Loving Lady Lazuli (London Jewel Thieves Book 1)

by Shehanne Moore

  “One you helped me fill.”

  “True. But let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, we don’t go that far yet, especially as you think you’re Lord Armstrong’s daughter.”

  “I don’t think. I know, and that’s all there is to this.”

  “Supposition’s a dangerous business.” Look where it had landed him.

  “Just because I can’t prove it doesn’t mean I won’t. That’s why I’m here. To find the proof I need. Not to steal. Whatever you think. I’m done with that.”

  “Oh, really.” He shrugged. This did get better by the minute after all. “Lord Armstrong’s daughter. Forced into stealing at … however young you were, is that what you’re trying to say? As opposed to Sapphire, the greatest jewel thief in England, here to nick their way through the local pickings. Exactly what kind of idiot do you think I am? What kind of wool-puller are you?”

  “Oh, and I faked my own death in the Thames, did I? After spending ten years squirrelling every farthing?”

  “You’re a thief. You could have stolen them.”

  “Oh yes, I was allowed to keep my pickings. I asked you what you wanted. You said an answer. Well, I’ve given you quite as much as you’re getting. Whether you choose to believe it, or not, is your affair. But it is the truth. I do remember being here. My name is Armstrong. That much is no lie.”

  “Says the woman who knows not the meaning of the word truth.”

  “Says the man who helped me dig that grave.”

  He swallowed. Armstrong? While he wanted to tell himself the pile of horse manure was steadily growing--nothing she could say would change this, remember?-- the word was cold ash in his mouth, especially what burned in his heart. These damned coral lips of hers, that bold as a stable of horse brasses, stare. The delicious snatch of temper.

  Christ, Lord Koorecroft got wind of the fact she might be connected to Barwych, he’d want to take it further, then Devorlane would never get anything. What if this bucket of cod, wasn’t just another attempt to hoodwink him, so she could run? He wouldn’t want her doing that unless she dug up that corpse and took it with her. Especially when there was something he could sort of do here, now he thought about it.

  Something he needed to do when it didn’t matter what she said, or what she did, his intentions to clear his name were one thing at every turn. Dust. He cleared his throat.

  “My father, the third duke, was given the Armstrong papers.”

  “He … ”

  Never was.

  Were these the words her lips froze on? Even if the third duke had received them, it didn’t mean the fifth duke would give her them. Certainly not given what she’d done to him. Correct?

  “Yes. For safekeeping when the old man died. So far as we knew he had no family. But he was reclusive.”

  “And those, those might have—”

  Her eyes followed him to the beveled window. He didn’t need to feel them boring holes in his back to know it. Kicking herself was she? Over her immeasurable folly in running to Lord Koorecroft? Or did hope beat in her perfectly treacherous breast that he was going to let her have them for nothing because she’d been wronged? When he’d stepped in here five minutes ago determined to end this? To at least claw that back from the fact he’d helped her.

  “I don’t have a clue what they have. I’ve never looked.”

  “I see. It’s just. Well—”

  “What? You went to Lord Koorecroft? You tried to accuse me of rape?”

  “I— . Well, I’d be lying if—”

  He glanced round, keeping his gaze veiled. “You can have access to these papers.”

  Her jaw dropped open. She couldn’t believe it, could she? In some respects neither could he. But then he wasn’t done. Not by any manner of means. Not what thrummed through his brain.

  “Provided you do one thing for me.”

  “One?”

  Did her mind now rake over what that was? Reeled over probably. She set her chin. Oh, what could he possibly demand? Another kiss? For her to leave here perhaps? Or finally tell the world the truth about who she really was?

  “That is until you find out the truth.”

  He glanced back through the window, feeling winter light paint his cold face. The thing was he could let her have the papers for nothing. He would have, had she not gone to Lord Koorecroft. The one thing, despite everything else, he refused to let go of.

  But it wasn’t just that, or the length she advanced beneath his skin. He had demons to conquer regarding her, a whole hell of them. “Then, when you do, I want you out of the area never to come back.”

  “Never?”

  The swish of velvet said this took her by surprise. It would be nothing compared to what was coming next. That was a surprise even he felt ripples of bemusement about.

  Slightly angry ones, although there was complete method in his madness.

  “But—but what if I don’t? What if I search and there’s nothing?”

  “If you don’t like my offer, the door is there.” He turned to face her. “You will leave now. But if you do accept my offer, you will adhere to my terms for the duration of your search.”

  “And what terms are these?”

  No, when the fascination was so unwelcome as to move him to pity for her, for how her life must have been nothing like he thought, in every way, there was only one way to exorcise it. After all, a night was all he ever wanted a woman for. She would be no exception.

  “That you will become my mistress.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Become your mistress?”

  Had someone sucked her mouth dry? She remembered that very first day she’d found herself an object of ridicule at Starkadder’s? ‘Oh whot ‘ave we ‘ere? Little Miss Toffee-Snout. Wif her brother. Lord Snotter-Nose.’ Two terrified children. She thought about the things that had happened since, everything, to come to this. My God.

  Had she really thought he wouldn’t be so low? A man whose aspirations were half an inch off the ground?

  A man who asked for a kiss when she’d demanded to know what he wanted, wasn’t going to let her off the hook for nothing.

  “And if I don’t?” Why not ask? After all she wasn’t anyone’s servant, his mistress either, so she wasn’t exactly going to oblige.

  “I’m not mean, Miss Armstrong. You have ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes? She gave a little start. To pack up her life here? And Gil in the herb garden for God’s sake? That might present difficulties.

  “Ruby and Pearl?”

  “Will not be joining us, I am afraid.”

  “But—”

  It wasn’t what she was asking.

  “They’re not my type. Ruby is … well … I suppose the kindest thing I could say is that Ruby is Ruby. As for Pearl? Pearl is plain. If it’s going to be a ménage, I choose my partners with care.”

  The measuring coolness of his eyes beneath those straight brows, the lack of curl to what she already knew were sensuous lips, left her in no doubt she heard these words.

  She wasn’t going to agree. Nothing was further from her mind because nothing was worth that. Not for her, a woman who, having escaped chains, would never be bound again. Who saw the door there and knew she was going to walk through it. Ten minutes. She had ten minutes. Code green she believed. Time to gather up a few items in addition to the bags stashed in cupboards here and in Barwych itself.

  But she needed to be honest about why she now prepared to forgo, not just the chance to stay here and find out who she was, but to examine papers that might prove it. Prove it? If it was anything to do with him she wouldn’t. There was no doubt about that.

  She needed to be clear, now it came to uprooting Ruby and Pearl, that it was nothing to do with her fear of giving up the one thing she’d never given any man. The bit of her life she exerted control over. Because it was the only bit that was hers.

  And nothing to do with fearing to give it to him.

  And she wasn’t.

  Which wa
s why, despite the way instinct screamed, she raised her chin.

  “Very well, Lord Hawley, you win. I’ll be your mistress.”

  ***

  “Be his mistress? Have yer gone stark ravin’ bonkers? Saff, yer can’t. No. I won’t hear of it.”

  Standing there in the bedroom at Barwych, Cass knew exactly how this looked. But how the hell could she leave here while there was breath in her body? Until she discovered who she was? It was all she had.

  Besides, deep down, in places no light had shone on for years, she refused to cower. If her skin had sweated perhaps but it didn’t.

  Any situation in life was mobile. Changeable. At twenty-seven, was she holding on to something she should let go of? And if she was going to let go of it, well, at least it wasn’t with Gil.

  ‘I choose my partners with care.’

  She folded her chemise into the battered valise. Did he think because he’d seen her underwear, seen her, she liked words like that? Plainly. Well, she didn’t. Certainly not given what she’d seen of his partners this far. Unless he meant, ‘care to cheese everyone off,’ care to make everyone look at him. Unless he was blind as a blindfolded bat, choose and care were not words she’d use in connection with his partners. She reached for her stockings from the heap of clothes on the bed.

  “You hearing of it or not, has nothing to do with this. Short of leaving here within the hour, I have no choice.”

  “I knew I should have soddin’ well fetched the meat mallet. I knew I should have swung. As fer takin’ yer ter soddin’ Chessin’tun. Yer can’t. Yer just can’t.”

  “Let go of my stockings, Ruby.” Cass grasped them. “And stop arguing. I don’t have time. The carriage will be here soon. I’ve made up my mind. Anyway he has things I want … I mean the papers of course.”

  At least, she hoped she did. Funny how her mouth dried though. As if she was human when she was solid stone.

  “Look, yer think I don’t know yer little secret.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She cleared her throat of the constriction. It seemed they all did. For the first time that bothered her because for the first time it seemed silly. “It was hardly less than common knowledge.”

  “Well, then, take this.” Ruby dug her hand into her apron pocket. “I mean I guess now Gil ain’t sufferin’ no more slings’n arrows’n that, I don’t need it. Probably don’t need them pockets either now the truth’s out.”

  “What is it?”

  “Laudanum.”

  “Laudanum?” Cass stared at the tiny glass phial.

  “I got it fer Gil’s cough.”

  Cass could imagine. The cough would be the last thing Ruby bought it for.

  “Go on, take it. Fer him. Yer give him enough of it and he won’t know a thing.”

  Cass’s palms sweated on the cool silk of the stocking. How true. But laudanum? Wouldn’t that show Ruby she was scared? And not just Ruby. Why not signal to herself from the top of the hilltop there she was scared? Of him?

  Besides, what if she tipped too much and some accident befell him? Mother of God, maybe for that matter that was what had happened to Gil?

  “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t want to kill him.”

  “I mean it.” Ruby closed Cass’s fingers around the phial. “Yer ain’t nothin’ like me. I soddin’ knows yer. Known yer all them soddin’ years. Since that first day’n all. Known why yer never wanted no man when yer could have had plenty. Their protection’n all, whot some of ‘em offered fer yer. How keepin’ yerself was a matter of whot pride yer had left yer. This’ll cost yer. Just a little drip--it’s all yer needs to make all yer troubles go away fer the night. Then … then yer can do yer searchin’.”

  She could. Especially when it was what this was about really.

  Was she prevaricating over this phial because he wasn’t unhandsome? And she was thinking about losing something at twenty-seven that, to quote Ruby, was no soddin’ good to her? Well?

  She was a thief. A corner was never so tight she couldn’t escape it. Even that night with the Wentworth emeralds had shown her that. Providence had taken the form of his coach, just as she was facing a trek across frosty fields to the nearest town. Then it had taken the form of him when the coach was stopped. Why shouldn’t it now take the form of that phial? The proof she needed? And then, whatever happened next?

  It would mean leaving here, of course. But Devorlane Hawley had made it clear he didn’t intend for her to stay. Were she to prove this place was rightfully hers, that she had been stolen away and forced into thievery, would some kind of pardon exist for a woman like her?

  She doubted it. Any one of her crimes was enough to hang her. But Ruby was right. Laudanum had its uses, and she would be a complete fool not to face Devorlane Hawley without it. And if she didn’t, Ruby might think she was keen.

  “Very well.” She clasped the phial. “But only for tonight.”

  “What about the rest?”

  “Expect me back by midnight, will you? Code orange, I’d say. The best we could hope for.”

  ***

  As he stepped forward to open the coach door, Devorlane Hawley fought the urge to wipe his hands down his thighs. Burning ears didn’t trouble him. Nor did Tilly stomping about threatening to pack her bags. But he was troubled. He knew it as he twisted the handle, by the fact it felt sticky in his palm.

  Ridiculous, when by tomorrow morning he’d be considering his boiled eggs and bacon with more interest—which spoke volumes. He abhorred boiled eggs and bacon. Yet there it was.

  The rain-slicked glass of the window obscured his view from what was inside. It would be entirely like the captivating damned jade to send the coach back empty, to now be God knew where.

  No matter the icy frost of her self-containment and despite losing it ever so slightly earlier, she was the queen of jewel thieves. Was he meant to believe she wasn’t equally skilled in the bedroom? Of course she was. That was why relief flooded at the sight of her, fanned by lantern beams. When one night was as much as this was going to be, he didn’t want deprived of it.

  Opening the door he extended his hand. Why not? People thought he had no manners. Unlike the perfect Ardent. If it was the choice between humiliating her and being like the perfect Ardent, though, thinking of what was in store for him with this treasure, he’d be the perfect Ardent.

  “Thank you, Lord Hawley, but are you not concerned I might steal something from your noble person?”

  He sighed. He sighed deeply. Being like the perfect Ardent was going to be well nigh impossible with this impertinent strumpet. Still he kept his hand extended. “Let’s get this straight, Miss Armstrong—”

  “Cassidy.”

  “Cassidy. I find anything missing from my person, this house, or any of the people in it, I will have no hesitation in setting the law on you. Do you understand?”

  Her eyes glinted with a mountain stream’s coolness. So she must have although she still didn’t make any move out the coach. “This is another condition?”

  “I have counted the household silver. I have counted everything. You should know that before you venture any further.”

  “Bravo, Lord Hawley. I’m glad to see we’re starting as we mean to go on. With perfect trust and honesty.”

  Her touch, even the feel of her glove as she settled her hand in his, was something he wasn’t unaware of. In fact his skin might as well have not been there, the way in which she immolated it.

  “Trust and honesty? A thief speaking of such things as that.” He was forced to say it—to breathe at any rate—against her hair, exotically perfumed ambergris, so delicious the scent clogged the back of his throat before slithering over his tonsils and winding its sensuous way down into his lungs. Did she notice? He prayed not.

  “Oh, you would be surprised what thieves speak about in their spare time.”

  “I doubt it. This is Charlie by the way.”

  She paused, one sturdily booted foot staying firmly planted on the coach step. Now what, when
his desire for her, his thirst, was like a raging torrent, one that threatened to blow his balls apart? The downcast summation of his waistcoat was her usual.

  “Lord Hawley, I believe we agreed restrictions.”

  Had they? Unless she counted him giving her ten minutes to leave the area if she didn’t agree, a restriction? Unless of course the tiresome creature thought he meant what he said about ménages.

  “Maybe we did, Cassidy, unless there is one on him taking your bags. He’s my man. My friend. You met him the other night.”

  Now her other foot rooted as well. “You mean the servants wouldn’t—”

  He sighed somewhat in exasperation. Such indignation, indeed the airs of a duchess in a damned gutter-snipe, who came here prepared to sleep with him in exchange for poring over a pile of papers, was unexpected. But then a lot of this was.

  “I never asked them. All right? I’ve always found the less the servants know about the damn goings on in a house, the better. I mean, you must have been in a few houses like that in your time.”

  “I see. It is just you did say you would show me the papers first. Until you do, the bags stay here. The coach does too. I haven’t agreed to sleep with you, and ruin myself in the eyes of the county, for nothing. Certainly, I haven’t agreed to sleep with him.”

  What? After all this, all the trouble he had taken on his return home here today, the place in an uproar because Mephisto had cantered back without him, and then all that hell to pay with Tilly, who should just have been thankful not to be finding herself sewing a seam in some garret by now, the snit dared get awkward?

  “Show you the papers? That may take all night.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  He tilted his jaw, his eyes narrowing. The standoff was ridiculous. Who the hell was this woman, defying him like this? He just hoped no one bar Charlie was watching, or if they were they thought it was the weather they discussed. It was raining after all. Not heavily, but enough to make her take her time about getting out the coach. “You may see I have them, Miss Armstrong—”