Anne Stuart (2 page)

She’d probably faint dead away at her inadvertent luck. She knew nothing, absolutely nothing, and the look that had passed between them had merely been one of mutual curiosity, tinged with animosity on her part. She looked at him and saw nothing more than an indolent society creature.

He’d felt no animosity at all, just the predatory instincts of a hunter. It had been a long time since he’d been intrigued by a woman. He wasn’t about to let the delicious sensation disappear into the night with the mysterious Miss Brown.

He could spike her guns quite effectively, of course. By choosing tonight of all nights for the Cat to make a new appearance, he’d played right into her hands. He could just as easily sneak back upstairs and return those oversized, gaudy jewels to their place amid the spilled powder. That in itself was an entertaining challenge, and he was half tempted to do so, before he considered the ramifications.

If Miss Brown were proven correct in her surmise, her reputation would be made. She would be the darling of the ton, invited to give readings at all the best parties. Sooner or later he would get her alone. And he intended to enjoy far more than a reading from her pale, generous mouth.

But were she to be proven the fake that she had to be, she would leave and he might never see her again. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

The jewels were warm against his body through the layers of cloth. Miss Brown wore no jewels, and he idly considered what she might look best in. Blue topazes would bring out the color of her eyes, but they wouldn’t be costly enough. Pearls, thick, creamy pearls draped around her body. And nothing else.

“
What does that look signify, old man?” Freddie had sidled up to him, a curious expression on his vague, pleasant face.

“
Boredom, Freddie, nothing more. Are you ready to lose this quarter’s allowance?”

“
You never know, Alistair. I might possibly win this time,” he replied, leading the way toward the gaming room.

Alistair paused in the door, he wasn’t quite certain why. He turned his head to glance back at the impeccably demure Miss Brown, only to find those magnificently strange eyes on him, sharp with doubt.

His smile was faint and infinitely challenging, and he sketched a formal little bow. She quickly turned away, pretending she hadn’t been watching him. But Alistair’s mood was
sanguine when he joined Freddie at the tables, and he even allowed him to win a few hands before he took to fleecing him in earnest.

Alistair MacAlpin, sixth Earl of Glenshiel, son of one of the oldest, most respectable families of England and Scotland, could pinpoint the exact moment he decided to become a jewel thief. It had been a night very much like this one, but in fact, most of his nights bore a tedious sameness. He had lain alone, naked, in the huge, high bed he’d recently shared with the energetic Lady Highgate, and he spied the diamond necklace lying beneath the dressing table. And he’d decided to take it.

He’d always had an eye for jewelry, indeed, for most pretty things. His nanny had called him a magpie in his youth, when he’d been attracted to the glitter of fine jewels in his mother’s jewel case.

But his mother had died when he was twelve, and the jewels had been locked away for the time when they would be presented to his older brother James’s wife. A younger son had no cause to be concerned with the MacAlpin family jewels, and he’d accepted their loss with his usual coolness.

They never made it to James’s wife. James had never had a wife. He’d gambled and drank his life into complete and utter ruin in three short years, and when they buried him, there was nothing left of the estate but an ancient title, a ruined manor house in Scotland, and an empty jewel case.

That jewel case had come to symbolize all that Alistair lacked in his life. And when he’d left the damp, drafty halls of Glenshiel Abbey and traveled to the wicked city that had been his brother’s downfall, he brought the empty case to remind him how empty life was. As if he needed reminding.

Even from his vantage point on the bed he recognized the necklace. It belonged to Lord Edgerstone’s horse-faced daughter, the one with the pursed lips and the haughty manner. When
he and Clarissa Highgate had first tumbled into this darkened bedroom, Alistair had assumed, correctly, that they weren’t the first to make use of its privacy, though he never would have suspected Miss Edgerstone would lift her skirts for anyone outside the marriage bed.

He lay in bed, lazy, sated, and contemplated his alternatives. He could take the necklace and present it to the heiress, preferably in public, in the presence of her cold stick of a father and the stiff young lordling who’d probably dared to lie between her legs.

Or he could simply pocket the piece. He had no money—he relied on the generosity of friends and the cachet of his empty title, but there was a limit to how far that would take him, and he was already finding certain demands to be uncomfortably pressing. The necklace would go a way toward meeting those demands, and provide him with a few elegancies. And he had a soul that took a fond delight in elegancies.

Not for one moment did he consider the third alternative as he lazily dressed once more. The proper thing would be to return the jewels to Miss Edgerstone privately, anonymously. But Alistair MacAlpin had never been interested in being proper. And he needed the money far more than she did.

He glanced back at the rumpled bed with a wry smile. Clarissa Highgate had been her usual energetic self—one benefit of having a mistress whose husband was more interested in young boys than in his luscious wife. He wondered what she’d think if she realized she’d taken Miss Edgerstone’s place in bed.

Knowing Clarissa, it would probably amuse her. She was as unencumbered with morals as he was, which made them a perfect match. If she knew of his sudden entry into the world of larceny, she would throw back her head and laugh her rich, deep laugh.

But he had no intention of telling her. He’d learned young not to trust the female of the species, and Clarissa, for all her cheerful amorality, was capable of a certain ruthless dedication to her own well-being. She was more than likely to throw him to the wolves if she decided it would benefit her.

The necklace was heavy with the weight of exquisitely cut diamonds and deep topazes. The topazes made Miss Edgerstone look sallow—he was doing her a favor relieving her of the piece.

The ballroom was still a veritable crush of people when he strolled in a short while later. Miss Edgerstone was nowhere to be seen, but since her swain and her father had disappeared as well, he assumed she’d gone home. He wondered idly who would be blamed for the loss of her jewels. Silly creatures like Miss Edgerstone weren’t the type to accept their own carelessness—she’d most likely turn off her maidservant in a rage.

Alistair accepted a glass of his host’s excellent claret and examined his soul for any remnants of guilt. He was blissfully free of such a failing. Anyone forced to wait on Miss Edgerstone would be better off seeking a new position.

“
There you are, Alistair!” Clarissa sauntered up to him, her color high, her mischievous eyes bright with lust. “You disappeared several hours ago, and I thought you might have left.”

Since he’d disappeared with her, he knew perfectly well she had no such thought, but he smiled coolly. “I felt the need of air, Lady Highgate,” he murmured, taking her slender hand in his. He’d noticed the overlarge diamond early that night, but he’d been far more interested in what her hand had been doing than in how it had been adorned.

It was a very fine diamond. Doubtless one of Lord Highgate’s guilt presents.

He met Clarissa’s eyes with a faint smile, and his fingers surreptitiously caressed the hand that bore the diamond. “Next
time,” he murmured, “I’ll invite you into the garden with me.”

Her voice trilled with laughter. “You know I could never do that, Alistair. I have my reputation to think of.”

She had the reputation of an overeager bitch in heat, but he wasn’t about to point that out to her. He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against the large, cold diamond.

A reasonable man would never have slipped it from her fingers. A good man would never have given in to the original temptation, taken a careless bitch’s discarded jewels, and used the proceeds to keep body and soul together. A good man would have berated himself for his lack of honor if he’d even succumbed to temptation.

Ah, but then, he’d never made the mistake of considering himself a good man, a reasonable man. The ring slipped from her thin fingers without her even noticing it as she whirled off in search of fresh worlds to conquer. With a faint smile he tucked it into his pocket, and his fate was sealed.

He’d gotten away with it ever since.

The past two years had been entertaining ones. He had become more imaginative, rivaling the infamous Jack Shepperd with some of his daring robberies and escapes, and not for one moment had anyone connected the Cat, as the broadsheets had styled him, to his lordship the Earl of Glenshiel.

And now this quiet little creature with the clear, dangerous eyes had looked at him and managed to stir his latent energies. What had been behind that look? Contempt for an obviously frivolous creature such as he? Supernatural knowledge of his nefarious pastime? Love at first sight?

The last was almost as unlikely as the second possibility, more’s the pity. The pseudonymous Miss Brown was obviously a young lady of breeding who’d fallen on hard times. His discerning eye had picked out numerous details in a matter of
moments. The material of her dress was very fine, but showed signs of wear. It hadn’t been made for a woman with her curves, and it strained across the top just slightly.

He leaned back in his chair and surveyed Freddie. He’d already lost the bulk of his quarterly allowance, and for some sentimental reason Alistair always chose to leave him with enough to get by on. Besides, he was far more interested in seeing exactly what Miss Brown was doing.

“
That’s all for now, Freddie. I’ll leave you with your dignity intact.” Alistair rose with his usual indolent grace.

“
Good of you,” Freddie mumbled. “You going after the Gypsy?”

“
She hardly seemed like a Gypsy, did she? Much too pale, for one thing.”

“
All fortunetellers are Gypsies,” Freddie said wisely, well gone into his third bottle. “Wouldn’t trifle with her if I were you. Her eyes were most peculiar. Gave me a decidedly eerie feeling.”

“
Ah, but you’re not me, are you, Freddie? And I happen to like eerie feelings.”

“
Your funeral, old man,” Freddie said morosely. And then he brightened. “If you meet your comeuppance, then you won’t be around to clean out my allowance. I’ll be rich.”

“
No, you won’t, Freddie. Some Captain Sharp will do it for me, and they won’t stop with your allowance. Be lucky I win your allowance and keep you from gambling too deeply.”

“
I’m all gratitude,” Freddie said, turning back to his claret. “Watch out for the Gypsy. She’ll ferret out all your secrets.”

“
I have no secrets, Freddie,” Alistair said gently.

“
Everyone has secrets. And I suspect you have more than your share. Go find the Gypsy before she runs away, old man. But watch your back.”

Two

Jessamine Maitland was adept at keeping her emotions from displaying themselves. That man had unnerved her, and despite her best efforts, she was unable to put him from her mind. She had any number of reasonable explanations for his effect on her senses. For one thing, he’d caught her attention in the midst of a reading, a time when she was naturally more vulnerable. She’d been so lost in the cards that her customary defenses had abandoned her, leaving her easy prey to marauders.

She wasn’t quite sure why she thought of him that way. She’d been surrounded by the silken, perfumed peacocks that composed some of the wealthiest of London society, and the man who’d stood behind her was one of the most elegant. She’d felt his eyes, watching her, boring into her back, but she’d managed to ignore them as she concentrated on the cards. They were all staring at her, and she’d be foolish indeed if she let them interfere with her work.

Ah, but his eyes were different. When he finally spoke, giving her a reason to turn around, she’d been astonished by what she’d seen.

She’d imagined someone dark and dangerous, though she wasn’t quite certain why. Instead, he seemed a fairly common garden-variety dilettante, from the toes of his jeweled, high-heeled slippers to the top of his carefully curled wig. He held a lace handkerchief in one hand, no doubt properly scented, and he looked down at her as if she were the insect.

He immediately annoyed her. He was indolent, lazy, and far too cynical, and he looked at her as if he knew her to be a liar and an opportunist ready to cheat his friends from their hard-earned money. And instead of being outraged, he was amused by it all.

Except that none of them had earned their money, Jessamine thought with a grimace. They’d inherited it, as she would have as well had her father not been a hopeless wastrel.

And though she might be there under slightly false pretenses, she meant no harm. Indeed, if she could supplement the tiny family income with society readings, then so be it. It might cleanse her soul a bit.

She was a fool to berate herself for her work. Helping the police to catch criminals was surely a noble cause, beneficial to society and a godsend to her family’s well-being.