“But you’re willing to share the money?” She observed him warily over the edge of her feathered fan. “I thought you intended to purchase a large number of expensive estates.”
“I can forego the Scottish castle. It’s too drafty, as I remember. And the summer house in Brighton is too small.” He shrugged. “We can divide the spoils of our alliance equally. Half for you, half for me.”
“How very generous of you, your lordship, to make do with only four homes instead of six,” she said dryly. “And how would we make decisions in this partnership?”
He arched one brow. “I would make the decisions, of course.”
“Of course.” She folded her fan. “My lord, your offer of a partnership is no different from what you wanted before—for me to follow your orders.”
A muscle flexed in his tanned jaw. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You’re trying to control me. There’s a difference.”
“Actually, madam,” he shot back, “I thought I might keep you from getting yourself killed.”
“It’s also possible that you might trick me and take all the money.”
He bit out a frustrated curse. “Elizabeth, without my help, I seriously doubt you’ll live long enough to spend one shilling of the money.”
“How can you expect me to trust you? You were the one who declared us enemies, if you recall, only a few days ago.”
“May not a man change his mind, or is that exclusively the right of women?”
“You may change your mind all you like. I’ll not change mine. I do not need a man’s help.” She started to rise. “I’m refusing your offer.”
He caught her hand and pulled her back down to the bench beside him. “Tell me, my light-fingered little swan, how are you at picking locks and moving heavy objects? Whatever it is you’re searching for tonight, I’m sure our host will have it well hidden—and well protected.”
“I’ll manage.”
“No, more likely you’ll leave here empty-handed. Unless you accept my help.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. He did have a point. And he was no doubt much more adept at thievery than she was.
She wasn’t ready to trust him completely… but perhaps she could use his help. Just for tonight. Provided she kept her eyes open and her wits about her.
He seemed to sense her change of heart before she said a word. Standing, he reached down to her, his hand open, that roguish grin playing about his mouth. “Partners?”
She studied him for a moment, then pulled her mask back into place… and cautiously placed her hand in his. “For tonight.”
“That will do for a beginning.” He helped her to her feet and escorted her back toward the ballroom, along the edge of the crowd, to the foot of the staircase. “Wait for me upstairs.”
“Where are you going?”
He disappeared into the crowd without giving her an answer.
~ ~ ~
Elizabeth waited in the shadows at the top of the stairs, annoyed at the way Darkridge had already taken charge. He joined her a few minutes later.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“To ensure that everyone will be kept entertained.” He took her elbow. “Now then, what it is we’re looking for?”
Elizabeth shrugged off his hold on her. “First, my lord, we need to understand one another. I agreed to a temporary partnership. That does not mean I’m going to follow your orders. We work together as equals or we don’t work together at all.”
“This isn’t going to work if it’s every highwayman for himself.” His gaze flicked to her décolletage. “Or herself.”
Muttering a few unladylike words, Elizabeth turned and started down the corridor. “We can debate the terms of our temporary alliance later. At the moment, we need to locate our host’s study. I believe we might find some useful correspondence there.”
She went from one door to the next, cautiously peeking in the rooms. Darkridge did the same on the other side of the hallway.
“What should we say,” she whispered, “if someone finds the two of us sneaking around up here?”
He chuckled. “Let them think we’re looking for an empty bedroom.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“You didn’t seem to mind so much the other night.”
Elizabeth turned, a denial on her tongue, only to find him directly behind her. Before she could say a word, he touched a finger to her lips.
“Everyone saw us dancing together,” he whispered. “It shouldn’t be hard to persuade anyone who happens by that we’re lovers. But perhaps…” He slipped her mask off. “We should practice.”
He cupped her cheek in one gloved hand and kissed her—a shockingly sensual kiss. His tongue parted her lips, gliding in and out in a way that was both gentle and deep. A sound of protest rose in her throat… but came out as a moan. Instead of pushing him away, Elizabeth found herself grasping the lapels of his frock coat, her objections floating away with every fluttering beat of her heart. The sensation of his mouth moving over hers felt so tender and… demanding and… exhilarating. It was an intimate sharing of breath, her senses filling with his taste, his scent.
Suddenly he broke the kiss.
“You see.” His voice was hoarse, his breathing unsteady. “We could be quite convincing.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek.
Then he placed her mask in her hand and turned away to resume his search.
She was still standing there, her thoughts and senses spinning, when he called to her a few moments later.
“Elizabeth, I’ve found it.”
He was holding open a door. Elizabeth blinked, then slipped her mask back on, trying to act as if she weren’t affected in the least by his kiss… and silently cursing her trembling fingers. She walked past him and entered the room.
Sir John Faircroft’s study held a large desk, bookshelves with latticework doors, and an impressive collection of sculpture and paintings. A pair of tall French windows opened onto a decorative balcony. Darkridge paused in the doorway for a second, head cocked as if he were listening for something. Frowning, he shut the door and quickly crossed to the desk. “Stay at the door and warn me if anyone comes.”
“I’m not here to obey your orders,” she reminded him, walking over to stand at his side. “It’ll be faster if we both search. There may be some important letters behind one of these paintings.”
“And if someone finds us in here, our search will be over before it begins. I don’t think anyone would believe we’re here to make love on the desk.”
Elizabeth started to utter a retort when she noticed he was staring at something on the desk, his expression suddenly hard and angry. She followed his gaze and saw a carved wooden box, inlaid with ivory and gold on the top, obviously quite old and valuable. “What is it?” she asked. “Is it a clue? Does it mean something?”
He stepped forward and picked it up. “No,” he replied after a moment. His next words were so soft she barely heard them. “If I took it with me, they would know someone had been in here.” Putting it down, he moved to the paintings behind the desk. “Stay at the door,” he ordered gruffly.
Elizabeth whispered a complaint about tyrannical males but took up a post by the door, unwilling to waste more time arguing. She opened it just a crack, and tried to keep an eye on Darkridge while also watching the hallway.
The first time she glanced his way, he was using a small metal instrument to pick the lock on a secret compartment behind one of the paintings. Next she saw him with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He skimmed over them and started to return them to their hiding place.
“Wait!” she objected. “How do I know you haven’t found something important and are keeping it from me?”
“Would you like me to read them aloud?” He complied without hesitation, reading from one of the letters. “‘My darling John, I burn for your touch. I long for your kisses. I love when you lie down beside me, part my thighs, and use your tongue on my—’”
&nbs
p; “Stop,” Elizabeth gasped, her face awash with heat. “Very well, I believe you.”
“But I was just getting to the interesting part,” he said with an innocent look.
Elizabeth bit her bottom lip to stop an oath and returned her attention to the corridor. Seeming to enjoy himself, Darkridge worked his way from one painting to the next, finding correspondence from a variety of women and reading aloud the most erotic passages.
Elizabeth almost clapped her hands over her ears, certain she must be blushing scarlet from head to heels. Finally he fell silent for a moment. She glanced over her shoulder to see him reading a long document, his expression serious.
“Is that about Montaigne? What does it say?”
He didn’t look up. “He means to conduct his transaction next month, in August.”
“Where?”
Darkridge ignored her question and cocked his head again as if listening for something.
“My lord?” Elizabeth couldn’t hear anything but the noisy hum of the party downstairs. “What the devil are you—”
“Apparently my diversion has been delayed.” He abruptly folded the document. “We shouldn’t linger in here.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Elizabeth hurried toward him. “I would prefer to read this one for myself.” She grabbed for the paper.
He held it out of her reach. “I’ve already told you what it says. Stop being difficult and let’s get out of here.”
“Not until you—”
Both of them froze at the sound of voices coming down the hall.
Stretching up on tiptoe, Elizabeth snatched the paper from his hand and ran to the other side of the desk, reading quickly before he could reclaim it. Her devious partner had only hinted at the contents.
The document was a contract, sent by Montaigne’s solicitor to a dozen distillers in the north. They were all to bring their best gin to St. Bartholomew’s Fair in August. Faircroft verified that there would be enough gold on hand to cover the purchase of an entire year’s supply from each of them.
Cursing, Darkridge grabbed the document from her and stuffed it back into its hiding place—just as the voices in the hall came to a stop outside the door.
“Hazard, messieurs?” a man was saying in a thick French accent. “No wager less than five pounds?”
Elizabeth looked frantically for somewhere to hide. She started to dive under the desk, but Darkridge caught her around the waist and half carried her to the tall windows that opened onto the tiny balcony outside.
“Ten, Monsieur Rochambeau,” one of the others replied. “You will find that we Englishmen take our gambling most seriously.”
Darkridge had just managed to throw the window open when the study door began to slowly swing inward.
Chapter 8
Marcus pushed Elizabeth over the sill and out onto the balcony, leaping after her—only seconds before the group of men entered the room. He flattened her against the exterior wall. She started to gasp a startled exclamation, but he cut off the sound with a hand over her mouth. His black clothes would hide him in the darkness, but her white costume shone like a flag of surrender. He tried to cover her with his cloak.
Their bodies were pressed together so tightly, he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest. The window was still open.
“You’re certain your wife won’t come up here looking for you, Faircroft?” one of the men asked.
“No, the old shrew is busy showing off that damned Queen Elizabeth costume that cost me a thousand pounds,” the solicitor replied. “I’ll have one of the servants send up some brandy.”
“Whiskey too,” another man requested.
“And some more of these fine cigars of yours,” the Frenchman added.
Marcus swore under his breath. It sounded as if they planned to stay for hours. What the devil had happened to the diversion he had paid for? Hoping to keep the party guests occupied outside, he had bribed one of the footmen to start Faircroft’s birthday fireworks early. Perhaps he should have offered a timepiece as well as money, he thought sourly.
He looked down into Elizabeth’s wide eyes. She was breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling against his chest in a most distracting rhythm. The idea of being stranded out here together all night held a certain appeal, but he doubted she would share his enthusiasm. She struggled to free her mouth. He removed his hand, gesturing for her to stay silent.
She mouthed the words, “What’s our plan?”
Marcus looked around, trying to devise one quickly.
He could hear the Frenchman drawing near the open window. “Are your English servants so careless, that they leave windows open like this?”
Marcus bent his head over Elizabeth’s, trying to hide her completely—and almost sneezed on the feathers in her headdress. She started to tremble.
The man stood so close, Marcus could smell his cigar smoke and hear him taking a deep breath of the night air.
“Leave it open, monsieur. It’s warm in here,” one of the others called. “Let’s start the game.”
The second the Frenchman left the window, Marcus edged toward the balcony railing, pulling Elizabeth with him. There was grass below. He judged the distance to be about fifteen feet.
Elizabeth gaped at him, whispering, “Have you lost your—mmphh.”
Marcus silenced her objection with a quick kiss. Then he lifted himself onto the balustrade, reaching back to tilt up her chin. “Trust me,” he commanded in an urgent whisper.
Not giving her a chance to argue, he swung his legs over the railing and lowered himself down the side of the balcony. Clinging to one of the slim stone pillars with both hands, he shifted his weight and let his legs dangle. He heard Elizabeth gasp when he let go.
Landing with a jolt that must have permanently flattened his heels, Marcus stumbled backward but quickly regained his balance. Reaching up, he motioned for her to jump.
Wide-eyed, she shook her head.
He glared at her and held out his arms, indicating he could catch her. She didn’t budge.
The next moment, the diversion he had arranged finally began. He heard a loud crack as a sparkling sea of bright jewel tones exploded over the gardens on the west side of the house.
“By Jove!” one of the card players exclaimed. “What was that?”
Marcus cursed, vividly. Elizabeth was going to be caught if she didn’t move right now.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, she apparently came to the same conclusion. She clambered up onto the railing, looking down at him. Then she closed her eyes, let go.
And jumped.
Marcus’s heart seemed to stop as he saw a dazzling image of sheer silk and white wings fluttering against the night sky.
And then he caught her, pulling her tight against his chest as he half-fell into the shadows beneath the balcony.
The group of men all came to the window this time. “Eh what?” one of them said. “Did you hear something else out here?”
Marcus, standing with his back against the wall, held Elizabeth in his arms and didn’t even breathe for fear of making a sound. Another round of colorful shells exploded.
Faircroft spoke from directly over their heads. “It’s just the old shrew starting my birthday fireworks without me.”
There was silence above for a minute… then another. Marcus wasn’t sure if the men were still up there or not.
Then Faircroft spoke again. “More of my money going up in smoke.” He muttered a curse. “The devil take her and her extravagant show.”
After watching the spectacle a moment more, the card players closed the windows and returned to their game.
Exhaling, Marcus lowered Elizabeth to her feet. “Are you all right?” He had done his best to be careful of her wounded side, but knew it must hurt.
“I’m… fine,” she insisted, despite the fact that she was shaking, her breathing rapid and shallow. “Y-you call… me reckless for… climbing down from a window on a perfectly sturdy makeshift rope�
�” She lifted her head to look up at him. “And then you take a leap in the dark from a balcony?”
Her words were annoyed, but as another shell exploded in the night sky, he could see a different feeling sparkling in her eyes—excitement. She had told the truth earlier: she liked danger. In some undeniable way, she found it stirring. Enticing. Irresistible.
Just as he did.
“I believe it may be possible,” he said, not certain whether he should feel pleased or distressed by the discovery, “that we’re two of a kind.”
“You’re every bit as reckless as I am!”
“No one is as reckless as you are.” He kept his hands at her waist. Purely to steady her. “I took a calculated risk. In another second they would have seen us.”
“You always think you’re doing exactly the right thing, don’t you, my lord? Your confidence is rather excessive. And most irritating.”
He started to shake his head, but his tricorne—knocked askew when he’d caught her—slid down over his forehead.
Elizabeth reached up as if to fix it and instead pulled it further over his face. “There, that’s an improvement.”
“Take the deuced thing off,” Marcus muttered through the brim. Which only made her laugh.
He flung the hat off with a shake of his head and turned around without warning, drawing her closer and pressing her back against the wall. She drew a startled breath, but her eyes still sparkled like the fireworks that filled the night sky with cascades of color and light.
She was enjoying all of this, he realized. Not only their risky leap from the balcony—but being here, with him. Marcus had never seen her look more vibrantly alive: her cheeks glowing, her eyes so vivid, her smile as breathtaking as her shimmering dress. She looked… happy. All mischief and daring and bright, feminine fire.
And she was more irresistible to him than any danger he’d ever encountered.
He lowered his head to hers—just as a man’s voice came from a balcony to their left.
“Come, Margaret,” the man pleaded huskily. “I promise, you’ll have a much better view from out here.”
Midnight Raider Page 10
