The Secret Life of Lady Julia

by Lecia Cornwall

  Had David Temberlay found out?

  Anger flared, and he’d suddenly been afraid that she would expect him to make it right, even after all this time, to rescue her from her disgrace. Then in one single ferocious glance Julia had told him silently she expected nothing of the kind, and he knew he wasn’t worthy of Julia Leighton, and could never be.

  He was a thief.

  But now that he’d made the admission about coming to steal the tiara, the shock in her eyes made it worse, not better. If she held any fond memories of that night at her betrothal ball, he’d squelched them utterly—­stolen them, even. He smiled wryly at that.

  “You’re a thief?” Ives said, as surprised as Julia, it appeared. “They hang thieves in England, or transport them,” he continued, as if considering which punishment to inflict in this instance.

  Thomas felt the skin on his neck tingle, as if the noose was already in place. He forced a carefree smile. “And yet we are in Vienna, and you’ll recall that I have, in truth, not actually stolen anything.”

  “Yes. You came simply to return a valuable watch, didn’t you?” Ives asked sarcastically. “Now why would a thief do that?”

  Donovan. Thomas remembered suddenly. He glanced at the windows, saw the faint pink glow of early dawn beyond the lace curtains, and his stomach clenched. Was Erich still outside, waiting for him to emerge, triumphantly waving Lord Castlereagh’s jeweled Order of the Garter star? Or had he already given him up and gone back to cut Donovan’s throat?

  Thomas tugged at the silk ties binding his hands. “Have you ever heard of Robin Hood, stealing from the rich, and—­um, doing good deeds?” he asked. “Returning the watch is my good deed. The only thing I took was a nasty blow to the head, which I assure you was punishment enough,” he said, his eyes on Ives.

  Even if Ives jumped up and released him this minute, which he showed no signs of doing, he might be too late to save his valet’s life. Even if he wasn’t, he’d failed. He had nothing but words to convince Erich to let Donovan—­and himself—­live.

  He glanced at Julia. She frowned back, her eyes narrowed. If it were up to her, he’d suffer all the punishments of hell. He silently cursed her. Honor and good deeds be damned. He’d let her keep her jewels that night, returned her earring the next day, but he’d take them from her now, teach her a lesson. Except she wore no jewels at all, not the massive Temberlay betrothal ring, not even a wedding ring. So he smiled at her, and robbed her of her composure instead as he watched her blush rise like the dawn in the window behind her.

  “Have you been well since we last met, my lady?” he asked her.

  Ives swiveled to look at her. “When exactly was that?” he demanded, turning the interrogation upon the lady. He looked suspicious, Thomas thought. No, he looked jealous.

  He tugged at his bonds. Was there something between good Lord Stephen and Julia? What was she to Ives? Not his wife, since he called her Miss Leighton. Her blush deepened under his scrutiny.

  “It was a very long time ago, in England,” Julia said lightly.

  “You were betrothed to His Grace of Temberlay, I believe,” Thomas said.

  She sent him a quelling look. “And you, Mr. Merritt, other than beginning a new career since we last met, I trust you’ve been well?”

  She sat with her hands resting neatly in her lap, her back stiff, looking as if she were interviewing a new spit boy for her kitchens, not meeting an old lover. He twisted his hands again, but the knots held. “Save for the headache, I’ve never been better.”

  The first sharp gold shafts of sunlight were edging the buildings and the trees outside, limning her hair with light. Erich wouldn’t wait long now. Someone might see him, and he was a creature of the night. He turned to Ives again. “Look, I have an appointment with my tailor this morning, and with so many gentlemen in Vienna just now, and all of them needing tailoring themselves, you can understand why I am so anxious to arrive at his door on time. I’d hate to miss a fitting so close to the Emperor’s next ball.”

  He watched Ives consider whether he had enough reason to detain him further. He looked less certain now. Thomas did his best to look harmless, yet haughty, a British gentleman mistakenly caught in queer circumstances that weren’t entirely his fault.

  Ives rose. “Yes, I suppose there’s no reason to keep you,” he said. He stepped behind Thomas to undo the knots.

  Thomas felt a prickle of unease. It was that easy? Ives wanted him gone, away from Julia, that much was clear. He sent Julia a long, inquiring look as he rubbed the circulation back into his wrists. She sent back a flat stare, offering him no information at all, but the pulse at her throat throbbed above the fine wool of her high-­necked dress. That spoke volumes. The tension in the room made it hard to breathe.

  When he was free, he pulled his boots on, a difficult task with no valet to assist him. Then he rose and bowed to Julia.

  “Good day,” he said, as if he were taking leave after tea. “It was pleasant to see you again.” He did not bid Ives farewell. The major stood silently, watching him. Clearly, Ives wasn’t releasing him out of gratitude for the return of the watch, or kindness, not when he obviously would rather hang him, preferably after a long morning of bloody torture. Ives would no doubt send someone to follow him, see if he led them to the nest of thieves, or Erich, perhaps. Did they know about Erich? Capturing the King of Thieves would make Ives a hero, especially in the eyes of the woman he wanted to impress most. But Ives was on his own when it came to that. He wouldn’t help him. He’d stay well away from Erich until he knew it was safe, for Donovan’s sake.

  Thomas shook off the raged little teeth of jealousy as he glanced at Julia once more when he reached the door, until he was forced to step aside for the little parade of footmen entering with his breakfast.

  “Leave that and escort Mr. Merritt to the front door,” Ives ordered. “See that he keeps his hands in his pockets on the way out. In fact, I’ll see him out myself.”

  Thomas smiled coolly. He deserved that.

  He was a thief, after all.

  Chapter 32

  Julia’s breath caught in her throat as he cast a glance over his shoulder while they escorted him out. Was it wistful, or simply insolent? They were very broad shoulders. How had he fit through her window at all? Would Jamie look like that when he grew to manhood? He’d certainly be handsome. Devastating. And if she had a chance to do everything over again—­ She shut her eyes, stopped those thoughts right there.

  He was a thief.

  Perhaps he always had been, and she’d been too foolish, too charmed by stars and champagne, to notice. The familiar burn of shame filled her. Not for what she’d done, but because in her heart of hearts she knew she’d probably do exactly the same thing, even now.

  She crossed to the window and hovered behind the lace curtain, waiting for him to emerge from the gates. He strode away without looking back, tall and dark against the snow, not at a run, but not slowly either, as if he was indeed a gentleman with an appointment to keep. He moved with confidence and aristocratic grace.

  Her heart quickened, and she reminded herself again that he was a thief and a rogue. How ridiculous she was, sighing over him like some silly chit who read too many novels and imagined that highwaymen and pirates were romantic and daring. She recalled the thieves in the park, the terror they inspired. There was nothing charming about them.

  She was still watching when a second figure left the embassy, following Thomas Merritt’s footprints in the snow. She felt a frisson of surprise. Stephen was having him followed. Perhaps that was why he let Thomas go at all, so he would lead them to his lair, a cave of wonders or a woodland hideout filled with stolen goods. Then he’d hang Thomas Merritt.

  She was being silly yet again—­a terrible habit where Mr. Merritt was concerned. Stephen would not let a man go only to trick him, would he? He had done a kindness. Dorothea’s watch
sat on the table where Stephen had left it, and she picked it up and ran her thumb over the place where the diamond had been. He could have thrown it away, but instead he’d risked life and limb climbing the side of a well-­guarded building. She frowned. “Why on earth?” she murmured.

  She thought back to their meetings in London. He’d been kind then too—­Robin Hood indeed. He’d been cool, dangerous when Stephen questioned him, but when he’d kissed her, made love to her, he’d been tender, gentle, and sweet. She would have sworn his passion was honest, if she’d had more experience of such things. And he hadn’t stolen a single thing that night, except—­ She blushed.

  She opened the watch and stared down at the painted faces of Dorothea’s husband and child. The familiar tune of the lullaby began to play.

  “Where on earth did you get that?” Dorothea asked from the doorway, her hand clenched over her heart, her eyes haunted in a way Julia hadn’t seen for weeks. Julia shut the watch, cutting off the tune. “Mrs. Hawes said we had an intruder in the night,” Dorothea said.

  “Yes, a housebreaker.” She stumbled over the word. “He said he came to return your watch.” Julia looked at the breakfast trays. “Come and have some breakfast.”

  Dorothea took the watch from Julia’s hand. “A housebreaker, you say? Yet he comes bearing gifts. How odd. I had thought this was gone forever.”

  Julia lifted the lid on a tray filled with pastries. Lady Castlereagh’s English cook was slowly conforming to local customs. He made a lovely cherry strudel, which she served now.

  “Apparently, this housebreaker was here to steal a tiara.”

  “Was he?” Dorothea asked blandly. “Even stranger. Did he plan to leave a note with my watch, explaining why he wished to do such a kind thing?”

  “No,” Julia said. “He’s been compensated for his good deed. Lord Stephen let him go.” She poured Dorothea a cup of tea.

  “How sad. I would have liked to meet him. One does not often meet such a chivalrous criminal.”

  Julia hesitated a moment before she took Dorothea’s hand. “Is he the one who gave you the laudanum?” she asked.

  Dorothea met her eyes. “Was he small and balding, with a mole next to his nose, just here?” She pointed to her own nose.

  “No, nothing like that. His name is Thomas Merritt. Do you know him?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Dorothea frowned. “But I’ve met a good many ­people in Vienna I don’t recall. I can’t imagine why any of them would break into this house in the dead of night to return my watch. Have you met him? Well, I suppose you have, since it was your room he broke into, according to Mrs. Hawes.”

  Julia concentrated on stirring her tea. “I knew him slightly in London. I met him at a ball.”

  Dorothea smiled. “Really? How surprised you must have been to have him show up here!” She bit into her strudel and rolled her eyes with pleasure. “It’s as if the stars had all aligned to bring it about. How many ladies in Vienna have thieves climbing through their windows in the dead of night, only to discover they not only know the man, but he is English too? And let’s not forget his real mission—­to bring back my watch.”

  Julia felt her heart lift at the romantic image, though she knew it was false. “He came to steal, Dorothea.”

  Dorothea smiled knowingly. “Perhaps, but I haven’t got a tiara. Nor does her ladyship, or any other lady in the delegation.”

  Julia frowned. Why would he lie about his reasons for breaking into the embassy? Then again, why wouldn’t he? He’d given no indication he’d been looking for her. Indeed, he seemed surprised to see her. Her stomach knotted. He’d done a good deed in Hyde Park, and again at her betrothal ball, and after—­if flattering her, and noticing that David had no regard for her was a good deed—­making her feel beautiful, admired, loved. But she’d made a dreadful mistake in letting a simple kindness turn into disaster.

  She resisted the urge to leap from her seat and race to the window, to see if she might catch a last glimpse of him, for surely it would be the last time she ever saw him. Instead she concentrated on the amber depths of her tea, saw his face, that devilish grin and the welt on his forehead. Whatever Thomas Merritt was, he was kinder than he let on.

  She felt a surge of longing, and clenched her fist to stem it. Why was he here in Vienna?

  “Did he leave his direction?” Dorothea asked.

  Just footprints on the snow. “No, of course not.”

  “Pity. I should like to thank him.”

  Julia looked at her in surprise. “I doubt Stephen would permit it. Thomas Merritt is a dangerous man.”

  “All the same, he has done a kind deed, thief or not, and I shall not forget it, if I am ever so fortunate as to be able to repay him.”

  Could anyone ever forget Thomas Merritt?

  Chapter 33

  Stephen looked up in surprise as Julia entered his study. “My lord, there’s something I need to speak to you about.”

  He was writing a report about Thomas Merritt. He’d started over twice, not sure how to describe the unusual situation. Nothing had been stolen, nothing broken, though the warming pan was badly dented, and no one had been hurt but Merritt himself. And there was the inexplicable fact that he’d returned Dorothea’s watch. Doe was filled with happiness at having her watch back, asked him to find out where she could send a note of thanks, and babbled nonsense for half an hour about fate, kindness, and unlikely heroes.

  Merritt was not a hero. He was a thief, albeit an unusual one, but nothing more. Some criminals had unusual quirks. Obviously Thomas Merritt was one of those. When he discovered where to find Merritt, he wouldn’t tell Dorothea. He’d hang him. He didn’t doubt for a moment Merritt had dark sins on his conscience. He’d put that into the report, and taken it out again. His suspicions smacked of jealous twaddle rather than clear, professional judgment of the situation.

  She knew him. Julia knew Merritt. Would he wonder every time she even looked at another man?

  She came forward to put a letter on his desk. It was addressed to Lord Castlereagh. “What’s this? Tell me Merritt didn’t leave it.”

  She clasped her hands and stood stiffly before his desk. “Prince de Talleyrand gave it to me, last night.” Ah, so her visit was official, not an apology or an explanation.

  He studied her face. She looked grave, almost afraid. He felt a frisson of warning. “Do you know the contents?”

  “Yes.”

  She explained the details, and Stephen felt his stomach sour at the wily Frenchman’s plot. “I thought you could explain it to his lordship, but I have an idea. Mr. Merritt—­”

  “Oh?” He still stung with jealousy at the sound of Merritt’s name on her lips. “What’s he got to do with this? Was he there?” He watched her color. She pursed her lips and didn’t continue.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “This couldn’t have come at a worse time,” he said, glaring at Talleyrand’s letter. “I think you’d better explain this to his lordship yourself, and explain what exactly the prince said to you.”

  Her eyes flew to his, panic in their hazel depths. “Surely I cannot be of any use in something like this!”

  “Talleyrand obviously wants you involved.” He rose to his feet. “Come on. Lord Castlereagh must see this at once.”

  The clock ticked as Lord Castlereagh read and reread the letter in silence. Julia perched on the edge of the leather chair in front of his desk, her stomach twisted into a tight coil while Stephen stood by the window, looking grave. At last the ambassador set the letter down and regarded Julia carefully.

  “One does not receive notes of this kind every day. Would you like to tell me just how your involvement came about? I have, of course, had a note from the Bavarian ambassador describing the events in the park yesterday and offering his official thanks for your ser­vice to his wife, but to hear your praises from the French
ambassador as well, and especially in such a letter as this, requires explanation.” He glanced at Stephen. “I had no idea Miss Leighton’s connections were so—­auspicious, shall we say?”

  Julia felt her skin heat. “He asked me to deliver the note to you, my lord. I had no idea of the exact contents.”

  “But he says you have seen the documents, can verify their existence, that you—­how did he put it?” He picked up the letter again. “Ah yes, here it is. That you understand how dangerous scandal can be, and how helpful it is to have good friends.” He laid the letter aside again. “Can you tell me what that means in this instance, Miss Leighton?”

  “Blackmail,” she murmured.

  “An ugly word, but accurate enough. I’ve been Foreign Secretary for many years, served as a diplomat, and now I am His Majesty’s representative here in Vienna. I have never found myself at a loss for words prior to this moment. I was surprised to hear of your actions in the park yesterday. You are a heroine to the Bavarians, and they wish to offer you a post in the royal household. Now, the French ambassador is offering similar rewards for your assistance. Joan of Arc, he calls you, and Boudicca.”

  Julia swallowed, studied her fingertips.

  “While your glorious ascent is quite refreshing, this matter could not have come at a worse moment. I have been recalled to London. The Duke of Wellington is to replace me as ambassador. Imagine the scandal. He—­We, England—­would have no credibility left if this was made public.”

  Julia looked up. “I have an idea, my lord. What if Prince Talleyrand did not have the documents? What if they were lost or . . .” She took a deep breath around the lump rising in her throat. “ . . . stolen?”

  She heard Stephen gasp, and turned her eyes to him. He shook his head, coloring. “I forbid you to go any further with this, Miss Leighton.”

  “But if there were a way to remove the prince’s threat, would that not be best?”

  Stephen strode toward her. “If you say one more word, I will dismiss you!” he threatened. She half rose to her feet, the lump in her throat huge now.