The Devil's Thief (21 page)

He
raised his leg so that she had to grab him to stay on and not fall to the
ground. She clutched a handful of his coat, her fingers digging into his back.
She held him to her, not because she was afraid of falling but because she
needed an anchor in the emotional storm her peak had left behind. She wasn’t
sure what to expect, but he remained motionless, letting her hold him as he
breathed heavily in her ear, his muscles rigid under her hands.

“Why
are you so angry with me?” she finally whispered. He hadn’t been this angry
yesterday. Was it because of her lie at the patisserie? But his anger was out
of proportion to that small offense. She blinked, nearly laughing aloud in
disgust at herself. So she was classifying her lies now, was she? This one was
not so bad, not as bad as that one, surely?

“I’m
not angry,” he said coldly. “I’m just getting what I paid for.”

She
fought him then. This wasn’t right. She tried to stop him from doing something
she knew he’d regret. He might be angry now, but tomorrow he would hate what he
had done in anger. She wanted him, but not like this. He yanked his head back
then and in his expression she could see the war raging within him between his
anger and his desire. Then he leaned in to kiss her and she turned her face
away.

“Alasdair,
please don’t,” she begged desperately.

He
cursed roughly and grabbed her hands, which were pushing ineffectively at his
chest. He put all his weight against her, pressed her hands into the wood of
the shed wall. “Why?” he growled in her ear. “Why should I stop? Isn’t this
what you want? Isn’t this all you want?
Because I haven’t got
anything else to steal, Julianna.
Not a damn thing.”

Julianna
bit her lip to hold back her tears. He hated her, and he hated this passion
between them. One of the most glorious things in her life was something he
detested.

“I
do not want this, Alasdair,” she said firmly, trying to be calm though her
voice shook. “Not like this. Not when you are so angry.”

*
         
*
         
*

Alasdair
closed his eyes in despair at her words. She felt so bloody good. How could she
feel so good when he knew what she was? When he’d watched her laugh about him
with her young lover yesterday? When being with her violated every oath he’d
made to himself last night as he’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep? Each
time he’d closed his eyes, he’d relived her tryst in the alley. The way she’d
thrown herself into her lover’s arms and he’d pulled her close and wiped her
tears, held her hands and kissed them. She’d cried. She’d cried over leaving
him. She’d never cried over Alasdair, had she? No, she’d crawled out his damn
window with his priceless pearl without so much as a backward glance. She’d
flounced out of Hil’s library with murder in her eyes.

He
thrust against her and she cried out at his rough handling. He was drowning in
her. Drowning in her scent and her heat and her voice. Drowning in her
duplicity and her greed and her deception. He hated how much he still wanted
her. Hated this secret weakness he had for her. Only the thought of having her
again was keeping him going. She fought against him and he wanted to curse at
how perfect she felt. But she was right, damn it. This wasn’t what he wanted
from her. Not like this.

He
wanted to scream at the injustice of it. At the injustice of finally finding a
woman who drove him mad with desire only to discover that she didn’t care. That
he was a means to an end, a joke, a fool to be fleeced and nothing more. And to
find that she would give another man more than she had given him was degrading
and infuriating.

He released
her hands, slamming his palms against the shed on either side of her. Her arms
snaked around his neck as she buried her face in the curve of his shoulder. She
sobbed, but he was the one in pain.
She made him ache when he
was around her
,
he wanted her so badly
.

“Julianna?”
A woman’s voice called out from the house and Alasdair froze. Julianna’s head
jerked up and she stared at him in fear.

Her
face was streaked with tears, her eyes red rimmed, and the expression on her
face cut him like a knife. Horror swamped him. What had he done? What was he
doing? He’d almost violated her unforgivably. She’d begged him not to, and he
hadn’t listened. He’d been so lost in his own anger and despair that he’d hurt
her and nearly taken her against her will. No matter what she’d done to him she
didn’t deserve this. He stumbled slightly and she gripped him tighter.

“Julianna?”
The voice was closer.

She
grabbed Alasdair’s head and pulled his ear to her mouth. “Shhh,” she whispered,
so quietly that he had to strain to hear. He nodded. Yes, he’d be silent. He
didn’t want anyone to know what a bastard he was. He didn’t want anyone to
think less of her. This wasn’t her fault. None of it was. He wished to God he
could remove his hateful presence from her sight. He knew she must be mortified
right now, embarrassed and uncomfortable. She must hate him now.

Then
he felt her lips on his cheek, and his eyes flew to hers. Surely she couldn’t
want him now. Didn’t she understand that what he’d done was wrong? He didn’t
deserve pleasure of any kind. He didn’t deserve her release, and he damn sure
didn’t deserve his own. He didn’t deserve her. Even though she was a thief and
a liar she was better than he was.

“The
maid must have been mistaken, Mr. Harte,” Lady Linville said, her voice was
fading. “Perhaps Julianna is in her room.”

As
soon as he heard the door close, Alasdair released her and she leaned against
the shed, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Alasdair?”
she asked in a very small voice, and his stomach clenched. He thought he might
be sick. He reached out and yanked her dress down after untangling it from
around her, smoothing it over her legs.

“I’m
sorry,” he rasped, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Miss
Harte,” he said more formally. “Please forgive me. I have no excuse. What I did
was inexcusable.”

His
hands were shaking. He clenched them. He hadn’t even taken his damn gloves off.
He would never call himself a gentleman again. What he had done was
reprehensible.

“Don’t,
Alasdair,” she cried out quietly. “It wasn’t your fault. Please. Talk to me.
Please.” She reached out and he jerked away from her hand.

“I
must go,” he said abruptly. He spun around, and when he saw his hat, he swept
it up into his hand and then stood there, unsure of what to do. Should he leave
first? Or should she?

He
couldn’t see her again. Ever.

“Alasdair,”
she pleaded. “Do not blame yourself for whatever you think happened here. I
kissed you back. I wanted you. If you would just talk to me, please.”

At
that he could only stare at her, aghast. “ ‘Whatever happened here?’ ”
he
repeated. “ ‘Whatever happened here?’ I damn near raped
you,” he whispered in anguish. “How can I not blame myself for that?”

He
saw her bonnet lying in a crushed heap on the ground and he had to lean over
for a moment, his hands on his knees. “I have never done that to a woman before
in my life,” he whispered. He shook his head. “I know you won’t believe that,
but it is true. God, forgive me, Julianna.”

“Alasdair,”
she whispered, and her hand slid along his shoulders soothingly. But it wasn’t
soothing. It was like a hot blade across his back, burning him with guilt. He
jerked away and spun toward a gate in the middle of the back fence. He had to
leave. He had to get out.

“Good
day, Miss Harte,” he choked out. Then, after looking around the corner of the
shed to make sure no one was there, he hurried to the gate and slipped out
without a backward glance.

Chapter
Thirteen

“Julianna?”
There was a knock on her door. “Julianna, are you in there?”

It
was Lady Linville. She came to her stepdaughter’s room so rarely that Julianna
felt a flash of panic when she heard her voice. It was the only reason she rose
from the chair she’d been sitting in all afternoon. The sun was setting, she
noticed with surprise, and her room was awash in shadows.

She
hurried to the door and threw it open. “Is something wrong?”

Lady
Linville breathed a sigh of relief and clenched her hands together in front of
her. “That is what your father and I were wondering.”

“I
beg your pardon?”

The
baroness peered around her. “Why is it so dark in your room? Are you ill?”

Julianna
shook her head. “No, no I’m not ill. I was just resting. I’m very tired today.”

At
that her stepmother gently but insistently pushed past Julianna and found a
taper and lit it. She located two lamps and lit them as well. The shadows were
dispelled immediately, and Lady Linville walked briskly over to the windows and
shut the curtains. When she turned back to Julianna, she had a determined look
on her face. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she asked.

Julianna
knew she must look guilty. She wasn’t even sure over what, there was so much to
choose from.

“Close
the door, Julianna.” After Julianna did as she was told, the baroness sat
delicately on the edge of her bed and patted the space next to her. “Come here,
child.”

Warily,
Julianna walked over and sat in the indicated space. She twisted her hands
together in her lap. “Yes, Lady Linville?”

The
baroness sighed and patted her hands awkwardly. “I know that we have not been
close since my marriage to your father, and that is as much my fault as yours.
It seems that neither of us is used to having a confidante.” She licked her
lips nervously, which surprised Julianna. She’d seen Lady Linville in many
moods but nervous was not one of them. “I want you to feel as if you can tell
me the things that trouble you,” she said with hesitation. “I realize that you
have no reason to trust me, and that we have had our differences in the past.
But I want you to know”—she reached out and lightly took hold of
Julianna’s forearm—“that I love your father and would not see him hurt
for the world.”

Julianna
blinked rapidly, her stepmother’s honesty and earnestness affecting her greatly.
“As do I,” she whispered.

Lady
Linville nodded and settled herself more firmly on the bed, releasing
Julianna’s arm. “Good. Then we are of like minds.” She tipped her head to the
side and regarded Julianna sternly, but there was a kindness in her eyes that
Julianna had never noticed before. “Now, talk to me, Julianna.”

She
opened her mouth to reassure Lady Linville that there was nothing to talk
about, but to her utter horror and dismay she could not speak through her tears
and the silly hiccupping sobs that were escaping her.

“I
see,” the baroness said kindly, and then she put her arm around Julianna and
let her cry on her shoulder.

And
cry and cry she did. For a woman who had prided herself on her self-control
just a few short days ago she was a blubbering mess. It wasn’t just Alasdair’s
obvious dislike of her and his distasteful passion for her, but all of the
indignities she’d suffered in her twenty years. There was, of course, her lack
of a mother, which really wasn’t anyone’s fault. Having no one to blame for it
had seriously diminished Julianna’s ability to grieve properly. Then there were
her father’s wandering eye and clever, thieving fingers. She had not liked her
childhood one bit, thank you. Moving constantly from country house party to
country house party, where her father found it easiest to seduce and pilfer.
Her sketchy education, gleaned from sitting in on lessons with the often cruel
and unforgiving children of whatever house they happened to be visiting.
And the lies.
She’d had enough of them to last a lifetime.

And now this.
She thought she might very well be falling in love with a man who despised her.
And she might be carrying his child. It was becoming increasingly clear that
her common sense went missing when Alasdair touched her. Oh, and then there was
the matter of the pearl. She’d stolen his treasure and was helpless to retrieve
it. Her greatest transgression and she could not make amends even though it was
what her heart and mind demanded.

But
how did one confess these things to a distant and still-unknown stepmother? They
might be making progress in their relationship but, as Lady Linville said, they
were not yet confidantes. All Julianna could manage was, “I think I love him.”

Oh, good heavens
, that was not what she’d meant to say
at all.

“Well,
that’s a good place to start,” the baroness assured her with a gentle squeeze.
“Now, why don’t you tell me his name, my dear?” Julianna looked at her with
wide, panicked eyes. “No? Well, I know it cannot be any of the young men I’ve
introduced you to, or you would be quite happy to tell me.” She took a deep
breath. “Is he . . . unacceptable?”

Julianna
shook her head vehemently, having made the decision not to talk anymore lest
she reveal more of her turmoil and deceit than was wise.