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Authors: Bronwyn Scott
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Pickpocket Countess
Bronwyn Scott
TORONTO NEW YORK LONDON
AMSTERDAM PARIS SYDNEY HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM ATHENS
MILAN MADRID
PRAGUE WARSAW BUDAPEST AUCKLAND
One
Near
England, Early
1831
E v e n in the darkness, he could sense the subtle alteration of the chamber. The room had been disturbed. Brandon Wycroft, the fifth Earl of S tockport, muttered curses under his breath.
Damn, The Cat had been here.
The irony of the burglary was not lost on him. While twelve distinguished men of the district met downstairs in his library, his fine cigars, drinking his expensive brandy and plotting how they'd catch the latest menace to the peace, that very menace had prowled free upstairs, daring to invade his most private sanctum: his bedroom.
It was only due to his keen hearing and the location of his rooms over the library that he had heard the faint scraping of a chair on the floor at all and had gone upstairs to investigate.
Curtains stirred at the window, calling his attention to the source of the winter chill permeating his quarters. The window was open. A slight movement behind the curtains gave away the intruder.
Brandon's eyes narrowed. His body tensed. He amended his earlier thought. Not 'had prowled' but 'was prowling'. Standing
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Pickpocket Countess
in the doorway of his chambers, he knew his instincts were right. The Cat was still in the room.
Brandon's dissatisfaction transformed itself into a sense of vindication. After a month of burglarising the wealthy of Stockport-on-the-Medlock and other potential investors in Manchester who supported the proposed textile mill, The reign
would come to an abrupt end tonight. He would catch The Cat right now and be done with the blustering investors downstairs who had been more interested in kow-towing to the nobleman in residence than concocting a worthy plan. Then he could get back to Parliament and the controversial reform legislation that awaited him in London. But first, he had to catch the man behind the curtain.
A figure emerged from the shadow of the heavy curtains.
The figure did not bolt as Brandon expected, but stood brashly at the sill, letting the moonlight outline her silhouette.
Her?
The Cat, the daring intruder who stood between him and the success of the mill, which he needed to save Stockport-on-the-Medlock from the ignominy of agricultural penury, was unmistakably a woman. A provocatively dressed woman at that, Brandon conceded, raking his gaze over her form.