A Thief and a Gentleman

by Shady Grace

  Sally smiled. “Well, all right, you want me layin’ down or astride yur fine soldier boy. Might as well go out with a bang.”

  Nash broke out in a laugh. “That’s not what I meant, Sally, although your charms are hard to ignore. I saw how you were familiar with that woman at my party. The one who called herself Freddie with black hair and pretty blue eyes. I must find her. Do you know where she lives?” he asked, remembering more than her appearance.

  He had to find her before she was gone for good.

  “Sorry, Guv, you’ll be hard-pressed to find that lady,” she replied, brushing up against him until his back touched the wall. “Ya sure you don’t want any lovin’?”

  “Quite sure. Did you just say, lady?” Nash eyed Sally suspiciously, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. It was ironic how he said just such a thing to Marks, when he thought she could be a lady.

  “Well, if ya must know, the lady was robbed before she was due home, across the sea, ya see. She needed to get home, and asked me about ya and where yur money was. I ah…” Sally’s cheeks flushed, “I told her about ye box of coin under yur bed.”

  Nash sighed, not all that angry at Sally for wishing revenge upon him, but also curious to know why this lady asked specifically about him. Something was not quite right. Did she know him? He distinctly remembered her begging him not to tell Lord Pembleton she was there, and he had found it amusing.

  Now he felt unsettled and betrayed.

  The wheels of his mind began to turn. “Interesting. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Sure. She came aboard the Perfect Woman, is what the lady said. Pretty lady she was.”

  He blinked. That was one of his ships. Without so much as a thank you, Nash tossed more than enough coin on Sally’s homey kitchen table and quickly marched through the door he carelessly trampled to get in.

  The break-neck speed on the way to the docks should have excited him. The ending to this wild tale was almost upon him, but as he stared out the window of his carriage, listening to the bustle of the crowds, he felt lost and very much alone. He wondered if she was somewhere in the streets. He wondered if he’d ever see her again.

  * * * *

  Freddie stood at the East Country Dock, looking across the Thames to the Perfect Woman, anchored and ready to ship off that very afternoon, with or without her. Feeling at odds with what she was about to do, the sudden, gut-wrenching image of the man she had lain with obscured her vision. She almost reached out in the thick, sea-swept air and tried to touch his image, grasp on to a little piece of him and hold on tight.

  He did something to her. Filled her with a desperate longing only young maidens should have, not a married woman like her.

  The strange man had made her into a woman, something her own husband did not see fit to do many moons ago. But that was neither here nor there. It was time to return home, and once again tread the path she set out on over ten years ago.

  The handsome face of her captor kept invading her mind, and she could still feel his skin against hers like a brand. Smell the scent of him all over her. Brushing her tongue across her teeth and gums, his taste lingered there still…reminding her of his bittersweet kisses.

  She would never forget him. Would surely lose sleep over him.

  Lost in another time and place, Freddie peered down into the murky water, oblivious to the noise and bustle of people brushing past, or the sounds and smells surrounding her. Everything seemed in a tunnel and so far away, until the man waiting yelled up at her.

  “Well, lassie? Are ye comin’ or what?”

  Startled, Freddie looked over to the rowboat waiting to bring her aboard the vessel. The burly man seated in the tiny boat would scare the average woman half to death, with his ruddy complexion and wild eyes, but already being in his acquaintance, Freddie knew he was harmless as a peach.

  You’re mine…my peach.

  Apparently knowing what she was about, the man tossed her valise beside her feet.

  “Good luck, my dear. I see in your eyes you’re at war with your heart. Just tell him the truth.”

  “What do you mean?” she called out, but he was already rowing away with gusto, leaving her on the dock. Frothy waves crashed against the boat, suddenly snapping her back into reality and the ear piercing sounds of the docks and its inhabitants.

  She released a pent up breath, wondering at the wisdom of the man’s words. How could she tell her captor, a stranger, the truth?

  First thing’s first, she must return Lord Pembleton’s money.

  Maybe, somehow, he would forgive her and pay her passage back to America. The man at least deserved an explanation, and then she would set out to find her lover from last night and see what would happen next. It was the least she could do, and it was what she wanted to do. With fear and trepidation she journeyed back to the manor she had run away from to begin with.

  When Freddie arrived, Dibs informed her that the master of the house was not in at the moment, but was expected shortly. Having urgent business in London, Lord Pembleton could be delayed. Politely, he ushered her into the parlor and left her to her own devices.

  The better part of an hour passed. Freddie stood at the window overlooking the lush garden outside as rain pelted the window pane. She would have wiled the time away out there, admiring the beautiful flowers and foliage. Although the look of the manor was dark and dreary, the surrounding landscape was colorful and lovely, she noted, with the wonder of the sea at the very edge of his property.

  The scrape of a heel sounded behind her. Freddie’s back stiffened, ready to come face to face with Lord Pembleton, her husband.

  Slowly, she turned, sucked in a deep breath and gazed up to…gray eyes.

  She gasped. “You! What are you doing here?” No, no, no!

  This is not what she needed. It was bad enough turning herself in to Lord Pembleton for stealing from him, but to face her captor so soon after the wild night they shared was too much, and the reckless grin he gave her spoke more than a thousand words.

  He looked relieved, somehow. She nearly swooned, swaying on her heeled boots until he took her hand and steadied her.

  She could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart when she placed her palm on his chest.

  “I was not expecting you to be here,” she murmured, suddenly afraid of who she was and what she could not be.

  “Truly?” His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her hungrily, but with what appeared to be anger as well.

  “I suppose you rose to find Lord Pembleton’s box missing as well. I…came to give it back to him. All monies are there. Well, except for funds to hire a hackney. I could not live with myself knowing I had stolen from him. I’m so sorry for leaving you as well, without so much as a goodbye…I just…” she stopped talking. The right words were not on the tip of her tongue, and besides, this was not the place to even look at the man she committed adultery with. Good heavens, how could she face Oliver? And what would he do to her should he discover her betrayal?

  “Tell me, what do you plan to tell him when he arrives?” the man asked, the sensual undertones of his voice like a caress.

  Freddie gazed at his dark hair, dripping from the rain. It gave his looks something akin to innocence, like a young boy caught in a downpour, chasing after his love. But he was no innocent man. She wished to be the love a man would do everything in his power to have. If only…

  “Nothing that should concern you,” she replied quickly, needing a distraction.

  “Oh, but it does,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  “You must realize that what happened was a mistake,” she blurted, suddenly terrified of the consequences should Lord Pembleton return and find them together. Especially while she stood here thinking about this man’s glorious naked body and hungry eyes. He was standing too close. Freddie turned her back to him.

  Tell him the truth.

  She spun around, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “Allow me to introduce myself
to you,” she choked. “I am Lady Frederica, Lord Pembleton’s wife.”

  The man paused, his brows furrowing. Her heart began to pound as his eyes became dark pools, and his sensual mouth thinned to a straight line. He looked very upset. Could it be that he truly cared for her, and because she was another’s wife, he could not possess her as his own? Or was he ashamed for betraying his friend? If she could think clearly and grab control of her emotions, she would dismiss him and think nothing of last night ever again.

  But she could not.

  Chapter Six

  He would never understand women. They were tricky little creatures. Especially the one standing before him, this sapphire-eyed vixen with tender curves and sweet lips. She stood so close, the intoxicating scent of peaches wafting up.

  His nostrils flared, and his blood simmered.

  It was not right what she did to him. Something pulled him to her, made him want to please her and become the kind of fool he once laughed at. How could such a fragile thing do that to him? Why couldn’t she be more like Sally with a cute, but forgettable face and language as rough as a sailor? Not a temptress with a face a man could never forget and a sharp little mind that could run circles around most.

  Her smile aroused him and her gall amused him. He had fallen for her in more ways than one. Fell for her body and soul, and slipped over a pile of fish guts when he charged down the docks looking for her. He was nearly beaten to death by a group of thugs, had his pocket watch stolen, and managed to rip his favorite trousers in the process. Now he looked like one of those ruffians. All for her. Had it not been for a scarred rower keeping watch over the whole incident, looking at him like he knew more than he should, he may not have been standing here looking into her teary eyes. An intent gaze full of promise, passion, and danger.

  The Perfect Woman had sailed, and he believed she was gone. He had stood on the dock for what seemed like hours, completely devastated. Tracking her down would’ve been impossible, even if he could find out her destination from the ship’s log when it returned. It would be useless to him then.

  She could have been anywhere, and he thought Freddie was not her true name.

  Now he stood here, his eyes locked on the tears rolling in slow motion down the very cheeks he kissed the other night.

  Her words should have broken his heart, if he was any other man.

  Nash’s gaze suddenly caught the cluster of freckles on her cheeks. She must have covered them last night, or maybe he was not looking for familiar features, too absorbed in the passion brewing within them. The fact that she returned was all that mattered. He had a mind to drink himself to death thinking of what his life would surely have become if she were really on that ship.

  Six freckles.

  Freckles. Big eyes. Black hair. Frederica Nash, Lady Pembleton. Awkward girl now turned the temptress of a man’s most wicked dream.

  My wife.

  “I know who you are,” he finally answered, appalled with himself for more things than he could list. He was not sure if he was amazed, aroused, or angry. Maybe all of the above. Damn woman.

  “Pardon me? You knew all along I was Lord Pembleton’s wife, and yet you still seduced me? What kind of friend are you?” She swiped the tears from her cheeks and placed her fists on those curvy hips, glaring at him.

  Ah, but this was getting interesting. “What kind of wife are you?” he said, stepping closer. “Adultery is a terrible sin.”

  Freddie pursed her lips.

  God, those lips would kill him one day. So full and warm and kissable. He wanted to throttle her, then kiss her. Lay her upon the soft carpeting and spread her delicious thighs. The image repeated itself over and over in his mind, making him hard. This woman, this thief, was his very own wife. The woman who had left him over ten years ago. She was just a girl then, a girl he barely knew. Now she was a woman. The same woman who returned to steal from him, and made love to him instead.

  And she had no idea he knew.

  “Of all the years I have spent in a woman’s company, I must say, my peach, none have ever come close to capturing me. Not even my wife. But you…you made your way here looking to steal something. You ended up walking away with so much more.”

  “You are married?” Her tiny fists curled at her sides. He nearly laughed at the obvious jealousy in her flashing eyes. He enjoyed her fierce reaction. Maybe there was hope for them.

  “Yes. Does that bother you, my peach?” he teased, giving her a wink, then reached out and gently traced his thumb over her cheek, and down the soft curve of her neck to her collarbone.

  The minx had such nerve, and by God, it felt wonderful to know his wife was the kind of challenge he wanted all along. To think of the years wasted because neither one of them wanted to know the other. How unfair life can be, he thought, looking at her with a whole new passion for life, and love.

  He watched her glance about the room, before she finally looked his way. Her beautiful eyes were almost navy blue now. “Of course not. I should have known by the way you forced yourself upon me as if you had the right,” she argued.

  She looked so cute when she was angry, and cornered.

  “I suppose you think I forced my cock in your hands?” he challenged, feeling the need to grab her and punish her, like the beautiful thief she was.

  Her cheeks flushed and she shut her mouth again.

  “Would you like me to drip hot wax on your lovely bottom this time? I would like to hear you beg me to take you in that wicked place. I could teach you…” he whispered in her ear, thrilled by the way she gasped and shivered.

  “That will not be necessary, thank you.” She looked like a caged cat, the poor little lying kitten.

  Nash chuckled. “Who said anything about necessary? Tell me, do you think Lord Pembleton should punish you for being so wicked?”

  Frederica stared at him, mouth open. “That is between my husband and myself, not the likes of you! Oh, God, what have I done?”

  She spun around and made an attempt to run out of the room. Nash was right on her tail, grabbed her arm and turned her around. He almost did not see her ball up her fist until it came flying at his face, but he caught her hand and raised it above her head. This tempting little piece of silken heat made him both angry and randy all in one breath. An afternoon romp would surely give him a bit of relief, if not teach her a valuable lesson.

  “Tell me, are you wearing your drawers?” he murmured, suddenly eager to tie her up, possibly to the leg of his mother’s favorite Dutch Colonial sofa.

  “I beg your pardon?” Frederica screeched, her cheeks blooming red. “Let me go, you bloody bastard, or I will have my husband take you out!”

  With that, Nash picked her up and tossed her roughly on the sofa. She bounced in a tangle of skirts, conveniently revealing the silky flesh of her shapely legs, before she yanked it back down in a slur of cussing.

  He chuckled, gazed down at her, slowly drowning in her perfect little eyes. No, she was not a vixen. She was a siren.

  Designed to call him in with her silky voice and satin thighs then leave him to crash upon the rocks and drown in murky waters at her cute feet. He would be the fool to do it, too, because he could think of no greater challenge than earning the love of this wild woman.

  Nash pushed her shoulders back until they rested against the couch and straddled her. She tried to push him away, but he easily held her still. He could not help imagining what she would do when he told her the truth.

  “So…how should I punish you?” he murmured, his throat tightening with an emotion he never felt before.

  Her eyes widened, and she blinked back a sudden rush of tears. “What? I thought—”

  Nash swooped down and claimed her lips in a fierce kiss.

  The desire and longing he felt since he had first taken her that night raged inside him, and he almost cried with relief when she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. He felt the erratic thump of her heartbeat, which competed with his own
.

  A loud knock pounded the door, and before Nash could react, Dibs burst into the parlor and cleared his throat. “Oh, pardon me, my lord.” His gaze focused on the floor. “The box has been returned under your bed, and I…ah…see your wife is in very capable hands, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Dibs. You may go now,” Nash replied quietly, slightly angered by the butler’s disregard for his privacy.

  He heard a gasp and looked down. Tears now fell freely from Frederica’s eyes. Well, thanks to Dibs and his horrible timing, his little game was ruined.

  The last few days flashed through his mind. Freddie, as she liked to call herself now, had been robbed, luckily not hurt, and she sought to steal from him, made love to him, and now she was underneath him. She had returned his wooden box, was not a true thief, and she was an innocent when he took her. All very good points. The question was, would she stay, or leave him yet again? His wounds would not heal this time if she did, because he knew that he loved her. Maybe he always had.

  “I cannot believe I did not recognize you…you never answered my letters…I did not think you cared,” she whispered, her sweet voice hoarse with raw emotion.

  “That was then. All that matters is now.”

  Nash leaned down, lightly brushed his lips across hers, unable to explain to her how confused and lonely he felt until she came back to him. What they shared was pure, emotional, intense love, he knew it, could feel it. Then he tried to find her when she disappeared, not to get his money back, but to earn her love.

  His tongue darted inside her warm mouth, met hers in a wild dance of new beginnings. At least, he wished for this to be a new beginning. The end of lonely nights, and the beginning of something worth fighting for.

  “Right here, right now,” he whispered, “I need my wife more than I have needed anything.” He slid her dress up her thighs. Oh, to make love to his wife, in this moment would be by far the best a man could get. And when her drawers slipped to the floor and she moaned his name in that sweet, seductive voice, he was lost.