away or stared right through her. There was nothin
g like an aborted Season followed by two years of mourning and adjusting to a life without family to make one feel insignificant.
Oh, Papa. Jocelyn made it out of the ballroom before her throat dried up and constricted. Perhaps she’d returned to London too soon. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come back at all.
By the time she reached the retiring room she’d mostly recovered her equilibrium, locking her grief in the recesses of her mind. Pasting a pleasant expression on her face, she opened the door and immediately stepped to the side as a woman departed. She skirted by Jocelyn without making eye contact.
Invisible. No one saw her and they never would, for she hovered at the fringe of polite Society as a paid companion. Still, it was better than nothing, and without the funds to finance a second Season, the best she could hope for. She was young, and perhaps she’d yet marry.
Straightening her spine and again banishing her maudlin thoughts, Jocelyn closed the door and moved into the retiring room. An attractive brunette was patting her hair before a mirror. She turned upon hearing Jocelyn’s approach and offered a friendly smile. “Good evening.”
Jocelyn was momentarily surprised. Her lips curved up in response and then froze as her gaze settled on the necklace around the woman’s neck. Three strands of pearls were held together by an oval, ivory pendant, which bore a hand-painted scene of two lovers in a boat beneath a sweeping willow tree. Her mother's necklace—it had to be—the one Papa had commissioned as an engagement gift. Jocelyn squinted, looking for the scratch in the glass over the ivory—damage caused by her tiny fingers when, as a toddler, she’d knocked it off Mama’s dressing table.
Seeing the small defect, Jocelyn was instantly transported back two years to the night she and Papa had returned home after a musicale to find their house ransacked, their retainers bound together in the scullery, and all of their most prized possessions gone. The panic and fear came back to her in a wave, as did the shock of her father’s heart attack that had occurred as a result.
But that was then. Now she was safe and whole, even if Papa wasn’t.
Somehow, Jocelyn found the ability to speak calmly though her heart was racing. “What a lovely necklace. Wherever did you find such a treasure?”
The woman’s fingers came up to touch the pendant, and Jocelyn had to suppress the urge to snatch the piece from her neck. “My dear husband gave it to me. It’s quite special, isn’t it?”
Before Jocelyn could make further inquiries, the woman swept past her and exited the retiring room. Jocelyn whipped around and made for the door. It opened inward, causing Jocelyn to jump back to avoid being caught by the edge of the wood.
Two women, deep in tittering conversation, bustled in, forcing Jocelyn to step to the side before she was trampled. Invisible again.
As soon as the way was clear, she rushed into the corridor, but didn’t see the woman wearing her mother’s stolen necklace. She hurried back to the ballroom, desperate to find her. Once inside, she stopped short. Blast! There were so many people. And too many blue gowns. Jocelyn’s quarry wore a cerulean gown with ivory flounces at the hem.
Keeping her gaze moving over the crowd, Jocelyn made her way in the direction of Gertrude and her friends. With her attention so focused on her hunt, she failed to notice the foot she trod upon until it was too late to avoid.
“Pardon,” said a deep, male voice.
Jocelyn nearly stumbled, but a strong hand clasped her elbow and kept her from sprawling face-first in the middle of the ballroom. She regained her balance and turned toward the man she’d offended.
An exceptionally white cravat met her gaze. She looked up and up—he was quite a bit taller than she, an easy feat given her diminutive stature—and stopped when she met his dark blue-gray eyes. She’d expected to see annoyance and was surprised, for the second time that evening, when they crinkled in amusement.
“You look as if you’re on a mission. May I be of service?” He offered his arm.
Jocelyn stared at his sleeve as she tried to pull her thoughts from finding the woman in her mother’s pendant and refocus them on the first gentleman she’d met in two years.
He leaned down slightly and whispered, “Please take it lest someone think I’m waiting for a bird to land.”
Unused to a gentleman’s attention, let alone one with a sense of humor, she arched a brow at him. Then she quickly wrapped her hand along his forearm. “We wouldn’t want that,” she murmured.
“Now, where may I escort you?” In addition to being tall, he was quite handsome, with broad cheekbones and a wide chin with a small cleft in the center. “Or, shall I be lucky enough to secure a dance?”
A dance? The first dance she’d been offered in two years and she said, “No, thank you, I need to find someone.” The flicker of disappointment in his gaze made her rush to add, “I should be delighted to dance with you after I find…” Her brain stalled a moment as she tried to think of something to say other than “the woman who stole my mother’s necklace.” “My friend, Mrs. Harwood. I am just returned from the retiring room and want to ensure she doesn’t worry after my absence.”
He inclined his head, which was covered in thick dark hair cut a trifle shorter than was fashionable. It suited him. “Just tell me where to go so we may reassure your Mrs. Harwood, and then we’ll have our dance.”
Drat. Or maybe not. She could use the opportunity of their dance to locate the woman in the blue gown without wandering the room alone. And, oh, to dance again! “Just over there, near the corner,” she said.
He guided her through the throng. “I realize we haven’t been properly introduced, but I’ll accept your assault on my toes as an adequate reason to dodge propriety, if you don’t object?”
The whole was said with such wit that she smiled in spite of her anxiety over seeing her mother’s pendant. “I can’t possibly object to that. Thank you for your generous consideration, sir.”
“Lord Carlyle at your service,” he intoned deeply with a nod of his head that was surely meant to take the place of a bow, which he couldn’t possibly execute during their cross-ballroom circuit.
Lord Carlyle … Jocelyn searched her memory for the name from her Season. She hadn’t heard of him at all, which wasn’t surprising. She’d attended only a half-dozen social events before her world had turned upside down.
“I’m Miss Renwick,” she said, dipping her knees as they walked, in a sort of awkward, mobile curtsey. Perhaps she should have just inclined her head, too.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His voice was deep and a bit raw. That is, his tone was not the same as other gentlemen she’d met in Society. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Lord Carlyle was somehow different. He even looked different. Oh, his cravat was perfectly tied, but there were no jewels sparkling from the folds, no ring adorning either hand, and no watch fob to spark conversation. An image of the fob Mama had given Papa as a wedding gift flashed in her mind. It, too, had been stolen.
Remembering her mission, as Lord Carlyle had called it, she glanced about for the woman in the blue dress. Where had she gone?
They broke free of the crowd as they came to the less-populated corner of the cavernous ballroom. A handful of potted trees were clustered like a makeshift forest, in which Gertrude and her friends were gathered.
Gertrude’s head bobbed up and down. Her body sometimes succumbed to fits of shakiness due to her age. “Ah, there you are, dear. And you’ve brought a friend.” She cast an approving glance and then offered her hand to Lord Carlyle.
Jocelyn released Carlyle’s arm. “Lord Carlyle, this is Mrs. Harwood.”
He executed an immaculate but somewhat stiff bow, one that looked as if he’d practiced it to perfection. There was definitely something different about Lord Carlyle. “Good evening, Mrs. Harwood.”
Gertrude tittered. “Good evening, my lord. So charming! You must dance with Jocelyn!”
He cast a smile in Jocelyn’s direction. “I plan to, ma’am.”
&nb
sp; Gertrude, and indeed all of her friends, sent congratulatory looks at Jocelyn. Just then, Jocelyn caught the sweep of a vivid blue skirt to her left. She turned her head and saw the woman wearing her mother’s necklace approaching the terrace.
She pivoted toward Carlyle and smiled up at him. “I believe I’d like a bit of air first. My lord, would you mind taking me for a turn on the terrace?”
“Not at all.” He looked to Gertrude and when she nodded her approval, he offered his arm again.
Jocelyn strolled with him to the terrace, her feet moving perhaps a bit too quickly in her haste.
“In a hurry?” he asked.
“Sorry, I’m so short, I’m used to walking rapidly to keep up.” It was the truth, but also provided a convenient excuse.
They stepped out onto the terrace. A few couples were enjoying the warm May air, including the woman in blue. Her companion turned at that moment, and his gaze fell on Carlyle. “Carlyle!” he called jovially. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Jocelyn slid a glance at her escort. He knew those people?
Carlyle led her to the couple and performed another exemplary bow. “Lady Aldridge, you look lovely this evening.”
She smiled at him and lifted a coy shoulder, which sent her dark ringlets swinging against her neck. “Carlyle, you are too kind. But then that’s one of the reasons Aldridge and I adore you so.”
Lady Aldridge squeezed the man’s arm as she said the name, which meant he must be her husband. But he was at least two decades older than Lady Aldridge, who couldn’t be more than a few years Jocelyn’s senior. Indeed, at first glance, the man appeared to be Lady Aldridge’s father.
“Lord and Lady Aldridge, allow me to present Miss Renwick. Miss Renwick, this is Lord and Lady Aldridge.”
