The Devil's Thief (34 page)

Alasdair glared at Roger, who shrugged. “I’m of a mind with
Hil, I’m afraid. This seems ridiculously unnecessary.”

Alasdair rolled over and sat on the floor, not sure whether
to hold a hand to his aching stomach or his stinging head. “This has nothing to
do with jealousy. Don’t you see he’s the reason she’s in danger in the first
place? I saw them together on Tottenham Court.”

Wiley scoffed derisively. “ ’Course you’re jealous. You saw
us and immediately assumed we was shagging, didn’t you? Stupid, bleeding sod.”
He pointed a shaking finger at Alasdair, visibly angry. “For some stupid
fucking reason she’s in love with you. She cried over you.
She’s
trying to make you love her
,
you stupid fuck
.
And you don’t even care enough about her to ask where she is or why we’re here.
It’s all about you and your fucking pride.” Wiley spit in Alasdair’s direction
in disgust. “That’s for you and your opinion of me, Sharp. I know I’m a better
man to my women than you’ll ever be.”

The fog of fury lifted and terror took its place. Alasdair
didn’t even bother to acknowledge Wiley’s accusations. “Where is she?” He
scrambled to his feet, spun around to face Hil, and took two rapid steps toward
him. “What’s happened? What’s he talking about?”

“Obviously Miss Harte is not here, as Wiley suspected. So
she must be at the receivers,” Hil replied.

“Receivers?” Ernest asked from the stairs. “What receivers?”

“Ah, Throckton. Blackman’s, the Black Horse on Tottenham
Court,” Hil explained. “According to Wiley, she has a scheme to steal the pearl
back from the receiver. He feared for her safety, but she made him promise not
to tell Sharp. So he came to me.”

Some of the mysteries of the last week were solved with
Hil’s explanation, but more remained. “Why is she still determined to kill
herself over that damn pearl?” Alasdair said, panic making his heart race.
“I’ve already asked her to marry me. I didn’t think she’d do anything this
quickly. I thought I had more time to get it myself.” His head was spinning.

Wiley shook his head and sighed as Alasdair came to his
feet. “You know why, don’t you?”

Ernest made a frustrated sound at the bottom of the stairs.
“All this for the back rent on the foundling home?”

Hil looked surprised for a moment. “You know about that?”

“I own the house,” Ernest replied stiffly.

Alasdair laughed in weary resignation. “Now why am I not
surprised you already knew about it, Hil?”

Hil had the grace to look chagrined. “I found out about it
the day we were following her in the markets. Her footman took the food to the
home.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Alasdair asked
accusingly. “It would have cleared up a great deal.”

“I certainly never believed it would come to this,” Hil
answered reasonably. “And the reason I didn’t tell you is that you needed to
realize you loved her no matter what.
 
If you had only revealed your feelings after you learned why she stole
the pearl, there would always have been a question of your sincerity.” He
smiled grimly. “And because I thought you needed to suffer a bit before winning
the hand of your fair maid.”

“Gentlemen,” Wiley sneered in contempt. “You play your
stupid little games and it’s Miss Harte who pays the forfeit. While you’re
gambling with her life, she’s risking it so his ‘sincerity’ won’t be in
question. How does that make you feel? Better about yourself and your little
schemes?”

Hil was frowning fiercely at Wiley. “You’re right, of
course.” His response shocked Alasdair into speechlessness. No one talked to
Hil that way and received an admission of guilt in response. “I should have
considered her sensibilities more rather than trying to teach
Sharp
a lesson at her expense, much to my regret.”

“Well, let’s go then,” Wiley said in exasperation. “While
you all are discussing her life like it’s the bleeding weather, she’s breaking
into Blackman’s and practically asking to get killed.” He threw his hands up in
the air before clutching his head in frustration. “If I had known there was
going to be a bloody parliamentary debate between you bleeding Nancy boys, I’d
have just gone myself.”

Alasdair turned on him in anger. “Then why didn’t you? Why
did you let her go alone? If anything happens to her, by God—” He lunged
for the boy again, but was restrained by Roger. Across the hall, Hil was
holding Wiley by the arm.

“I’ve got my own women and children to think of,” Wiley
defended himself belligerently. “Much as I like Miss Harte, it isn’t my job to
take of care of her, is it? It’s yours and you’re doing a piss-poor job of it!”

Alasdair broke away from Roger and leaned against the wall.
He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration and groaned. “Christ, is there
a man in London who couldn’t do a better job of it?” He let his hands fall to
his sides and stared bleakly at Wiley. That streetwise boy knew more about
loyalty and responsibility than Alasdair, though he was half his age. “I am
doing a piss-poor job, Wiley. I am.”

Hil marched over to the door and Alasdair’s wide-eyed butler
pulled it open for him. “Let us be off, then,” Hil said decisively. “Wiley has
once again put the situation in perspective.” He turned with a raised eyebrow.
“Are you all coming?”

Chapter Twenty

Julianna nearly fell off the stoop in shock when the side
door of the Black Horse swung open. She’d been standing there, her heart in her
throat, for the last five minutes trying to pick the lock. Five minutes of
wondering what she was doing here, why she’d thought this was a good idea, and
why she’d been able to slip out of the house unnoticed, tonight of all nights.
Really, she thought, she only ever managed to do that when she was planning to
get into the most trouble possible. And what on earth was a hackney driver
thinking, picking up a young woman traveling alone, dressed head to toe in
black, in the middle of the night, and dropping her off in such a horrid area
of London? She was going to have to speak with someone about that tomorrow. It
was sheer luck no one walked by and noticed her. And then, just when she’d
about given up and gone home, just like that, the lock had clicked and she’d
turned the latch, and voilà! The door had opened.

A shot of excitement and anticipation burst through her.
Then sheer terror set in. Had anyone heard it? Was Cam on the other side of the
door? According to Wiley, he made the rounds of Blackman’s other establishments
at this time every other night, leaving one other guard who was neither too
bright nor too conscientious.
Please,
please, please,
she silently prayed, let Wiley have been right about the
night schedule. Because Wiley had told her that Cam often slept somewhere else on
the nights he made his rounds. Julianna hadn’t dared ask any other questions
about that.

With a great deal more caution than good sense, she slowly
pushed the door open until it was wide enough for her to slip through. The last
two times she’d been here the door had creaked loudly at the halfway point.
Luckily she was small enough to fit through before it made any noise. She’d had
to enter the building here; there was no other way to reach Blackman’s lair.

She held her breath as she closed the door. Other than a
small
click
when the lock engaged, the
building was silent. There was no one on the other side. Julianna couldn’t
believe her luck. The hall was black as pitch, and she sagged against the door
at her back as she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. All her senses were on high
alert, and she strained to hear any noises that indicated that people were
still up and about. Complete silence surrounded her. At this time of night,
even the street outside was quiet. Hours after sunset and hours before dawn,
even the heartiest revelers and nefarious cutthroats were snatching a bit of
rest. Julianna had crouched in an alley down the street for over an hour
watching for any signs of life from within the building. There had been a light
in Blackman’s office, but it had gone out about half an hour ago. Only when she
was sure that no one was about had she attempted to pick the lock. From the
look and sound of it she’d been right. The only thing she could hear was the
pounding of her heart in her ears.

With a silent sigh of relief she crept over to the stairs.
She blended in with the night. Everything except her face was covered in black.
She’d wrapped her hair in a black kerchief again and black kidskin gloves encased
her hands. She carried her father’s pilfered lock picks in a small satchel
attached to her waist. The four hundred pounds in banknotes that Blackman had
paid her for the pearl were in the satchel as well. She’d needed to compensate
for the money she’d spent for food for the foundling home with an advance on
her pin money. Julianna planned to leave the money in the pearl’s place.
Blackman would certainly figure out who had taken the pearl, but she was
counting on the fact that it was a fait accompli to make him accept the money
and move on. He seemed to be an astute businessman, and surely he would
understand the value of cash in hand.

She took a deep breath as she looked up the stairs. This is
where it got tricky. Blackman slept in a room adjacent to his office and at
least one guard would also be in the building. Though she knew where Blackman
likely was, the guard could be anywhere. It was the one loose end in her plan.
But for the moment all was quiet and still. She’d picked the darkest hour of
night, hoping the lax guard would be asleep.

The sheer number of potential disasters awaiting her in this
mad scheme was daunting, to say the least. But she kept reminding herself that
beyond this night lay a future with Alasdair—a perfect, shining, happy
future—once she regained the pearl for him. Of course, she needed to stay
alive first. That was another loose end she was trying very hard not to think
about.

The stairs were the most difficult aspect of this scheme.
They creaked something awful. The two times she’d been here, four trips up and
down the stairs in all, she’d tried to take notice of which steps creaked.
There were fifteen of them in all. The first four were fine. Tentatively
Julianna put her foot on the first step and, holding her breath, placed all her
weight on it. Nothing. She sagged, light-headed with relief, and almost laughed
aloud at her foolishness. She could hardly climb all fifteen steps at this
pace. She’d still be here when the sun rose.

She mentally delivered a stern lecture to herself and then
quickly took the next two steps. By then her heart had slowed down and she
could hear something besides its frantic beat. She was on the third step. She
climbed up one more, no creaking. She faced the fifth step and pursed her lips.
You shall not get me,
she told the
step mentally, and she stretched her foot over it to the sixth. She nearly
shouted in triumph when she was met with silence. She skipped the seventh—it
had creaked the loudest—and then stood on the eighth debating her next
move. The next four steps all creaked. But the last time she’d been here she’d
made sure to step on the far right side of the steps going up and coming down.
If she remembered correctly, only the eleventh step creaked when she was going
up. So she should be safe if she kept to the right and skipped the eleventh.
Dear Lord help her if she was wrong.

Her heart once again in her throat, Julianna carefully
placed her foot on the next step and quickly moved up. Nothing! Before her
courage failed her, she went all the way up to the twelfth step, skipping the
eleventh. She had to stop and take several deep breaths before moving forward.
She was feeling vaguely nauseous.

Just then she heard a door open. If it was possible to have
an apoplectic fit in complete silence then that is what she would have called
the sudden rush of blood pounding in her temples and the cold sweat that
chilled her skin. She plastered herself against the wall, pressing as tightly
to its shadowed length as she could without actually becoming part of the faded
boards. The maneuver was awkward because she couldn’t move her feet. She was
twisted into a painful position, but the physical pain was nothing compared to
the sheer horror of waiting to be caught. As footfalls moved closer, slowly
making their way down the hall, Julianna forgot to breathe. The steps didn’t
falter at the stairs but kept on moving. Whoever it was paused at the end of
the hall for several seconds and then shifted back toward the stairs again. She
heard a voice muttering in annoyance, a door open and close, and then silence
once again.

Julianna nearly fell over as lights danced before her eyes
and she gasped for breath, trying to be as quiet as possible.
If you must
breathe
,
she silently berated herself,
then do it
quietly.
She pressed a hand to her chest and felt her hammering heart.
The guard, making his rounds.
It had been the guard. If he
did hourly rounds during the night—which seemed logical to her—she
would have almost another hour before he came out again. She waited several
more minutes before moving, making sure the guard had enough time to fall back
asleep, and her breathing and heartbeat had time to return to normal.

Of the three remaining steps only the last one creaked, so
Julianna made short work of them. She was in the hallway. She mustn’t linger
near the stairs in case the guard came out again, or Blackman. She wasn’t sure
which would be worse.