Lady Thief (6 page)

Again he smiled, genuinely amused by this strange, bold young woman. “You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you. Even if I knew your true identity, I would disclose it to no one.”

Birdlike, she tilted her head to one side. “That is a very strange statement, Your Grace. I am a notorious thief; it is your duty as a loyal subject of the king to do your utmost to aid in my apprehension.”

He leaned his head back against the chair and studied her speculatively. “I am not entirely certain that you are a thief.”

Small white teeth gleamed in a brilliant smile. “Have you forgotten that I robbed you?”

“No. And yet tonight you returned the jewels.”

“But not the money.”

“Which you said was needed elsewhere. I have talked to most of the people you robbed and they all told me that, without exception, all of their jewelry was returned to them. Hardly the behavior of a common thief.”

“I never said I was common, Your Grace.”

“What are you searching for?” He saw her stiffen in surprise, and continued quietly, “The only answer I could formulate is that you are searching for a particular article of jewelry.”

“Astute of you,” she responded abruptly. “And the money?”

“I can only assume that you have need of the money.”

“Why not assume that I am simply a thief—greedy for riches?”

“There is still the matter of the jewels. If you were greedy, you would not have returned them.”

Her golden eyes narrowed. After a moment, she said softly, “You
think,
Your Grace. That can be very dangerous in a man.”

His eyes locked with hers. “It can be even more dangerous in a woman,” he responded smoothly.

For a long moment, a silent battle of wills took place between them. Then the Cat began to smile. With a soft chuckle, she said, “You would be a formidable opponent, Your Grace.”

His eyes were grave. “I have no wish to oppose you; I would like to help you.”

She seemed surprised. “I believe you mean that.”

“I do. If you would tell me what you search for, perhaps . . .” His voice trailed off as he realized that, although she was still smiling, she had withdrawn from him.

“Thank you. I am very grateful for the offer, but this is something I must do alone.”

There was a tinge of regret in his gray eyes. “You do not trust me.”

Her smile twisted wryly. “My trust in my fellow man was never strong, Your Grace; it has deteriorated sadly during the past few years.”

Quietly, Spencer said, “Some tragedy pushed you into this strange career. Something in your past. I feel that.”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, in a rather mocking voice she said, “You are an incurable romantic, Your Grace; I am sure that your friends have often remarked it.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled faintly. “But I have always trusted in my instincts. In this case, my instincts tell me that you are not a thief, or a murderess, or even an essentially violent woman. I believe that you are simply a woman who searches for something which is very important to her.”

He waited tensely, hoping desperately that she would confide in him. He had the distinct impression that she
wanted
to confide in him, but something held her back.

After a long moment, during which she stared at him gravely, she stirred slightly and said, “If I hear anything concerning the spy, I’ll contrive to send word to you.”

As she made a move to go, he said sharply, “Wait! Is there some way I could send a message to you, if need be?” There was a thick silence, and the duke, seeking to allay her distrust, spoke calmly. “I may hear something at the War Office concerning the spy.”

Her wild golden eyes probed his serious gray ones. “Do you remember where I held you up?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Just before you reach that point, there is a large hollow tree on the left side of the road. It is very distinctive; it was blasted by lightning and now leans heavily on another tree. Place a message within the tree. If you hear nothing from me within two weeks, you will know that I am unable to reply.”

Spencer thought fleetingly of the various reasons
why
she would be unable to reply—a gunshot wound, a hangman’s noose. He forced a smile. “Thank you.”

She threw one leg across the windowsill and then paused, an alarming coldness creeping into her eyes. “Do not betray me!” she said intensely. “If a trap is set . . .”

“There will be no trap,” he responded quietly. “I give you my word.”

The coldness slowly faded from her eyes, to be replaced by a faintly wondering expression. “Strangely enough, I believe you. But make no mistake—I am not bound by a code of honor. If I am betrayed, the price will be great. I will do whatever I must do to survive.”

Spencer inclined his head gravely. “I understand.”

“I hope so, Your Grace. I do indeed hope so.” A moment later she was gone.

Spencer was left to stare after her, feeling both disappointment and elation—disappointment because she had not confided in him, elation because she had given him a means to contact her. And he had every intention of contacting her. He had a very definite desire to learn all that he could about this young woman called the Cat.

 

 

Jenny drew her cloak more closely about her shoulders, and gave the stallion his head. After a year of skulking through the back streets of London, the horse knew the quickest and safest route home as well as his mistress did. He picked his way through the quiet streets, leaving Jenny free to turn her thoughts to her visit with the duke.

She was somewhat angry with herself for giving the duke a means to contact her. She could not remember ever having made such an incautious move before, and her reasons for having done so now worried her. It had been a purely instinctive, feminine reaction to a handsome and charming man. It had not been the reaction of a thief who feared the hangman’s noose.

She could not remember ever having been drawn to anyone the way she was drawn to this stranger. She had had an absurd impulse to confide in him—to tell him why she had become a thief. When she had overcome that impulse and refused his help, when he had looked at her with regret in his eyes—regret and perhaps something more—she had been conscious of an absurd desire to cry. She felt strangely afraid to ask herself why she had reacted that way.

It wasn’t as if Jenny had never spent time with a man; she had been the object of masculine attention since she had first put up her hair and let down her skirts. The young men of neighboring estates had flocked around her for more than four years. But that was different somehow.

The young gentlemen had been pleasant company. They had been very anxious to please her, taking her riding, dancing with her, writing poems in praise of her beauty—the list was endless.

She had never had the desire to confide in any of those pleasant young men, had never been tempted to express the pain that she felt whenever she thought of her father, or the resentment—even hatred—that she felt toward Sir George.

She had never felt breathless when they looked at her or oddly confused when they smiled at her. And her heart had never tried to leap out of her breast when one of those nice young men exclaimed that he had been searching everywhere for her.

A man’s voice had never tingled along her nerve endings like pleasant music, stirring impossible dreams in her mind. A man’s eyes had never seemed to light up the entire room, had never made her see herself through his eyes.

A man’s face had never haunted her dreams or stubbornly intruded on her thoughts. A man’s broad shoulders had never inspired her to relinquish burdens that she had carried for years, burdens too heavy for her own narrow shoulders.

But, most of all, a man’s simple presence had never stirred in her such a vivid awareness of her own womanhood. A man’s gray-eyed gaze had never set her on fire with a burning desire for something she had never experienced, something she could not even put a name to.

Until she had met the Duke of Spencer. This man—this stranger—had managed to do all of these things. His smile caused thoughts to fly from her head like chaff in the wind. His calm gray eyes made her feel, for the first time in her life, like a woman. His face haunted her dreams, her thoughts. His voice echoed in her mind. She wanted to confide in him, to lay her burdens on his strong shoulders, and to give her heart into his keeping.

They were usual thoughts of a young woman on the verge of falling in love. For Jenny, they were dangerous ones as well.

Jenny frowned, considering the matter. She tried to understand what it was about the man that had caused her to react as she had. He was certainly a handsome man, with his dark hair and gray eyes. He had the look of nobility—with high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and a firm mouth.

He was tall and broad-shouldered; his voice was low and pleasant. In short, he was everything she had always dreamed of in a man.

Sternly, she reminded herself that dreams were dreams—vague, insubstantial things—and that reality, though not always as pleasant, was a great deal more important. She could not afford the luxury of being attracted to a man at the present time—not any man.

Having come to this conclusion, she resolved to put the Duke of Spencer out of her mind. It was a very firm and carefully thought out resolution. Unfortunately, it did not take into account Jenny’s undoubtedly feminine nature. Even though she could outride, outshoot, and outswear most men, she was still very much a woman.

Halfway back to the manor, Jenny realized that she was still thinking of the duke. She swore under her breath and urged the stallion to a gallop. She had to find some way of putting Spencer out of her mind, once and for all. Perhaps the brisk gallop would do it. Then again, perhaps it would not.

Chapter Six

Jenny paced restlessly in front of the young couple. She still had quite a few reservations regarding their intended marriage, and she wanted to be very sure before she tried to help them—which was why she was up and about so early in the morning, and why she was wearing a path on the rug of a private parlor in a small posting house near the manor.

She halted suddenly and faced Meg and Robert. “I think you’re both fools. Even if you had Sir George’s approval, you’re both too young to set up housekeeping.”

Quietly Robert Collins said, “I’m twenty-six, Miss Courtenay—old enough to know my mind.”

“For heaven’s sake, call me Jenny.” She smiled suddenly. “Since you seem bent on becoming my brother-in-law.”

He smiled in return. “Only if you will call me Robert.”

“Very well—Robert—you are twenty-six and Meg is sixteen—”

“Nearly seventeen.” It was Meg, her voice firm.

Jenny nodded. “Seventeen, then. The fact remains, Meg, that you are barely out of the schoolroom. And to marry a man you have just met . . .”

“Jenny, I
love
him. I don’t have to know him for years to be sure of that.”

Jenny sighed. “I know that, honey. I only want to be sure you aren’t getting married only to escape from your father—if you will forgive my plain speaking, Robert.”

He nodded, his blue eyes serious. “Of course. Jenny, I know that Meg is very young, but I love her. I’ll take care of her.” He sighed. “I wanted to talk to Sir George, but Meg assures me that he would have me thrown from the house.”

Jenny smiled wryly. “She’s right. Sir George intends Meg to marry a fortune—especially now that he’s found he can’t bend me to his will.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “You weren’t thinking of Gretna Green, I hope?”

Robert stiffened. “I would never consider taking Meg there.”

“Well, don’t poker-up about it,” Jenny said mildly. But she was pleased by his response. It showed him to be a sensible man, not given to romantic flights of fancy. Coming to a decision, Jenny said, “I’ll help you. I don’t know how as yet, but I’ll help you.”

Meg flew to embrace her. “Oh, Jenny—thank you! I knew we could depend on you.”

Jenny hugged her stepsister. “Don’t become overexcited, Meg. I may be unable to help at all. But, I promise to do what I can.”

Robert stepped forward with a smile. “That’s all we can ask. Thank you, Jenny.”

Jenny gave them both a warning look. “You may have to be patient. Meg cannot be married without Sir George’s permission—and obtaining
that
will take some doing. Also, I have other matters that must be attended to.” She watched as the young couple exchanged intense looks. “I’ll leave you alone to say good-bye. Meg, if you aren’t outside in ten minutes, I’ll come in after you.” With that, she quietly left the room.

As the two young ladies rode toward home, Meg kept up a constant flow of chatter about Robert. Jenny listened for the first five minutes and then began to lose patience with her stepsister’s raptures.

Ruthlessly, she cut her off in midsentence. “Meg, why don’t you ride on home? I have something I must do.”

Meg smiled absently, caught up in her dreams. “All right, Jenny.”

Jenny watched her ride away, then turned her horse toward the woods. She had a restless urge to check the hollow tree where she had told Spencer to leave messages. It had only been a few days since she had seen him, of course, but she had a feeling he may have learned of the missing dispatches by now. She had to get them back to the War Office some way, and giving them to Spencer seemed the best solution. He, at least, was no traitor.

Jenny wasn’t sure why she was so positive about Spencer’s loyalty to England. She simply was. However, her trust in his loyalty had little to do with her trust in him as a man.

Nearly an hour later, Jenny was reading a message from Spencer. It was a short note, stating simply that he needed to see her. She frowned slightly as she considered the note.

Spencer had probably learned of the missing dispatches. Or perhaps he merely wanted to see her again. Jenny was not being vain when she considered that possibility; the duke had seemed very curious about her when she had returned his jewels to him. It was possible that he would send for her in order to learn as much as he could about her.