Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle (3 page)

Loose folds of a dark shirt draped over the swell of promising breasts. Glove-tight black breeches showed off a slender waist, encasing shapely hips and long-booted legs.

The woman was alluring, but that didn't change the fact she was a thief intruding on
his
private domain and now she was entirely at his mercy. Brandon crossed his arms and affected an air of negligence. He leaned against the door frame, letting his tall form fill the space as an obvious blockade.

There would be no escape through the door as long as he lounged there. The only other option was the impossibly high window that dropped two storeys to the ground, begging the question of how the thief had managed to gain entrance to the house and make her way unnoticed upstairs to his bedroom.

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'I am afraid I have cut off your escape route. That is unless you favour the window.' Brandon drawled the last with a touch of sarcasm, knowing full well how inaccessible it was, set thirty feet from the ground. He could not conceive of a way anyone could gain access to it, let alone escape through it. The room's inaccessibility was one of the features he liked about his chambers. A man needed his privacy and Brandon guarded his with dogged determination.

The woman shrugged, indicating a lack of concern over the latest development. 'The window served well enough as an entrance. I am certain it will suffice as an exit.'

Brandon scoffed. The statement was a fool's bluff.

came in through the window? Forgive me if I find your claim bordering on the preposterous. Aside from the window's height, I have trained men patrolling the area. I am prepared to ward off an army if necessary.'

'Exactly so, my lord. You were prepared for an army. You weren't prepared for me. It is much easier for one person to slip through the defences than for many.'

Brandon did not care for the cocksure way she dismissed his careful patrols. 'You are overly confident for a criminal who is about to be caught. You will face imprisonment, perhaps transportation, for the crimes you've committed. With the right judge, you may face hanging.' The thought of this audacious woman facing such punishment suddenly sat ill with him. She exuded a wildness that he sensed would not do well behind bars.

Her very presence radiated an elemental quality that drew him, unwilling though he was, into her game. He recognised the signs. She was flirting with him, challenging him to catch her.

She laughed as if his warning was nothing more than witty repartee over lobster patties at a dinner party. 'A fine pass England has come to when feeding the hungry is a punitive offense. There are others more deserving of punishment than me.'

Unbidden, Brandon felt a thin smile cross his lips. She

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Pickpocket Countess

thought to outwit him with her brazen statements. Well, she would find him more than an equal match. If there were two subjects in which he excelled, they were women and repartee.

'Who would you recommend?' He took a step towards her.

Six steps remained between them.

'Men like you.' She spat the words at him.

Five steps.

The minx was in dangerous territory now in all ways. How dare she assume she could label him along with the rest of the aristocracy? He'd spent his adult life distancing himself from the
ton
and its pack of gossiping wolves. 'What does a common burglar know about men like me?'

'I know you let others starve in the name of progress.'

Ah, so the vixen was another radical with ill-gotten ideas about the mills and factories that had become the lifeblood of the English economy. 'Manufacture is the way of the present and the future.' The fact that he believed the statement he'd just uttered was proof enough of the distance he'd tried to create between himself and others of his class, where a gentleman was judged by the extent of his idleness. With few exceptions, aristocrats didn't meddle in trade, but, then, few of them actually understood or cared about the impending downturn of the agricultural economy which supported their overindulged lifestyles.

Four steps.

'The textile factory your industrial friends propose to build here is a guarantee of death! Families count on the extra money their womenfolk make on weaving. Your plan will replace their efforts with machines and fewer men to them. People are

already out of work. Families cannot afford food or fuel to see them through the winter while you sit in your fine house cosy with other rich men, plotting how to make life more miserable for those less fortunate.'

'And all the while,
you 're
robbing
us.
Funny, that.' Brandon managed a chuckle, enjoying her temerity even if it was mis-

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aimed and at his expense. The impertinent baggage went too far in making judgements about him.

Three steps.

'I take little enough and you can easily afford it.' For effect, she held up a gold ring, a

ring, which glinted, showing

off the amethyst set in the band.

Brandon sucked in his breath. Of all the things in the room to seize, it was the one item he was most loathe to lose. 'That ring has special meaning to me. Give it back now.' It was not a plea, but a command.

Two steps.

Brandon held out his hand to receive it, automatically assuming his demands would be obeyed. It had been ages since any woman had dared to refuse the Earl of Stockport.

'No, I

think I shall give it back. This will feed two families

'At least two,' Brandon growled. 'I said give it back, you little thief. I have no wish to harm you.' He took the last step.

He was close enough now to make out the half-mask she wore that hid the upper portion of her face.

Glittering green eyes, too like the cat whose moniker she bore, defied him. A dark kerchief tied pirate-style swathed her head. Undaunted by his nearness, she reached up and tugged at the kerchief's knot. It gave easily and she pulled it off in a fluid motion. With a calculated toss of her head, she let a bounty of midnight waves fall to her waist. She postured provocatively, tempting him with curves and curls. A slender hand rested on her hip. 'Very well, I expect compensation for the ring. I will

it over to you in exchange for something of equal value

Her gaze swept the length of him, giving Brandon the uncomfortable feeling of being a Tattersall stud. Usually it was the other way around. Those women who dared to ogle him-and he knew there were several, that was the price of being a