The Secret Life of Lady Julia (28 page)

Chapter 49

I
t was almost dark when Thomas helped her dress, slowly tying the ribbons that he’d untied so eagerly, doing up the tiny buttons, trying to stem the desire to undo them again, just once more. Neither of them asked what they were both thinking. What now?

He doubted that the long afternoon of making love had helped anything at all.

“You were right—Stephen asked me to marry him,” she said as she was donning her cloak.

He felt his heart stop for a moment. He forced his features into a calm mask. “Did you accept?” he asked, keeping his tone as bland as his expression. Would she have come here, to him, if she had? He held his breath, watched as she drew on her gloves.

“I’ve been avoiding him all day.”

He swallowed. “You should accept. He’s a good man. Reliable, honorable, noble.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” she asked. She was blinking back tears.

“I can’t offer you the same, Julia. Why didn’t you say yes?”

“I don’t know.”

He caught her hands in his. “Yes, you do. Tell me.”

She lowered her gaze. “Fear, perhaps, that I’ll never be able to be the kind of wife he wants.”

He didn’t understand. She was smart, brave, clever, passionate. What more could a man want? “You would have made a perfect duchess. You’ll make an excellent diplomat’s wife,” he said, kissing her forehead. She raised her lips to his, kissed him again, and he tasted tears. He let her go reluctantly, stepping back, looking at her. He handed her his handkerchief, and she looked at it in her hand, touched the monogram with her fingertips.

“I still have the last handkerchief you gave me. The first time you rescued me, in Hyde Park.”

She was looking up at him, her hazel eyes wide and wet, her mouth still red and soft from his kisses. There was a dangerous emotion written there. He felt a hard jab of anger. Was she hoping he’d rescue her now, make the choice for her, beg her to stay with him, here, in his pauper’s quarters? “Is that what this is about? I’m not a hero, Julia. Stephen Ives is the hero. Say yes, marry him, live happily ever after,” he said harshly, as if his heart wasn’t breaking in his chest. “Forget me.”

She stared at him, her lips parting, pain clear in her eyes. He stayed where he was, though he wanted to pull her into his arms.
Stay with me
hovered on his lips, but he clamped them shut. She swelled with dignity and hurt pride, drawing herself up, straightening her spine. She flicked her hood over her head like a nun’s cowl.

“Good-bye, Mr. Merritt.” She left without a backward glance.

He sat in the dark by the window and watched her walk away. The room smelled of sex and violets. The smell of her body clung to his hands, his hair. “Tom,” he whispered to the empty air. “My name is Tom.”

Chapter 50

T
he Prince de Ligne set his mouth in a pout as Katerina swept in. “You are looking very plain this afternoon, Princess. Hardly any jewels at all.”

She kissed his wrinkled cheek and sent Thomas a smoldering look. “You shall have to make do with some hot soup, old roué. It has become far too dangerous to wear jewels of any value. I am in the process of having paste copies made of some of my favorite pieces. Kostov insists. There have been many thefts—in the park, in dark corners at even the best parties.” She sent Thomas a baleful glance. “Where is your little English friend and her pistol now?”

Accepting Stephen Ives’s proposal of marriage, Thomas thought, his stomach tight.

De Ligne smiled. “She was here just this morning—”

He broke into a coughing fit, and Katerina patted him on the back and held a handkerchief to his lips, looking worried.

“Tell me, is Kostov’s directive about your jewels because he is worried about them or about you?” the prince asked Katerina when he’d recovered.

She sent him a sad smile. “He loves me in his way. He said I could have one of his soldiers to guard me if I wished. I refused, of course. He would have chosen his biggest, strongest man, and there is no room for such a one here in your little birdcage.”

“Good, because I would not share you, and neither would the viscount,” de Ligne replied, winking at Thomas. Katerina snapped her fingers and her maid brought a tray forward, laden with soup, bread, and watered wine. The prince made a face, but the princess sat on the edge of the bed and took charge of the spoon herself.

“You must eat,” she insisted, and he took a little to please her.

“So tell me, my dear, which lady was robbed of her jewels?” the prince asked.

She frowned. “One of the Tsar’s bedmates. They say she was on her way home, near dawn, and she was waylaid in the park. And an Italian baroness too—she lost a necklace that had been in her family for years. Thieves are everywhere, bold as you please.” She cast a glance at Thomas. “Perhaps your English miss should give shooting lessons to ladies in the park.”

De Ligne chuckled. “A fine idea. Do you think it would become a fashion? Bands of elegant ladies, dressed to the nines and armed to the teeth, roaming the parks?”

Thomas folded his arms over his chest. Erich, again, no doubt, playing Robin Hood. The damned fool was going to kill someone before long.

He still owed the man a debt.

“I think I have a better idea on how to stop the thieves,” he said. “How would you like to help?”

Katerina grinned. “If I can wear my jewels again, I will do anything.”

Chapter 51

“T
homas Merritt has arrived to see you, Major Lord Ives.” Stephen glanced at the clock. It was nearly nine, and Merritt was right on time, obviously eager to receive his reward. Upstairs, Castlereagh and Lady Castlereagh were dressing for a ball. Stewart had arranged it all. All he himself had to do was hand over the Order of the Garter and wait for the alarm, and Stewart would do the rest. Tom Merritt would be dragged away in chains, and neither he nor Julia would ever have to see him again. Once out of sight, Julia would forget him quickly enough, wouldn’t she?

“Merritt,” he said, greeting the thief coolly as he was shown into the library.

“Ives,” he replied, equally cool. “I trust everything went well after the other night?” Merritt had the audacity to ask.

“Your job is done, and if you are referring to Julia, she is perfectly well.”

Stephen crossed to the liquor cabinet in the corner, unlocked it, and drew out a bundle wrapped in a handkerchief. He flicked it open, revealing Castlereagh’s Order of the Garter star. It twinkled on the white cloth.

“I believe this is what you came for.” He rewrapped it and held it out, glancing at the clock. Any moment now all hell would break loose.

Merritt didn’t reach for it. In fact, he looked amused. “So we have something in common after all, it seems, Ives.”

Stephen felt anger rise. “What do you mean? I have nothing in common with you!”

Thomas tilted his head. “Would you have me believe that his lordship gave this to you, with his blessing?” he asked sarcastically. “Charles Stewart’s monogram is on the handkerchief.”

Stephen felt his skin heat. “Just take it,” he snapped, “and then I never want to set eyes on you again.”

But Merritt sat down instead, made himself comfortable. “I have a different proposition to make.”

Stephen glared at him. “I’m not interested.” He glanced at the door. Any moment . . .

“You might be. It’s sure to impress Castlereagh, and a lot of other important people. It would ensure you are commended in official reports, noticed in London. It could very well lead to promotion. You’d be a hero.”

“No,” he said, then considered. “Yes. What’s this about?” His heart was pounding. Any moment . . .

“Catching a real thief. Have you heard the tales of the man they call Robin Hood? It might interest you to know that he was the one in the park, the day Julia shot his accomplice.”

Stephen shrugged. “Everyone wants to catch him, but no one knows where he is.”

“I do,” Thomas said. “And I can help you catch him—with the Garter star as bait.”

Stephen glanced at the door again, and closed his hand over the star. He had a choice to make—trust Charles Stewart or Thomas Merritt. Was it worth the risk? Such an arrest would indeed earn him recognition, more than he’d get for capturing Merritt. Stewart would take credit for that. It would impress Julia too.

A shrill scream echoed through the marble halls of the palace.

Merritt looked up, his brows rising.

Stephen gabbed his arm. “Come out, you’ve got to get out of here now. I’ll stall them. They’re expecting you’ll be in the sitting room upstairs, so you can still make it out—”

“You set a trap for me?” Merritt asked calmly.

Stephen felt his skin flush. “Look, you can call me out next time we meet. Go, I’ll come to your lodgings tomorrow and we’ll discuss this then.”

Merritt hesitated. “You’ll need something to convince them I escaped, won’t you?” he asked, then slammed his fist into Stephen’s jaw. Stephen staggered backward, seeing stars. He hoped he wouldn’t look as bad as Charles Stewart did, but he supposed he deserved it.

He stayed where he was on the floor and watched as Merritt climbed through the window. Had he made the right choice? He was a man of honor, not dark plots. He wanted to be rid of Merritt as much as Stewart did, but not by treachery, betrayal. He would never be able to look at himself in the mirror again. He put a hand to his aching jaw and winced.

Thomas Merritt was a gentleman after all, and that made him
likable
. And far more dangerous.

U
pstairs, Julia handed Jamie to Mrs. Hawes when Lady Castlereagh began to scream. “What on earth is happening?” the nurse asked. “Are we about to be murdered in our beds again? Marauders coming through the windows, making ladies scream, putting us all in peril of our very lives. Vienna is not a civilized place, I tell you, and I long for dear old London!”

“I’ll see what’s happening,” Julia said. The hall was filled with people rushing to and fro.

“Lady Castlereagh says she’s been robbed, that all her jewels are missing, and so is his lordship’s Order of the Garter star,” one of the footmen said. “Lord Stewart thinks the thief may still be in the building, miss, so please keep to your rooms until we’ve caught him.”

Julia’s heart sank. The Order of the Garter, the jeweled star that Lady Castlereagh wore as a tiara to the most formal balls and parties. The very thing that Thomas Merritt had come to steal. “Oh no,” she murmured, and hurried to the window.

She saw his familiar figure striding through the snow, hurrying away from the embassy.

He had failed the first time, but he’d come back again, and this time he had what he wanted. She leaned her forehead on the cold glass, watching long after he’d disappeared from view. This time he’d come for the star, the money, and—it was too shameful to think about. His conditions had been met. She sank into a chair, her stomach aching. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Bitterness filled her throat.

He hadn’t come for her. He’d come to steal.

He was a thief indeed. This time he’d stolen her heart, and she would never ever be able to forget him.