Touch of a Thief (24 page)

The scent of musk and jasmine tickled his nostrils. Silk sheets caressed his skin. Quinn sat up abruptly. He was back in Padmaa’s opulent bedchamber, but the Indian courtesan was nowhere to be seen.

What was he doing there? He’d left Padmaa and her athletic eroticism behind. Whether it made sense or not, he wanted only Viola.

She’d be devastated if she found him there.

Mother-naked, he rose from the thick bed of cushions, looking for his uniform. He must have discarded it somewhere. If he could find his clothes and slip out the open window, Viola never need know he—

He heard the soft pad of bare feet behind him.

He turned, expecting to find the courtesan. Instead of Padmaa’s kohl-rimmed eyes, Viola’s hazel ones greeted him above a gauzy veil. She unhooked the veil to remove all doubt of her identity.

She didn’t seem surprised to see him there. Or hurt. The breath he’d been holding seeped out of him as he relaxed.

Viola was dressed as an odalisque, with only gossamer silk covering her form. Her pert nipples stood out clearly beneath the sheer fabric. The dark shadow of her pubic hair showed plainly.

Her gaze sizzled down his bare body and his cock responded with an aching stand. The corners of Viola’s lips turned up, a slow sensual smile.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Sh!” She lifted her fingers to his lips, then drew them down over his chest, around his nipples and on to his navel. Her fingertips marked him with wicked little charms. She wove lust spells into his skin. He ached for her to hitch her knee over his hip and press herself against him so he could rut her on the spot. Much more teasing and he’d bend her over and take her in a raging swive.

He moved to embrace her, but she straight-armed him. Evidently, she wanted to lead.

Very well. Quinn preferred to be in control, but there were times when a man was rewarded by letting his woman take the reins.

She walked a slow circle around him, trailing her hand at his waist and teasing his buttocks with maddening light touches. She rubbed herself, catlike, against his back, her breasts unbearably soft, her nipples hard beneath the thin silk. His balls tightened.

When she returned to stand in front of him, he plucked at a corner of the silk wrapper. She raised her lovely arms in surrender and did a slow turn as he unwound the fabric from her form.

Her skin glowed like alabaster lit from within by a hundred candles. He moved to stroke her, but she intercepted his hand, shook her head and returned it to his side. He swallowed hard and decided to let her continue to torment him.

She stepped closer so that her breasts nearly grazed his chest. His swollen cock found temporary relief rubbing against her soft belly. She cupped his scrotum and fondled his balls, running her nails lightly along the strip of darker skin that divided them.

He ground his teeth. He ached to touch her, to drive her to the same burning fury she whipped up in him. “Viola, I—”

“Choose, Quinn-sahib,” she said.

The voice was not Viola Preston’s. Padmaa’s musical tones dropped from Viola’s red lips.

He stepped back a pace. “Who are you?”

“Only a fool asks a question to which he already knows the answer,” she said. “And you are not a fool.”

“I choose Viola.”

“Truly?” the spirit inhabiting Viola’s body said. “You would choose one woman over all of Hind?”

Yes. The word sprang to his throat, but he couldn’t force it out his mouth.

The woman opened her palm and he saw Baaghh kaa kkhuun pulsing in the center of it. The flesh around the scarlet diamond was blistered and reddened, but she gave no sign the burn pained her.

“If the Blood of the Tiger is not returned to the temple . . .” her voice faded and his vision swirled.

Angry men in turbans ran through the streets, shouting
“Maro, maro!”

Kill, kill!

Flames engulfed the British cantonments. A terrified Englishwoman and her son were dragged from under the bushes behind their bungalow.

“No!” the young mother screamed. “He’s only a child!”

The boy was hacked to death before her eyes.

“One does not suffer an infant viper to live,” the sepoy with the machete said before he dispatched the wailing mother as well.

The horrific vision faded and Quinn was back in Padmaa’s bedchamber.

“Choose, Quinn.”

The woman before him was the dusky Padmaa, her palms tattooed with henna, her plum-colored nipples standing pert.

But Viola’s voice came from her lips.

The Blood of the Tiger growled its malevolence and burst into flames.

Qui
nn’s fork chased the eggs and sausage around his plate, but Viola didn’t think much of the heavy breakfast made it into his mouth. Certainly none of the desultory conversation around the table made it into his brain.

When she’d woken that morning, Quinn was already dressed and standing at the window, watching dawn break over the castle walls. He hardly glanced her way while she rustled around behind the dressing screen.

He was quiet. Distracted. When she asked him to help with her laces, he rang for an abigail to come. He mumbled something about seeing her at breakfast and ducked out of the room before the maid arrived.

Most of the guests in residence were not up yet. Viola suspected the violent death of de Foix had left more than a few sleepless. Only Neville, the baron from Sussex and his loquacious mother, Viola and Quinn sat at the long table.

“Not hungry this morning, Lieutenant?” Neville asked, reverting to Quinn’s rank instead of his title.

Probably thinks it will offend him
, Viola guessed.

Neville would have given his right arm to inherit his uncle’s title, but couldn’t know Quinn didn’t give two figs for his. She shot Neville a warning glare.

Don’t poke the bear
. She wished she possessed the ability to send her thoughts to others instead of the dubious gift of receiving visions from gem stones.

Neville wasn’t disposed to take a hint. “Good Hanoverian fare not to your liking?”

“The food’s fine.” Quinn shoved his plate back and glowered at Beauchamp. “Must be the company.”

Before they could start a real row, Sanjay strode into the room, having just arrived from Hanover. Viola was grateful for the interruption until she saw the Indian prince’s expression.

His hawkishly handsome face was drawn in misery.

“The
tar
has come from Delhi, sahib.” He handed Quinn the telegram. “But it is not from your friend, Lieutenant Worthington. It is from Colonel Tibbets, his commanding officer.”

Quinn opened the envelope and ran his gaze over the page. As he read, a muscle in his cheek ticked and a vein bulged on his forehead.

“Quinn, what is it?” Viola asked.

“It’s happened. And it’s still happening,” he said woodenly. “The sepoys have mutinied.”

Neville was on his feet demanding to know more.

“The uprising started in Meerut.” Quinn continued to stare at the telegram, but Viola suspected he saw little of it. “And spread to Delhi. They have no estimate of the dead yet, but women and children were not spared. By either side.”

“You say the news doesn’t come from Lieutenant Worthington,” Viola asked, her chest aching for Quinn. His warnings to his commander of an impending rebellion were the reason he’d been demoted to lieutenant and shipped Home. She was sure he wished he’d been wrong. “What does the telegram say of your friend?”

“There’s a British magazine at Delhi, an arsenal of arms and ammunition,” Quinn said. “If the mutineers got control of that, they’d have been able to take the subcontinent. So Worthington and a few others blew it up.” Quinn’s jaw went rigid. “From inside.”

“After all we’ve done for those people,” Neville said, “this is how they repay us.”

“What precisely is it you think we’ve done for them?” Quinn asked in a deceptively mild tone. Viola feared he’d go off like the magazine at any moment.

“Schools and roads and clean water, for God’s sake,” Neville said. “We’ve even built them a railroad.”

“Without asking if they wanted one.” Quinn chuckled mirthlessly. “Did you know the ranks of the Indian military are filled with princes and noblemen? They volunteered to fight for us purely for
izzat
, for the honor of it.”

“So much for their honor.” Neville sneered.

From the corner of her eye, Viola saw Sanjay’s posture stiffen, but he maintained his deferential façade.

“What set the heathens off?” Neville demanded.

“We did,” Quinn said. “We gave them the new Enfields and somehow the rumor started that the paper cartridges were greased with either pig or cow fat. I heard the rumor myself.” Quinn’s eyes took on a faraway light and Viola suspected the sumptuous dining hall had faded around him. “I didn’t think anyone would believe it. But if a lie is repeated often enough, it becomes the truth. It was the perfect spark to light the tinder.”

Neville frowned at him. “What possible difference should grease make?”

“To load the Enfield rifle, you must bite open the cartridge first.” Quinn shook his head. “Pork is pollution to a Muslim. Eating beef destroys a Hindu’s caste. Maybe we didn’t mean to, but by insisting they use the Enfield we attacked their
religions
, Beauchamp. Is there any uglier reason for war on earth?”

Quinn stood and stalked out with Sanjay in his wake.

“Apparently, we must go,” Viola said to Neville. Considering the news he’d just received, she’d forgive Quinn’s abominable manners. “Please convey our thanks to the ambassador for his hospitality.”

“Viola, you don’t have to leave,” Neville said.

“Oh, yes I do. Good-bye, Neville.” Wherever Quinn went, she must go too. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that.

Once Quinn reached their room, he began throwing his few possessions into a valise. Sanjay stood by, watching him.

“We need to move quickly. Aren’t you going to help me?” Quinn demanded.

“That depends on what you intend to do, sahib.”

The chamber door opened and Viola entered. Quinn tossed her a glance. He didn’t dare look at her for longer than a blink or his resolve might weaken.

“I intend on returning Lady Viola safely to her family”—Quinn ignored the rustle of her skirt as she strode toward him—“and then we’ll take ship for Bombay on the next available berth.”

“You will go without orders?” Sanjay asked.

“Given the gravity of the situation, do you really think they’ll quibble over having another officer, with or without orders?” Quinn said, studiously not looking at the female form bristling at the corner of his vision. “It’ll take us a couple months if we leave for India today. If I wait to be recalled, I may arrive too late to do any good.”

“And what of the good you might do on this side of the world?” his friend said.

Quinn shook his head. “I speak the language of your people. I understand them, as much as any Englishman can at any rate. If I’m there, I can try to find cooler heads on both sides and get them together.” He checked the safety on his Beaumont-Adams and stowed the revolver in his luggage. “There’s nothing I can do from here.”

“Then you have abandoned Baaghh kaa kkhuun.”

“Yes. I can’t muck about after a single jewel when the subcontinent is ablaze. I’m done with it.”

“Well, I’m not,” Viola piped up. “I’ll still help you get the diamond, Sanjay.”

The Indian inclined his head to her in a gesture of respect. “My people and I will thank you, Lady Viola.”

“Wait just a minute.” Quinn rounded on her. “Weren’t you paying attention last night? The damn thing attacked you when you touched it and we both know it killed that Frenchman. You’re not going anywhere near it.”

Viola glanced up from folding her belongings and stowing them in her trunk. She smiled sweetly at him. “You haven’t a thing to say about it.”

“The hell I don’t.”

She shot him a purse-lipped look. “There is no need for such language.”

“There is when you’re talking suicide. Stay away from that diamond. I mean it. I won’t have it.”

“Contrary to what you’ve been telling people, you’re not really my husband,” Viola said evenly. “I don’t answer to you, so it doesn’t matter a fig what you’ll have or not have.”

“You don’t have to do this, Viola.” Anger simmered in Quinn’s belly. “I’ll still split the jewels with you as I promised, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s not why I’m doing it.”

“You little fool!” He grasped her upper arms and made her face him, giving her a small shake. “You know the power of that stone. You know what it can do.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, her eyes wide, her lips pale. “Can you imagine what the Blood of the Tiger will do to our queen if it comes into her possession? To our country?”

“The red diamond seeks only to destroy,” Sanjay added. “Only in the temple can its evil be balanced with its power and turned for good.”

“That’s why I have to steal it back.” She grasped Quinn’s hand between both of hers. “You want to help our people and Sanjay’s find peace. What better way to start than by returning something they treasure?”

Quinn’s gut knotted and he palmed her cheek. “But I don’t want to risk what
I
treasure.”

She blinked in surprise at him. “Are you saying you treasure me?”

It wasn’t the time to speak his heart, not with this thorny problem dividing them and with Sanjay looking on, grinning from ear to ear at his discomfort. “Viola, I can’t let you do this alone.”

“Then do it with me. I won’t have to touch the diamond if you’re there, too. You’ve never shown the least sensitivity to gems, but you should have a jet and silver ring, just in case and—”

He covered her mouth with his to quiet her, kissing her into silence and delicious oblivion. The door latch clicked and Quinn realized Sanjay had slipped out to give them privacy.

He’d tried to choose India. He’d tried with all his might to do the honorable thing. The just thing.

But his heart was too bound up with the woman in his arms.

He knew Sanjay would say Quinn had managed to choose both, since he would be protecting Viola during the theft of Baaghh kaa kkhuun. And the theft would benefit Sanjay and the people of Amjerat.

“You have bound two worlds with one knot,” his friend would say.

But Quinn knew better. He didn’t give a damn about the red diamond. Or what it might do to England. Or for Amjerat.

All that mattered was Viola.

Mr. Chesterton had already sailed by the time Viola, Quinn, and Sanjay reached Bremen. They had to wait till the next day to find a ship bound for Dover.

Viola chafed at the delay. If the red diamond was presented to the queen and disappeared into the Royal Collection, she didn’t know how they’d manage to pinch it. Willie’s contacts in the underbelly of London, who provided her with intelligence about where the ton’s personal wealth was stashed, would be of no help in planning a foray into the Tower.

The ruffians might be useful for breaking
out
of a prison fortress, but never
in
.

When they finally reached London, Quinn insisted on taking Viola straight home. Her mother greeted them at the door, so Viola could only surmise their doddering servant was once again down with an ailment.

“Oh, my dear,” the Dowager Countess of Meade exclaimed. “What are you doing home so soon? You should be off to Italy or some such romantic place. Why didn’t you tell me? Come in, come in, you sly boots!”

Viola’s mother cast an assessing eye at Quinn and then swatted him with her fan. “Couldn’t have waited to have the banns read, eh? Well, no matter. So long as you make my daughter happy, I’m pleased to have you as a son-in-law, Lord Ashford. Welcome to the family.”

“Mother, where did you hear—”

“Lady Wimbly sent word back from Paris to Lady Hepplewhite and then of course, your secret was out,” Viola’s mother prattled on. “Quite scandalous to elope like that, but everyone so approves the match. Except perhaps your father, Ashford. By all accounts, he’s frightfully put out that you didn’t consult him before you spirited my daughter off to Gretna Green.”

Viola’s chest constricted. “Mother, I have to tell you. We’re not—”

“Not set up to receive visitors yet,” Quinn interrupted, “but as soon as Viola redecorates my town house, we’ll have a reception to celebrate. I fear it’s a bit of a boar’s nest now. Needs a woman’s touch.”

“Oh, lovely. Viola does have a flair for such things,” Lady Meade said. “Perhaps your father will come round to the match by then. I believe the poor man has taken to his bed over it. After all, even if she doesn’t come with a handsome dowry, my Viola is the daughter of an earl.”

Lady Meade continued with minimal input from Quinn or Viola. She admired the serpent wedding ring, declaring it quite the “done thing,” though she deplored the choice of silver and jet jewelry.

“A bride ought not wear black!”

Viola’s belly jittered too much for her to contribute to the conversation. With each passing moment, the web of deceit around her and Quinn grew thicker and more difficult to untangle.

“Oh! And you won’t have heard since you’ve been out of country, but there’s to be a ceremony at Buckingham this afternoon. The presentation of some fabulous jewel from India to our queen. Came right from one of their temples, they do say. Quite an honor, evidently, for such a treasure to be allowed to leave India according to those who ought to know. Makes one quite proud of our empire’s distant possession.”

Evidently, news of the sepoy rebellion hadn’t leaked to the press yet or Viola’s mother wouldn’t have been so lavish in her praise of their “distant possession.”

“Everyone who’s anyone will be there.” Lady Meade clasped her hands together. “Say you’ll go with me.”