A Wicked Liaison. Christine Merrill
in mind. Does it help you to trust me, if I assure you that I am a gentleman? If you met me under better circumstances, you’d find me a picture of moral fortitude. I do not drink to excess, I do not gamble, I am kind to children and animals, and I have loved only one woman the whole of my life.’
She struggled in his arms. ‘And yet you do not shirk at sneaking into other women’s bedrooms and taking their things.’
He sighed, but did not let her go. ‘Sometimes, perhaps. But I cannot bear to see a woman in distress, and I do not steal from those that cannot afford to lose. In the box on your dresser there is a single strand of pearls and a pair of gold earrings. The rest is paste. Where is the real jewellery, your Grace?’
‘Gone. Sold to pay my bills, as was much of the household furniture. You see what is there. Take it. Would you like the candlesticks from the mantel as well? They are all I have left of value. Take them and finish me.’
His grip upon her loosened, and he took her hand and bowed over it. ‘I beg your pardon, your Grace. I mistook the situation. Things are not as they appear to the outside, are they? The world assumes that your husband’s wealth left you financially secure.’
She gathered her dignity around her. ‘I make sure of that.’
‘Can you not appeal to friends for help?’
She tossed her head. ‘I find, when one has no husband to defend one’s honour, or family to return to, that there are not as many true friends as one might think. There are many who would prey upon a woman alone, if she shows weakness.’
‘But I am not one of them.’ He was still holding her hand in his and his grip was sure and warm. She thought, in the dimness, she could see a smile playing at the corners of his lips. ‘I have taken nothing from your jewel case. I swear on it. And the handkerchief?’ He shook his head. ‘I do not know what possessed me. I am not in the habit of rifling through women’s linens and taking trophies. It was a momentary aberration. I apologise and assure you that you will find nothing else missing from your personal items.’
She thought, for just a moment, how nice it would be to believe him and to think there was one man on the planet who did not mean to take more than she wished to give. ‘So you have broken into my rooms and mean to take nothing, then?’ she asked suspiciously.
Now she was sure she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘A trifle, perhaps. Only this.’ And he pulled her close again to bring her mouth to his.
The thief did not bother with the niceties. There was no gentle caress, no hesitation, no request for permission. He opened her mouth and he took.
She steeled herself against the violation, deciding, if it was a choice of the two, she had much rather he took a kiss than the candlesticks. It was foolish of her to have mentioned them, for she needed the money their sale would bring.
In any case, at least the kiss would be over soon and she did not need to spare his feelings and pretend passion where she felt none, as she had with Jeremy. But unlike Jeremy, this man was most expert at kissing.
Her mind drifted. His hand was on her shoulder and her head rested in the crook of his elbow, as he tipped her back in the cradle of his arms. It felt strangely comforting to be held by the stranger. She need barely support herself, for he was doing a most effective job of bearing her weight. She tilted her head slightly, and he adjusted, tasting her lips and her tongue as though he wanted to have every last bit of sweetness from them before letting her go.
She relaxed and gave it up to him. And was shocked to find herself willing to give him more. It had been a long time since she had felt so well and truly kissed. Her husband’s kisses, in recent years, had been warm and comfortable, but not particularly passionate. The kisses she’d received from suitors since his death were more ardent, but could not seem to melt the frozen places in her heart, or ease the loneliness.
But this man kissed as if he were savouring a fine wine. He was dallying with her, barely touching her lips and then sealing their mouths to steal the breath from her lungs.
His hands were gentle on her body, taking no further liberty than to support her as he kissed, and she knew she had but to offer the slightest resistance and he would set her free.
But she was so tired of being free, if freedom meant loneliness and worry. And suddenly, the kiss could not be long enough or deep enough to satisfy the craving inside of her. His hands stayed still on her body, but she wished to feel them do more than just hold her. She wanted to be touched.
Her own hands were clenched in fists on his shirtfront, and she realised that she’d planned to push him away before now. Instead she opened them, palms flat and fingers spread on his chest, before running them up his body to wrap her arms around his neck. The hair at the back of his head was soft, and curled around her fingers as she tangled them in it, pulling herself closer to kiss him back. He smelled of wood smoke and soap, and he tasted like whisky. And when she moved her tongue against his, he tensed and his hands went hard against her body, his thumb massaging circles deep into the flesh of her shoulder. His other hand tightened on the soft flesh of her hip to hold her tight to him. She could feel his smile, tingling against her lips.
And then, as quickly the kiss had begun, it was over. He set her back on her feet again and for a moment they leaned against each other, as though neither were steady enough to stand without support of the other. When he pulled away from her, he shook his head and sighed in satisfaction. He was breathless, as he said, ‘That is quite the richest reward I’ve taken in ages. So much more valuable than mere jewels. I will live on the memory of it for a very long time.’ He traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his finger. ‘I am sorry for frightening you and I thank you for not crying out. Know that your secrets are as safe with me as mine are with you. And now, if you will excuse me?’ He bowed. ‘Do not light the candle just yet. Count ten and I will be gone.’
And he turned from her and went to the window, stepping over the sill and out into the darkness.
She rushed to the window after him, and looked out to see him climb down the side of the house and slip across the garden as noiselessly as a shadow, before scaling the stone wall that surrounded it.
He paused as he reached the top and turned back to look towards her. Could he see her there, watching him go, or did he merely suspect?
But she could see him, silhouetted on the top of the garden wall. He was neither dark nor fair. Brown hair, she thought, although it was hard to tell in the moonlight, and dark clothes. A nice build, but she’d felt that when he’d held her. Not a person she recognised.
He blew a kiss in the direction of her open window, swung his legs over the side and dropped from view.
She hurried back into the room and fumbled with a lucifer and a taper, trying to still the beating of her heart. She might not know him, but he knew her. He knew the house and had called her by her title.
And now he knew her secret: she was helpless and alone and nearing the end of her resources. She found this not nearly as threatening as if Lord Barton had known the depth of her poverty. If he had, he’d have used that to his advantage against her.
But the thief had apologised, and taken his leave. And the kiss, of course. But he’d left everything of value, so it was a fair trade. She knelt to pick up the contents of the spilled jewel box, and her foot brushed a black velvet bag on the floor at the side of the dresser.
He must have brought it, meaning to hold the things he took. And it was not empty. As she picked it up, she felt the weight of it shift in her hands.
Dear God, what was she to do now? She could not very well call the man back. He was no longer in the street and she did not know his address.
She did not want to know his address, she reminded herself. He was a criminal. She would look more than forward to seek him out, after the way she had responded to the kiss. And the contents were not his, anyway, so why should they be returned? If the bag contained jewellery, perhaps she could put an ad in The Times, describing the pieces. The rightful owners would step forward, and she might never have to explain