Stolen Petals (4 page)

Before she could turn away, Edward moved closer. His hand cupped the base of her neck and while she knew where he headed, she found herself drawn to him, unwilling to pull herself away.

Their lips met in a sweet crush of cinnamon and bergamot. Fire blossomed in her chest in a way she hadn't felt in years. His rough fingers along her skin and his chaste kiss on her lips threw her senses into overload. Her mind reeled, captured in the moment, and wrapped in his scent of pine and leather. Thrills ran through her, sending messages to her body that her mind had earlier rebuffed. She leaned into the kiss, resting against him as she slipped her tongue inside his mouth.

Quick as it began, he pulled away.

"Good night, madam." He offered her a stiff bow. Viola staggered back a pace, trying to process what happened. Her fingertips pressed her swollen lips as he walked off. The moon cast a grey shadow across those defined shoulders and the breeze ruffled his hair. Her heart bounced in her chest. She'd caught a glimpse, a flash of the heat in his eyes before he turned around and strolled off. Despite the gentlemanly kiss, a ferocity burned behind his gaze promising something primal. She shuddered.

The screech of the sub-bus sounded in the distance. Viola tucked her curls back into place, straightened her tunic, and departed for home.

Chapter Five

She hadn't seen nor heard from Edward since that night. They had planned to meet at her place the day of the soiree so she could inspect what he wore and to finish their plan of attack. Should've been simple to shut him from her mind, after all, the man was a cocky menace. He propositioned women willy nilly, stole jobs from other bounty hunters, and then kissed her with enough intensity to bowl her over. Worst of all? Ever since their kiss, he was all she could think about. The man, the mystery, emerged in her thoughts at all points of the day. Like she needed the distraction with a job this big.

Viola stationed herself in front of the mirror and began applying her makeup. It was just a kiss. Not as if she hadn't had hundreds before like it. She paused with her powder puff in hand. Hence the real problem—Viola couldn't remember the last time a kiss had heated her to the core, or melted through her icy exterior. Of all the men she'd been with, why did those feelings resurrect for him?

She swiped her eyeliner on with a vengeance. This was the man who'd slept with half the ladies in her town. The one she caught buried deep in her charge, Jenny Heartswaith. Who walked with a swagger and charmed his way through anything. What did that say about her if she felt the thrill of attraction around him? Viola had lauded herself on how far out of the gutter she'd come and protected herself from ending up victim to another man looking for a warm bed. She couldn't get sucked back in, especially not by the Fox.

Her doorbell rang, the tinny notes echoing through the house. Viola heaved a sigh to try and ignore the way her heart sped up.

She picked up her skirts and descended the stairs. Her weapons were already strapped to her garters and a bodice dagger in place. Thankfully she had been almost finished getting ready. Tonight they'd work together to bag their bounty and tomorrow he'd be the enigmatic rival he'd always been. Viola sucked in a deep breath and pulled the door open.

A stranger stood before her in a mahogany three-piece suit with a matching top hat. Polished black shoes accented his feet and a bronze watch strap hung from his waistcoat pocket. Small cufflinks that Viola recognized as alchemical bombs completed the ensemble, as he’d dressed to the details. He had tamed his hair, pulling the longer strands back with a leather thong. The sharp angle of his chin stood out on a clean shaven face and the only hint of Edward Van Clef, the Fox, was the twinkle in his hazel eyes and the smirk on his lips.

"Mr. Van Clef," she murmured, regaining her composure. A wolf's grin widened his smile. He'd noticed her slack-jawed gaping...lovely.

"You're looking exquisite tonight, Miss Embrees. One might think we had a formal occasion to attend."

She took a deep breath as the blush reached her cheeks. Tonight she'd pulled out a pearl blue corset and skirt with a slight iridescence to the fabric—she wanted to blend in. The color blue was in fashion so amongst all the other trend followers, she would attract the least amount of attention. The rosettes on her ears were copper, as well as the thick clasp around her wrist, which was yet another piece that transformed into a dagger. She'd run a comb through until her dark blonde hair shone and her brown eye shadow and lining complemented her attire. Professional and ladylike, Viola could achieve.

"Are you going to invite me in or continue providing me with this lovely vision?" He leaned against the doorframe.

Viola collected her sense off the floor. She flashed him a grin. "With that glib tongue on you, maybe you're safer outdoors. However, I'm not known for rudeness, so please, come in."

Edward stepped inside, heading straight for the walnut rocker in the corner and taking a seat. He lounged like he did anywhere, already relaxed and sitting like he owned the place.

Not in her home.

"Oh, I didn't say a word about comfort. We've got plans to discuss." She placed her hands on her hips.

"Like my improper state of attire? Tell me lady, what did I do wrong?" He gave her a cheeky grin and stood. Edward knew just as well as she, he was dressed better than most gentlemen.

He wanted to give cheek? She could return the favor. "Why yes, I did want to inspect." Inches away from him, she tapped her finger against her chin. He stood perfectly still while she trailed her fingertips down his sleeves, her hands brushing his neck as she adjusted his collar. Too still. As she readjusted his lapels, she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. Even though his easy smile hadn't lessened, she'd made him nervous.
Good.

She crouched to one knee, pretending to examine his shoes, his pants, all the way up to the fitting around his groin. This close, she didn't miss the bulge in the fabric. Viola ignored her own increased heartbeat. This was worth every second of unladylike behavior to turn that cocky scoundrel on his head. She took her time as she rose to stand, not moving away in the slightest. His hot breath puffed against her cheeks. Viola trailed a finger down the front of his shirt, pausing on each button as if she'd flick it open. She met his gaze, seeing the same as the other night. Heat. Desire. Need.

Yet, she'd seen those same emotions on dozens and dozens of men. She wanted more.

Viola stood straight and turned on her heel. "Well, I suppose that'll do for tonight. Now where are those plans you've brought me?" She hid the self-satisfied smirk on her face. The tension in the room deflated with her words.

Edward strode past her and tugged a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. The heat still emanated from his eyes, but he controlled his movements with the same coiled power as an approaching tiger.

"Well, here's the piece you've been waiting for." He took a seat and gestured for her to follow suit. Viola arched an eyebrow but complied. "Out of the three floors, the six bathrooms on the ground level will be where most of the activity shall take place. If luck is with us tonight and I catch him on a bathroom break, I can incapacitate our friend. When you see me depart, find an excuse to follow five minutes later. Once we make it past the woods with our unwieldy cargo, we can dash off into the night and reap our rewards."

Viola pursed her lips. Solid plan, however, she didn't trust him to share the wealth. From past experience, she'd peg him for dashing off with the bounty before she had the chance to catch up. But he'd already revealed his hand. She scanned over the document. A mixture of libraries, parlors, and bedrooms comprised the second floor. Most of the guest bedrooms would be occupied, but if the festivities happened downstairs, the guests wouldn't be using the libraries until later in the night when patrons wanted to relax and wind down.

She still had an ace up her sleeve. Feminine wiles went a long way, particularly with a man under heavy guard. A man like him would have very little opportunity to get intimate with a woman.

"Well, good sir. I suppose you'll be helping me with my packages? I use several tools in tending bar, along with unique ingredients our hosts won't be able to provide."

Edward stood from his seat. "Lead on, dear lady. Although, at some point you'll have to tell me where a woman like you learned to tend bar like that."

Viola allowed him a secretive smile, trying to dispel the dark memories surging beneath the surface. That was one story she wouldn't be sharing. "Stick with me long enough and I might even teach you some tricks."

"If only I could be so lucky." His eyes flashed with the same passion she'd glimpsed before. A trickle of a thrill crawled down her spine.

"Let's gather our things and head out," she responded. Time to focus on their bounty, not waste stray thoughts on Edward Van Clef.

Chapter Six

To say Henrietta's manor was resplendent would do it a disservice. In fact, no words could capture the opulence of the affair, from the globe lights in every window illuminating the place for miles, to the marble walkway and bronzed railings tipped with fleur de lis.

Music sounded from across the hall, echoing throughout the tall ceilings. Sweet violin strains created a haunting melody that lingered in the back of her mind, dredging up old memories of nights she hid in the attic, waiting for the women downstairs to finish their work. Cream curtains embellished with gold embroidery gleamed in the candlelight. The chandelier glittered, crystals reflecting and casting multicolored shadows across the marble floors. All this splendor on display and they only stood in the parlor.

Viola was aware of Edward standing behind her, his presence a surprising comfort as she wove her way through the crowds. He kept her pace and managed to avoid bumping into anyone along the way—she expected no less from the Fox.

Throngs of men donning three piece suits, musky cologne, and smoking lit cigars stood in her way, along with groups of women wearing crushed silk dresses that flared past their waistlines and necklaces with gems the size of fists. The wealth was tangible, unable to be replicated by any merchant even if they struck it big.

The bar lay at the edge of the room, a refined piece made of mahogany with copper trim. An average bartender would shirk from this kind of affair—after all, smudging up something of this caliber would be remembered for a long time. But Viola was no ordinary bartender and the Ivory Bar was proof. With hands steadied from years of working with weapons, she wasn't about to drop a drink.

She slipped behind the bar followed by Edward. No host came over to greet her, as they were much too busy dealing with their own affairs. She pulled out her box of globes, small round spheres that when squeezed reached cold temperatures to chill the drinks. Better than ice since they didn't compromise the quality of the liquor and with their brassy sheen, made the perfect flourish to any drink.

They paid her a high rate for autonomy. Between the exquisite paycheck and the hand up these gigs gave her with her other profession, Viola wasn't about to give up her bartending any time soon. However, Edward concerned her. The man might be able to chase down a bounty, but could he pour a drink?

Best not experiment here.

"Follow my orders," Viola directed him behind the bar. "You'll be in charge of stocking supplies."

"But I've been told I have a
very
steady hand," he whispered in her ear.

She ignored the heat in her chest and delivered him a sweet smile. "Sorry, one night stands don't stack up as credentials for tending bar."

The two servants she'd requested chose that moment to appear. Edward coughed and stood a little straighter under their curious gazes.

"Names?" Viola asked, already setting to work screwing pour tops onto the most common liquors.

"Genevieve and Jessandra, ma'am," the shorter girl replied.

"And you've experience?" She arched a brow. Both girls wore traditional server garb: cream blouses, chestnut pants, and vests, accompanied by knee length riding boots of a darker brown. Their uniform was much more practical for serving drinks, but Viola had arrived to supervise, socialize, and kidnap a man.

"More credentials than some, apparently." The girl named Jessandra gave her a smart reply, her eyes twinkling with restrained laughter.

"Let's say I'm Mistress Viola's charity case." Edward winked, his cheeky smile and easygoing manner softening both girls. Viola sighed. The man had no off-switch when it came to flirtation.

"Ignore the layabout. He's right, it is charity. Family favor," she added to cut off any questions. "How confident are you in shandies, redcoat pours, and proper absinthe etiquette?"

"Good on all fronts," Jessandra said.

"Redcoat pour?" Genevieve blinked twice.

Before Viola could respond, Edward cut in. "Redcoat pour is scotch, neat. Any time you see a man in uniform, that's what you serve, regardless of preference."

Viola hid her grin. She'd forgotten he was an ex-soldier. "Right," she recovered. "Well, follow my lead and we'll make it through this."

The band began to add in brass, signaling the beginning of the ball.

***

An hour in and everyone performed at top efficiency behind the bar, even Edward. Ever the con-man, whatever mistakes he made with the ladies' beverages, he flirted his way out of. With the men he used his old military demeanor to win them over.

Jessandra and Genevieve had a handle on the steady stream of drinks, so Viola took more of a backseat role. She scanned over the patrons, searching for Claude. The best way to get a better view of the room, however, would be to join the dancing partners in the center. She caught Edward's eyes and directed his gaze to the dance floor.

"Can I take a break to go dancing, please?" he asked, picking up her cue.

"I don't know. We can't leave the bar untended." She cast a glance to Genevieve and Jessandra, letting the statement hang like a question.

Jessandra waved them on. "We promise not to boff anything up."

"Oh fine." Viola sighed, making a show of acquiescing. Edward slid right beside her, pressing his hot hand against her bare arm.

"May I have this dance?" His eyes twinkled as he led her onto the dance floor.

Viola could feel the concentration of gazes the second her heels hit tile, but she expected the attention. This wasn't her first turn around the dance floor. Edward's hand made its way to her waist, same as the other partners in this waltz. The rest of them looked proper when they did it, but somehow Edward made even this gesture appear like in seconds he'd rip off her corset and do away with her skirt. Maybe it was the way his eyes followed her, or the way his fingers moved an inch past propriety, regardless, the Fox knew how to distract her.

Now was not the time to notice how his eyes looked amber in this light or feel the heat of his breath on her neck.
Focus.

Women and men paired off all across the dance floor, most of them married and rich with a couple debutantes scattered in the mix. Everywhere flared skirts dominated the floor, like a field of unfurled tulips. Claude was not among the people dancing. Despite her focus elsewhere, she didn't trip, nor did Edward. Martial artists and masters with blades learned their own sort of dance, a poise that translated over.

Following the cue of the other dancers, Edward dipped her and his hand pressed against her back. As he pulled her back up, his lips brushed her ear. "To the far right. What's the plan?"

She passed him a polite grin. "Let me get him alone."

Edward frowned, but his expression cleared in a moment. "What will I do?"

She pressed herself to him, using the dance as an excuse for privacy. "I'll alert you when I've got him and need the assist." She withheld her grin when he shot her a quick glare. He'd said he would follow her lead, but apparently he had problems keeping his ego in check.

"I'll be plucking daisies while you're gone, darling," he murmured.

"Please tell me that doesn't mean deflowering every female here." Viola's tone was dry.

He laughed and spun her, pulling her in close right after. She thanked the heavens for her bustle, her skirts, and in fact all the layers separating them—barriers to help her keep control.

The dance ended with a flourish, all loud trumpeting and brass when Viola stepped away. "Wish me luck."

She stalked toward Claude's corner of the room with all the predatory grace of a panther after prey. Claude himself lacked muscle, and in fact, his skin was puckered and deflated along a long, lanky frame. His cheekbones protruded and his sunken eyes made him look positively skeletal. The four men surrounding him overcompensated, like they'd been snatched from a bodybuilding competition. As luck would have it, they'd stationed themselves by a buffet table, making her entrance easier.

Viola plucked a chocolate covered strawberry from one of the trays and then stepped away from the table, keeping her eyes on the crowd to make it seem like she aimed for polite distance. She sunk her teeth into the strawberry, savoring it and making sure Claude and crew could see her enjoyment. After she swallowed, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Clasping her hands, she arched her back, putting her chest on full display. And waited.

"Are you here by yourself?" the thick voice of one Claude Brownetree inquired.

Viola tilted her head. "Me? I'm afraid I barely know anyone here." She cast a longing glance to the dance floor, knowing the shut-in would never partake. "What about yourself?"

"This is my aunt's manor." He puffed with pride.

"Oh really? I've heard she has a legendary study," she gushed, "That it has pieces of art unseen for centuries." She'd have to be careful not to push too hard.

"Would you care to see it?" he asked. "I'm not one to engage in dancing."

"That would be lovely." She clasped her hands together in the foolish way men liked. Leaning in, she continued her head full of bees routine. "Are these your bodyguards?" she asked in an exaggerated whisper. One of them shot a glare her way, but the others remained focused, eyes on the crowd.

"They are, dear lady," he lowered his voice, placing a hand over his chest. "I'm a marked man."

It took every ounce of her resolve to stifle the giggle rising up while watching this melodramatic bastard. Claude should've been a stage actor with his whole tortured routine. However, within minutes he'd led them away from the party toward one of the side stairs.

"And you're stuck in this manor day in and day out? You poor thing," she fed his drama, using that as a distraction.

"Unfortunately the danger surrounding me is too great." His voice was heavy and Viola half expected him to whip out an accompanying instrument. Whatever crimes this man had committed, they weren't as egregious as his inflated self-image. Viola threw her dumber than thou routine his way, all batting lashes and vacant smiles.

The narrow stairwell forced them to file one by one. Even though she managed to squeeze in behind him, his bodyguards jammed right after her. These men were good—professionals. Meaning she'd have to find a way to incapacitate them before snatching Claude. Thankfully the ragdoll of a man wouldn't provide much resistance.

She kept her movements varied, fingering an earring, adjusting her bracelet, and even brushing her fingers against the clips holding her hair in place. They didn't know she checked her arsenal. The rosette earrings were flash bombs, the bracelet whirred into a dagger with the click of a button, and the clips, once you took the caps off, were needles tipped with poison.

They strode into the study, another room as majestic as the ballroom but consisting of leather, mahogany, and a collection of old books so voluminous, historians would weep. The thick velvet curtains shifted from emerald to pine depending on the way the shadows fell. Glass panels laid out in complex snowflake patterns covered the ceiling. Viola could only imagine what it'd be like under midday sun. The room would glitter like a crystal.

Claude took a seat on a long chestnut couch embroidered with burnished gold overlay. His guards snapped to his side and gave Viola the full force of their intimidating stares. Viola feigned blithe stupidity, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the Parisian carpentry and the hardbound editions of books over a century old. Claude patted the seat beside him.

"Why don't you take a seat? I'm sure the walk tired you out."

He must truly be buying the stupid act. Viola could spot lust a mile away and that's all his eyes conveyed. "You're right." She brushed her fingers along the spines of several books on the shelves. She'd have to act quickly.

Four guards surrounding her mark.

Viola rubbed the back of her neck. The clip slid into her fingers unnoticed by the guards as she walked over. Using her nail, she popped the cap. One step away from Claude, she wobbled.

"Oh!" she let out a cry, careening forward in a faint. Straight toward Claude. The nearest guard jumped between them, grabbing her by the shoulders to keep her steady. She plunged the clip straight into his forearm. Before anyone could react, Viola aimed a sharp punch to his solar plexus. The next guy didn't stand a chance as she took offensive, jamming the other clip into his neck. One of the guards stepped in front of Claude and the other in front of her.

He grabbed her wrists with a steel grip before she could dodge out of the way. Yes, he was bigger and stronger. But she was smarter. She head-butted the bracelet on her wrist. The pieces slid together, the bands tightening and the metal lining up to a thick, sharp point. Shoving forward with that arm, the metal drove into his forearm, startling him. She swept a low kick, throwing him off balance and wrested her wrist free. His arm reared back, hand balled into a fist. Viola plunged the point right between the ribs, aiming for the spleen. Graceful as a dancer, she whirled out of the way as the punch descended. His grip released seconds later, followed by gurgling as he hit the floor.

One guard remained standing right in front of Claude. Viola grabbed the dangling rosette from her ear. She slammed in to the ground and veered to the right. Viola closed her eyes as the white, blinding light exploded and a sonic screech ripped the air. She groped in front of her, finding purchase on the bony arm of Claude Brownetree. Using memory and her innate sense of direction to guide her, she tugged him forward.