The Devil's Thief

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THE DEVIL’S
THIEF

A
Loveswept
Historical Romance

Samantha Kane

Loveswept

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Tentative
On-Sale Date: May 15, 2012

Tentative
Publication Month: May 2012

Tentative eBook
Price: $12.99

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Loveswept

An imprint of the Random House
Publishing Group

1745 Broadway • New York, NY •
10019

The Devil’s Thief
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are
products
of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously.

A Loveswept eBook Original

Copyright
©
2012 by Nancy Kattenfeld

Excerpt from
Tempting a Devil
copyright © 2012 by Nancy
Kattenfeld

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random
House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

L
oveswept
and colophon are
trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eBook
ISBN 978-0-345-53791-1

www.ReadLoveSwept.com

This
book is for my husband, who has put up with a lot of last-minute dinners
(usually cooked by him), forgotten grocery lists, and late nights of my working
light keeping him awake so that I may bring you this book. He may not be a
Devil, but he stole my heart all those years ago in that grungy grad-student basement
office just the same.

Acknowledgments

I
would like to thank my editor, Sue Grimshaw, for her patience and willingness
to learn as we traveled this new path together. My agent, Eric Ruben, was very
persuasive when he needed to be and my rock when I needed him, and for that I
thank him as well. Emma Peterson fell in love with the first draft of
The Devil’s Thief
and not only
encouraged me but supported me with her enthusiasm. Several people read the
book along the way and gave me some very insightful comments that I appreciated
and incorporated. The person to whom I owe the biggest debt of gratitude for
her assistance while writing this book, however, is my critique partner, Julie
Gupton. She was my biggest cheerleader and fan when I was ready to give up and
move on. She believed in the Devils from the very beginning, and in me, and I
want her to know how much that means to me.

London, June 5, 1817

Chapter
One

The
faint, metallic screech sounded as loud as thunder in the oppressive silence of
the dark bedroom. Julianna froze, silhouetted by the moonlight against the back
wall, the sudden noise stealing her breath away.

“Unless
you care to be shot this evening, I wouldn’t move from where you’re standing.”
The deep voice was quiet but firm and it came from the shadows of the big bed.

Julianna
remained still as a statue, her mind awhirl. For a moment all was silent, but
then she heard the bedsheets rustle and the mattress groan. She cast her eyes
toward the bed, afraid to move even an inch. She could see from the man’s
outline that he was now leaning against the headboard. His arm appeared to be
resting on his upraised knee, but it was too dark to tell whether or not he was
actually holding a gun.

“You’re
probably wondering if I do indeed have a gun,” he said nonchalantly, and
Julianna had to suppress a gasp.
How did
he know?
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips in annoyance at herself.
Of course he knew. It’s what any halfway intelligent person would be thinking if
they were discovered in her position.

“Let
me reassure you that the answer is yes.”

His
reassurance was hardly necessary, since she had already concluded that to be
the case. In her experience, gentlemen were alarmingly odd, at least in most
respects, so it was no surprise that this one apparently slept with a gun.
Given his wild and reckless reputation, it would perhaps be more surprising if
he did not.

He
snorted inelegantly from the bed, which amused Julianna in spite of the
dangerous situation she was in. In that moment he didn’t sound at all like the
Honorable Mr. Alasdair Sharp to whom she’d recently been introduced, but very
much like an annoyed schoolmaster.

“Stand
up, for God’s sake,” Mr. Sharp ordered from the bed. “You look like a
caricature of a thief, hunched over and creeping along the wall.”

Julianna
started to straighten and she heard another rustle from the bed.

“Slowly,”
Mr. Sharp admonished, and she froze again for a moment before straightening
very, very slowly.

“And
now you must tell me what you found so irresistible in my bedroom in the middle
of the night.”

Julianna
heard the amusement in his voice and it irritated her. So he found her amusing,
did he?

The
slight weight in the secret pocket of her shirt burned into her side like a brand
as she faced him. “Let me reassure you that it was the Stewart Pearl I found
irresistible,” she retorted, “and nothing else.”

As
soon as she spoke she could have bitten off her tongue. Why, oh why did she
always open her mouth before thinking things through? Surely he would recognize
her now.

“You’re
a woman,” Mr. Sharp exclaimed in shock.

Julianna
closed her eyes in despair at her own foolishness. If she had kept her mouth
shut, he wouldn’t have figured that out so quickly, maybe not at all. She was
dressed in dark trousers and a dark shirt, her hair pinned up. In the dark she
was certain she could pass for a man. The waning crescent moon outside barely
gave enough light for him to see her. Even though her outburst had given away
her sex, she refused to confirm it by answering him. She was light-headed with
relief that he had not recognized her voice.

“I
thought you looked a little short for a man,” he mused, “but I imagined that
you were an apprentice thief or some such thing. It never entered my head that
you might be a woman.”

Julianna
had to press her lips together not to make a disparaging comment about the
contents of his head, since it was clear he had no idea who she was. It
wouldn’t be wise in this situation, although it was her natural inclination.

“Cat
got your tongue, Miss Thief?” he asked, and Julianna shivered. She was not
afraid of him—rather, she was afraid that she was losing control of the
situation and of herself.

He
shoved the covers aside and rose from the bed, and Julianna almost squeaked in
alarm. He was naked. The pale moonlight flowing through the open window fell
across the floor at an angle, and as he stood next to the bed, the light shone
on his very naked body, illuminating him from his flat stomach to his bare
feet.

His
face was still covered in shadow, but Julianna remembered it from the many
times she had seen him leaving his house and walking down the street, not to
mention the party she had attended the other night. Mr. Sharp was a descendent
of the Stewarts, all right: tall, handsome, with a high forehead and
spectacular blue eyes. He looked just as the eyewitness accounts had described
Bonnie Prince Charlie. She should have known from his firm, pointed chin that
he wouldn’t be an easy mark. But she’d been distracted by his silky blond curls
and those eyes, not to mention the width of his shoulders. Oh, yes, and, more
important, the Stewart Pearl. At the party she had barely been able to take her
eyes off the famous pearl, which sat in solitary splendor in a glass case surrounded
by candelabra—gleaming, pale, and round and begging to be stolen.