Lady Thief (15 page)

Immediately recognizing the butler’s way of announcing inferior persons, Jenny asked, “Who are they, Somers?”

Wordlessly, the butler held out the grimy card. Jenny stared at the card for a long moment before saying quietly, “Show them in.”

Spencer waited until the butler left the room. “Jenny? Who is it?” he asked concerned.

She flipped the card into the cold fireplace, and replied in a colorless voice, “A Mr. Simmons—from Bow Street.”

When Simmons and his partner entered the room, both were appalled to see the Duke of Spencer lift his quizzing glass to stare at them.

The hideously magnified eye and the unwavering stare reduced both men to a state of speechlessness. Simmons had the uncomfortable feeling that just so would the duke stare at a fly that had found its way into his soup.

Simmons was not a very brave man, and he withered noticeably under the duke’s cold eye. He desperately wished he had heeded his companion’s request that they come back another time. Even his superiors at Bow Street would understand his reluctance to question Miss Courtenay with the duke standing by.

His worst fears had been realized. The duke would not take kindly to having Miss Courtenay accused of being a thief. Simmons had seen the way the duke looked at her when they had been riding a few hours ago. No man would like the idea that his lady love might end her days on the gallows.

But there was no alternative but to continue. The duke showed no signs of leaving the room. In fact, he gave every impression of having just taken root—like an oak tree, strong and immovable.

Simmons’s attention was drawn away from the duke when the slender young woman with strange golden eyes spoke.

“You wanted to see me, I believe?” she asked.

Simmons struggled with himself and finally found his tongue. It had already occurred to him many times that this young lady simply did not look the part of a thief. Nor did she act like one. She seemed remarkably calm for someone who was receiving a visit from two Runners. But Simmons was grimly determined to do his duty. “Yes, ma’am.” He glanced rather nervously at the duke. “I think maybe—if you don’t mind—that we should talk alone.”

The duke dropped his quizzing glass. “Miss Courtenay may not mind, officer, but I assure you that I do.”

Desperately, the Runner said, “It would be better, Your Grace, if we—”

“Better for whom, officer? For Miss Courtenay or for yourselves?”

Making a last effort, Simmons said, “Really, Your Grace, we need to talk to her, and she’d maybe like it better if it was just between us.”

“It will be between us, officer—the four of us.” Simmons looking pleadingly at the lady. “Miss Courtenay?”

She smiled calmly. “The four of us.”

Goaded beyond endurance, Simmons snapped, “Very well—Miss Courtenay, we would like to ask you a few questions. We have reason to believe that you are the Cat.”

Chapter Fifteen

Spencer’s voice was cold. “How dare you intrude into a private home, hurling accusations at innocent young women.”

The two Runners shifted uneasily. Simmons, his ruddy face deepening in color, spoke hoarsely. “No offense meant, Your Grace, but the young lady here fits the description of the Cat.”

“And what is that?”

Simmons cleared his throat and began to recite as if by rote. “A small, slender woman with black hair and golden eyes—strange golden eyes.”

From the corner of his eye, Spencer saw Jenny stiffen, but she remained silent. “That isn’t much to go on, Simmons.”

“Happen it’s not, Your Grace, but I’m sure the young lady wouldn’t mind answerin’ a few questions.”

Before Spencer could respond, Jenny spoke coolly. “Of course not, officer. I have nothing to hide.”

Simmons nodded and pulled a small black notebook from inside his coat. Muttering to himself, he flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. Directing a piercing look at Jenny’s calm face, he asked, “Can you handle a gun, miss?”

Jenny smiled faintly, her wild golden eyes unreadable. “As a matter of fact, officer, I can. My father taught me when I was a child.”

“Are you a good horsewoman?”

She lifted an eyebrow in faint surprise. “Of course.”

“Now, miss,” Simmons turned the page of his notebook and shot another penetrating look at her, “do you own a black stallion?”

She folded her arms and continued to smile. “I feel sure that—as conscientious as you are—you have already searched the stables. Tell me, did you find a black stallion?”

The Runner’s eyes grew cold; he disliked the feeling that the young lady was toying with him. “No, ma’am, we found no stallion.”

“Then I suggest, officer, that I do not own one.”

He continued to stare coldly into her wild eyes. “Tell me, miss,” he said deliberately, “why is it that you often ride out late at night—alone and dressed like a man?”

Jenny’s face remained expressionless. “I have trouble sleeping,” she replied softly. “And as for my attire—if you were a woman, officer, you would know the answer to that. Breeches are far more comfortable than petticoats.”

“This has gone far enough,” Spencer said coldly. “You have only speculation on which to base your accusations. You have no proof—nothing that would stand up in court. And let me remind you, gentlemen, that even if you caught the Cat red-handed, you would be hard-put to raise support against her. The Cat has won the respect and admiration of many influential people. She has also assisted the War Office in its fight against traitors.”

The Runner’s voice was every bit as cold as the duke’s. “Happen that’s so, Your Grace—but even a heroine would hang for murder.”

Spencer stiffened, his eyes locked with the Runner’s. “Have a care what you say, officer,” he said gently. “This lady has promised to become my wife.” He heard Jenny catch her breath in surprise, but continued to stare at the Runner.

After a long moment, Simmons angrily stuffed his notebook back into his pocket. He was well aware of Spencer’s influence at Bow Street. He crammed his hat on his head and said coldly, “I’ll be watching.” A moment later, the Runners were gone.

Jenny went silently to the window and watched the two men stride away. She turned to face the duke, a faint frown on her face. “Black hair,” she murmured.

Spencer, who had been expecting a different comment, looked startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“He said that the Cat had black hair.”

“You do.”

“Yes,” she said impatiently, “but how did he know that? The Cat wears a black hood and mask—her hair is never seen.”

“Perhaps someone mistook the hood for your hair.” Jenny began to pace restlessly. “No, no, I don’t think so. Someone informed against me—someone who has a strong suspicion that I am the Cat.”

“Or someone who knows,” Spencer responded slowly.

Jenny stopped pacing to stare at the duke. “Only four people know who the Cat really is. Three of them I would trust with my life.”

“And the fourth?”

“The fourth is you.”

“You still don’t trust me.” He shook his head slowly. “Why, Jenny? Why don’t you trust me?”

She turned her back abruptly, staring into the fireplace. “I don’t know you. Why should I put my life in the hands of a stranger?”

“But I am not a stranger. Didn’t you hear what I said to the Runner?”

“Of course I heard. I am much obliged to you for what you said. It frightened them away—at least for the moment.”

Spencer wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her. But he knew that, for the moment at least, he must force himself to be patient. He must proceed carefully or she would withdraw from him as an animal retreats to its shell. Casually he said, “I meant it, you know. I
do
want you to be my wife.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“That is a very unflattering response to a proposal of marriage,” he said lightly.

“
Will
you be serious,” she snapped, her nerves on edge.

“I am serious, Jenny,” he said gently. “The first time we met, I fell in love with a pair of wild, restless eyes. I didn’t even know who you were—but I knew that I loved you. Now I do know who you are—and I love you even more.”

“Stop it!” she cried, turning suddenly to face him. She was as pale as death, her eyes even wilder than before. “You
can’t
love me. I’m a thief. I’ve spent the past year of my life riding all over the country dressed like a man and shooting at people. I can outride, outshoot, and outthink most men. Is that who you want for your duchess? Is that who you want to take home to your family?”

He stepped forward, one hand outstretched. “I want
you
, Jenny. Your past isn’t important except that it shaped you into the woman you are today. I’ve fallen in love with that woman. I love your courage, your spirit; I love your intelligence and your ability to remain cool and calm in the face of incredible danger.”

“You heard what the Runner said. He said I could hang for murder. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a murderess? Do you want to be forced to flee the country because of me?”

“Jenny.” His face was tense, his voice strained. “Foolish girl. My happiness doesn’t rest on this miserable little island. It rests on a stubborn, determined chit of a girl with the beauty of a queen and the courage of a Viking.”

The wild eyes went grave suddenly. “I—I can’t. I’m not fit to be any man’s wife. Least of all—least of all yours.”

He stepped closer, his gray eyes gentle. “If it’s only that you don’t love me—I can teach you. I
can
, Jenny.”

She managed a faint smile. “I don’t think I’m capable of love—not any longer. Too much has happened.”

He came to stand before her. “Perhaps you have forgotten, but I have not. There was a night, weeks ago, when I held a woman in my arms—a warm, responsive woman. That woman was capable of love. Have you changed so much in a few short weeks?”

She turned her back to him, afraid of what he might see in her face. “That night was a mistake. It should never have happened.”

“But it
did
happen.”

“It—it was only lust.”

Spencer’s face went grim suddenly. “There is one way to find out.”

Jenny turned in time to see the purpose in his expression as he reached for her. Another face rose in her imagination, and she flinched away from him, panic in her face.

He froze, and a spark of pure rage in his eyes. “It was Stoven, wasn’t it? He put this fear into you.”

“I—you just startled me.”

“Did he hurt you, Jenny?”

Jenny fought down panic as he gently put his hands on her shoulders. Breathlessly, she replied, “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

Slowly, the duke drew her into his arms, resting his cheek against her hair. “I love you, Jenny. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

For a long moment, she remained stiff. Then, slowly, the rigidity flowed from her body and her arms slipped shyly around his waist. “Oh, Nick.” Her voice was husky. “I don’t want to love you—please don’t make me love you.”

Spencer held her tightly. “You can’t fight love, kitten.”

She raised tear-bright eyes to his. “My father always called me that—kitten.”

“Because you’re so like a kitten.” He smiled. “Biting and scratching one moment, purring the next.”

Slowly he lowered his head until his lips found hers. The kiss, gentle at first, deepened as he felt her response.

Passion flared in both of them, racing through their bodies like molten fire. Jenny felt no fear in Spencer’s arms, only the need to be closer, to be part of him. His lips left hers to blaze a trail down her neck, lingering in the hollow of her shoulder. She caught her breath as his hand found the softness of her breast, which seemed to swell at his touch. His lips returned to hers, and she felt shattered as the kiss deepened beyond anything she had ever imagined. If he had not been holding her tightly, she would have collapsed in a heap at his feet.

But a moment later, he abruptly pulled away and turned his back to her. She swayed slightly, and watched him with eyes still dazed with passion.

Slowly, he turned to her, his face pale. “Jenny,” he said hoarsely, “I love you—and I need you. I want you to be my wife.”

Jenny tried to calm her racing heart. “The—the problems—” she faltered.

“The problems can be resolved.”

She stared at him, her mind filled with the vision of him always by her side. For the first time, she admitted to herself that she loved him. She hadn’t meant to fall in love with him, but she had. Suddenly, she was tired of fighting against it.

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, looking anxiously at her still face. “Jenny?”

Slowly, her lovely smile appeared. Her eyes were soft, bemused. “I love you,” she whispered. “And I want to marry you with all my heart.”

He hugged her fiercely. “Thank God,” he said unsteadily. “I’ll speak to your stepfather, and we can be married as soon as possible.” He smiled down at her. “The Cat will disappear, and everyone will think she has fled the country.”

Jenny abruptly pulled away from him, and his smile faded as he saw the torment in her face. “Jenny? What is it?”

“Nick, I—I can’t stop yet. It isn’t finished.”

A frown drew his brows together. “What do you mean? Of course you’ll stop. The Cat must disappear, Jenny—there’s no other way.”

“But not yet.”

“Jenny, you don’t seem to understand—you’ll be my wife. You won’t have time to ride all over the country.” Ignoring the gathering storm on her face, he added, “I won’t allow it. The danger is too great. Jenny, you’ve done enough; I don’t want my wife to end up on the gallows.”

“Stop it.” Her voice shook with rage. “Nick, will you listen to yourself? Do you hear what you’re saying? You’re condemning to death everything in me that you professed to love not ten minutes ago. You can’t change what I am—I won’t let you. The Cat will not disappear, because her job isn’t finished—not yet.”