The Secret Life of Lady Julia

by Lecia Cornwall

  “No,” he said, then considered. “Yes. What’s this about?” His heart was pounding. Any moment . . .

  “Catching a real thief. Have you heard the tales of the man they call Robin Hood? It might interest you to know that he was the one in the park, the day Julia shot his accomplice.”

  Stephen shrugged. “Everyone wants to catch him, but no one knows where he is.”

  “I do,” Thomas said. “And I can help you catch him—­with the Garter star as bait.”

  Stephen glanced at the door again, and closed his hand over the star. He had a choice to make—­trust Charles Stewart or Thomas Merritt. Was it worth the risk? Such an arrest would indeed earn him recognition, more than he’d get for capturing Merritt. Stewart would take credit for that. It would impress Julia too.

  A shrill scream echoed through the marble halls of the palace.

  Merritt looked up, his brows rising.

  Stephen gabbed his arm. “Come out, you’ve got to get out of here now. I’ll stall them. They’re expecting you’ll be in the sitting room upstairs, so you can still make it out—­”

  “You set a trap for me?” Merritt asked calmly.

  Stephen felt his skin flush. “Look, you can call me out next time we meet. Go, I’ll come to your lodgings tomorrow and we’ll discuss this then.”

  Merritt hesitated. “You’ll need something to convince them I escaped, won’t you?” he asked, then slammed his fist into Stephen’s jaw. Stephen staggered backward, seeing stars. He hoped he wouldn’t look as bad as Charles Stewart did, but he supposed he deserved it.

  He stayed where he was on the floor and watched as Merritt climbed through the window. Had he made the right choice? He was a man of honor, not dark plots. He wanted to be rid of Merritt as much as Stewart did, but not by treachery, betrayal. He would never be able to look at himself in the mirror again. He put a hand to his aching jaw and winced.

  Thomas Merritt was a gentleman after all, and that made him likable. And far more dangerous.

  Upstairs, Julia handed Jamie to Mrs. Hawes when Lady Castlereagh began to scream. “What on earth is happening?” the nurse asked. “Are we about to be murdered in our beds again? Marauders coming through the windows, making ladies scream, putting us all in peril of our very lives. Vienna is not a civilized place, I tell you, and I long for dear old London!”

  “I’ll see what’s happening,” Julia said. The hall was filled with ­people rushing to and fro.

  “Lady Castlereagh says she’s been robbed, that all her jewels are missing, and so is his lordship’s Order of the Garter star,” one of the footmen said. “Lord Stewart thinks the thief may still be in the building, miss, so please keep to your rooms until we’ve caught him.”

  Julia’s heart sank. The Order of the Garter, the jeweled star that Lady Castlereagh wore as a tiara to the most formal balls and parties. The very thing that Thomas Merritt had come to steal. “Oh no,” she murmured, and hurried to the window.

  She saw his familiar figure striding through the snow, hurrying away from the embassy.

  He had failed the first time, but he’d come back again, and this time he had what he wanted. She leaned her forehead on the cold glass, watching long after he’d disappeared from view. This time he’d come for the star, the money, and—­it was too shameful to think about. His conditions had been met. She sank into a chair, her stomach aching. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Bitterness filled her throat.

  He hadn’t come for her. He’d come to steal.

  He was a thief indeed. This time he’d stolen her heart, and she would never ever be able to forget him.

  Chapter 52

  Thomas wrote a note to Erich and left it at the tavern, telling the King of Thieves that he had the goods he wanted and would exchange them for Donovan that night. Everything was in place. Stephen Ives and General Kostov would be there shortly after he arrived to arrest Erich. It was risky, and it could well get him killed, but he’d take Erich with him.

  He took out the star and turned it in his palm. It glittered pompously, throwing sparks around his shabby room like Lady Castlereagh threw commands. He had no doubt Erich planned to wear it himself, pinned to his cloak as a kind of jest when he committed his increasingly daring robberies. Robin Hood’s career would end tonight.

  There was a substantial reward for the capture of the thief, and he had Stephen Ives’s promise that he would get Donovan back to England with enough money to buy a horse farm.

  And he, himself? In a few days, when this was over, he was leaving Vienna. He had no idea where he might go next. He didn’t care. Without Julia, the future yawned like a bottomless pit. He would have liked to see her one more time, but that would just make it more difficult to let her go.

  She’d marry Ives, a good, respectable gentleman with prospects and a fortune. He would make her happy and keep her safe. Thomas knew he couldn’t even promise her a place to live. He put the star on his desk and drew on his cloak. It was nearly time to go.

  Hearing footsteps pounding up the stairs, he took the pistol out of his pocket, cocked it. Had Ives double-­crossed him after all? He felt a bead of sweat run down his back, and he raised the gun, aimed it, as the door burst open.

  “Julia!” He lowered the gun as she rushed into the room. “Damn it, I nearly shot you. What the devil are you doing here?”

  She was breathless from running, her cheeks red from cold and tears. “I came to get it back. You stole it, didn’t you? I saw you leaving the embassy!”

  He tucked the pistol into his coat. “Don’t be a fool. Go home.”

  But her eyes fell on the star on the desk. He read the horror on her face, the disappointment. She thought the worst of him, but what had she expected? It was better this way. He hoped Ives appreciated this, because she’d run to Ives now, disillusioned by him at last. He turned away, picked up the star, but she closed her hand on his wrist.

  “There’s still time. They’ll look here first, and if they find it, you’ll hang,” she sobbed. “Give it to me.”

  He let his expression harden, shook her off. “I had an agreement with Ives. The star is mine.”

  “What will you do with it?”

  “Sell it, what else? I have to live, eat. How do you think I pay for that?”

  She looked around at the threadbare lodgings, then at him, noted his cloak. “Where are you going?” she asked, choking on the words.

  “I have an appointment,” he said.

  She shut her eyes. “With the Russian princess?”

  He saw the pain in her face. There wasn’t time to salve her feelings. “Yes,” he said, and pushed past her, taking her arm as he did. Touching her nearly undid him. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, kiss her, promise he would love her forever, hike up her skirts and sate this unquenchable desire right here on the floor. Instead he pushed her away, out the door. “Get out, Julia,” he growled, letting his pain make him cruel. “You shouldn’t have come. Go back to Ives.”

  “Give me the star. I’ll return it, put it back. No one will know,” she said stubbornly.

  His breath caught. She would take such a risk for him? If Lady Castlereagh caught her, she would be the one to hang. Her ladyship would make certain of it, and Charles Stewart would gladly assist. If she’d come tomorrow, she wouldn’t have found the damned star at all. It would be over, the thief caught, the jeweled star back in its rightful place.

  “I don’t need you to rescue me,” he snapped. He left her there in the doorway of his rooms, knowing she was crying. He kept walking, did not look back.

  He went to collect Madam Anna’s ruby, General Semyon, from Katerina, promising that it would come to no harm. Katerina kissed his cheeks, wished him luck, her green eyes sober.

  It was still hours before the rendezvous at the tavern, and he walked through the snow, thinking, not considering where he was going. He wasn�
�t entirely surprised to find himself outside the Minoritenplatz Palace, staring up at Julia’s dark window. How many nights had he done this in London?

  He forced himself to walk away. Twenty-­four hours, and it would all be over. He would be dead or on his way to—­somewhere else, someplace as far from Julia as he could get. Either way, he would never see her again, though she would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Chapter 53

  She followed him. She should have gone home to bed, to her son, to a sensible, ordinary life, but she could not. He was on a fool’s errand, intent on selling the star. Surely Stephen, or worse, Charles Stewart, would find him, and arrest him.

  He visited the princess’s apartments, and she stood in the snow, numb with fear and jealousy. She couldn’t help it. She was in love with him. They had no future, no hope of ever seeing each other again. He was a thief, and she had a son to raise, but she could not let him hang. She would rather think of him with another woman, a score of other women, than dead.

  When he left Kostova’s luxurious lodgings, she watched him prowl the city, a black specter against the snow. He stopped by the Minoritenplatz Palace, stood staring at the lighted windows. She held her breath. Why? Did he plan to steal something else? They’d be watching, waiting for him this time. Stephen would shoot him on sight.

  The bells in the Minoritenkirche chimed eleven, shattering the silence, making her jump. She watched him check his own watch and walk away, striding down the street. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around her icy limbs and followed.

  The streets grew narrower and darker, more dangerous, and Julia touched the pistol in her pocket nervously. Dogs barked, splitting the frigid air with noise as he passed, and she shied away from the growling shadows. ­People too lurked in the dark, watching. She held her breath.

  Was this his life, a life lived in the dark? She had no doubt he was going to sell the star now, tonight. She had to stop him. She hurried to keep up with his long strides, slipping through the shadows, staying out of sight, her heart pounding against her ribs, her hand cramping on the pistol.

  He stopped at the door of a tavern. A burly man stepped out of the shadows by the door and nodded to Thomas, let him in. The guard cast a suspicious glance along the street and shut the door. What now? She drew a breath and stepped out of the shadows.

  The tavern was well guarded, Thomas noted as he approached, as if the thief king were expecting trouble. His skin prickled.

  The gatekeeper jerked his head as he approached the door. “He’s waiting inside.”

  Thomas’s stomach knotted. Surely the guard would shout an alarm when Ives arrived, give the game away before the deal could be completed, the arrest made. Erich would have time to shoot Donovan—­and him too—­and slip away with the jewels in hand. He’d have to shoot first, take the thief down quickly. He had promised a tearful Madam Anna that the general would return to her safely, be home from his adventures by morning. If something happened, even Katerina would never be able to replace the priceless gem.

  It was nearly as dark inside as it was on the street. A low red fire burned in the grate like the mouth of hell, illuminating a dozen dirty faces that turned to regard him suspiciously.

  “Erich?” He didn’t bother to waste words on greetings.

  A hard-­faced barmaid pointed to a closed door behind the bar. A rim of light shone out under the crooked panels, across the unswept floor, leaving long jagged shadows.

  Thomas strode toward the door, giving the impression of far more confidence than he felt. He didn’t bother to knock. The thief king would be expecting him. A distant church bell chimed midnight. He was right on time.

  The back room was as brilliantly lit as the tavern was dark, and Thomas squinted at the light. Lanterns hung from the scarred wooden beams of the low ceiling, and candles hugged the walls like sentries. Two men flanked the doorway.

  Erich didn’t bother to get up. His long thin knife was stuck in the boards of the table, and it quivered as Thomas approached. “Herr Merritt. I expected you yesterday.”

  “It took a little longer to get the tiara. Where’s Donovan?”

  “Close by. Did you bring the jewels with you?”

  “When I see Donovan.”

  Erich jerked his head, and the two thugs grabbed Thomas and pinned him to the wall. As one held a knife to his throat, the other rifled through his pockets, took the pistol and the jewels. He laid the gems on the table in front of Erich and tucked the gun into his own belt.

  The ruby’s sparkle caught in the thief king’s eyes as he picked up the jewel and examined it. “Very good—­and the real thing, not paste or imitations. I’m impressed.” He smiled, his teeth yellow in the lantern light. “Too many ladies are wearing paste jewels lately. Let him go.”

  He was released at once, and the guards slid back to their places. Thomas straightened his cravat and sat down in the room’s only other chair, opposite Erich’s seat at the table. “Your fault, I’m afraid. Thieves make ­people nervous, especially women.”

  Erich looked pleased rather than worried. “You see—­this is why you are so good at this. You understand these matters. I see rich bastards flaunting the spoils of war that belong to the men who did the fighting and dying. You see better, subtler ways to take what rightfully belongs to us. You really should reconsider my offer and join us. You could name your price—­within reason, of course—­especially if you continue to bring me things like these.” He held up the star, and the diamonds reflected a thousand pinpoints of colored light around the room. Erich laughed with guttural delight. “Magnificent!”

  “What will you do with it?” Thomas asked, keeping his tone conversational as the thief continued to play with the star. Points of light freckled his yellow skin.

  “I have a new uniform. A British colonel’s dress tunic. I shall add the star to the breast—­just here.” He pointed to his heart. “Then I’ll start attending the best parties myself, and enjoying the good life. What do you say to that? We could go together, charm the ladies, drink the champagne, reap the rewards . . .”

  Frighten, steal, kill . . . Thomas kept his face from twisting with disgust. “I’m leaving town, I’m afraid. With Donovan.”

  Erich shrugged. “A pity. Then let’s have a drink together to celebrate.” He held up two fingers for two glasses, and one of the thugs moved toward the door.

  “Let’s ask Donovan to join the party, shall we?” Thomas said. “We made a deal. Are you going back on your word?”

  Erich grunted and looked at the other guard. “Bring him downstairs.”

  They were alone. Thomas felt his fingers twitch, and he looked at the knife stuck in the table. He could grab it, have Erich by the throat in a matter of seconds now that the guards were gone, but the thief’s eyes were on him, daring him, waiting for him to do it.

  Thomas sat back to wait instead, crossing his legs at the ankles as if he had all the time in the world. Where the hell was Ives? He braced himself. Any moment the door would burst open and—­

  The door did burst open, and both he and Erich leaped to their feet in surprise. But it wasn’t Stephen Ives or Kostov. Thomas’s limbs turned to water.

  It was Julia.

  As Julia followed Thomas toward the door of the tavern, she heard soft footfalls around her and realized that the shadows were filling up. A dozen men or more were watching the tavern.

  “One man at the door, Captain,” she heard someone whisper in English. “More inside. When—­”

  “Quiet!” the answer came. “Wait for the signal.”

  Julia’s eyes burned into the darkness, trying to see. Soldiers. Her heart began to hammer again. It was a trap. Any moment they would rush toward the inn, swords drawn, pistols at the ready, and arrest Thomas Merritt. On whose orders?

  Stephen had promised that no harm would come to Thomas, that he would be exonerated of hi
s crimes, but Charles Stewart had made no such bargain. It gave her courage, and she slipped out of the shadows and moved toward the inn.

  “Who’s that?” a voice asked.

  “Pfennig for a good time?” she asked, blushing.

  “Go ply your trade elsewhere, whore.”

  She forced herself to laugh, though fear made her legs shake as she strolled up to the door of the inn, feeling the eyes of the watchers burning into her back. Would they hesitate, think twice if there was a woman in the tavern? Not likely. She clutched the pistol in her pocket.

  A burly gatekeeper blocked the door. She smiled. “Is this not a public house? It’s a cold night. Can I come in for a drink or two?” she purred. He stepped aside and she slipped in.

  Julia stopped with a gasp as faces turned on her, squinted with hard suspicion. She forced herself to smile as she looked around. Thomas wasn’t here, at least not in this room. She made herself take one step forward, then another, moving toward the bar, focusing on the unfriendly face of the woman behind it.

  “What do you want?” the woman asked in German.

  “Schnapps,” she managed, her voice a thread of sound, doubting they had sherry to calm a lady’s nerves, or champagne. The woman raked her with a hard glance and went to get it.

  Julia saw a ramshackle staircase leading to a second floor, and a doorway at the back with light shining around the panels like rays of salvation—­or damnation, more likely.

  The barmaid slammed a dented pewter mug before her. No glass? She nodded her thanks as she lifted the tankard, sipped the schnapps, felt it burn a trail down her throat. Her eyes watered.

  Two men emerged from the back room. One came to the bar. “Schnapps, and some decent glasses,” he growled. The other one headed up the stairs, which creaked ominously under his weight.

  “Who’s the toff?” the barmaid asked the man at the bar as she found three grimy glasses and wiped them on her apron.