The Devil's Thief (39 page)

“Are
you all right?” he asked quietly, lacing the fingers of one hand with hers.

“Yes,
I’m fine. I’m just not very good at this being-in-love business, you see. You
must give me time to learn how to go about it.” She tried to move away, to give
him the space he needed, but he wouldn’t let her.

“We
are in quite a bit of trouble, then, I’m afraid. Because I certainly don’t know
a blasted thing about it.” She gave him a watery little laugh. “I’m sorry,” he
continued softly, “I shouldn’t have rushed you into this conversation. Not
after what you’ve been through tonight.”

“Are
you mad?” she said in disbelief. “Of course you should have. There’s still a
great deal we need to discuss. I want to make things right between us,
Alasdair. I want this.”

“You
may want it,” he replied ruefully, “but what we want isn’t always what’s good
for us.”

Julianna
moved into his arms, understanding now that in spite of his self-confidence sometimes
he needed reassurance. “You are good for me,” she said softly, and then she
kissed him, pouring her heart into that kiss, telling him everything she
couldn’t find the words for.

“Julianna?”
Her father’s voice cut the night like a rapier, thin and angry. “What is the
meaning of this?”

Alasdair
jerked back as if he’d been shot. His back was to the door, his eyes wide with
dismay. Over his shoulder Julianna could see her parents standing on the stoop,
Handley hovering behind them with a candle. Her father was barefoot and still
wore his nightcap and shirt with his trousers, and the baroness was clutching
the lapels of her ivory night robe, a cap covering her short hair. Julianna
couldn’t help it; she had to laugh at Alasdair
Sharp
looking like a naughty child caught by her father.

“I
am in love, Papa,” she called out, smiling at Alasdair like a fool.

She
kept her arms wrapped around his neck while he desperately tried to disengage
her. Julianna was quite sure it was too late.

“What
are you wearing, darling?” her stepmother asked curiously. She didn’t sound the
least bit upset.

Julianna
laughed again, not sure when she’d ever been so happy. “It is a very long
story, Stepmother,” she called out.

“Juli-anna,”
her father said ominously, “what have you done?”

Alasdair
gave her a crooked smile. “She just stole my pearl, sold it to a disreputable
receiver, tried to steal it back, nearly got killed, and promised to marry me.”

It
was Julianna’s turn to cringe. She snuck a peek at her father and was not
reassured by the thunderous look on his face.

 
“I do not wish to hear about it now, in
the middle of the garden and the middle of the night,” he said in a tightly
controlled voice. “It will be soon enough when Mr. Sharp calls early tomorrow
morning.”

“Now
that was a summons,” Julianna whispered to Alasdair.

“Yes,
sir,” Alasdair called out. “I believe we have much to discuss.” He turned to
look at her father. “Including anything else from your past that might mar our
future.” Her father had the grace to look chagrined.

“I
think the wedding will be sooner than we thought,” the baroness said to her
father with a smile in her voice.

“Yes,
ma’am,” Alasdair agreed, smiling at Julianna. “I think that would be a very
good idea.”

They
rose awkwardly; surreptitiously checking each other’s clothing to make sure
they were presentable. Alasdair walked her over to the stairs under the
watchful, reproachful eyes of her father. He did not let go of her hand.

“Perhaps
we should leave them alone to say good-bye,” her stepmother told her father
quietly.

“Oh,
no,” Alasdair said in alarm. “I’m no angel. You’d best take her with you.”

“Well,
neither am I,” Julianna said drily.

Alasdair
shook his head. “I know, and I can only take so much temptation.” When they
reached the bottom of the stairs, he pulled the pearl from his pocket and,
turning her hand in his, set it in her palm. Then he closed her fist around it
and kissed the back of her hand.

“That’s
my promise,” he whispered. “I promise never to lose sight of what’s really
important.”

Julianna
stepped closer and kissed his cheek softly. Her father started to protest but
the baroness shushed him.

“And
I promise never to do something so stupid again,” she whispered back. “I mean
it, Alasdair. I will never steal another thing as long as I live.”

He
laughed quietly and gathered her into a fierce hug. “Oh, I hope you do, little
thief. I hope you steal my heart again every night for the rest of our lives.”

Don’t
miss the next story in Kane’s The Saint’s Devils series, coming soon

Tempting
a Devil

by
Samantha Kane

“Why don’t you name some of the
men you were considering, and I’ll tell you if they’re a good idea or not.”
Roger seemed very pleased with his suggestion.

“Roger,” she said impatiently, “I
told you, I don’t know anyone in London yet. I’ve only just arrived. This is my
first time in town.”

“You’ve never been to London?”
Roger frowned. “How is that possible?” He looked her up and down. “I can see
your pockets aren’t to let, so you must have married well. And since you were
invited here this evening, you must have some connections.”

“My late husband despised London.
He refused to bring me. His sister, Lady Lockerby, however, has been helpful
with introductions since my arrival.” Harry refused to discuss the subject
further. “So you must guide me in my choice, Roger, or you must be my first
lover, which, really, makes perfect sense.”

“No, it does not. Why are you so
eager to take me as a lover?” Roger asked, his earlier suspicion rearing its
head. “We haven’t seen each other for years. You’d all but forgotten my
existence until a few moments ago. I agree I have a certain charm, but hardly
enough to warrant this dramatic seduction scene.”

“I haven’t perfected my
performance yet,” she said as she stood. Clasping her hands behind her back,
she began to pace in front of him, apparently giving up her pursuit of him for
the moment. Roger was glad. He’d felt a little foolish playing a grown-up game
of here-we-go-around-the-bramble-bush as she’d stalked him around the clearing.
“Truly, Roger, I’ve only just arrived in London. I don’t really know many
people here. I’d never met Dumphrees until this evening.” She stopped and met
his gaze. “I am desperate for a lover, Roger. Surely it wouldn’t be too awful
for you?”

She didn’t sound desperate. She
sounded as if she were asking for a lamb shank at the butcher.

“What are you up to, Harry?” he
asked again, realizing he knew as little about her now as she knew about him.
“And why do you need a lover so desperately you’d proposition two different men
in one night?”

Harry scoffed unconvincingly.
“You’re being overly suspicious, Roger. I’ve told you what I want. A lover.
You.”

“When it comes to you, Harry, I
have my reasons for being overly suspicious.” He was more amused than angry
now, which was good. “The last time I let you trick me I ended up concussed and
missed my first term of school. You turned so cold and uninviting over there by
the tree”—he pointed—“that I thought you could be a marble statue.
So I don’t believe uncontrollable desire has you begging me to be your lover.
Come on
,
spill
. Are you in
trouble?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”
Roger just waited, saying nothing. Finally she shrugged. “My immediate
surrender would hardly have intrigued you. I’m sure there have been many women
who leapt into your bed at the slightest show of interest on your part. I seem
to recall that was the case when we were younger, as well. Rebecca Tidwell
would have committed any number of cardinal sins to earn merely a smile.”

Roger smiled at the memory of the
oldest daughter of Mr. Tidwell, the local vicar in his youth. “We committed
several sins together,” he confessed. “Although none of them cardinal, I don’t
believe. Purely pleasurable.”

Harry snorted. “Precisely. Why
should Rebecca Tidwell receive that which I am denied? Weren’t we friends,
Roger?” She’d begun to sashay back to his side of the clearing and he jumped
up, pacing her again, keeping the distance between them.

“Friends?
Not
exactly.
You followed me around like an irksome puppy, and I was
constantly getting you out of one scrape or another. And when you are young, an
age difference of five years eliminates the possibility of friendship.” He
cocked his head to the side as he regarded her curiously. “You are still
reckless and foolhardy, Harry. You don’t know anything about me now. Perhaps
you won’t like me anymore,” Roger argued logically. “Perhaps I am a rogue in
sheep’s clothing, and guileless widows such as yourself should stay far, far
away.”

“Impossible,” she said,
dismissing his argument. “I’ve heard no rumors that you have become a murderer,
a molester of women, or a card sharp. Barring those, I can think of nothing
that would make me dislike you.”

“I am one of the Saint’s Devils,”
he said simply.

“What on earth does that mean?”
she demanded crossly. “Is that some sort of London code for men who wear
sheepskin?”

 
“Not quite,” he said, highly amused by
her inadvertent double entendre, “but close.” He huffed out a frustrated laugh
as he ran his hand through his hair, still trying to cool his libido after his
failed attempt to teach Harry a lesson. All this talk of lovers was sheer
torture. “It’s just a silly nickname given to me and my friends back when we
were in school. It means I am a notorious rake,” he explained patiently. “I
seduce women and let myself be seduced as frequently as possible. I drink to
excess, I gamble, and I pursue pleasure with single-minded intent.” There, that
ought to discourage her. “In honor of our past acquaintance, I will not make
you yet another conquest for my diary.”

Harry crossed her arms and let
out an audible, “Ha.” Roger openly laughed at her. “That’s not fair,” she said,
sounding like a barrister. “If you’ll bed everyone else in Christendom, why not
me?” She pointed at herself for emphasis, drawing his eyes to her obvious womanly
charms. She really was walking sin. “And a rake is exactly what I need. I need
you.” She ticked the reasons off on her fingers. “One, I know you, quite well
in fact. Two, I find you very attractive, and I know you find me equally
attractive. Three, you are a rake. That means that you are well versed in the
bedroom arts, and really, I must confess, I know next to nothing. So you shall
teach me.”

“No, I shall not,”
Roger
said firmly. “And nothing you can do will change my
mind, Harry.”

Photo: © Ginger Z
Photography

Samantha Kane
lives in North Carolina with her husband and three children. She is
published in several romance genres including historical, contemporary, and
science fiction. Her erotic Regency-set historical romances have won awards,
including Best Historical from RWA’s erotic romance chapter Passionate Ink, and
the Historical CAPA Best Book Award from The Romance Studio. She has a master’s
degree in American history and taught high school social studies for ten years
before becoming a full-time writer. You can visit Samantha Kane on her website,
www.samanthakane.us/
.