The Devil's Thief (12 page)

“And
this must be your lovely daughter,” Hil said, gesturing at the bored girl.

Lord
Percival guided her forward with a firm but gentle hand. “My eldest daughter,”
he said with pride.

“How
do you do, Lady Margaret?” Hil answered politely. And it was a good thing, too,
because Alasdair had no idea who the chit was.

“How
do you do?” Alasdair said stiffly, at that moment hating everything about
polite society and the manners that had been instilled in him as a child.

Hil
had much more torture planned for him. The evening dragged slowly by as they
made their way around the room greeting every person they passed; some of the
guests Alasdair already knew. At some point Roger abandoned them. Alasdair didn’t
see him in the room, so he must have escaped the proceedings. After greeting
the fifth girl—or maybe she was the sixth—Alasdair finally noticed that
they were all dark-haired girls of approximately the same height, and all were
slim and fit. He was astounded. How had Hil known which girls most closely
resembled his Juliet? Clearly he had paid more attention to the current crop of
young ladies than Alasdair had. Not all of these women were that young,
however, some were older, in
their
twenties perhaps.

“Hil,”
Alasdair whispered as they left one proud mama and her much-too-young charge,
“Juliet said she was twenty. Why are we bothering with the younger girls?”

“Because
we can’t be certain that she didn’t lie to you. Also, I wasn’t sure of the
exact age of some of these girls, and it would be impolite to ignore them,” Hil
whispered theatrically out of the corner of his mouth. His actions were so
blatant that Alasdair could practically see half the room leaning in their
direction to catch whatever he was whispering.

Much
to Alasdair’s delight and relief, Hil suddenly took a straight path through the
room to the far corner without stopping to greet anyone else on the way. He
smiled widely at a fortyish man and his small, birdlike wife. “How do you do,
Mr. Harte?” Hil positively oozed congeniality. “And the lovely Lady Linville.”
Hil bent down and kissed her hand. “Marriage agrees with you, ma’am.” He turned
to Alasdair. “Doesn’t it? I believe I mentioned that to you the other night
when we saw them at your house, Mr. Sharp.”

His
house? Marriage? He nodded and smiled at the blushing Lady Linville. Oh, yes,
he placed them now. They lived just across the street from him, if he wasn’t
mistaken. He’d spoken to Harte on several occasions. “Why yes, you did, Sir
Hilary. And how do you do this evening, my Lady?”

“How
do you do,” she replied in a sweet voice. “We so enjoyed your reception the
other evening, Mr. Sharp. What a beautiful pearl!
Truly
amazing.
And it’s been in your family for generations?”

Alasdair
answered through gritted teeth. “Yes, ma’am. It was farmed out of the River Tay
by one of my maternal ancestors over three hundred years ago.”

“How
thrilling to have such an interesting family history,” she said
enthusiastically.

Mr.
Harte smiled indulgently at her. It was clear that theirs was a love match.
How nice for them
. As soon as the
churlish thought went through his head, Alasdair was chagrined. He’d never
begrudged anyone his or her happiness before. Apparently his newest bout of
moral degradation knew no bounds.

Alasdair
glanced over at Hil, who was giving him an expectant look. “It appears as if
several of the people here this evening were also at my reception,” he ventured
hesitantly. He was rewarded by a smile from Hil. So, he had one more clue to
Hil’s master plan. He tried to surreptitiously look around the room again,
picking out the familiar faces. He really was no good at this. He’d been forced
to pay more attention to the physical appearance of strange women over the past
two days than he’d ever expended in his life.

“Oh,
yes,” Lady Linville agreed. “We were just discussing that with my stepdaughter.
It seems one is always running into the same people wherever one goes, doesn’t
it, Julianna?”

*
         
*
         
*

Julianna
was frantic. She’d managed to maneuver her father and stepmother into the far
corner of the room early on in the evening. It had been quite a feat to get in
unnoticed. When she had seen Alasdair standing off to the side as she and her
parents waited to greet their host and hostess, she’d made a hasty excuse and
fled to the retiring room. When she emerged, her parents had already greeted Sir
Hilary and Alasdair, who had been busy talking with new guests, and she’d
slipped into the drawing room and worked her way over here. She’d thought she
was safe. Over the years she had developed the ability to blend into the
background when necessary. Most people overlooked her ordinary appearance and
she tended to listen rather than speak.

What
was Alasdair doing here? She’d noticed Sir Hilary at his reception the other
night, but there had been a great many people there. She’d had no idea the two
were such bosom beaus.

As
she hid in her corner and hungrily watched Alasdair—half wishing he’d
find her and half terrified he would—she noticed something awful,
something horrifying. All the young ladies here looked like her. And Sir Hilary
and Alasdair were making a point of speaking to each one. He was looking for
her. And he was going to find her. There was no way to escape without alerting
her father and stepmother.

Then
Sir Hilary spotted her father and made his way over to them and she thought her
heart would jump right through her throat.

Why?
Why now? She had the money. She hadn’t been able to slip away and meet with the
solicitor yet. But Alasdair wouldn’t want the money. He’d want the pearl. As
soon as he spotted her, he would denounce her. Her father would be ruined.
She’d be treated as a common thief. The children would be turned out of the
foundling home and sent to some overcrowded orphanage, or worse.

Blood
pounding in her ears, she shrank back into the shadows of the corner, nearly
slipping behind the curtains of a nearby window. Every instinct she had was
telling her to run. But she was rooted to the spot, watching her doom approach
on impossibly long, muscular legs, his wonderful blond curls artfully mussed,
his eyes narrowed dangerously as he scanned the room. He was magnificent. He
was awful. He was going to kill her.

Suddenly
Alasdair and Sir Hilary were standing before them and Julianna could feel Sir
Hilary’s gaze burning into her. She stood as still as a statue, trying as hard
as she could not to be noticed. And Alasdair
didn’t
notice her. He wasn’t even aware of her presence. Relief
coursed through her as he exchanged empty pleasantries with her stepmother. But
that relief was short lived, quickly replaced by anger. How could he fail to
notice her? How could he not see through this silly wallflower disguise of hers
to his Juliet underneath? She berated her own foolishness. It was best this
way. He must surely hate her now. Why would she wish to lose her anonymity now,
when it could cost her so dearly?

She was a fool, fool,
fool
.
Because she would give anything for one smile from him.

“It
seems one is always running into the same people wherever one goes, doesn’t it,
Julianna?” her stepmother asked as she turned in her direction.

Julianna
wanted to scream in frustration. What on earth was she doing? Why couldn’t Lady
Linville just let her fade into the wallpaper? She nodded and mumbled her
agreement, desperately hoping the conversation would move on, and take Sir
Hilary and Alasdair with it.

Her
father gave her a sharp look, concern etched on his features. “Are you all
right, my dear? You do not sound well.”

As
Alasdair was talking with her father and stepmother, Julianna had been trying
to slide away into the shadows behind him. But now he was turning around at her
father’s comment. Oh, God, what should she do? Sir Hilary was still staring at
her intently, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He knew. How? She glared at
him, glad to have an outlet for her anger. He looked surprised for an instant and
then darkly amused.

Fine then,
she would play his game. She would
play this scene out and see where it led. She’d been in a receiver’s lair in
Tottenham Court, for heaven’s sake. She could handle one well-bred Englishman
in a drawing room.

“Yes,
Lady Linville,” she answered clearly and calmly. “One is always running into a
previous acquaintance here in London. It can be quite inconvenient.”

She
knew the exact instant Alasdair recognized her voice. He froze, his back still
half-turned to her. She watched as he began moving again, very slowly turning
to face her.

“ ‘Inconvenient’?
What an odd thing to say!” her stepmother exclaimed. “I find it quite
comforting. London is so large that it can sometimes be quite daunting, don’t
you agree, Sir Hilary? To find an acquaintance when one least expects it is
vastly pleasing.”

“Yes,
indeed, Lady Linville. Vastly pleasing,” Sir Hilary replied, but Julianna
barely heard him. Alasdair’s eyes were on her now. Angry, disbelieving,
accusing, there was no welcome there. No joy, no relief—just a dark,
accusatory stare.

“Julianna,
you remember Sir Hilary and Mr. Sharp? Gentlemen, my daughter,” Mr. Harte said,
“Miss Harte. I believe you met the other evening.”

Alasdair
smiled grimly. “Yes, I believe we did.” He took her hand in his, and even
through their gloves she could feel his heat warming her cold fingers. He bowed
over her hand and Julianna saw a picture of him the other night, the moonlight
shining in his hair as he kissed his way down her stomach and then put his
mouth on her sex. Her fingers clutched his hand and he looked up, his obvious
anger dousing her desire at once.

“How
do you do, Mr. Sharp,” she said, and she was proud of how strong and unaffected
she sounded.

“How
do you do,
Miss Harte
,” he said, with
unnecessary emphasis on her name.

“Quite
well, thank you.” She couldn’t resist the challenge of showing him how
supremely unconcerned she was by his presence. He need never know that she
feared she might be ill at any moment or that she wanted to weep with remorse
over what she’d done to him and the fact that she’d clearly lost him forever.
If she’d ever had him, that is.

“How
delightful,” he bit out. Oh, he did think the worst of her. And why shouldn’t
he? When he let go of her hand, she had to force herself not to grip his
tightly in protest.

Sir
Hilary picked up her hand from where it hung limply at her side. “Miss Harte,
it is a pleasure to see you again. I remember you clearly from Sharp’s the
other night.”

Julianna
saw Alasdair glance suspiciously at Sir Hilary, who pointedly did not look at
him.

“Did
you enjoy the evening?” Sir Hilary asked. “I daresay you hadn’t seen anything
like Sharp’s pearl before, had you?”

She
didn’t like that wicked gleam in his eye. “I was under the impression it was
called the Stewart Pearl, not the Sharp Pearl,” she said innocently. “But I
know very little about pearls, or gems for that matter.”

Her
father was watching her intently and Julianna smiled reassuringly at him. He
relaxed marginally, but she knew he was following their conversation closely.

“Really?”
Alasdair asked in feigned confusion. “I was under the impression when we spoke
that you had an almost professional knowledge of them.”

Julianna
blinked slowly, barely maintaining her mask of nonchalance. “You must be
thinking of someone else, sir. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to do with a
pearl of that value.”

“Surely
you had some idea when you held it in your hands,” Alasdair commented blandly.

“You
held the pearl?” her father interjected. “You didn’t tell us, Julianna. When? I
don’t remember seeing you in conversation with Mr. Sharp that evening.”

Alasdair
masked his annoyance quickly, but not before Julianna saw it. He hadn’t meant
to reveal so much. “You were otherwise engaged, I believe, Mr. Harte,” he
replied smoothly. “And it was of so little import to Miss Harte that she has
clearly forgotten our exchange.”

“I
have forgotten nothing of our exchange, Mr. Sharp,” Julianna quickly retorted.
“But I moved on when the evening was done.”

Alasdair’s
eyes flared with anger, and then he rubbed the side of his nose roughly, training
an intent stare on Sir Hilary. Sir Hilary looked uneasy for a moment and then he
rushed into the conversation.

“I
say, Mr. Harte, Mr. Camden was inquiring about you the other day, and he is
here somewhere . . .” His voice trailed off as he craned his neck to get a
better glimpse at the rest of the room, presumably looking for Mr. Camden. Sir
Hilary aimed a brilliant smile at her father and stepmother. “We must find him,
for he is anxious to see you both.” He turned to Alasdair. “Mr. Sharp, would
you be so kind as to take Miss Harte to the refreshment table for some
lemonade? I’m sure she would enjoy it.”

“Of
course,” Alasdair replied with a pleasant smile. “I would like it as well.
Perhaps I can introduce you to some people, Miss Harte, as we make our way to
the lemonade. I’m quite sure that everyone here would enjoy learning all about
you.”