The Countess' Lucky Charm (2 page)

“
Yer
awfully nosy,” she interrupted.

“What are you doing in my trunk?”

“If I tell, will ye take me with ye?”

He stared at her. What a ridiculous question—he had no intention of taking her with him. However, until he retrieved his pistol, he didn’t wish to antagonize her. ‘“Perhaps,” he replied grudgingly. “But first, I should like you to return my goods.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that ‘cause I gave them away already. Mrs Dougherty and them, they need them.”

“Now why do ‘Mrs Dougherty and them’,” he grimaced at the poor grammar, “need what clearly are mine?”

She began to tick off on her fingers. “The boys need new shirts, Mrs Dougherty needs a new jacket and Pamela needs a blanket because she gets cold at night.” She spoke slowly, as if explaining to an idiot. “But then by the looks of ye, ye don’t spend many nights in the cold.”

 
“Why would you say that?” For some reason, her comment made him defensive and he deliberately made his voice brusque.

“Because,” the girl pointed at his coat, “only them that are rich have fur collars.” Then she pointed to his feet. “And boots like them.” And finally, she pointed to his head. “And beaver hats. Only gentlemen wear beaver top hats. Well, Gentry Ted wears a beaver hat,” she corrected, more to herself, “but only because he nicked one.”

Temple
made a sudden lunge toward her and grabbed for his pistol. Simone, anticipating his move, managed to get both hands on it. They wrestled for several seconds, long enough for him to realize that although thin, she was stronger than she looked.

He tightened one hand about a slender wrist, forcing her to loosen her grip on the pistol. She cursed him but he ignored it. The last thing he fancied was his gun discharging and wounding someone. Like himself.

He grappled with her several seconds more before stepping back, triumphant, pistol in hand.

“Thank you,” he said smugly, although he tempered his tone. Without the pistol, she didn’t pose a threat.

And then the bottom dropped from his stomach as he remembered what she had said.

The blanket. She had stolen the blanket.

Or rather, the rectangular packet hidden in its
woolen
folds.

The packet containing his future.

He jammed the pistol in his waistband and leaned forward to grip her shoulders with steel fingers. “Where is it?” he demanded.

“Where is what?” Her voice was innocent but the look on her face said otherwise; her gaze slithered away. She knew very well what he meant, he thought, anger churning within him at her obstinacy.

“Miss Dougherty,” he warned, resisting the urge to shake her very flesh from her bones. “The packet wrapped in the blanket. What have you done with it?” He leaned his face in close to hers, so close he could feel the puffs of her breath on his cheeks.

“Mona, me name is Mona.” She tried to step back but the hands clamped on her shoulders wouldn’t allow it. She tugged at his wrists. “
Yer
hurting me, let go.”

“I shan’t let go until you tell me what you’ve done with it.”

“I hid it.” She tugged again at his wrists. “Now let go.”

“Hid it?” Panic mingled with the anger and his voice raised an octave. “Hid it? Where, damn it, tell me where?” This time he gave her a little shake; her head bobbed, reminding him of their disparate sizes and he loosened his grip. He didn’t wish to hurt the girl but he needed that packet.

“Somewhere safe. I’ll show ye where but only if ye take me with ye. I—
er
, I’m in a spot of trouble.”

He gazed at her, breathing hard, sucking air like a hungry babe sucks its mother’s teat. Could he trust her? What kind of trouble was she in?

Reluctantly, he dropped his hands. “Very well.” He glanced at his watch. “But we shall have to hurry, my ship sails at half past nine.”

“Follow me,” she said, “it’s not far.” She turned to go then turned back. “
Yer
taking me with ye, right?”

“Yes,” he lied smoothly, “a deal is a deal.”
Not a chance
, he thought. First he would retrieve the package he had carefully wrapped in oiled cloth only this morning. Then he would turn her in to the first constable he could find.

Chapter Two

The two of them started down the rough lane, away from the river and back toward the city proper. She led the way, walking at a fast clip, for which he was grateful. At least she understood the need for urgency. Still not trusting her, he hurried to catch up, grabbing her elbow as he did so. She gave him a surprised glance but said nothing.

“It were easy,” she remarked conversationally as they
maneuvered
their way past a neat pile of wooden kegs.

“What was easy.” He tripped on some fish net but kept his grip on her arm. He would not—could not—lose her.

“Getting in
yer
trunk. Ye wanted to know.”

“Do tell.”

“When ye were inside the boot maker’s shop. The driver were napping and
yer
trunk weren’t locked.” Reproach filled her voice. “It were an open invitation,
m’lord
.”

“I see.” In future, he would have to take more care. He shook his head at his stupidity.

“I had Davy with me so I gave him the goods. I were going to take more but I….” She stopped talking and glanced up at him as if to gauge his reaction. “I were interrupted.”

“Interrupted, how unfortunate for you.” Sarcasm coloured his words.

She didn’t seem to notice, however, for she continued on with her explanation with nary a change in intonation. “I had to hide from a constable,” she confessed. “
Oy
, what a close call that were.”

Indeed, he thought. He glanced again at his watch.

“It’s just up there.” She pointed, correctly interpreting his glance. “Not to worry, we won’t miss the ship.”

The confidence in her voice amused him and he relaxed somewhat, more certain now that she would not bolt.

They had almost reached the intersection where the lane broke off from the main road when two shadows detached themselves from the darkened silhouette of a brick warehouse. He froze in his tracks, squeezing Simone’s elbow to stop her and pull her back.

Bloody hell, he recognized those two footpads—they were cohorts of his recent associate, Peter Mortimer-Rae. He had thought he had made a clean break from them, from that whole wretched group.

And he would have, if it hadn’t been for the meddlesome fingers of his companion. Jaw clenched, he tightened his grip on her elbow.

He stood for an instant, torn with indecision. Nay, no indecision at all. He only had one pistol and one shot. To proceed further would certainly cost him his life. He would have to leave the packet for now and retrieve it sometime in the future.

“Is it well hidden?” He whispered to Simone.

Comprehension dawned on her face. “They’re after ye,
ain’t
they? The packet, ye nicked it from them.”

He nodded, a thick scowl curling his eyebrows.

“Aye, it’s well hidden,” she gloated. “No one will find it. Now ye can’t double cross me for if ye want it, you need me.” She flashed him a triumphant look.

“Back to the quay, then,” he snarled. He had reluctant admiration for her street smarts, though, for she had had him pegged right from the start.

“I can’t. I were hiding from the likes of him.” She pointed back toward the river and the burly constable heading their way through the evening mist.

The smile that had crept across his lips at her savvy disappeared in an instant. It would seem his ragged pickpocket was in trouble with the law and required his intervention if he hoped to keep her with him—intervention requiring time he really did not have.

She looked as if she was going to dart off and he trapped her hand in his elbow so she wouldn’t. As much as he hated it, he needed her help to retrieve his stolen goods.

“That constable,” he explained through gritted teeth, “is our ticket out of this mess. Just keep quiet.”

He turned to face the man, neck prickling at the thought of turning his back on his stalkers. He risked a quick peek over his shoulder to see they had disappeared, scared off, no doubt, by the face of the law. Relief settled in him like a fine cognac settled in one’s stomach after a rich meal and he faced the constable with renewed assurance.

 
“Is everything all right here, my lord?”

“Of course,” he drawled.

The constable was clearly not convinced. He cast an appraising glance at Temple and then at Simone. “She doesn’t seem your type,” he said, pointing at her ragged black dress. “Fit more for Newgate prison.”

At his words, Temple could feel the shudder coursing through Simone’s slender frame. The shudder subsided into trembles.

For some odd reason, a protective urge flooded through him at her trepidation and, yes, fear. To reassure her, and to stop her from running, he placed his hand over her fingers where they peeked through the fold of his elbow.

Recognition shone in the constable’s eyes. “Well, if it
ain’t
Mona Dougherty.” He turned back to Temple. “Now I know for sure she
ain’t
your type. Hand her over. A few words from me to the magistrate and she’ll be put away.”

“I can assure you, she is my type. As a matter of fact,” he smiled down at Simone’s upturned face, “she’s coming with me to New Caledonia.”

Damnation, I’ve done it now.
The only good news was the relieved expression on her face. Beneath his fingers he could feel her trembles subside.

The constable seemed unwilling to let matters be. He shook his head. “I don’t know, my lord. Mona is one of the finest pickpockets on the east side. I just haven’t had the pleasure to actually catch her in the act.”

Temple
frowned down at her. A pickpocket? Thievery for the betterment of one’s peers was one thing, but a pickpocket?

She looked at him from guileless eyes. “Your package,” she whispered then she looked over to the constable and gave him a saucy wink.

Temple
sighed. She had him over a barrel and she knew it. “I shall relieve you of her presence, constable. As I mentioned, I am off to New Caledonia, well away from your bailiwick.”

“I don’t know if that’s wise, my lord, I’ve seen her kind a hundred times before. Sweet as pudding to your face but the minute your back is turned—” The man swiped a sausage finger across his throat.

Temple
looked at Simone’s suddenly mutinous face, lower lip jutted out. She must have taken offence at the other man’s words. He gave her a warning look then turned back to the other man.

“Truly, my good man, this woman is my travelling companion,” he said in his best upper crust voice. “Your services are not needed here.”

“Well, my lord, if you say so.” The constable stood there a moment longer, tapping his nightstick against his leg. “If you change your mind, ask for Constable Carstairs.” He tipped his hat to Temple. “It’s good night to you then and if she sticks you, don’t say I didn’t warn you. As for you,” he turned to glare at Simone, “if I see you again, it’s off to Newgate with you. I know you’re guilty and you won’t always have his lordship here to save your skin.”

“Thank you for the warning but I swear,” Temple placed his hand over his heart, “I shall be fine.” He was pleased to see Simone had understood the gravity of the situation and heeded his warning—she stood silent and with eyes demurely lowered.

“It’s your skin.” The constable shrugged then ambled off.

“
Ooooh
, did you hear him? I’m one of the best.” Simone grinned at the recognition, rocking from foot to foot beside him. Her words were boastful, her attitude cocky. After her initial fear, she now felt quite comfortable under his protection.

Her eyes sparkled with life and much to his surprise, he realized the slender urchin intrigued him. Nonsense, he told himself. Utter nonsense. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking again at her sparkling eyes. Filled with verve, they were. Verve and high spirits.

“Come on,” he growled, dragging away his gaze. “The chat with the constable slowed us and we’ve not much time. I’ve arranged with the captain to pick me up.” He pointed at a small row boat pulling into shore, a shadowy shape manning the ungainly oars. “Perhaps that’s the fellow.”

He grabbed her hand and charged back down the lane toward the steps leading down to the river.

“But he said I’m one of the best, didn’t ye hear?” Simone jogged beside him to keep pace with his long stride.

“It wasn’t a compliment. It’s hardly an accomplishment to be proud of.”

“Maybe for me it is.” Her tone was rebellious. “Maybe for me it’s the difference between going
ta
bed cold and hungry instead of just cold.”

“And if you have the skills you claim, then why can’t you afford decent clothing?”