Lady Thief Page 5

  “There will be no trap,” he responded quietly. “I give you my word.”

  The coldness slowly faded from her eyes, to be replaced by a faintly wondering expression. “Strangely enough, I believe you. But make no mistake—I am not bound by a code of honor. If I am betrayed, the price will be great. I will do whatever I must do to survive.”

  Spencer inclined his head gravely. “I understand.”

  “I hope so, Your Grace. I do indeed hope so.” A moment later she was gone.

  Spencer was left to stare after her, feeling both disappointment and elation—disappointment because she had not confided in him, elation because she had given him a means to contact her. And he had every intention of contacting her. He had a very definite desire to learn all that he could about this young woman called the Cat.

  Jenny drew her cloak more closely about her shoulders, and gave the stallion his head. After a year of skulking through the back streets of London, the horse knew the quickest and safest route home as well as his mistress did. He picked his way through the quiet streets, leaving Jenny free to turn her thoughts to her visit with the duke.

  She was somewhat angry with herself for giving the duke a means to contact her. She could not remember ever having made such an incautious move before, and her reasons for having done so now worried her. It had been a purely instinctive, feminine reaction to a handsome and charming man. It had not been the reaction of a thief who feared the hangman’s noose.

  She could not remember ever having been drawn to anyone the way she was drawn to this stranger. She had had an absurd impulse to confide in him—to tell him why she had become a thief. When she had overcome that impulse and refused his help, when he had looked at her with regret in his eyes—regret and perhaps something more—she had been conscious of an absurd desire to cry. She felt strangely afraid to ask herself why she had reacted that way.

  It wasn’t as if Jenny had never spent time with a man; she had been the object of masculine attention since she had first put up her hair and let down her skirts. The young men of neighboring estates had flocked around her for more than four years. But that was different somehow.

  The young gentlemen had been pleasant company. They had been very anxious to please her, taking her riding, dancing with her, writing poems in praise of her beauty—the list was endless.

  She had never had the desire to confide in any of those pleasant young men, had never been tempted to express the pain that she felt whenever she thought of her father, or the resentment—even hatred—that she felt toward Sir George.

  She had never felt breathless when they looked at her or oddly confused when they smiled at her. And her heart had never tried to leap out of her breast when one of those nice young men exclaimed that he had been searching everywhere for her.

  A man’s voice had never tingled along her nerve endings like pleasant music, stirring impossible dreams in her mind. A man’s eyes had never seemed to light up the entire room, had never made her see herself through his eyes.

  A man’s face had never haunted her dreams or stubbornly intruded on her thoughts. A man’s broad shoulders had never inspired her to relinquish burdens that she had carried for years, burdens too heavy for her own narrow shoulders.

  But, most of all, a man’s simple presence had never stirred in her such a vivid awareness of her own womanhood. A man’s gray-eyed gaze had never set her on fire with a burning desire for something she had never experienced, something she could not even put a name to.

  Until she had met the Duke of Spencer. This man—this stranger—had managed to do all of these things. His smile caused thoughts to fly from her head like chaff in the wind. His calm gray eyes made her feel, for the first time in her life, like a woman. His face haunted her dreams, her thoughts. His voice echoed in her mind. She wanted to confide in him, to lay her burdens on his strong shoulders, and to give her heart into his keeping.

  They were usual thoughts of a young woman on the verge of falling in love. For Jenny, they were dangerous ones as well.

  Jenny frowned, considering the matter. She tried to understand what it was about the man that had caused her to react as she had. He was certainly a handsome man, with his dark hair and gray eyes. He had the look of nobility—with high cheekbones, an aquiline nose, and a firm mouth.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered; his voice was low and pleasant. In short, he was everything she had always dreamed of in a man.

  Sternly, she reminded herself that dreams were dreams—vague, insubstantial things—and that reality, though not always as pleasant, was a great deal more important. She could not afford the luxury of being attracted to a man at the present time—not any man.

  Having come to this conclusion, she resolved to put the Duke of Spencer out of her mind. It was a very firm and carefully thought out resolution. Unfortunately, it did not take into account Jenny’s undoubtedly feminine nature. Even though she could outride, outshoot, and outswear most men, she was still very much a woman.

  Halfway back to the manor, Jenny realized that she was still thinking of the duke. She swore under her breath and urged the stallion to a gallop. She had to find some way of putting Spencer out of her mind, once and for all. Perhaps the brisk gallop would do it. Then again, perhaps it would not.

  Chapter Six

  Jenny paced restlessly in front of the young couple. She still had quite a few reservations regarding their intended marriage, and she wanted to be very sure before she tried to help them—which was why she was up and about so early in the morning, and why she was wearing a path on the rug of a private parlor in a small posting house near the manor.

  She halted suddenly and faced Meg and Robert. “I think you’re both fools. Even if you had Sir George’s approval, you’re both too young to set up housekeeping.”

  Quietly Robert Collins said, “I’m twenty-six, Miss Courtenay—old enough to know my mind.”

  “For heaven’s sake, call me Jenny.” She smiled suddenly. “Since you seem bent on becoming my brother-in-law.”

  He smiled in return. “Only if you will call me Robert.”

  “Very well—Robert—you are twenty-six and Meg is sixteen—”

  “Nearly seventeen.” It was Meg, her voice firm.

  Jenny nodded. “Seventeen, then. The fact remains, Meg, that you are barely out of the schoolroom. And to marry a man you have just met . . .”

  “Jenny, I love him. I don’t have to know him for years to be sure of that.”

  Jenny sighed. “I know that, honey. I only want to be sure you aren’t getting married only to escape from your father—if you will forgive my plain speaking, Robert.”

  He nodded, his blue eyes serious. “Of course. Jenny, I know that Meg is very young, but I love her. I’ll take care of her.” He sighed. “I wanted to talk to Sir George, but Meg assures me that he would have me thrown from the house.”

  Jenny smiled wryly. “She’s right. Sir George intends Meg to marry a fortune—especially now that he’s found he can’t bend me to his will.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “You weren’t thinking of Gretna Green, I hope?”

  Robert stiffened. “I would never consider taking Meg there.”

  “Well, don’t poker-up about it,” Jenny said mildly. But she was pleased by his response. It showed him to be a sensible man, not given to romantic flights of fancy. Coming to a decision, Jenny said, “I’ll help you. I don’t know how as yet, but I’ll help you.”

  Meg flew to embrace her. “Oh, Jenny—thank you! I knew we could depend on you.”

  Jenny hugged her stepsister. “Don’t become overexcited, Meg. I may be unable to help at all. But, I promise to do what I can.”

  Robert stepped forward with a smile. “That’s all we can ask. Thank you, Jenny.”

  Jenny gave them both a warning look. “You may have to be patient. Meg cannot be married without Sir George’s permission—and obtaining that will take some doing. Also, I have other matters that must be attended to.” She watched as the yo
ung couple exchanged intense looks. “I’ll leave you alone to say good-bye. Meg, if you aren’t outside in ten minutes, I’ll come in after you.” With that, she quietly left the room.

  As the two young ladies rode toward home, Meg kept up a constant flow of chatter about Robert. Jenny listened for the first five minutes and then began to lose patience with her stepsister’s raptures.

  Ruthlessly, she cut her off in midsentence. “Meg, why don’t you ride on home? I have something I must do.”

  Meg smiled absently, caught up in her dreams. “All right, Jenny.”

  Jenny watched her ride away, then turned her horse toward the woods. She had a restless urge to check the hollow tree where she had told Spencer to leave messages. It had only been a few days since she had seen him, of course, but she had a feeling he may have learned of the missing dispatches by now. She had to get them back to the War Office some way, and giving them to Spencer seemed the best solution. He, at least, was no traitor.

  Jenny wasn’t sure why she was so positive about Spencer’s loyalty to England. She simply was. However, her trust in his loyalty had little to do with her trust in him as a man.

  Nearly an hour later, Jenny was reading a message from Spencer. It was a short note, stating simply that he needed to see her. She frowned slightly as she considered the note.

  Spencer had probably learned of the missing dispatches. Or perhaps he merely wanted to see her again. Jenny was not being vain when she considered that possibility; the duke had seemed very curious about her when she had returned his jewels to him. It was possible that he would send for her in order to learn as much as he could about her.

  Jenny thought of the dispatches, and carefully weighed the risks of taking them to Spencer. The risk of taking them herself was great; Jason had been right in saying that would be a sure way of getting herself hanged.

  Yet, she had no choice. She slowly tore the message into tiny bits. She would take the dispatches to Spencer.

  It was nearly midnight. Spencer sat at the desk in his study, looking over the deeds to some property he had just purchased. He had no expectation of receiving a visit from the Cat; he had left a message for her only that morning.

  He heard no sound; there was no warning of her coming. One moment he was alone in the study, the next he felt a presence in the room. He slowly turned his head to see her standing silently inside the open window.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  He rose slowly to his feet, smiling. “Good evening. I didn’t expect you to come quite so soon—I left the message only this morning.”

  She smiled easily. “You wanted to see me, I believe?”

  “Yes.” He moved carefully around to sit on the corner of his desk. “There are some important dispatches missing from the War Office. I thought you should know about it.”

  Jenny pulled a bundle from beneath her cloak and tossed it to him. Silently, she awaited his reaction.

  He perused the documents for a few moments, then looked up at her. “That was quick work.” There was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

  She smiled wryly. “I suppose you may be forgiven for what you are thinking, Your Grace, though I find it hard to do so. No, I did not take the dispatches. A friend of mine—a highwayman—took them from a coach bound for the Channel. He gave them to me. I have no idea who removed them from the War Office. You may believe that if you choose.”

  He inclined his head gravely. “If you say that you did not take them, then of course I believe you.”

  “Why ‘of course’?”

  He placed the dispatches on the desk and studied her thoughtfully. “I trust you,” he replied calmly.

  She shook her head with a faint smile. “To trust a thief? You’re a strange man, Your Grace.”

  “We have been over that before. I do not believe you are a thief.”

  “Then you are a poor judge of character,” she responded coolly.

  “I think not.”

  She stirred impatiently. “Shall we agree to differ on that point? I am only concerned that the dispatches are returned to the proper authorities. I assume that you will see to that?”

  He rose, smiling. “Of course. But that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to see you.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “No. I’d like to become better acquainted with you. I’ve been thinking of you—almost constantly—ever since we first met. There are several things about you which puzzle me.”

  As he spoke, he moved closer to her and Jenny, caught up in what he was saying, was unaware until too late what his intentions were. Instinctively, she reached for the pistol in her belt, only to find her wrists caught in his strong hands.

  With a calm smile, he gazed down at her enraged eyes. “I am most curious to discover whether or not there is a woman beneath that mask.”

  Jenny smiled thinly. “Brute force, Your Grace?”

  “You must forgive my tactics, but they seemed the best—under the circumstances.”

  Jenny stared up at him, startled to discover how tall he was; the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. After a moment, she said quietly, “If you mean to remove my mask, I can do nothing to stop you. But if you do, I will hate you for the rest of my life.”

  The total lack of expression in her voice convinced him far more than any emotional outburst would have done. With a sigh, he murmured, “Yes, I suppose you would hate me—and that is the last thing I want. I won’t try to remove your mask.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled slightly. “And could you also release my hands?”

  “So that you can shoot me?” His smile was wry.

  “You said that you trusted me,” she reminded him.

  “So I did—until I gave you reason to shoot me.”

  “Very well. I give you my word that I will not shoot you.” But the duke was no longer attending. He was staring at her, and something in his eyes gave his thoughts away.

  Jenny felt the first stirring of panic. “Your Grace, you wouldn’t—” She began to struggle, fighting desperately to free herself from him.

  Spencer controlled her struggles easily. He looked down at her, a flame burning deep in his eyes. “There is more than one way to discover if there is a real, warm-blooded woman beneath that mask.

  “Let me go, damn you!”

  He pulled her against him suddenly, pinning her arms between their bodies. “I’m afraid that I can’t do that. I must know, you see . . .”

  Jenny stared up at him as his head slowly lowered to hers. Her fear left her the moment his lips touched hers. Suddenly, there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

  Jenny had never been kissed before, but she was a woman and her response was instinctive. Her arms slipped around his neck, and she returned his kiss with an ardor she didn’t know she possessed. For her, the world vanished. No thoughts of danger entered her head; she didn’t worry about her identity being discovered. All that mattered were his arms around her and his lips moving possessively over her own.

  Spencer had wondered if there was a real woman beneath the mask; he had asked himself if any woman could do the things that this one did. He had his answer now. No matter what had driven her to her strange career, she was quite definitely a woman.

  He fought to keep a tight rein on his passion; he had no desire to frighten her away before he could learn her identity.

  With obvious reluctance, he slowly drew away from her and gazed down at her upturned face. Her face was bemused, her eyes dazed with passion. His voice husky, Spencer murmured, “So—you are a woman, after all.”

  Jenny stared up at him, the dazed look slowly fading from her eyes. Her arms slid from around his neck and she stepped back, shaking her head in an unbelieving manner. “You—you don’t play fair, Your Grace. I didn’t realize how ruthless you could be.” Her voice was low and haunted.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Oh, yes, you did. How did it feel, Your Grace, kissing the Cat?” There was as much hurt as anger in her
voice—though she was unaware of it.

  “It wasn’t like that.” He stepped toward her, his eyes grave.

  “Wasn’t it? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. I hope you’re satisfied, Your Grace. When they lead me to the gallows, you can tell all of your friends that you kissed the Cat.” Her laughter rang out harshly in the still room.

  “No.” His voice was low and taut, his face strained. “I kissed you because I couldn’t help myself—because I am attracted to you. It had nothing to do with your being the Cat.”

  “Didn’t it?” She moved quickly to the window, and then gazed back at him, cold mockery in her eyes. “A woman in a mask quite piques the curiosity, Your Grace. It was nothing more than that.” She slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.

  Spencer stood and stared after her. “You’re wrong,” he murmured. “It was much more than that.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jenny wearily pulled herself out of bed early the next morning. She had slept very little during the few hours she had been in bed, her mind filled with her visit to the duke’s house. Over and over, she had considered his actions, finally coming to the conclusion that he never would have kissed her had she not been the Cat.

  It was useless to remind herself that she never would have met him either if she had not been the Cat. She was interested only in his reason for kissing her. He had kissed her because she was the Cat; because his curiosity had been piqued by a strange woman in a black mask. It was a lowering reflection.

  Jenny sighed and, fighting off her depression, began to dress for the day. She was braiding her hair when she heard a sudden commotion outside her bedroom door. Leaving the waist-length braid hanging over one shoulder, Jenny quickly went to find the source of the commotion.

  Meg, with tears streaming down her cheeks, fell into Jenny’s arms the moment the door was opened. “Oh, Jenny, Mama says I can never see Robert again!”