Anne Stuart (26 page)

He was fast, but he might decide the Winters house was worth more than her unwilling cooperation. The moment he was fully occupied she could seize her chance and abandon him. She’d been alone on the streets of London before at such late hours, and she had faith that she’d be able to make it back to Spitalfields safely. There she could change into her own clothes, spend the very last of her hoarded money on a private coach, and make her way back to Sevenoaks before anyone noticed she was gone.

Except that she doubted a carriage was to be had at that hour. And even her usually somnolent mother might notice the midnight arrival of her elder child and have a few unanswerable questions.

There was always another alternative. She could present herself at Bow Street. Seek out the magistrate himself and inform on the Earl of Glenshiel. The reward would be plentiful, and Josiah Clegg would no longer be a threat.

“
Don’t even think about.” His voice floated back to her. He was standing beneath one of those gothic balconies, the line of his body intent on surveying this latest obstacle.

“
Think about what?”

“
Running away.” He glanced back over his shoulder, his
expression unreadable in the dim light. “It’s time for you to get to work.”

“
I’m not...”

He picked her up as if she weighed no more than a handful and boosted her up toward the balcony. In her shock she flailed out, catching hold of the stone railing in her panic and kicking out, her foot connecting with something resilient and vulnerable.

Glenshiel cursed in pain, gave her another shove, and she was up and over, sprawling on the hard stone floor of the small balcony.

It hurt. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, however. She pulled herself to a sitting position, looking down at him through the stone railing. “What do I do now?” she demanded.

“
You see if the door is locked.”

“
Why wouldn’t it be?”

“
I’m certain it is. However, if by any chance someone forgot to lock it, then it would a simple enough matter for you to get in by yourself and let me in through the front door, thereby saving me a great deal of trouble.”

“
Aren’t you afraid I might go for help instead?”

“
No,” he said. “You’re in too deep already.”

He was right. On all accounts. The door was locked, and she wasn’t ready to turn him over to the authorities. Not yet, at least.

She leaned over the balcony, peering down at him. “So what do we do now?”

“
She speaks. O speak again bright angel
...”

“
Now is not the time for Shakespeare,” she said sternly.

“
But you make a perfect Juliet.”

“
More like one of those girls who dress as boys in one of the comedies,” she said.

The rope landed at her feet with a quiet
thwap
. “Life isn’t a comedy, Jessamine,” he said. “Are you any good at tying ropes? I need you to knot that over the banister.”

“
For your sake, you’d best hope so,” she replied, picking up the coiled length. It was thin and seemingly very strong, and she worked swiftly, pulling at it to make sure it would hold his weight. She tossed the end over the side, aiming for his head. It missed him.

“
You wouldn’t like it if I fell,” he said cheerfully enough, pulling at it. “You’d be trapped on that balcony—I doubt you could climb down by yourself without doing yourself some injury, and I’m not sure you’d want to call for help.”

“
I tied it as best I could,” she snapped, stepping back from the railing as he started to pull himself up after her.

It made her nervous to watch for a variety of reasons. He was absolutely right—she’d come too far along the path he’d forced her. If he were to fall, it would be her own disaster as well.

For another, she disliked the eerie, primal awareness she had of his strength, his body, his power, as he pulled himself up the rope and climbed over the balcony. His dark hair was pushed back from his face, and the black clothes clung to his lean, lithe body. He looked dangerous and beautiful, a demon lover.

Except that it was jewels and robbery he loved. Not her. Thank heaven, she reminded herself.

She kept out of his way, a move that didn’t escape his notice, and the smile that slashed his face was plainly visible in the darkness as he bent down and began to fiddle with the lock.

It clicked almost immediately. He pushed the door open, then held it for her. Jessamine took one last, longing glance over the side of the stone balcony, at the rope still dangling.

And then she stepped inside the cool darkness of Ermintrude Winters’s house.

She didn’t scream when Alistair’s gloved hand closed around hers. She didn’t even hesitate before gripping that hand tightly as he led her through the darkened building with eerily accurate night vision. Her heart was pounding wildly—at any moment she expected servants to rush out of the darkness, demanding to know what business they had in the empty house.

Up the wide stairs they went silently, hand in hand. She held on to him as if he were a lifeline—she had no idea where they were going, but he moved unerringly, and she followed, trusting.

They stopped at the top of the stairs, and Glenshiel’s voice was pitched so low it was no more than a whisper. “I don’t suppose you know which room belongs to Ermintrude?”

“
I’ve never been here before. Ermintrude considers poverty to be déclassé.”

“
Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” he drawled. “We’ll simply have to go by trial and error.”

“
What makes you think Ermintrude doesn’t have the diamonds with her? If they’re worth such a great amount, I’d expect her to wear them even in her sleep.”

“
She went on at great length about leaving them behind. She insisted her father’s house was impregnable, and the Cat wouldn’t dare attempt to breach it.”

“
A challenge you couldn’t resist,” Jessamine whispered dryly.

“
Of course not. Especially considering what a ruthless bitch she is.” The doors leading to the upper hallway were all closed, and Jessamine couldn’t begin to guess which was her erstwhile friend’s.

Alistair didn’t seem to have any reservations. He began opening doors, silently enough, peering into the darkened interior and then backing out again. Jessamine followed along,
saying nothing, until he finally stopped in triumph at one of the last doors. “This is it,” he said, pushing her inside and shutting the door behind them.

“
How do you know?”

“
That cloying perfume she wears,” he replied, moving past her toward the window. “I’d know it anywhere.”

She tried to follow him, and immediately bumped into some low object that he’d managed to avoid, hurting her shins. She muttered something dire under her breath as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. Alistair had already achieved his object, and even in the darkness the jewels sparkled.

“
Don’t you have any morals at all?” she demanded. “Any code of honor?”

“
Certainly.” He tucked them in the black satchel he slung over his shoulder. “They just happen to be of my own design. I don’t pay any attention to other people’s definitions of right and wrong. I don’t take from people who can ill afford it, and I don’t take from people who don’t deserve it.”

“
And who are you to set yourself up as judge and jury, to decide who deserves to be robbed?” Jessamine demanded. “You hardly seem a decent judge of character. What if you make a mistake? What if Ermintrude is secretly charitable and gives generously to the poor?”

“
Highly unlikely. If so, I’d probably feel compelled to return those deliciously gaudy jewels I just purloined.”

“
Ha! You are a very very bad man,” she said sternly.

“
True,” he said in a mournful voice. “There’s no redeeming me. Come along, Jess. We’ve more to do.”

“
More?” She choked.

“
This was dead easy. We need more of a challenge. Besides, I want to take you over the rooftops. I think your old friend Isolde Plumworthy deserves our attention.”

“
You’re mad!”

“
Not in the slightest. Her house is wedged in quite tightly with several others, and we should have a glorious time under the stars.”

“
What if I told you I don’t like heights?”

“
I would be desolated to force you to suffer through such torment,” he said sweetly.

“
But you’d force me anyway.”

“
Come now, Jess, don’t tell me this isn’t fun?”

“
It isn’t right,” she said sternly.

“
That wasn’t my question.” He sighed, took her hand again. “I’ll make you admit it sooner or later,” he said. “I’ll show you a London that few people have ever seen. And then I’ll dress you in Isolde’s jewels and carry you back to Kent.”

“
I have the melancholy feeling I’m never going to see my sister again,” Jess murmured.

“
Foolish child. Trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”

“
Trust you?” The notion was so absurd, she laughed out loud. Except that oddly enough, she did trust him. “It’s not my safety that’s in question.”

“
Isn’t it? Then whose?”

“
Yours, my lord.”

“
Doesn’t it seem ridiculous to stand in a darkened bedroom with a jewel thief and call him ‘my lord’?
Alistair
will do nicely.”

She ignored the comment. “I read your cards, my lord. That’s how I knew who you were. You are going to meet with disaster this night. I saw it.”

He leaned forward and cupped her face, and his smile was dazzlingly bright in the darkened room. “I met with disaster the day I set eyes on you, my love.” And he kissed her, a brief, hard, hungry kiss that left Jessamine’s stomach clenching in sudden, wicked longing.

When he pulled away, there was triumph and despair in his eyes. “Sometime, sooner or later, you will kiss me back,” he
said, taking her unresisting hand in his.

“
I will weep at your grave,” she said sternly.

“
Well, I suppose that’s a reasonable alternative.” And he drew her back through the darkened hallway.

Fleur leaned against the wall, staring out into the frosty night. She’d lost track of time—Robert Brennan had delivered her to her room like the perfect gentleman he insisted he wasn’t, ordering her to get some sleep while he investigated the situation. She’d looked up into his dear, stubborn face and let him believe she’d do just that.

Of course it was impossible. Jessamine was out there somewhere, in trouble, perhaps in danger, and all Fleur could do was pray that Brennan could save her. There was no man she’d more freely put her trust in, despite the fact that he seemed determined to convince her he was dishonorable and heartless. He’d save her sister, if indeed Jessamine needed saving. He’d do everything he could for Fleur. Except love her.

She reached up and rubbed her fingertips against her aching scalp. Life had been a series of disasters since the day her father died and their security vanished. She’d kept hoping that sooner or later things would right themselves. She’d wanted to believe in Jessamine’s happy fantasy of a rich, kind, handsome young man to love her and to take care of her family.

But there seemed to be a dearth of rich, kind, handsome young men offering her their hands and hearts. And even if there’d been a gross of them, she wouldn’t have wanted them. She wanted Brennan.

And she couldn’t have him.

She didn’t want London, the great dirty city she’d grown to hate. She didn’t want silk gowns and jewels and servants by the score. She wanted clean air, good food, her painting supplies, and a strong, good man to love her.

At this point it seemed as if everything was going to elude her. She shook her head, resolutely banishing her self-pity. As long as Jessamine was all right, they would endure. They’d survived on the very edge of the slums of London for this long; between the two of them they would prevail. Jessamine had been loath to give up control of the family, afraid that no one else could keep them safe.

But the time had clearly passed for Fleur to marry salvation even if she wished to. They would have to find another way to survive.

She must have fallen asleep. She didn’t hear the knock on the door, yet she knew Brennan would never enter her bedroom without knocking. She simply opened her eyes to find the first rays of dawn streaking through the bedroom, and Robert Brennan looking down at her out of those clear blue eyes.

“
I don’t know what to tell you, lass,” he said heavily. “She’s gone, there’s no doubt of it. So is Glenshiel. His bed’s not been slept in, and two horses were taken from the stables sometime in the evening.”

“
Do you think he kidnapped her?” Fleur asked hopefully. “Could you mount a rescue party... ?”

“
No,” he said. “I think she must have gone with him of her own accord. Either they’ll be back or no. I can’t just take off after him, much as I’d like to.”

There was something in his face that broke through Fleur’s anxiety. “Why?”

“
Why would I want to go after him? Because he’s the Cat, that’s why. I don’t know whether your sister’s helping him, or whether she just got caught in his schemes, but there’s nothing I’d like better than to catch him in the act. I have no sympathy for gentlemen thieves,” he said bitterly.