Anne Stuart (25 page)

She shrieked, but there was strength beneath his erotic caress, and she couldn’t break free from him. He tipped her back against his arm, giving him greater access, and she felt dark, wicked, and oddly pagan as his hot, wet tongue circled her breast, then sucked at it, deep, drawing motions that made her want to weep with confusion and need.

This was what Marilla had warned her against. Jessamine could feel herself being drawn down, down, into some dark, wicked place of longing and delight, where nothing mattered but the dangerous pleasure of his mouth sucking at her breast. Surely this was witchcraft, far more than her simple cards? It was so powerful it frightened her, and she could feel her will draining away. And with her talents, her one defense against a cruel world.

“
Stop,” she whispered. “Please. I don’t want to lose my gift.”

“
That’s the first time I ever heard it called that,” Alistair murmured. And he slid his hand between the tightness of her thighs, cupping her.

She was too horrified to do more than moan. His mouth captured her other breast, and if anything, the sensations were
even more intense, a depraved delight that echoed in the pressure of his long, elegant fingers against the most private part of herself.

She wanted to tell him to stop, but it would have been a lie tumbling from her mouth. She didn’t want him to stop. Marilla had warned her, and now she knew why. She was ready to toss everything away for the sinful pleasure he was giving her, the deft stroke of his fingertips through the indecent breeches, the hungry pull of his mouth at her breasts, the strength of his arm beneath her back.

She wanted, needed, more from him, though she wasn’t quite sure what that encompassed. She reached up to push him away, but her hand tangled in his long hair, and she found herself caressing the silken strands, closing her eyes in fading delight as he...

The carriage slammed over a bump, tossing the two of them sideways, and never in her life had Jessamine been so grateful for a rocky ride. It didn’t matter that she was on the floor of the carriage, tangled with Alistair. What mattered was that his mouth was occupied in cursing, not kissing her, and she was able to regain enough of her scattered senses to push herself free from him and scramble back up to the seat, yanking her shirt back around her exposed breasts.

Her body still tingled, burned, from his caress. Her breasts ached, the place between her legs was on fire, but she pulled her legs up tight against her for protection.

“
Don’t come near me again,” she warned him fiercely.

“
I can’t get very far in this carriage,” he said dryly, his voice making it clear that he was entirely unmoved by what had just transpired between them. Jessamine’s fury and shame was complete.

“
Just leave me alone.”

“
If only it were that easy.” He moved in the darkness, sinking
down beside her once more, and she struck out at him in sudden panic.

He stopped her, ruthlessly, efficiently, catching her flailing fists in his hands and holding them prisoner. “Behave yourself,” he snapped.

“
Me?” Her outrage was complete.

“
We’ve several hours of traveling time left, even taking Nicodemus’s enthusiastic driving into account. I suggest you put your head on my shoulder and go to sleep.”

His utter gall rendered her momentarily speechless. But only momentarily. “And I suggest you—” Her extremely clever and rude suggestion was muffled as he slung an arm around her shoulder and drew her against him. Her struggles were absolutely useless—she had no idea such an elegant creature could be possessed of so much strength.

“
Have you worn yourself out yet?” he inquired in a mild voice, seemingly untouched by her wild attempts at escape.

It was useless. Jessamine forced herself to go still as a wave of angry emotion washed over her.

“
That’s right,” he murmured against her hair. “Go to sleep, my fierce one. You’ve a long night ahead of you, and you’ll need what rest you can get.”

He was right, she was unutterably weary. “I hate you,” she mumbled, giving in, letting her body relax in his grip.

“
I know you do, my precious one,” he said. “After tonight you’ll have even greater reason.”

“
After tonight you’ll be in Newgate.” It should have come out as a threat, but her extravagant yawn lessened the effect.

It was utterly ridiculous, she thought. She couldn’t curl up next to him, trusting enough to fall asleep. She couldn’t relax in this jolting, tumultuous carriage. She was being abducted, she hated him, she...

Slept.

Seventeen

It was a grand night for reiving. Alistair tilted his head back, staring into the clear night sky, and breathed deeply of the crisp autumn air. The rain clouds had finally vanished, the thin sliver of moon had set, and a handful of stars shone brightly against the rich black velvet of the sky. Like a cluster of perfect tiny diamonds, he thought. It was a damned shame that most of the people he robbed had execrable taste in jewelry.

“
Where are we?” Jessamine asked.

He turned to glance down at her. Nicodemus had dropped them off in the mews that abutted Curzon Street with the admonition to “watcher back.” The night was still, and if any watchmen were on duty, they were in another part of the area.

She looked utterly delicious. Men’s clothes suited her—there was something inexplicably arousing about the way the breeches clung to her long legs, the way his shirt flowed over her breasts. But then, he found her arousing no matter what she wore.

“
London,” he said briefly.

“
I know that!” She seemed remarkably uncowed by her experiences so far. In fact, she’d been abducted, almost seduced, threatened, and even shot at. And she was still brave enough to be angry.

“
You’re going to help me rob that house over there,” he said, nodding in the direction of a newly constructed mansion
that owed more to money than aesthetics.

“
You can’t make me,” she said. “All I have to do is run, screaming...”

“
And I’ll catch you before one tiny shriek is out of your mouth. And I wouldn’t be very happy,” he replied in his most gentle voice.

Even in the dark of night he could see her skin blanch. “What makes you think I won’t find some way to call attention to us?”

“
Because you know perfectly well that no one will believe your innocent involvement. They’ll probably try me in the House of Lords and hang me. You they’ll simply drag out to the nearest lamppost and hang you right there and then. They do that, you know.”

“
I know,” she said, shuddering.

“
You’ve come this far...”

“
Not by choice!”

“
And you may as well accept your fate. Your wisest course would be to go along with me. I’m a very accomplished thief, my pet. I’ll have us in and out of that monstrosity of a house over there in no time at all. We’ll meet up with Nicodemus and be back in Kent before sunup, with no one the wiser.”

“
Why are you doing this?”

“
So you won’t be able to use your wicked cards to inform on me. If I’m caught, I’ll tell them about my charming accomplice the night I robbed Justas Winters’s house.”

“
That’s Ermintrude’s house!” Her shriek of horror was blessedly muffled.

“
Who better deserves our attention?” he countered. “Freddie Arbuthnot happened to mention she has a singularly ugly set of peach-hued diamonds. I think it would only be fitting to deprive her of them, don’t you?”

“
No one deserves to be robbed.”

“
Such a little Methodist you are,” he murmured. “Still, you must admit, if any soul
did
deserve it, that would be Ermintrude.”

“
I admit nothing.”

“
But you’ll help me. Since you have no choice in the matter.”

“
I hope you roast in hell,” she said fiercely.

Her hair had come free, and it tumbled down her back, a thick fall of golden brown, a stream of dangerous color. He was standing in front of her, and he reached around her head and caught up the thick waves, tucking them up inside the cap he’d brought for himself. His own hair was dark enough to escape notice.

She stood very still, letting him touch her. His face was close to hers, and he wanted to kiss her again. Indeed, he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted Ermintrude Winters’s diamonds, a realization that disturbed him. He stepped away from her, dropping his arms.

“
Come along, my love,” he said. “The sooner we embark on your life of crime, the sooner you’ll be safe in bed.”

“
That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered, but she trailed along behind him obediently enough.

“
You should consider yourself honored,” he said, leading her through the side alleyways to the thick iron gate that surrounded the property. “You get to witness an artist at the very peak of his powers. This is no simple place to rob for a variety of reasons. Do you care to hazard a guess?”

“
No.”

“
For one thing,” he continued, undaunted, “it sits alone in its little park, with no houses abutting it as is so common in the city. Therefore we can’t enter through the roof—there’s no way to get up there.”

“
Too bad. Let’s go back,” she said.

“
Ah, but there are alternatives,” he said, ignoring her. “Even if I can’t show you the glory of the London rooftops, I can at least initiate you into the pleasures of larceny.”

“
Kind of you,” she muttered.

“
First we have to get past this iron gate that surrounds the place. A simple enough matter—I’ve already discovered a side gate that they seldom bother to check. Once we’re on the property, things get a little more difficult. The family is away, and the house is tightly locked.”

“
But you doubtless have a remedy for that.”

“
Ah, you’re beginning to appreciate me,” Glenshiel murmured wryly. “I do indeed. Picklocks.”

“
I beg your pardon?”

“
Tools employed by the uncommon criminal. Delightful little instruments that Nicodemus was able to supply me. Learning to use them was a bit of a challenge, considering I had no mentor, but I confess I’ve become quite expert at them.”

“
You must be very proud.” Her voice was acid.

They’d reached the side gate to the Winters estate. It opened too easily, no challenge for his skills, and he pushed it free, ushering her onto the grounds. “So now we must decide,” he continued, closing the gate behind him, “how best to approach the fortress. If we try to gain entry through the back, we’re more likely to be overheard by whatever servants are currently in residence. But if we were to attempt the front door, we would risk being seen by passersby.”

“
I presume there’s a side door, as there was with the gate?” Jessamine suggested in a deliberately bored tone of voice.

“
One would expect as much, but in this case there isn’t. The house is of recent design, made to be impregnable to the hordes of thieves that wander the city, and the only other doors are on the first floor. They lead on to small stone balconies
that I imagine are supposed to be gothic in design.”

She peered up at the house. “It does look rather gloomy.”

“
So what do you suggest we do, Jessamine? How shall we breach this impregnable fortress?”

He waited almost endlessly for an answer. She was beginning to be caught up in it, he could sense that she was. He was attempting to seduce her soul as he planned to seduce her body, and he wanted, needed, a sign that he was succeeding.

“
A tree,” she said finally. “You could climb a tree and jump over to one of the balconies.”

He resisted the impulse to kiss her. “A good thought, but this is too damnably new. There are no trees left standing near the building.”

“
A ladder?”

“
I forgot to bring one.”

It managed to coax a smile from her. “We give up and go back to Kent?” she suggested hopefully.

“
Don’t be so poor-spirited. We have a challenge ahead of us, and we’ll meet it. I may not have a ladder, but I have a rope.” He drew out the thin, strong length from the satchel he carried with him.

“
Convenient,” she drawled. “When they catch us, they won’t have to search for something to hang us with.”

“
They won’t catch us, my pet. Come along.”

She followed him across the frozen ground quite dutifully. “And there’s something to be said for the breeches,” she continued in a marginally more cheerful voice. “At least my modesty will be preserved as I’m swinging in the breeze.”

He glanced back at her. “Ah, Jessamine,” he murmured without thinking, “a man could love a tart soul like yours.”

And the words fell between them with the shock of a blow.

A man could love a tart soul like yours.
The words taunted
her unmercifully.
A man could love you.
Not this man, she prayed fervently. Not any man, but most especially not this one. Because this was the one man she didn’t think she’d be able to resist.

He seemed almost as horrified by his random words as she was. He said nothing more as he led her toward the huge, dark house, but the knowledge burned in her brain. Beyond the gate in the darkness the city of London continued about its business, the noise muffled as life went on. He was several paces ahead of her—he might not notice she’d taken off until she’d gotten enough of a head start.