The Art of Stealing a Duke’s Heart: Thieves of Desire Book 1

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “I’ll not go through with it — not anymore,” she said, holding her head high, and Arie shocked her when he simply laughed.

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I do.”

  “No,” Arie said, shaking his head. “You don’t. For I am going to steal that painting — whether you agree or not. And if I steal the painting without your help, I will be sure to inform your beloved Jonathan just what role you played in it all.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Calli ground out. “That would only implicate yourself.”

  “I have my ways to ensure that I am never found out,” Arie said smugly. “As for you, however…. Listen, Calli, at least this way, you have a chance that he might never find out the truth.”

  “But I shall always know it,” she all but whispered, and Arie shrugged, apparently not caring.

  “Now, I hear you have acquired a statue for me.”

  Calli shook her head. “You heard wrong.”

  She couldn’t do it. She had left the statue back at Jonathan’s house. Somehow, she was going to return it to the baron. She didn’t know how yet, but she would.

  Arie looked from Calli to Xander. “Well, well. One of you is lying to me. Just which one of you is it?”

  Calli looked to Xander, hoping he understood her plea not to give away her secrets.

  Her brother stared at her, fighting a war within himself, until finally he turned to Arie,

  “I must have been mistaken,” he murmured, to which Arie waved him away with a hand.

  “Fine, then. Keep your statue,” he said, but his eye twitched as he stared at Calli. “But the painting is mine. Send word when we can come and switch them out. No longer than two days’ time, Calli. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded mutely. “Understood,” she whispered.

  Xander didn’t say much on the return journey, but as he left her near the servants’ entrance of Jonathan’s house, he stopped her before she left the carriage, grabbing her wrist. “I’m sorry, Calli,” he said, his words low. “But there’s nothing else we can do. You agreed to this.”

  “I know,” she said miserably before she bid him goodnight and let herself into the house.

  She was hardly aware of her surroundings as she walked up to her room, wishing now only for the comfort of her bed. She might as well enjoy it while she could.

  Which is why she nearly stumbled over the pair of feet hanging off her bed. She caught herself in time, looking up to find herself staring at Jonathan — and her painting spread out in front of him.

  * * *

  Jonathan had heard her come in. Walk down the hall. He waited for her, sitting on her bed. The longer he had waited as he watched his lone candle burn low, the more his ire had grown, until he was nearly shaking with it.

  He tried to tell himself that he should be patient. That he should give her a chance to explain. But instead, it seemed all his mind was capable of doing was imagining all of the reasons that a near-perfect copy of his painting was underneath her bed.

  “Jonathan.”

  Her voice was breathless, defensive, and he looked up at her, no longer seeing the woman he had come to know so intimately, the one he had thought he would marry, but instead someone he knew nothing about.

  “What is this?”

  He threw his hand out before him, hearing the disgust in his voice, even though, had she asked, he would have been forced to admit that it was a masterpiece. For it looked like the very painting he stared at from his study desk each and every day.

  “It’s… it’s a painting.”

  “It’s my painting.”

  “Yes and no.”

  “What,” he seethed, “is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that it is a copy of your painting, yes, but that I was the one who painted it.”

  “Why?”

  She shrank back from him, bringing a finger to her lips as her eyes darted to the second doorway.

  “Please be quiet, or you will wake the children.”

  “You mean the very children that you have left for your late-night wanderings?” He raised an eyebrow. “Where have you been?”

  She took a step back into the room, holding her hands out in front of her, palms up, as though she was quieting him. “Perhaps we should take a moment and calm down.”

  “Pardon me?” The words were clipped, and from the way her eyes flicked back and forth, he knew he was scaring her, but he didn’t care at the moment.

  “I just think… that, well, perhaps if we sat down, had a reasonable conversation, we could figure this out. You seem very… angry right now.”

  “I seem angry.”

  “Yes.”

  She deliberately didn’t meet his gaze, instead taking slow and steady paces across the room before unfastening her cloak and hanging it on the hook. Jonathan had stood from the bed, staring down at the painting feeling vaguely that it was insulting him. Calli took a seat next to it, patting the bed beside her.

  “Sit, please?”

  “No, thank you. Why don’t you tell me where you have been and what this painting is for before I pack it all up for you?”

  “Very well,” she said, looking down at her intertwined fingers. “I love the painting in your office. I truly do. I wanted to have a copy of it for myself. I thought it would be good practice for me to see how close I could come to replicating it.”

  “It looks identical. Just missing a few details.”

  “Thank you?” she said, looking up at him with some hesitation.

  “Tell me this, Calli,” he said, crouching down and staring at her so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Were you going to try to sell it? Make some money off it?”

  “No.”

  “Where were you going to put it?”

  He looked around the room, holding his hands up.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t sure how long I would be here, I suppose.”

  “And just where,” he stood and placed his hands on his hips, “did you think you would be going?”

  She shrugged, looking small and unsure, and he began to somewhat regret the tone he had taken with her.

  “I don’t know, Jonathan,” she said softly. “I figured that, someday, you would marry, or court a young woman, and I wouldn’t be able to stay any longer.”

  “Why would you think that?” he asked gruffly, although he could understand why she would assume she would have to leave. He knew he would never be able to see her with another.

  “The night we met, you were hosting an event to try to find a wife, were you not?” she asked, her eyes wide and glossy as she looked at him.

  “How did you know that?”

  “The children told me.”

  “I see,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to pace the room. “Would you care to tell me where you were tonight?”

  “I had to go check in on my family.”

  “The sick relative again?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “He is doing much better.”

  “If you need time to go see family, you know you just need to ask me,” Jonathan said, wondering why she wouldn’t feel she was able to.

  “I know, but I am aware that I am only provided my one day a week. I wouldn’t want to ask you for any more on account of you—we…” she looked away, apparently not able to properly describe what they were to each other.

  “Calli,” he said, attempting to soften his words, “I wouldn’t say no to you, no matter what our relationship. I hope you would know that I am rather benevolent with my staff.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” she said softly.

  Jonathan sighed, placing his hands behind his back. She had provided reasonable explanations for the painting, for her whereabouts, and yet, he had the sense that all was not as it seemed. He had trusted before and was made the fool, and he was not about to allow that to happen again. He thought back to how excited he had been earlier this evening, and he wished that he ha
dn’t allowed anyone else to see it, not even Davenport. For there was no way that he could, at least at the moment, ask anything further of Calli than the relationship they already had. Not until he was sure, until he knew who she was and where she came from, until he could completely trust her.

  “Since you seem so close to your family, I was wondering…”

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps the children and I could meet them sometime. We could arrange a trip to Gunter’s or something of the sort.”

  “To Gunter’s? With my family?” she repeated him, her eyes widening and her mouth rounding as though she could never imagine the thought.

  “Would that be an issue?”

  “Yes. No. I—”

  “In two days’ time.”

  “I shall ask.”

  “See that you do,” he said, striding to the door, taking one last look back at Calli and then the painting. “Goodnight, Calli.”

  “Goodnight, Jonathan.”

  Chapter 20

  She should have just told him the truth.

  But if she had, she didn’t think he would ever forgive her. And why, by all that was holy, did he want to meet her family?

  While Calli hoped her explanations that night had been reasonable, she was aware that she had broken some degree of trust between them — trust that she knew Jonathan didn’t take lightly. For the past two days, he had kept distance between them, not coming to her at night, and all but ignoring her during the day. They did not eat dinner together as he was back in Parliament, and Calli found herself having to explain to the children their uncle’s seemingly sudden abandonment.

  “He has been busy,” she said the following morning. “But he promised we would go to Gunter’s today.”

  “He did?” Mary asked, her eyes brightening. “It has been some time since I have been to Gunter’s.”

  “I have never been.”

  They stared at her with mouths agape.

  “You haven’t?”

  “No,” she laughed at their shock. “I haven’t.”

  She had sent a message to her family, addressing it to Xander. She asked if he and Damien would come, and hoped that Arie and Diana would not accompany them. Arie would raise all of Jonathan’s suspicions, while one never knew just what Diana was going to say. She would also certainly report everything back to Arie.

  This morning, a cryptic note had arrived for her at the servants’ entrance — one the butler passed to her with as much wariness as Jonathan held for her.

  It read, see you at Gunter’s.

  Thankfully, Calli recognized Xander’s handwriting, but she had no idea just who would be accompanying him.

  They would find out soon. Three hours later, she and the children were descending the staircase to meet Jonathan. She lifted her gaze to his with some trepidation, but his face was devoid of any emotion or sign of what he was thinking. She sighed.

  “Come, children,” she said, leading them out to the waiting carriage, Jonathan following.

  The carriage ride was filled with the children’s chattering, both of them excited for the awaiting treat. Calli sat across from Jonathan, looking out the window as she tried to evade his probing stare.

  “Is there anything amiss, Miss Donahue?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “No,” she said, forcing a smile. “Nothing at all.”

  “Who from your family shall be joining us?”

  “I am not entirely sure,” she said truthfully. They disembarked at Gunter’s, and Calli breathed in relief that it wasn’t crowded today, that at least there would not be many witnesses to whatever was going to occur here.

  They descended from the carriage to find Xander — and Arie, who smiled at her with such slickness that Calli nearly went rigid. As it was, Matthew had to poke her to take another step into the small shop.

  “Calli,” Arie greeted her as the two imposing men walked over toward them. “How good for you to invite us.”

  “Your Grace, may I please introduce my brothers, Xander and Arie H—Donahue?” She fixed a gaze on them, pleading for them to go along, but she had nothing to fear. They were both well versed in the art of deception.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Arie said with a graceful bow. “And these must be the two amazing children our Calli has told us all about.”

  Mary giggled while Matthew looked wary, and Calli was impressed that he could already see through her brother’s facade.

  “Tell me, how fares your ailing—uncle, was it?” Jonathan asked warmly, and fortunately the only thing to skip a beat was Calli’s heart.

  “Doing much better,” Arie said smoothly. “Much better indeed. We so appreciate Calli’s diligence to ensure that he is well.”

  “Of course you do,” Jonathan said. “Why don’t I buy us all some ice and we can continue this conversation?”

  “We can pay for our own,” Arie said, straightening, and Calli hoped he would not allow his arrogance to ruin everything.

  “I invited you here,” Jonathan said, the ducal authority in his voice barring any argument. “I will pay.”

  Arie held his head high as he eyed Jonathan, the two of them in some kind of masculine standoff, and Calli rolled her eyes as she stepped up between them to try to ease the tension.

  “Thank you so much, Your Grace,” she said. “Shall we choose our flavours?”

  Fortunately, the children broke much of the strains of unease with their exuberance, and soon enough they were all sitting around a table in a corner of the shop, licking their ices while they stared at one another. Calli would have found it comical was she not the one who was in the middle of it all.

  “Tell me more about what you do,” Jonathan said to her brothers. “Calli tells me that you are in trade?”

  “We are,” Arie said, a slow smile spreading across his face at Calli’s description of how they made their living. “We specialize in priceless items.”

  “Such as?”

  “Artifacts. Paintings. Items that usually go to auction. We find specialized buyers for them.”

  “Sounds like something illicit,” Jonathan said, lowering his ice as he considered Arie, and Arie’s eyes darkened, causing Calli’s pulse to quicken. When Arie became angry, one did not want to be in his way.

  “I assure you that all who we work with are deserving of what they receive,” Arie said, his words clipped, and Calli and Xander exchanged a look.

  “Jon—His Grace has made investments in trade himself,” Calli added, trying to turn the direction of the conversation, “so he is interested in the work of others.”

  “A duke who sullies his hands in trade?” Arie said, raising his eyebrows. “How intriguing.”

  “Intriguing, or intelligent?” Jonathan shot back, and Calli sighed inwardly. This had been the worst idea anyone had ever had. Why hadn’t she tried harder to avoid it? “I have made far more through my investments than I ever have through my entailments. I am able to properly provide for others because of it.”

  “Provide for people such as my sister?” Arie said, leaning forward now. “For I assure you that I can do a fine enough job of that myself.”

  “Then just why did she find employment as my governess?” Jonathan asked, obviously quite interested now in the answer to the question, and Calli saw the flicker of annoyance in Arie’s eyes when he realized his misstep.

  “I believe I can answer that,” Calli said, leaning forward from where she sat next to the children. “It is important to me to provide for myself, to have a purpose in life.”

  Which was true.

  “I see,” Jonathan said, although he eyed her with some distrust that caused an unease deep within her belly to grow. “Although I recall how you developed your interest in painting. I’m surprised that you were so in awe by my gallery if you are usually surrounded by works that your brother trades in.”

  “I… don’t often have a chance to see what he is working with,” Calli murmured as she eyed her ice, which moments ago s
he had considered absolutely delicious, but which now she was slowly losing her appetite for. She just wanted to have this over with, to get out of here and move on, keeping both parts of her life separate.

  Until one would be lost to her forever.

  “Tell us more about your gallery, Your Grace,” Xander said, a greedy flash in his eyes, while Arie sat back, allowing their brother to do the talking, although Calli was well aware he was just as interested.

  “It’s simply a gallery of his favorite works,” Calli murmured, “a place for himself.”

  “Any painters we might know?” Xander asked.

  “A few,” Jonathan answered, but cleared his throat and said no more, his own intuition obviously picking up on the fact that this was not something he should be speaking about — at least, not with this family.

  “Uncle has tons and tons of paintings on the wall,” Matthew added now, trying to be helpful, but Calli wished he would stop. “It’s creepy how all the people in them look down on you. I don’t even know how they all got up there, they are so high!”

  “I can imagine,” Arie said with a grin for the boy.

  “Calli showed you her paintings?” Xander asked now, apparently belatedly realizing what had first turned the conversation this way.

  “I… stumbled in on one of her paintings,” Jonathan said, sending a look her way. “She’s quite talented.”

  “That she is,” Xander said proudly.

  “She tells me that she is only blood-related to one of you, is that correct?” Jonathan asked, looking at Xander, obviously realizing which one of them it was.

  “Yes,” Arie said, the glint back in his eyes, “but we have been family for so long that it doesn’t really matter.”

  “And just how did that come to be?” Jonathan asked, and Calli looked between him and Arie, wondering just why he would care so much about her background. She had told him everything he should need to know.

  “Calli and Xander were on the streets. Alone.” Arie leaned forward again, his ice discarded beside him. “I provided them with a home. Purpose. Family. We built ourselves up from nothing.”

  “Here in London?” Jonathan persisted, not cowed by the force of Arie’s words.