Touch of a Thief (21 page)

Viola’s heart gave a small lurch. Neville had remembered how she loved tulips.

“Now perhaps you’d like a tour of the castle?” Neville directed his suggestion to her, pointedly ignoring Quinn.

“Not really,” Quinn intervened. “We’ve traveled a good way this afternoon. I think perhaps a nap before supper is warranted. When is supper, by the way?”

Neville’s narrow-eyed gaze was just shy of a glare. “Nine o’clock. Attire is formal.”

“Very good. Arrange for a bath to be brought up for us around seven then, there’s a good fellow.” Quinn yawned hugely and stretched his arms, filling the space and brushing the low ceiling with his extended fingers. “Off you go now, Beauchamp.”

Neville turned to Viola. “Is there anything else you require?”

“A dressing screen would be nice,” she said.

“But not necessary,” Quinn added as he started to unbutton his own collar. He flashed a wicked grin at Viola. “Honeymoon, you know.”

Neville swept a low bow to Viola and gave the shallowest of nods in Quinn’s general direction. Then he turned and stalked out with the retreating footmen.

“Did you have to do that?” she demanded once Neville was gone.

“Do what?”

“Rub his nose in it with all that honeymoon talk. The man has feelings.”

“And none of them do him credit, I assure you.” Quinn stripped off his jacket. “The jackal used you once and he’ll do it again in a heartbeat if you give him the least encouragement.”

“There are those who might say
you’re
using me as well.”

“I’m using you? Hmpf!” He sat down and toed off his boots, stretching out his long legs. “As I recall, only one of us was forced to remain merely ‘hopeful’ on the drive here.”

“I’m not talking about that,” she snapped. Devil if she’d give him anything to hope for now. “Aren’t you coercing me into committing a burglary?”

The irritation drained from his face. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want. You always have a choice, Viola.”

His silky bass washed over her, but she resisted the way his deep voice made her knees wobble.

“You didn’t give me one when we started this.”

“No, I didn’t.” He rose and crossed over to test the bed for firmness. “But to be fair, when I set out to capture the Mayfair Jewel Thief, I expected you to be a man.”

“The way you keep bringing that up makes me think you’re disappointed.”

His hot gaze sizzled across the room toward her. “You know better than that.”

She refused to be sucked in by the desire in his eyes. “For tuppence, I’d—”

A sudden wave of nausea coursed through her and she nearly doubled over. As it was, she had to grasp the back of the chair to keep from going down.

Then she heard it, a low vibration on the farthest edge of sound. It reverberated in her chest. She swallowed the lump in her throat with difficulty.

“Viola, what’s wrong?” Quinn was by her side in a heartbeat. “Are you ill?”

She wiped her clammy hands on her skirt. Though she’d been cold not five minutes before, a bead of perspiration slid hotly down her spine.

The bass note droned on in a slow pulse. It echoed in her head, boring deeper into her mind with each ponderous blat of sound.

“Do you hear that?” she asked in a whisper.

There was a clatter of hooves and the clack of wheels on cobbles in the bailey below.

“Sounds like another carriage has arrived,” Quinn said.

“No. That’s not what I mean,” Viola said as she collapsed into the chair. Her vision tunneled, but she fought the pull of darkness with a gulping breath. “It’s the diamond.”

“The Blood of the Tiger?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “It’s here.”

Quinn
scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Viola could only moan. Her cheeks flamed with scarlet patches. He put a hand to her forehead, then jerked his fingers away.

“You’re burning with fever.”

Panic rising in his gut, he sprinted to the washstand and poured water onto a cloth to drape across her forehead. It didn’t help.

“No, I don’t need . . .” she mumbled, pulling the cloth off and letting it drop to the floor. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t seem to be aware of them.

“I’ll fetch a doctor.”

He started to go, but she snatched at his arm with a surprisingly strong grip. “No. No doc—”

One of her eyes was nearly black with a fully dilated pupil. The other was glazed over, the pupil no bigger than a pinprick. Her irises were pale, drained. Instead of their usual rich hazel, they were a sickly grayish green. He feared she saw nothing through either of them.

“Jet. Silver,” she whimpered. “Get them.”

“Hush, love. I’ll take care of you. They surely have a doctor here.” Quinn thought she must be delirious.

Lord, how had it happened? One moment she was spitting mad and doing her best to pick a fight with him. The next she was so suddenly ill, he feared she’d slip away from him between one gasping breath and the next.

“Jet. Silver,” she said between clenched teeth. A small muscle in her forearm jerked involuntarily beneath her skin. “Please.”

It dawned on him that she wanted her damn jewelry. Quinn didn’t see what good it could do, but he was afraid to leave her side to shout down the echoing corridor for a doctor. He rifled through her valise for the black-stoned set.

“Here, love.” He pressed them into her hands. He’d seen plenty of men die during his years as a soldier, fighting to the last breath against the inevitable pull of the great dark. For no reason he could tell, Viola was unexpectedly on the edge of that great gulf. She drifted from him by inches and he was helpless. There was nothing he could do but give her the baubles she asked for. “They’re right here.”

Viola made no move to put the jewelry on. She simply clutched the jet between her breasts like a talisman against evil.

As Quinn watched, the deep furrow between her brows relaxed. Her whole body loosened, the muscles unclenching, and she drew a slow deep breath. She closed her eyes and her head lolled to one side.

“Viola, no.” Alarm shot through him as he cupped her cheek. The raging fever was gone. Her skin was eerily cool to the touch. “Stay with me.”

Her chest rose and fell a couple times in measured breaths. Then she opened her eyes. To his relieved surprise, they were normal. Her pupils matched and her hazel irises were once again flecked with gold.

She looked up at him and smiled thinly.

“Good Lord, what happened to you, Viola?”

Her lips pressed together for a moment as if she held back words she didn’t wish to speak. Then she whispered, “It’s nothing. It’s passing now.”

“It’s not nothing, damn it! What brought this . . . this fit on?”

“Please don’t shout.” She closed her eyes again and put a hand to her temple.

Quinn was instantly contrite. He retrieved the discarded cloth, wet it afresh, and placed in on her forehead. She didn’t strip it off. He moved across the room and yanked on the bellpull to signal for a servant to bring tea. By the time he returned to Viola’s side, she was trying to fasten the clasp on one of her bracelets, without much success. The rest of the jewelry still rested between her breasts.

“Help me do this.” Her voice was hoarse as if she’d screamed for an hour. “Please.”

She’d never seemed to care too much for jewelry, but she was certainly intent on it now. Quinn helped her don both bracelet and ring sets. Then he propped her upright and fastened the jet and silver necklace at her nape. Her fingers worked at the row of buttons on her bodice.

“Touch. Must . . . be touching,” she murmured disjointedly. Her breathing seemed more steady once the silver and jet was draped across her exposed skin.

“The earbobs too.” Her voice sounded almost normal, but he insisted she lie down after he affixed a bob to each of her lobes.

The maid arrived with tea. Quinn helped Viola sit up again and held the steaming cup to her lips while she sipped.

“Lady Ashford is unwell,” he told the maid. “Pray arrange for a supper tray to be brought up to us when it’s time.”

“No,” Viola said with surprising force and took the cup from his hand. “I’ll be better by then. Truly. I’m feeling much stronger already.”

Quinn cocked a brow at her, but she seemed adamant. He rescinded his order to the maid, who bobbed a curtsy.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked Viola as soon as the door closed behind the maid’s dark skirts.

She sighed. “I don’t know. All of a sudden I was . . . overcome by nausea.” She buried her nose in her teacup again. “That was a long, bumpy carriage ride, you know.”

Quinn had never seen a carriage ride, bumpy or otherwise, result in a flash fever or pupils that would do credit to an opium fiend. But he didn’t think it would do Viola any good if he argued the point. He was satisfied when she drained the teacup and lay back down to rest. In a few moments, she drifted into a gentle sleep, her eyelids twitching, her breathing rhythmic and deep.

It’s the diamond
, she’d said just before succumbing to the terrifying malady. Sanjay had always claimed the Blood of the Tiger was powerful and malevolent, that its evil could reach out and strike people down. Quinn hadn’t believed it for a moment.

He was beginning to reconsider that position.

What about her insistence on the jewelry all of a sudden? Sanjay had planted the idea of the supposed protective properties of silver and jet in her head. His friend swore by them, but Quinn dismissed his claims as Eastern superstition, the sort of hokum the British Empire felt honor bound to stamp out whenever possible.

Hokum or not, Viola’s alarming symptoms retreated when she slipped on the black stone set. She knew more than she was telling about that episode, he was certain. He’d press her for a further accounting once she was healthy enough for a row.

Quinn pulled the chair next to the bed and watched her as she slept. She’d scared him so badly with the thought of losing her, he didn’t dare look away.

Viola rested her fingertips on Quinn’s arm as he led her down to supper. He wore his dress uniform, resplendent with rows of ribbons and medals, looking dashing and dangerous at once. He was devilishly handsome, but she tried not to be distracted by him. She knew the diamond was near and needed to keep her wits about her.

They’d left their chamber with plenty of time to spare since Quinn wanted her to go slowly. She was grateful for his thoughtfulness, but she felt much stronger.

She simply wouldn’t remove the jet and silver jewelry for worlds. She even bathed with it on. A protective barrier had draped over her when she first clasped the jet to her chest. The shielding drove back the creeping darkness. She knew she violated several fashion dictums by going without gloves, but now that she wore all the silver and jet jewelry directly touching her skin, she felt almost normal.

Except for the low throb she heard from time to time on the other side of the invisible silver shield.

Baaghh kaa kkhuun was still there, still aware of her presence and still testing the strength of her defenses. The red diamond’s nearness had no discernible effect on Quinn. She could only assume her gift made her more susceptible to its power and malevolence.

On the second story, they came to a gallery lined with oil paintings. Grand dukes, princes, and kings of Hanover from generations past all looked down their regal and prodigious noses at the mere mortals visiting their summer castle in Celle. As the subject of Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria, Viola wondered at the absence of any female dignitaries in the impressive hall.

She paused before a small glass-topped display case. “Finally. A woman.”

A miniature of a rather plain young lady was embedded in midnight blue velvet. Even though her face could not be accounted pretty, her smile was infectious.

And the woman’s bodice was cut so low, two pink nipples peeped above the lace.

Quinn laughed and leaned to whisper in her ear. “She has your sense of style.”

Viola swatted him with her fan for reminding her of that exceedingly naughty fantasy. “I wouldn’t actually go about with my breasts bared, you know.”

“Pity.”

She swatted him again.

“Imagine sitting for such a painting,” she said, her own nipples tightening at the prospect.

Quinn’s warm breath feathered by her ear. “I’m trying not to imagine you doing it for fear you’ll hit me again.”

She turned to him and he caught her in his arms. Even through the layers of her gown and petticoats, she felt his hard maleness pressed against her belly.

“Care to guess what I’m imagining instead?” he asked.

She smiled up at him. “Quinn, you’re terrible.”

“Ah, you’re just saying that to make me feel good.”

She rocked her hips into him slightly. “I think, sir, you’re feeling quite good enough without any help from me.”

“You’re plenty of help.” He grinned down at her. “Whether you’re aware of it or not.”

Someone cleared a throat at the far end of the hall and Viola sprang away from Quinn guiltily. Then she remembered that as far as the world knew he was her husband and she had no need to act as if they’d been caught in a compromising situation. She sidled close to him and looked down the hall. Neville was framed in the doorway.

“I see you’ve discovered the sad princess,” he said as he started toward them.

“She doesn’t seem sad to me.” Quinn gazed back down at the risqué miniature with an appreciative smile. “She looks rather . . . rosy, actually.”

Viola dug her elbow into his ribs and hissed, “Behave.”

Neville’s shiny Hessians clacked over the hardwood as he approached. “I assure you, Her Royal Highness Princess Caroline Matilda led a very tragic existence. It’s always a pity when one born high is brought so low.”

Neville tossed Viola a meaningful glance and she wondered if he slyly referred to her diminished status since her father had died. Her reduced state was the reason he’d tossed her aside, after all. Irritation raked her spine and she decided the next time Quinn wanted to throttle Neville, she might be disinclined to interfere.

“Caroline Matilda was a member of the British royal family and Queen of Denmark once she married His Royal Highness Christian VII,” Neville went on. “She was exiled here at Celle for the last years of her life—till her unexpected death at twenty-four.”

“Really?” Viola looked back down at the painting, which must have been done near the end of her short life. “She seems so lively one almost expects to hear her laugh. Why was she exiled?”

“She was an unfaithful wife. She had an affair with her husband’s doctor,” Neville said with a superior glow.

“Oh.” Viola studied the small portrait again. Caroline Matilda seemed a bit wicked, with her little nipples exposed, but not entirely evil. It wasn’t unheard of for a princess to have an affair, but it was always roundly condemned. Bloodlines were everything when it came to succession, after all. But if her husband was ill, that put an even dimmer light on the matter. “Was her husband’s illness mortal?”

“No, he was just mad,” Neville said. “Absolutely batty, they say.”

Viola shrugged. The English were accustomed to mad kings. Flighty, immoral princesses were evidently another matter.

Still, Viola couldn’t help feeling sorry for the vivacious young woman who was saddled with a doomed marriage. Any woman who posed for a portrait in that state of undress didn’t seem the type to forego pleasure because the accident of her birth paired her with a lunatic.

“If the king was mad, I wonder that he even noticed his queen’s affair,” Quinn said.

“I’m sure someone brought it to his attention. One cannot pass over an insult to the crown, you know.” Neville gave Viola a searching look. “But if a woman has no joy of her husband, I find it impossible to condemn her if she turns to another for solace. In fact, a man would be bound to welcome such a woman in need.”

Viola felt Quinn’s whole body tense beside her at the thinly veiled invitation.

“Husbands are a bit like kings in this respect, Beauchamp. They tend not to pass over insults either if someone troubles their wife,” Quinn said pointedly.

“We’ll be late for supper if we tarry further,” Viola put in, tugging at Quinn’s arm. “I find myself famished. Mr. Beauchamp, would you please show us the way to the dining hall?”

“This way, then.” Neville strode ahead of them. “After supper, I’ve arranged for a troop of players to entertain in the castle theatre.”

Neville stayed at Viola’s side, introducing Lord and Lady Ashford to the other dignitaries in residence at Schloss Celle as they gathered in the parlor waiting for supper to be announced. Viola met an Austrian dowager duchess, a Hanoverian cousin to Prince Albert and an inebriated Frenchman who stumbled when he bowed over her hand and claimed to be the
Comte de Foix
.