Loving Lady Lazuli (London Jewel Thieves Book 1)

by Shehanne Moore

  Even if she was and she had, the waste, the shocking waste of a woman, who looked like this, who smelt like this, who … A twig snapped. Christ, why the hell had he edged his foot further back?

  “Lord Hawley?”

  He’d like to say no. When it was obviously him he couldn’t very well say it was the plant pot though.

  “Well, well, well.”

  Her voice had that edge he’d noticed earlier. The slightly earthy, slightly rough, slightly not the least bit frightened of him one. But then, why the hell should she be less than triumphant? She hadn’t been caught red-handed peeking in her windows.

  “What do you want?”

  He flicked his eyes open. “Want? Me?”

  Right now? Or in another minute, that delicious scent, winding through his senses? Devil confound her. Must she ask him such a stupid question? In that earthy voice, while looking like that too? Rich sable hair, eyes like jewels, that black silk peignoir open just where it should be closed. He stepped forward. She was so damned beautiful, the words were out his mouth before he could stop them.

  “A kiss.”

  “A kiss?”

  How strange. Cass could have staked money on him being about to say something … worse. But a kiss? A libertine like him, who … well, she doubted that Tilly had invited that painted whore who’d been standing by the door at Chessington. Cass didn’t imagine she wasn’t looking at who had. Which was why she wished he wouldn’t stand there, gazing down at her with boyish longing, as if he’d die to kiss her.

  “From you. I mean … I … ”

  She jerked her chin higher. “I know quite well who it is from, Lord Hawley. I’m not blind.”

  If a kiss was as much as this specimen wanted to make him go away again why the blazes not just do it? Then she could stay here without further fear of interruption. From him anyway. She’d said to Ruby and Pearl she’d deal with him? This was her chance to show them how effortlessly masterful she was.

  A kiss?

  Should she appear too eager though? Think of what it would say about her guilt. At the very least she should pretend to consider it. She lowered her eyelashes.

  A kiss?

  Actually? Perhaps not. At all costs she mustn’t allow a moment to overthrow her because the stars shone, filling her head with moonshine, and he didn’t just stand close enough to breathe, he put his hand on the door jamb behind her, expecting that kiss. The swine.

  Ten years may have passed, but what if the sole reason he wanted that kiss was so he could prove who she was? She had him by the balls, to quote Ruby who was probably watching the whole thing from behind the curtains in the main hall. Imagine, if instead of squeezing these same self-satisfied balls, Ruby saw her kissing him instead? Well?

  She straightened her spine, squared her jaw.

  “That is an extremely unconventional request, to say the least, Lord Hawley. What do you think I am exactly? Some doxy you’d buy in a military brothel for a farthing?”

  “A farthing?”

  She jerked her chin higher. Her eyelashes too. If surprise flickered at her neat turning of this particular odiously set table, so much the better. After all, he wasn’t going to let her go for a kiss. “Yes.”

  “God no. But you’d know the average cost in a military brothel, as opposed to your average high street brothel, would you, Mrs. Armstrong?”

  “Pardon? Why would I know that? Elgered would never, ever have frequented so disgusting a place. Not all men are as low, as vile, as needy as you plainly--”

  “I’m not talking about Elgered.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t think you’re talking about—“

  “I’m meaning Matthew.”

  She lowered her eyelashes further. Matthew? The bigger swine. Well, if he thought he’d prickled her he’d a big think coming. “I see. Well, what you spend your money on and how you spend it is of no interest to a humble widow like me, Lord Hawley. Although if you spend more they must certainly count themselves lucky to know you’re both choosy and generous.”

  “They don’t exactly complain.”

  What did that mean exactly? She didn’t like to think, but she did anyway. That she was guilty and it would solve her problems? Well, it might. But when that little remark about Matthew was the best he could do--Matthew whose heroic death she’d gone to extraordinary lengths to invent off the top of her head, not three hours ago—it might not. No. Not if she stood on the drop with her head in the noose and the hangman ready to kick the stool away. Not when his balls were in the noose.

  It was time she stared at his waistcoat and ended this to her satisfaction.

  “Perhaps not to your face they don’t.”

  “Well, now, I wouldn’t know. It’s none of my damn business what they get up to behind my back.”

  “Well of course, there are some women who might think a man desiring them is the answer to certain prayers--”

  “Not me. That would depend on what the woman was praying for.”

  “--not to mention so very generous of you, my lord. In more ways than one, too. Although you can forgive me for thinking, seeing as the doxy you brought to Chessington looked to have cost about half that farthing—”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Really? About what exactly?”

  “About the average cost in a military brothel, as opposed to a high—”

  “And you’re peeping in my window because you can’t afford either? And you somehow think widow means desperate and you won’t have to pay me anything at all? Goodness. How enlightening in fact.”

  Surprise needn’t flicker. This was going to end now as it should have five minutes ago. Just wait till she told Ruby and Pearl one problem had been dealt with. He strolled off into the darkness. The matter was settled. Her ability to master a situation was undiminished. It might even be that her other problem was halfway to Reading by now, visiting some relative, or other. Casing some property. What more could she ask?

  She flicked her gaze upwards.

  “But you do know there are penalties for causing such distress?”

  “That depends on to whom.”

  “Oh, really? Well, let’s just say I was distressed, especially as I was wearing nothing at the time.”

  “And you think I was looking?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t just think. I know.”

  “Maybe that’s because you’re a little short sighted. No, no, Mrs. Armstrong, you’ve got this all wrong. I was congratulating you actually.”

  “Congratulating me? You mean you liked what you saw?”

  His gaze flicked over her. “Not exactly. No. I’m congratulating you on the fact that most women wouldn’t have stepped outside. That almost certainly most women wouldn’t have stepped outside dressed, or rather not dressed … ”

  “All right.”

  He narrowed his gaze, obviously taken aback by the briskness of her interruption.

  “A—kiss.” She was taken aback herself. What else could she do now he’d gotten one up on her, though? “I—I’ll do it.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  Anyway what would a kiss prove? It was hardly evidence for a court of law. What was he going to say exactly? ‘I know it’s her by the way she kisses, my lord.’ Imagine the treat that would go down. Kissing? A hanging offense? Most of the realm would be dead. So why worry?

  Well? Because she’d kept her lips to herself since that Christmas Eve. She kept a lot of herself to herself. Surprising, but there it was. So long as he didn’t ask for anything else it was fine. Besides his look wasn’t so harlot hardened, so sin ridden as it had been at Chessington.

  "All right," he said.

  She lifted her chin, met his mouth. She didn’t know what to expect with a libertine like him, who wasn’t likely to appreciate coy innocence, or crass inexperience. But his mouth was soft, like gossamer.

  It was amazing that she should know, should remember, through her screaming lack of experience, how to do
this, and should find herself responding to his tempting taste, the warm scent of cedar wood. She parted her lips further. And further still in answer to his response, as if she tasted something that couldn’t possibly be that delicious, she needed to taste a little more to find out. And having satisfied herself what was on the spoonful was that sumptuous, she wanted the whole dish. Then she wanted to lick it clean.

  It was especially amazing when … Cass’s gaze squinted sideways. Jesus God, was that Ruby coming along the path?

  She couldn’t wave her away. Well, she could. She raised one hand. Ruby must see her dealing with this after all. And Cass was. Dealing with it in ways she’d never expected.

  Also, if she let herself be drawn by his sin-ridden lips, by him, she’d lose that part of herself, the part of her no one had touched, because she didn’t let them. The thing, the only thing, she had mastery over.

  Herself.

  Somehow she struggled free. She was naked under the robe after all. Any more of this and they’d eat each other alive. And that was something Ruby mustn’t see.

  “Don’t stop now, Mrs. Armstrong, you’re just getting to be interesting.”

  She snatched a breath. Interesting? The damn cheek of it. She was not getting to be anything. She was interesting. She cleared her throat.

  “You said a kiss.”

  He huffed out a soft breath. “And now you somehow think I want more?”

  “Well, I hope you don’t think I do.”

  “That’s not how it looked to me.”

  “You would know about looks, would you, perversely peeping through my window? Seeing what was in it for you?”

  Well? How fine was this? A libertine like him, talking as if he were a choir mistress and she the roistering blade. Probably eyeing her too.

  “Do you know something?”

  Not when this had suddenly taken a turn for the worse and she wouldn’t just have been better tackling a tiger, she’d have been better kissing one as well. Still, she set her jaw to match his own. What could he say that would worry her now? She’d given him what he wanted.

  “You never let me finish earlier,” he added. "Most women wouldn’t just have screamed by now. They’d have raised the roof.”

  “Really?”

  “Still a deal is a deal. So they say anyway.”

  He stepped back. Her jaw dropped open. Not only had she kissed him for nothing, when she should never have kissed him at all, she’d given him precisely what he wanted which wasn’t a kiss at all. So now? Now?

  She parted her lips.

  He was right about her failing to raise the roof. He might as well have his money’s worth.

  The noise, the scream was masterful. For that matter the scream might have been heard in John O’ Groats, Land’s End, or Paris. Maybe, even in all three for that matter. She couldn’t tell, not being in any of them right now.

  She clamped her lips shut. Then she shrugged.

  “As I think you will agree, I’m not most women, Lord Hawley.”

  Well, she wasn’t. What was more she heard Barron yelling in his thick Dorset brogue somewhere in the darkness.

  “Mrs. Armstrong? Mrs. Armstrong? Where be ‘ee?”

  “Yes,” she said, facing Devorlane Hawley with her best, her most coolly appraising stare. “Just because I didn’t scream, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t. Here, Barron. I’m at the door.”

  “Coming, my lady!” Pearl yelled. “We’re coming!”

  “What the bloody blazes be a’goin’ on here, Mrs. Armstrong?”

  The blinding light from Barron’s driver’s lantern dazzled her for a second, so she’d to fight not to shield her face. But not before she saw Ruby was also there, armed with a broom handle. She’d maybe gone a little far. But going a little far was better than going nowhere at all. She clutched her robe tighter. Having started this, she might as well finish it. Ruby hadn’t brought that broom to sweep the path after all.

  “He … He … I—I can’t. I really can’t speak of it.” The tears she forced to her eyes were a masterful stroke. “I’m sorry. I … I … can’t. Not when it’s all too terrible, as you can see.”

  Devorlane Hawley swung around and grasped the broom handle. Why, and what he meant to do with it, was as mysterious as finding herself in a situation where a broom handle was involved in the first place.

  “Jeezuz! Sorrr … ”

  She smothered a shriek as the lantern flew from Barron’s hand. The tinkle of glass was muffled by her yelp as boiling tallow wax spattered the hem of her robe. Devorlane Hawley barred Barron’s throat with the broom handle, pinning his wheezing bulk to the wall. What was that thought she’d had several moments ago, when she’d first opened the door? The one about him seeing it all and experiencing nothing? He was certainly experiencing plenty now. As for Barron? He was experiencing fighting for his life.

  This had somehow taken a turn for the worse. If Barron got killed here she was going to look very good explaining that to the magistrates. And the way Devorlane Hawley deliberately turned his head, feasting his eyes on her face as he held the stick in place, said the choice was hers.

  How horrible was that when obviously she couldn’t allow it. Although this, damn it, should be about her being attacked, not Barron. She snatched at the handle. She had to.

  “Let him go.”

  “Aye. Don’t ‘ee think ‘ee and yore fancy boots ‘ull get away wi’ this. Oih’ll defend ‘ee, moih lydy. Oih’ll get him. Leave this ter me.”

  “That’ll be interesting.” Devorlane Hawley tossed his hair out his eyes. “You.” He jerked his head at Ruby.

  “Whot? Me?”

  He dragged a breath. “Unless you think I am somehow meaning the tree there? Fetch Lord Koorecroft.”

  Lord Koorecroft? The county’s most senior magistrate? A turn for the worse? Now it was a somersault. A woman who planked a stolen necklace on this specimen shouldn’t blush to say it was rape. She’d have to if he fetched Lord Koorecroft, because then there would be the matter of what the damned man could say to Lord Koorecroft. Being dead and buried might not be enough to save her then. Not when her crimes had been dutifully reported by every newspaper up and down the land. She’d hang.

  “Lord Koorecroft?” Ruby smoothed a copper tendril of hair back from her forehead. “Whot soddin’ fer?”

  “What do you think it’s soddin’ for? To accuse me of rape and molestation. It won’t be difficult. He’s at Chessington right now. You can cut through the hedge. Go on.”

  “That’ll be shiny bright.” Fortunately Ruby could always be counted on to do absolutely nothing. “What do yer think I am exactly? Yer bleedin’ servant?”

  “‘Ee got no roight after what ee—”

  Barron gasped as Devorlane Hawley jerked the stick so hard across his windpipe, Cass was almost jerked off her feet.

  “I have every right. You all want Lord Koorecroft fetched, don’t you? So let’s fetch him. I’m relishing the thought of the little chat I’m going to have with him about our dear Mrs. Armstrong here.”

  Cass’s hackles rose. Why, he himself used the word rape. Did he think she wouldn’t accuse him when her back was to the wall like this. Although the thought stole that stepping out here, dressed as she was, might require no small explanation.

  Would it not be better to placate him? Or best still, push the stick herself in the hope he might take it as an invitation to depart before he got into trouble? She tightened her grip.

  “How dare you speak to my companion this way. Ruby, stay exactly where you are.”

  Yes, it would be better to placate him. But if anyone was going to order Ruby, it would not be him.

  “Wif pleasure, Cassidy.”

  Another vicious jerk of the stick. His breath, like hers, like Ruby’s, hit the air in a freezing white puff. It also hit her. “Very well. How about I tell this man here—what’s the name?”

  “‘Ee touch a solitary ‘air on moih lydy’s ‘ead—”

  “How about I tell Bar
ron about the man who will touch not just that solitary hair, Lady Armstrong? The one with the nice length of rope who will touch your whole head, with a sack, who will put that rope around your—”

  “Get ‘im, Pearl!”

  Dear God, while that would be very nice, if Cass didn’t do something, blood would be spilled. His. Of course it would be his own fault. But it would also be hers if she’d to bury him in her herb garden. Besides she was unsure about Barron. Where he would stand on the matter of assistance. A broom handle may have been sawing his windpipe, but it didn’t mean he was one of them. What might be around the county tomorrow about her?

  “Kill ‘im! Toffee-nosed snout.”

  Ruby sprung and Devorlane Hawley did not hit her back. Cass’s throat constricted, the noise that came from the back of it not one she’d usually make. Men, certainly those of her acquaintance, would never do such a thing. Did or did her own back not bear witness to that fact? What Starkadder had done to her that day? And not just that day. Every day she’d refused to steal.

  Of course, a corpse would make things inconvenient for her. Who would have thought he’d have retaliated like this, a powerful man like him, who had no fear of arrest, though? Plainly not herself or she’d never have opened her mouth. Let alone rowed with him over a kiss, a kiss she gave him so she could worm off the hook, a kiss which would be a complete waste if she didn’t stop this unraveling further, if they now had to flee the county.

  “Ruby. Ruby—no. No.”

  “Get orf of me, Cass.” Ruby tried wrenching the handle free—plainly because her fists weren’t good enough. “I knows whot I’m doin’. Stickin’ it ‘round ‘ere like ‘e owns the bleedin’ place. Smarmy—”

  “No, Ruby!”

  “‘E thinks ‘e knows. ‘E don’t know jack-shit. ‘E—”

  “Ruby!”

  “Here! What the bloody hell is going on here if you don’t mind me asking?”

  The voice—given it wheezed worse than a rusty gate hinge—still held that note. Unmistakable. Unbelievable. The one that always knifed right through Cass’s senses, freezing her. Bones. Marrow. Thoughts. To quote what Ruby had just said a few moments ago, wasn’t this just shiny bright?