Wild Passion (4 page)

He stood chatting with another man, oblivious to her.
And she felt his hands on her once more, his lips to hers, his cock
inside her. Her body aching, needing, melting. She pressed her hand
to her racing heart.

Dear Lord, she was trapped. She could run across the
ballroom floor, right between the dancing couples and draw
immediate attention to herself. She could turn around and move by
the very man she had seen strangling her. Or… she could head toward
the lesser of three evils.

And so she waited, waited for him to notice her. And
he did. Slowly, the man who had stolen her statue, the man who had
kept her up the last three nights with disturbing dreams of his
mouth on hers, his body on her, in her… slowly, he turned and his
gaze fastened to her.

His smile quivered the slightest, his eyes narrowed
ever so much, but other than that, he didn’t react. Did he
recognize her? His gaze moved down her body, paused, then jerked
back to her face. Ah, yes, he recognized her. Smirking, she lifted
her hand and gave a little wiggle of her fingertips. Bastard, if
not for him, she would have sold the statue and her mother would be
living a life of luxury right now.

He started toward her. Her pulse jumped, but she
stood her ground. She couldn’t run, if she ran he’d call the alarm.
She’d draw suspicion. No, she’d use her wits, and perhaps her
flirting abilities, to get out of this mess. The closer he got, the
faster her pulse raced. Those eyes…those impossibly dark eyes kept
her pinned to the spot. When he was only a few feet away, her
entire body seemed to melt.

“Well, imagine seeing you here.” He paused closer
than was proper. So close, he would surely draw notice. “Am I
correct in assuming you weren’t invited?”

“Correct,” her voice came out breathless.

He nodded slowly. “You look lovely.”

She wanted to scoff at his words, to make light of
his compliment, but the heated look in his eyes prevented her from
saying anything. She had a feeling he actually meant what he said.
She had a feeling that even now he thought of their kisses, the
moment they’d shared. She’d certainly received lustful glances
before and had even been kissed a time or two. One didn’t live
where she lived and not be groped upon occasion. But never…ever…
had her own body reacted so, lighting within so she thought she
might catch fire.

“Shall we dance?” he asked, holding out his gloved
hand.

“I can’t… dance, that is.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just
follow me.”

“No, I…”

He latched onto her arm and pulled her toward the
twirling couples. She felt his touch all the way to her core, her
knees growing weak. Frantic, Adelaide stumbled over her feet.
Merde,
she could barely walk in his presence, how would she
waltz? She should have dressed as a servant instead. She could have
grabbed the statue and disappeared into Paris. If she pulled away
now, he would cry the alarm.

As more and more people glanced their way, she
realized how startled she must have looked and quickly lifted her
lips into what she hoped was a serene smile. She had danced before.
When she was young her mother had taught her. How wonderful that
time had been, eagerly awaiting father’s visits. But then Papa had
stopped coming. No money. Her mother growing sadder…weaker. She’d
been eight the last time she’d seen her father. Until this past
summer at the temple in India. The worst had been realizing her
father hadn’t recognized her. She brushed aside the thoughts as the
man before her wrapped a steel arm around her waist.

“What is your name?” she asked. “Tis only fair you
tell me.”

Those hard lips lifted into a smirk. “Fair? Are we
playing fair now?”

“I’ve always been.”

He twirled her, the movement so quick, she had to
tighten her arm around his shoulder. “James,” he said. “Since I owe
you that much.”

She tried to keep control of her thoughts as he
twirled her around the room, her feet barely touching the floor.
“You owe me the statue you stole.
My
statue. ”

He lifted a brow, sweeping her in a circle. “Really?
Your statue?”

“Yes.”

His hand tightened on her back, pressing her closer
to his hard body. His thighs brushed against hers as he turned and
spun her around and around. Her breasts… lord, her breasts were
crushed indecently to his chest. The soft mounds grew heavy, her
nipples hardening and she prayed he didn’t notice. Memories of the
other night flashed to mind. The aching need flared to life once
more.

“Tell me, my dear Adelaide,” his breath was a warm
temptation across her face, “how it is that you know many things
you shouldn’t, such as where to find me.” Idly, his thumb rubbed
her back in slow, gentle movements. The touch made her confused,
lightheaded, and the constant spinning didn’t help. The room was
becoming a blur of candlelight and colorful dresses.

Yet, she felt oddly right in his arms and the thought
left her bemused and somewhat annoyed. “Luck?”

He laughed softly. “I doubt it. If you know so much,
then you probably know that I have nothing to do with the statue. I
was hired to get the piece for Lord Emery.” He glanced at the man
and she followed his gaze. The man who had bumped into her. The man
who made her blood run cold. Lord Emery stood on the side of the
room, watching them.

“Ah, so you’re completely innocent.” She tried to
keep her voice calm, but deep down her mind screamed at her to
run!

“Of course.”

A sudden shout burst through the crowded ballroom. A
cry for help from the far corner. Dancers paused, bumping into each
other. James froze, his grip on her tightening as he jerked his
head toward the sound. Fear swept through the room like a wave in a
storm. Adelaide didn’t even flinch. She’d known it was coming. Had
known the servant would trip and send the candles into the
curtains. She’d had the vision last night.

Guests gasped, horrified. Women stumbled back, as far
away from the flames as possible, knowing their wide dresses would
be easy prey. Men stumbled forward, shouting for help and eager to
prove their worth. Fires were all too common, they knew the damage
that could be done.

James dropped his hold, just as she knew he would.
She didn’t need a vision to know that James would not run from
fear. “I’ll be just a moment.”

She didn’t pause. The moment he turned his back to
her, Adelaide fled, pushing her way through the crowds. No one
would notice her now as she hiked up her skirts and rushed up those
main stairs to the second floor.

Even as she reached the corridor with the many, many
doors that led to bedchambers, she could still hear the panicked
screams below. She knew the servants would get the fire under
control and only the curtains would be lost. Her worry was not for
the curtains, but for herself. Servants rushed from rooms, carrying
their owner’s valuables. Not one glanced her way.

Breathless, Adelaide stopped outside the last door in
the hall. It was there, she could practically feel the power
vibrating from the room.

She shoved open the door so hard it bounced against
the wall. Quickly she took in the large room, the massive
four-poster bed. She knew she had only moments. Knew that James was
on his way up here even now. Heart hammering wildly, she dashed to
the bookshelves that lined the far wall.

With trembling fingers, she searched the novels. In
her vision last night she’d seen him replacing a certain book…
there!
The History of Botany.
She pulled the book from the
shelf, letting it fall to the ground with a thud.

The golden statue unveiled, having been hidden at the
back of the shelf. She pushed a few more books aside and grabbed
the statue. Power practically shimmered from the piece. Was it her
imagination or did it seem to glow? She cradled the heavy statue to
her chest and moved toward the windows. She didn’t have time to
admire her treasure. Nor did she have time to contemplate the
mysticism of the piece.

She wrapped her hands around the brass handles and
pushed the windows wide. A chill breeze swept inside, fluttering
the curtains and the skirt of her dress. A chill wind that sent
shivers over her skin. The ground below wavered in and out of
focus. But there… at the bottom… shimmered a pond. Adelaide bit her
lower lip. Dare she jump?
Merde,
why must she always be
leaping into water or jumping out windows? Cursing her bad luck,
she managed to climb onto the window ledge, balancing her skirts
and the art work in hand. Only two floors up, it wasn’t that far.
She wouldn’t die, would she?

She felt James enter the room, felt his very presence
like a caress. Adelaide shifted. The very air seemed to change, to
grow heavy, thick, making it difficult to breathe. “Don’t come any
closer,” she warned without looking back at him.

“I will find you,” James hissed, his annoyance almost
palpable.

Adelaide grinned, her body warming at the thought.
“Looking forward to it.” Taking in a deep breath, she jumped.

James stood outside the shack, his eyes narrowed with
suspicion. This couldn’t be her home, a place infested with poor.
Rats streaming down the streets, children with dirty faces begging
on the side of the lane. The poverty practically hung in a cloud
that hovered over the area. He felt oddly… stricken. Stricken in a
way he didn’t want to contemplate.

“
De l'argent
,” a little girl demanded, shoving
her dirty hands toward him.

He sighed and flipped a coin into her palm. Her
narrow face flushed with greed and she shoved the piece into her
pocket, then bolted into the darkness. So young, yet she knew the
value of a coin already. At what age would she start selling her
body? Perhaps she’d find a way to save herself, as Adelaide had,
until he had taken her.

He hadn’t been expecting this. He hadn’t been
expecting a place that reminded him of his childhood. He clenched
his jaw and hardened his heart. A professional thief like her… if
she lived here it was of her own accord. He pushed the door wide
and with determined steps, he made his way up the stairs of the
rickety building, wondering if it would collapse under his very
feet. The stairs shook, the walls paper-thin, he could hear people
coughing, babies crying for nourishment. Cries of pain that chipped
at his black soul. He reached the third floor and paused, closing
his eyes for the briefest of moments.

Too familiar. It was all too familiar. He took in a
deep breath through his mouth. He told himself he would not be
pulled back in, even as his mind slipped to the past, even as his
entire body changed, recognizing a place where he truly
belonged.

“Enough,” he hissed to himself.

He waited no longer, but lifted his fist and knocked.
No one responded. Not surprising. The little thief was probably out
pickpocketing. He wrapped his fingers around the wooden door handle
and pushed. No lock. The door easily opened, hinges creaking, wood
groaning in protest, but not one living soul called out, demanding
to know who was there.

James stepped into the darkness, closing the door
behind him and waited for his eyes to adjust. A small room, barely
able to fit the bed and side table. A lantern glowed softly on that
table, the flame so low it did little to light the room. The air
was chill, wind seeping through the two windows that interrupted
the far wall. Even though small and lacking, the room smelled
clean, looked clean. Certainly cleaner than the rest of the
building. But there was something beyond that scent of cleanliness,
a bitter scent that jarred his memory. The scent of medicines.
Illness.

“We have nothing to give you,” a weak voice murmured.
“But you can look, if you don’t believe me.”

Not Adelaide. The French accent came out harsh with
age. James turned and found a shadow of a woman sitting in a chair
where the light did not reach. In two strides he made it to the
lamp and lifted the wick, sending the flame higher and the light
bursting across the room. The old woman flinched. She was small,
delicate,
weathered.
Her long, dark braid was peppered with
gray, her face pale and haggard. But there… in her defiant eyes he
saw her beauty. A woman who had been elegant at one time. Who had,
no doubt, incited poetry. That pert nose, those large eyes
surrounded by thick lashes, Adelaide got her looks from this
woman.

“You’re Adelaide’s mother?”

She nodded. “She is not here.”

Obviously. There was no place to hide in the tiny
abode. Surely Adelaide and her mother didn’t live here. But he had
a sickening, dreadful feeling they did. He’d admired the woman for
her cunning. He’d lusted after her because her body made him react
in a way he never had before. But now, damn it all, she was making
him
feel.
Feel true, real emotions when he’d tried too damn
hard to build that wall around his heart.

The old woman started coughing, a wet, rattling cough
that didn’t bode well. James reached for the pitcher and glass on
the side table, and poured. In three steps he was at her side.

She sipped the tepid liquid, holding the cup with
thin, pale hands. Closer, he could see what he’d imagined was true;
she had been beautiful once. Still was now, if she put on a few
pounds. Her fine boned features spoke of nobility, fine boned
features that Adelaide possessed.

She smiled, a trembling smile and handed him the
glass. “You’re wondering about me, I can see it in your eyes.”

James stepped back a few paces, giving the woman her
space. “I’m wondering where your daughter is with my statue.”

“Yours?” The woman clutched her shawl more tightly to
her narrow shoulders. “She claimed you stole it from her.”

Was that guilt that crept through his body?
Shite
, he never felt guilty. He had destroyed the emotion
long ago…or so he’d thought. Treasure hunting was a business and he
would not let his emotions get involved.