No One to Trust (21 page)

No one looked her direction.

No one except the clean shaven man with side
swept chestnut hair, blazing brown eyes and a square cut jaw. The
man walking toward Elizabeth with a hard pound to his stride. As if
he’d just witnessed everything.

* * * * *

Thomas McGuire couldn’t believe his eyes.

A well-presented first class woman--dressed
head to toe in scarlet, from the feather in her hair to her ruffled
gown--had stolen from both The White Star Line and Lady Isabelle
Grace in a single dinner! She’d first caught his eye as she walked
by his table earlier in the evening, swaying her hips a little too
seductively, the front of her dress dipping a little too low,
showcasing the soft plumpness of her breasts.

But when her fork dropped into her lap, she’d
captured his interest in an entirely different way. She didn’t
strike him as the clumsy type. In fact it was just the opposite.
She moved slowly, gracefully, each movement deliberate.

At first, Thomas thought she’d simply pick up
the silver and return it to its place. But then she’d dropped a
knife. Neither of which returned to the table during the course of
her meal.

She’d laughed with Lady Grace. Talked.
Smiled. Leaned in close to whisper something before excusing
herself.

And then she’d snared his breath in his
chest. With one swipe of Lady Grace’s coin pouch, the golden haired
woman, who looked fairer than any woman he’d ever laid eyes upon,
had hardened into a criminal.

Right before his eyes.

He excused himself from his table, said
goodnight to the rest of the seamen, and followed her out the
French doors leading into the reception room. The woman stopped and
turned around, her expression tainted with paranoia.

He stopped as well, waiting to see if she’d
bolt or return to her table.

She did the unthinkable.

Smiling a coy, knowing smile as if she
realized she’d been caught, the woman curtsied in his direction.
More than a little perplexed, Thomas bowed in return. When he
brought his gaze back to center, she was swerving around tables on
the other side of the room. The nerve of that woman! To know she’d
been caught red-handed stealing from a high ranking member of
society, only to smile and turn away. As if he’d stand idly by
doing nothing!

He charged after her, his boots thumping
loudly over the Jacobian rugged floor. He followed her out the
doors leading to the grand staircase and stopped when he reached
the banister. Thomas peered down a corridor to his right. Peered
left. Leaned over the balcony and glanced up to C Deck. His gaze
shot to the deck below. There—spinning around the newel post, was a
delicate, crimson gloved hand.

Moving quickly, Thomas bolted down the short
set of stairs onto E Deck and hit the landing as the clock clicked
over to ten. Pushing through a couple ascending in his direction,
Thomas glanced around the corner, hoping for any sign of the woman
in red.

Up ahead, around the next corridor leading to
second and third class cabins, the swell of a ruffling red dress
caught his eye.

She wouldn’t escape that easily.

Thomas picked up speed, and when he saw the
soft waves of her golden hair bouncing behind her, he realized she
was running.

“You there!” he called, drawing her
attention. “Stop!”

She shot a glance over her shoulder, smiled,
and quickened her pace, running full speed through the
corridor.

This was not a game. At least not one he felt
like playing tonight. Thomas hastened his step. Not wanting to
scare the passengers, Thomas smiled as they passed by, making
steady eye contact. But each time he took his eyes off
her,
she seemed to gain distance on him.

She made a right turn up ahead. Flew down a
set of stairs onto F Deck. Then turned sharply around another
corner and down the next corridor. Soon, Thomas was following the
whipping tail of her gown. Finally, a few turns down bustling
corridors later, she was gone.

With a deflated ego and a tired set of lungs,
Thomas came to a stop and folded his arms over his chest. She
couldn’t have gone far. She had to be around one of these turns.
One of the alcoves leading to any of the third class cabins.

He waited seconds. Minutes. Dozens of men and
women whisked past him speaking languages Thomas couldn’t
translate, none of them aware of the game of cat and mouse that was
being played around them.

As he was about to turn back, return to the
dining hall and report the theft to Lady Grace and the Master at
Arms, a soft sneeze sounded down the hall. Instead of dashing after
her, Thomas hid in a little alcove near cabin F38.

Easier to catch a mouse with cheese than a
bullhorn, he figured, and waited for the woman in red to emerge
from her hiding spot. Which she did, not two minutes later.

She emerged three alcoves down, smoothing
down the ruffles of her dress, tousling the waves of her
honey-blonde hair. He had to admit, she was definitely the most
gorgeous thief he’d ever seen in his life. She had skin like a
porcelain doll, milky white and smooth as glass. A dainty neck
tapered upward to a softly rounded chin, which led to high
cheekbones and the most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen. Against
the boldness of her dress, her eyes paled, but sparkled none the
less.

As she walked down the corridor, deeper into
third class, Thomas fished a set of handcuffs out of his back
pocket. It was going to be a damn shame to arrest a woman that
beautiful.