Touch of a Thief (15 page)

For she must escape. As badly as she wanted Quinn, how could she ever trust a man who would drown his own brother? She tried to puzzle out another interpretation of what she’d seen, but nothing else made sense. The horror of the vision washed over her afresh and she fought back a wave of nausea.

She couldn’t put enough distance between her and Quinn.

She was going home. She was done with thievery. She’d sell the town house and move her family to a small cottage in the country, just as her mother wanted. Somehow, they’d scrape by. If she no longer cared for appearances, she might be pleasantly surprised by what she could do without.

The headache subsided to a manageable throb. She picked up her pace down the Place de la Concorde toward a coaching inn she’d noticed when she and Quinn were shopping. Turning off the well-traveled thoroughfare and down a narrow lane, she was so intent on her goal that she was less observant of her surroundings than she should have been.

“Well, your ladyship, fancy meetin’ you ’ere. Ain’t it a small world?”

A beefy hand weighed down her shoulder and she turned to look into a face that could frighten a gargoyle.

“Willie, what are you doing here?”

“I was ’bout to ask ye the selfsame question.” He eyed her valise. “Going someplace without yer gentleman friend?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but, as a matter of fact, I’m going home.”

Willie laughed unpleasantly. “Picked ’im clean already, did ye? Well, that’s wot I like so much about ye. Quick and to the point.”

He snatched the valise from her and popped it open, rummaging through her chemises and drawers and second-best gown. When he didn’t find what he sought, he began to fling the contents to the ground till the bag was empty. “All right, where is it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They were only steps from a public street, but no one had intervened when he tore through her luggage. She had no hope anyone would come to her aid even if he became violent. Her only recourse was to shelter behind distant disdain and hope that her title would make him think twice before accosting her physically.

“You know. The Indian diamond. I knows that’s wot ye’re ’ere for.”

“I have not done any burglary since I arrived in France,” she whispered furiously. Never mind that she’d intended to make use of her skills on the morrow. “My companion and I have decided to part ways and I’m on my way home. That’s all there is to it. I told you this trip had nothing to do with you, Willie. You might have saved yourself the trouble and expense of following me.”

“Well, I’m ’ere in any case, ain’t I?” He swaggered a step closer and she resisted the urge to retreat. A show of weakness would only encourage him. “And I’m out a fair piece of change. Reckon you’ll have to make it right for me.”

She straightened to her full height, which unfortunately was quite a bit less than his. “I most certainly will not.”

“Oh, your ladyship, I wish ye hadn’t said that.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Ye see, I have it on good authority there’s half a dozen bawdy houses wot would love to have a real English lady in their stable not half a mile from this spot. All I need do is give ye a clout on the head and ye’ll wake up chained to a bed.”

She scuttled backward, but he snaked out a hand and snagged her wrist.

“But I’m the kindhearted sort, ye see,” Willie went on, twisting her wrist as he spoke. “It would pain me to see ye brought so low. So ’ere’s wot ye’re going to do. Ye nip back to yer gentleman friend, that Lieutenant Quinn, and do whatever ye need do to get back in his good graces. And then ye look for a likely chance to lift his stash of jewels. When ye got ’em, why, ye just take a little walk to stretch yer legs.”

He released her wrist and Viola resisted the urge to rub it. If she let him see he’d hurt her, it would only bring him pleasure.

“I’ll be watchin’ ye, milady. Best ye don’t disappoint me. I’m not always as good-natured a fella as ye see me being right now. So what’ll it be? Will ye go back to Quinn and lighten his wallet for me or would ye rather spread yer legs for France’s finest?” He raked her with a lascivious gaze and her belly curdled. “Damn me if I wouldn’t line up to be first if ye picked the latter.”

Viola eyed him coldly, not willing to allow him the satisfaction of her revulsion, and stooped to retrieve her scattered garments. She stuffed them back into the valise, fighting to keep her hands from trembling, and snapped it shut. “Kindly step aside. I’m returning to my suite at the Hotel de Crillon.”

She had no choice but to go back to Quinn.

Willie laughed again, a ragged cackle. “Ye wound me heart, yer ladyship, but me purse is like to get fatter this way, so I collect I’ll get over it.” His face screwed into a fierce scowl and he yanked her so close his putrid breath streamed over her.

She fought the urge to retch.

“But don’t ye be thinkin’ ye’re going to stiff me, Peach. I don’t take kindly to it. I don’t take kindly to it at all.”

“You
must be feeling better.”

Quinn was relieved to find Viola in the darkened sitting room instead of in bed. The heavy damask curtains had been pulled, blocking out most of the sun’s light, but at least she was fully dressed.

Though not in one of the new ensembles he’d bought for her, he noted with consternation. Then he realized she probably hadn’t wanted to ring for an abigail to help her dress and decided to muddle through by herself with some of her old things. She was a very private person. In that, they were alike.

Well suited. His resolve strengthened.

But she hadn’t acknowledged his arrival yet.

“Viola?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon.” She gave her head a small shake and glanced his way. “Yes, my head is somewhat better, thank you.”

“Excellent.” He turned to Sanjay. “Will you be a good fellow and unwrap that package? The modiste said we should spread it out on a bed so the wrinkles don’t set.”

“No, Sanjay, I’ll do it.” Viola rose more quickly than Quinn expected a woman with a sick headache could and moved to intercept Sanjay on his way to the bedroom. “You shouldn’t have to wait on me. You’re not really a servant, after all.”

Sanjay stopped short. It was the first time she’d spoken to him directly unless it was to give him an order.

“Quinn told me your true situation, Your Highness. And may I say, I am dismayed by the injustice done you and your people.” She dipped a shallow curtsy, then gentled the parcel away from him. “I believe you and I started on the wrong foot, but that’s my fault since we met under larcenous circumstances. I apologize for treating you as if you were my servant in the past. I assure you, it will not happen again.”

She smiled charmingly and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving both Quinn and Sanjay staring after her.

“Did she strike her head on something when she fainted?” Sanjay asked.

“I didn’t find any evidence of it.” Before she’d regained consciousness, he’d checked her thoroughly for injury. Nothing accounted for her fainting.

But Viola was definitely altered by the experience.

“No matter. To my mind, the lady is much improved by her malady.”

“You think so?” Quinn wasn’t so sure. Something felt off about Viola’s abrupt change toward Sanjay. It was as if she were suddenly currying his favor for some reason.

“I wonder if the kitchen has any more of those scones Lady Viola likes,” Sanjay mused aloud. “I shall bring some with your tea.”

“Sure I shouldn’t get it myself?” Quinn drawled. “After all, you’re not really my servant.”

“No, but we must keep up appearances. At least, for the world’s eyes. If the Blood of the Tiger suddenly goes missing and it is known that Amjerat’s prince is near, it will not take much to connect me with the jewel’s disappearance.”

Sanjay let himself out and Quinn went into the bedroom. Viola had spread the burgundy gown across the counterpane and was billowing the skirt to shake out wrinkles.

“Is it to your liking?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “It’s very fine. Thank you.”

She still hadn’t looked at him.

It was deucedly hard to propose to a woman who wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began.

“Mmm-hmm.” She skittered to the far side of the bed and smoothed out the gown’s long train.

“I’ve been thinking I’ve been unfair to you.”

“You’ve brought me to Paris, bought me a new wardrobe, and tried to shower me with jewels,” she said, still not looking up. “Most women would find that exceedingly fair.”

“Not if I also compromised their reputation in the process. I confess I hadn’t foreseen that outcome when we set out on this venture.”

Viola straightened and folded her hands before her fig-leaf fashion. She seemed intensely fascinated with her own thumbs.

“I’d like to make amends for that.” This was shaping up to be the most ham-handed proposal in history, but he plowed ahead doggedly.

“I don’t see how, since it would be rather like shutting the stable door after the horse has escaped. Gossip flies on swift wings.” She began smoothing the burgundy tulle again, her hands nervous as butterflies, alighting and rising again between one heartbeat and the next. “I’ve no doubt word of our supposed elopement has journeyed toward the Channel already. I’m as good as ruined.”

“Not if the elopement wasn’t pretend.”

She looked at him then, her hazel eyes wide. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Quinn said, disgusted with himself for doing this so badly and more than a little irritated with her for making it more difficult than it need be. “I’m proposing.”

In the silence that followed he clearly heard the mantel clock ticking in the adjoining room.

“I’m proposing we end this sham and marry in truth.”

A few more heartbeats trudged by and Quinn realized he was holding his breath.

“Why?” she finally said.

“For the reason I just mentioned. To protect your reputation.” Quinn dragged a hand through his hair. “Weren’t you attending?”

She looked away from him and furiously rearranged the folds of the gown again. “If you hope for a positive response to your suit, it might behoove you to be less snippy.”

He took heart at that. At least she was sounding more like her gingery self.

“I’m not snippy, I’m . . . oh, Viola, I know I’m not doing this well, but—”

“That’s not the issue, Quinn. I’m not the sort who needs fair words if that’s what you’re worried about. But you still haven’t answered my question.” She stopped fiddling with the gown and fixed him with a stare. “Why would you want to marry me?”

“Do women usually ask that question of the man who proposes to them?”

“I don’t know. I suppose they do if they want to know the answer.” She fisted her hands at her waist. “I bring you no dowry. I was no virgin when we met. We’ve known each other less than a fortnight and the main reason for our association in the first place is because I intended to steal from you. So I’m asking, Quinn.” Her arms relaxed at her sides as some of the fight seemed to sizzle out of her. “Why do you want to marry me?”

He walked around the bed and put his arms around her. She stiffened in his embrace and turned her head away. He took her chin and forced her to look up at him.

“Because I think . . .”

Her stony gaze spilled a bit of wind from his sails.

“It’s quite likely that . . . that I may . . . possibly . . . love you.”

He bent to kiss her, but she covered his mouth with her palm to stop him. “Possibly is not good enough.”

She pulled away from him and returned to the sitting room.

He followed. “I do love you.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, Quinn. Don’t start treating me as if I haven’t a brain in my head. There may be nothing else between us, but I deserve at least that much respect.”

“There’s plenty between us and you know it. What about last night—hell, what about this morning?”

“Do I really need to explain to you that sexual congress is not the same as love?”

“Viola, I—”

“No, stop it, Quinn. We barely know each other.”

After the toe-curling things she’d done to him and with him, how could she say that? It might not be love, but it was something. He knew the shiver of her sighs, the way her brows drew together in need just before she came, the way her eyes darkened when she wanted him. “I know you better than you think.”

“It only seems that way, but you really don’t.” She stopped pacing and went still as a hare. “And I don’t know you.”

“You know me better than most.”

“You have secrets, Quinn. No doubt you shield them with good reason.” She looked sharply at him, but her eyes went strangely out of focus and he got the eerie feeling she was looking right through him. “We barely know each other in mundane matters as well. For example, do you even know if I have any siblings?”

“I know you have no brothers.” That was easy since if she had one, her brother would have inherited her father’s earldom and would have provided for her as her cousin had not. “And I believe you mentioned a sister.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. Score one for a man who listened when a woman spoke.

“Yes, but do you know she’s a lunatic? When her husband ran off with an opera dancer, Ophelia went completely off her head. That sort of thing runs in families, I’m told. Why would you want to run the risk of—”

“You are not your sister.”

“And you’re not your brother,” she fired back. “You haven’t told me anything about him. Why is that?”

“There’s not much to tell,” he said uneasily. “Reggie died when we were children.”

“How did he die?”

Sweet Christ, why did she ask that?
“It was . . . an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” she asked, white-lipped.

“The accidental kind.” An invisible fist squeezed his heart and for a blink he thought he smelled a whiff of the algaescummed lake.

“Your brother’s death changed your life forever. Tell me about it.”
Tell me, Quinn. Oh, God, please tell me I’m wrong. Give me anything that will make sense of the vision. Anything but what I think I saw.

Her belly writhed like a bucketful of eels. She wanted so badly for him to say something—anything—to wipe away the image that burned in her mind. She realized she’d likely believe him if he lied, simply because she wanted so desperately for the vision not to be true.

She waited, suspended between heaven and hell, barely able to draw breath.

“It happened so long ago. There’s . . . nothing to tell really,” he finally said. “I fail to see what this has to do with my proposal of marriage.”

Her last bit of hope wilted.

“Quinn, if you cannot speak to me of something that must have been a major event in your life,” she said softly, because she had hardly any air to put behind her voice, “there is obviously very little you have to say to me. I will not have a marriage full of deadly silence.”

“It’s not that.” He grimaced with frustration. “You’ve twisted things all around. I’m offering you marriage because I can see that I’ve created difficulties for you and I want to help you avoid scandal.”

“Not a very solid foundation for matrimony. Nor a very flattering one.”

“Then let me offer a practical reason for us to marry,” Quinn said coldly. “We were careless. You may very well be carrying my child.”

“That’s possible.” Neville had withdrawn the one time they were intimate. She had no idea if she were the sort of woman who quickened easily. “I would not force a child to bear the stain of bastardy. If I find I am increasing, perhaps we’ll discuss this matter again.”

Her belly churned uneasily. Were there really any circumstances in which she could marry a man who’d murdered his brother?

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What changed you toward me, Viola? Between breakfast and now, I hardly recognize you. It’s as if you’re a different person.”

No, she thought with a leaden heart. She was the same. He was the one who was different. Unnatural. Damaged.

But why couldn’t she stop caring for him? Why did he still make her body thrum with his nearness?

Perhaps Quinn wasn’t the only damaged one in the room.

“Then you prove my point,” she said, wishing she didn’t see something like hurt in his gray eyes. “You don’t know me as well as you thought.”

The latch of the door rattled.

“Oh, there’s Sanjay with tea.” She bustled over to hold the door for him, relief at his interruption washing over her. If Sanjay didn’t know about Quinn’s brother, perhaps he’d prove a useful ally when she found a chance to escape. He might even protect her from Willie if she flattered him properly. “Quinn, pull up an extra chair for His Highness. Surely he’ll join us for tea. You will? Oh, good. Now I want to hear all about Amjerat.”