The Devil's Thief (6 page)

She
looked around, and then leaned toward her father conspiratorially. “How much,
Papa?” she whispered.

He
didn’t like to discuss the past—how he had liberated items from their
owners over the years to keep his young daughter clothed and fed. It was how
they’d gotten the money to start the foundling home. But he had been good.
Very good.
He’d never been caught, but then he’d never taken
large items. Just a little something here and there. But he had learned to
gauge an item’s value with uncanny accuracy. And he knew his jewels better than
most. It was how he picked his mistresses. The ones with the best jewels won.
They’d lived on his little thefts and the gifts he’d received from his
mistresses. He was one of the only men she knew who could talk a woman out of
her diamonds.

Her
father darted an alarmed glance around the room, but he relaxed when he saw
that no one was paying them any attention. He leaned in toward her slightly.
“Priceless,” he purred. “Forty-five grains at least, perfectly round, brilliant
luster, thick nacre, gorgeous. And besides being the most perfect Scottish
pearl ever farmed from the River Tay, it has been in the Stewart family for
generations. Bonnie Prince Charlie himself wore it in a pouch around his neck
for good luck, although personally I think it was in case he found a good fence
when his purse was light.”

Julianna
dropped her fork and felt her face blanch. “Priceless?” she whispered. Oh,
Lord, what had she done? She’d known it was famous and valuable, but priceless?

“Well,”
her father drew out the word with a frown, “nothing is priceless. It depends on
the receiver, of course, but it would bring a good, oh, five hundred pounds at
least.” He rubbed his chin. “But the sentimental value to the family makes it
priceless. And its notoriety would make it hard to sell.”

“How
hard?” she demanded. Then, realizing that she sounded a little too frantic, she
tried to temper her voice. “I mean
,
surely there are
some unscrupulous persons who would buy the pearl despite its notoriety?” She
hoped she sounded merely curious, and not desperate.

Her
father gave her a strange look. “I suppose so. The Black Horse, over in
Tottenham Court Road, or the Rose or the Bear, they would all probably take it
I suppose. But I only ever went to those as a last resort.
Too
rough by far.
Why do you ask?”

Julianna
licked her suddenly dry lips. “No reason in particular, Papa. Curiosity, I
suppose.”

Her
father patted her hand. “Those days are gone, my dear. You needn’t fear that I
will return to my old ways. We have all we need now. Lady Linville brought us security.
For that alone you should be grateful.”

 
“Yes,” Julianna mumbled, shocked and
dismayed. What on earth was she to do with the pearl now? She needed funds
quickly. The solicitor of the building’s new owner had come to the foundling
home to tell her that the rent was increasing, and the bank would need the back
rent to be paid in full within the week. So Julianna had to pay or the owner
would turn the children out onto the street. The solicitor had been very
apologetic, but firm nonetheless. His client had no choice but to demand the money
or let the building to someone else. Otherwise the bank would foreclose and
seize the property.

She
was fortunate that her father signed the lease for her before he remarried. He
understood her need to help the children and had left the entire management of
the home in her hands. He’d given her a budget to cover expenses and left it at
that. She’d hired Mrs. Eden to handle the day-to-day operations, but she still
kept a close eye on the home and handled the books. It had been a shock to
realize how much she was in arrears on the rent. The problem was that over the
last year, Julianna had gotten in the habit of spending most of the rent money
on incidentals for the home, planning to cover the missed rent in small
payments over the next few months. But each payment had gotten smaller. The
previous owner had been amenable, and simply turned a blind eye to what she
owed, letting her make it up at her own pace. Julianna really did not want her
father to find out about her predicament. If he knew, he would do one of two
things: either help her with the payment, which would upset her stepmother; or,
more than likely, end the lease, and the children would be sent away, the older
ones probably to the workhouse. And, of course, he’d never trust her with so
much responsibility again.

She
took a deep breath and tried to think. She must find a way to visit the
receiving houses her father had spoken of, today if possible. She had no
choice. It was too late to ask her father for help. How on earth could she tell
him she had stolen the Stewart Pearl, when he’d left his own criminal past
behind to seek a better life for her? She had taken Alasdair’s pearl and she
could not give it back. So she was going to make sure that it was used for
good. She was going to sell it and save the foundling home, with her father
none the wiser. Julianna vowed that after this entire ordeal was over she would
never take a risk like this again. She would do as her father and
stepmother asked and meet
the new barrister and try to keep
an open mind. And maybe, possibly, she would eventually stop feeling guilty
that she had stolen Alasdair’s priceless treasure in return for unparalleled
pleasure and the memory of a lifetime.

Chapter Five

Alasdair
rolled over and pulled her close. But instead of warm lavender-scented hair, he
got a nose full of linen.

“Juli—?”
he said sleepily, raising his head and looking around. He had to blink several
times against the glare of the sun through the open curtains.

The
room was quiet except for the noises drifting up from the street. Alasdair
shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his brain. The sun was high. He’d
slept late. It was no wonder, considering how little sleep he’d gotten the
night before.

“Juliet?”
he called again. There was no response, and he realized that she was gone. The
room was empty. The open curtains and street noise took on a new meaning. The
balcony doors were open. She had climbed down off the damn balcony.

He
threw back the sheet and rose from the bed, anger beginning a slow boil inside
him. He looked around and confirmed that her things were gone. He leaned down
and picked up a forgotten hairpin, all that was left of her. She had snuck out
the damn window like a thief in the night.

The
thought stopped him in his tracks. His stomach lurched and he was afraid for a
moment that he might lose its contents. With a sinking sense of dread, he spun
around and ran over to his dressing table. His hands were shaking as he found
the small key in his drawer. He hurried over to the lockbox on the secretary in
the corner and shoved the key in, but he knew immediately that it was too late.
The box was unlocked. He raised the lid and stared with dawning horror at the
empty space inside.

She
had stolen it. She had stolen his pearl.
His family’s most
priceless possession.
The pearl that he had been
entrusted to keep safe.
 
It
was gone. Stolen by a wanton, lying, deceiving little bitch
who
’d
used him and then snuck out his window with it.

He
stood there, immobile with disbelief for several seconds, his ragged breathing
blocking the noise from the street.

Damn
his lustful, careless, useless soul. As if his cock alone would make a thieving
harlot forget about her prize. What a colossal, vain idiot he was.

And
now he’d proven them all right, had he not? His cousin Ernest, the Earl of
Throckton, had wanted to keep the pearl for Alasdair. They had much more secure
places at his estate for such a priceless treasure. Ernest had been so
condescending, just as he’d always been, and he’d looked down his nose at
Alasdair, the offspring of his uncle’s unfortunate marriage to a Scots woman.
Alasdair had refused his offer because he enjoyed taunting his cousin with it,
enjoyed having a treasure that Ernest, with all of his investments and his
properties and his possessions, had no right to. The pearl had come to Alasdair
from his mother’s side of the family.

Alasdair
pulled his hair and screamed in rage, as a horse whinnied in fright in the
street below. “How could I have been so stupid?” he bellowed.

He
stalked over to the open door of the balcony and slammed it shut. He punched
his closed fist into the frame and leaned there, his head hanging down. This
was his fault. He could shift the blame to no one. All his life he had taken
the pearl for granted. He’d complained about it, telling everyone what a terrible
burden it was. His family had placed such importance on the pearl that people
gazed upon it with awe. And now it was gone. He’d lost it.

No,
he raised his head and glared at the wall unseeing. She’d stolen it. She’d
taken it from right under his nose, laughing all the while. She must have known
he hadn’t truly meant to give it to her. That was why she’d snuck out and he’d
awoken alone to an empty box.

There
was a timid knock on his door. “Mr. Sharp?” He heard his valet inquire tentatively.
“Is everything all right?”

Alasdair
started to reply, to raise the alarm, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t let
anyone know. He had to find her himself. He did not want his cousin to find out
what he’d done. He would never live it down. He would be the laughing stock of
Great Britain, and the scourge of Scotland.

“I’m
fine, Evans,” he called out, regulating his voice and breathing. “I just . . . had
a dream and fell out of bed.” Good Lord, as if that didn’t make him appear like
a raving nincompoop. “Bring me some coffee, please, and I should like to get
dressed,” he ordered, a plan forming in his mind. He needed to find her
immediately. After all, how hard could it be to find a lying, deceitful little thief
in London who may be trying to sell a stolen pearl? He shook his head in
despair at the enormity of the task. But, he promised himself, when he found
her, when he had the pearl in his possession
again,
she would pay, and pay dearly, for her deceit.

Fortunately,
he knew just the man to help.

Chapter Six

“I
need help finding a woman.”

Sir
Hilary St. John looked up with a curious expression as Alasdair burst into his
study without being announced. Hil was sitting at a table near the window,
sipping his tea and reading the paper. He wore no jacket and the sun glinted
off the red-gold hair that curled onto his neck—too long for fashion but
just right for the eccentric Hil.

“Do
you? How unusual,” Hil commented blandly, as if frantic men burst into his
study routinely. “I’ve never known you to have difficulties in that area
before.”

A
bark of laughter sounded from the other corner of the room, and Alasdair
glanced over in surprise to see Roger Templeton draped over a chair, a cup of
tea in hand. “Roger! When did you get back?” Alasdair exclaimed. He walked over
to his old friend with a delighted smile, his hand outstretched. They hadn’t
seen each other in over a year.

Roger
straightened and took Alasdair’s hand, shaking it warmly. With his height and
muscular build and his dark, curling hair framing his chiseled features, Roger
had the face and form of a Greek god. He’d always had the temperament to match.
“Sharp. I’ve only just gotten back. I’ve been in London for no more than two
days, and most of that was spent sleeping in one of Hil’s beds, which I’ll be
occupying for the foreseeable future.”

“My
home is yours,” Hil said graciously, and Alasdair knew he meant it.

“The
continent didn’t change you a bit,” Alasdair told Roger with a laugh.

Roger
smiled conspiratorially. “Au contraire, my friend. I learned a great deal
there. You’d be amazed.” He accompanied his comment with a wag of his brows and
Alasdair laughed again.

“You
never cease to amaze me, Roger.”

“Why
don’t we go out this evening and I’ll tell you all about it?” Roger offered
slyly, one dark blue eye winking roguishly. “I’d tell Hil, but he already knows
everything about everything.”

Alasdair
shook his head. “No, but thank you. My licentious days are behind me now. I’m
not one of the Saint’s Devils anymore,” Alasdair said, referring to the silly nickname
their group of friends had earned years ago in school, based on Hil’s surname.
“I may still cross a line or two, but I don’t live my life that way anymore.”

“Of
course you’re still a Devil,” Hil said absentmindedly behind him, and Alasdair
turned to see him gently place his perfectly folded paper on the table and give
him a smile. “We were never about licentiousness. We were about living life to
its fullest, experiencing all we could and learning as we went. Aren’t you
still living your life that way?”

“So
it would seem,” Alasdair replied wryly, thinking of why he’d come to Hil for
help.

As Hil
took his arm and led him over to the sofa situated in the center of the room,
some of the tension dissolved from Alasdair’s neck and shoulders, reminding him
that true friendship was rare indeed and not to be treated lightly. Alasdair
loved this room. It was a man’s room, all dark wood and rich red upholstery. A large
group of sofas and chairs were arranged in a loose circle in the center of the
room, open on one side to the fireplace. There were also small tables with two
or three chairs surrounding them placed around the room. The walls were covered
in large bookcases, filled with well-used books. Roger hadn’t been far off the
mark when it came to Hil. He was a student of the world. He wanted to know
everything one man could learn in a lifetime.