In some ways he was a ghost, living only half a life. He deserved no more than that. He probably deserved less.
He lifted his glass to his lips at last and swigged back most of the liquor in one gulp. As the drink burned down his throat, he froze. From the corner of his eye, he thought he’d caught a bit of movement from the door to his office.
He turned toward it and watched as his door opened, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway that outlined a shadowy figure who slipped into the room. Although he couldn’t see the intruder’s face, he knew it wasn’t one of his servants. They were all trained to stay out of his private rooms. He didn’t even allow them to be cleaned, and he trusted his staff implicitly.
So this was a blackguard who entered, not a friend. The figure hung at the door a moment, then stepped forward slowly, moving toward his desk. There the person stopped and there was a rustle of fabric in the silence. The shadow of his intruder’s hand reached out and took something.
At that, Alexander moved. He jumped up and lunged forward, catching the person before they could abscond with anything of his. But as he wrapped his arms around the shadow, he caught his breath. He had expected to tackle a man, but the figure now trapped in his arms was a woman. He felt her curves pressed against his forearms as he held her from behind and her backside wriggled against his pelvis.
“No!” she cried out in a musical voice that broke the silence of the room and shocked his senses. “Please!”
A whiff of the scent of her hair wafted to his nostrils as he dragged her toward the fire. She smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, spicy and sweet and that, coupled with her continued movements in his arms, inspired the strangest reaction.
Deep inside of him, in a place he had long thought dead and buried, desire stirred. A strange and misplaced desire to turn the stranger in his arms and look into her eyes. Touch her skin and see if it was as soft as the curves of her body were. The fact that she was a stranger and a thief be damned in all of it.
But he didn’t do either of those things. He wrapped a hand around her arm, holding her tight as he reached down with the other and grabbed a log. He threw it onto the dying fire, then caught a candle from the mantel and lowered it, lighting it from the growing flame.
Only then, when the light raised in the room, did he look at his intruder’s face. And that face did nothing to reduce the strange longing that hardened his cock and made his long-dead heart throb back to life.
She was exquisitely beautiful, with silky dark hair which had partly fallen from the bun at the nape of her neck in their struggle. Her eyes were bright and wild with fear. Green eyes, darkest green, the color of summer leaves.
Eyes that went even wider when the same light hit his face. He knew what she saw. The scar that slashed from his temple, down his cheek, across his lips and down to his chin. The scar that reflected perfectly the monster that he was inside. He fought the urge to turn away from her gaze, to back into the darkness again so she wouldn’t see him and the ugliness that went far beneath the surface.
She let out a gasp and twisted in his arms even further, then darted out one daintily slippered foot and crushed it down against his boot. Although it didn’t hurt, he was surprised by the action, and for a moment his grip slipped. She didn’t hesitate to shrug from his arms and dart back toward his door.
Marianne could hardly breathe as she ran. Just a few more steps and she’d be in the hallway. A few more after that and she’d be back in the parlor where there had been a window unlocked. Out that and she’d be free. Free of the dark and dangerous man who had—
She didn’t get to finish the thought. She didn’t even make it to the first door when he caught her again from behind and crushed her back against his broad, muscular chest once more. She felt his breath stir her hair, the steaminess of it against the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Stop running.”
His voice was deep and rich, and its hardness stopped her struggle immediately. They stood there like that for a moment, his arms still around her, his panting breath in her ear, her body pressed intimately against him. Then he reached forward and pushed the door to the office shut.
He turned her in his arms, not releasing her when he did so, and she shivered as she stared up at his scarred face once again. It was a handsome face despite the harsh, raised mark that marred it. He had a well-defined jaw, full lips and bright eyes that were as blue as a cloudless sky. Her lips parted as those eyes bore down into her, holding her as hostage as much as his arms did.
“Who are you?” he asked.
That rough voice swirled into her ears and she stared at him harder, struck dumb by the command he held with so few words. He held her gaze for a moment, his frown deepening.
“I may look like a beast, girl, but I have no intention of hurting you. But you will answer me. Who are you?”
“M-My name is…” She trailed off, knowing that the moment she gave her name she would be lost.
“By God, you will tell me,” he hissed, lowering his face closer to hers and filling every space until there was only him.
“Marianne,” she whispered. “My father was…he was the Earl of Martingale.”
He didn’t react for a moment. Then he tilted his head like he was trying to read her. “If you run again, I will tie you to a chair, do you understand?”
“You know who I am,” Marianne said as the reality of the situation settled heavy in her chest. “There is no point in running now. Everything is over.”
His fingers loosened their grip on her and he stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. “You are the daughter of a nobleman.”
She wrinkled her brow. At present she didn’t know many who would call her father noble. “He was titled, yes,” she admitted.
“Was?”
“He is dead, Your Grace. A week ago,” she said, shocked that he was pretending not to know who the Earl of Martingale was. Such scandal like that which surrounded her father could not be avoided.
“My condolences for your loss,” he said, inclining his head ever so slightly. “But why would a lady such as you break into my house and try to steal from me?”
Now she stared openly at him, her mouth slightly open. “You pretend not to know—is that by design? Are you sporting with me, sir? If you are, it is infinitely cruel.”
He lifted both eyebrows. “I am not the one who broke into your home, my lady. I think you ought to be careful in your outrage. I am not sporting with you at any rate, I only think I have a right to know the situation of my thief.”
She let out a sigh. “Do you really not know who my father was? I thought everyone in the world, or at least the world of the ton, knew about it all. About the scandal that surrounds him…me…us.”
“Look at me, Lady Marianne,” he said softly. “Do I look like I roam free in Society, giving a damn about some foolish little scandal?”
She caught her breath. He truly didn’t know what was happening. He truly didn’t know anything about her. He was the first person since her father’s death who was so far removed from the whispers. The first person who did not automatically judge her for what the earl had done.
Of course, the duke judged her now for what he believed she was here to do, instead.
She stared up into his face, past the shocking scar, into those blue eyes, and for a wild moment she knew what she would do. She knew she would tell him everything. Because she needed so desperately to spill herself out to someone who had no preconceived notions. Someone who wouldn’t whisper anything she said down the lane until her own words came back to haunt her.
“May I sit down?” she asked.
He watched her a moment, then nodded toward two chairs that faced the fire. She took one with a long sigh and he took the other.
“Speak,” he commanded.
“Oh, I hardly know where to begin.” She shook her head and felt the bone weariness she couldn’t afford flood every fiber of her being. “Everyone knows th
e story—I have never had to tell it to anyone who didn’t already have an inkling, wrong or right, about the truth.”
“Just speak,” he repeated, a little gentler.
“My father was a deeply flawed man.”
“Are not we all?” Avondale mused softly.
“I suppose that is true. All men and women are flawed in some way. A bad habit, a strange attraction.” He blinked at her and she realized she was rambling, as she was wont to do when she was nervous. She cleared her throat and tried to focus. “But my father was more flawed than most. When he died last week I found a collection of items he had stolen from others in the ranks of Society. He took things, you see. Small things, big things, things of value and not. He stole, Your Grace.”
“And so you came here to continue on in his footsteps?” Avondale said with a shake of his head. “A rather dangerous calling for such a beautiful young lady.”
She sucked in her breath at the way he said beautiful. He drew the word out and it was like he caught her with it. She stared at him in silence before she recalled the story she was telling.
In a moment, he would not see her as beautiful.
“You have it all wrong, Your Grace. I didn’t come here to take anything,” she said, reaching into her pocket, where she’d managed to stuff the brooch when he grabbed her. “I came here to return something.”
She held out the item in her shaking hands. He leaned in, and when he saw what she held, he leapt from his chair and backed up three long steps. He stared at the brooch, then up to her face.
“He stole this? From me?” he whispered, his voice suddenly rougher. Filled with raw emotion.
She noted he did not try to retrieve the item. He just stared at it, his shoulders trembling. “Yes, it seems he did. I found it in his desk drawer just this afternoon when I was looking for a quill,” she said. “I do not know when he did so, I do not know how, I can only imagine why. But he took it.”
“Two years ago,” he murmured, at last reaching out. He still didn’t take the brooch from its spot in her palm, but he brushed his fingers across it, across her hand, sending a wild jolt of awareness through her. Then he snatched his fingers away. “He took it two years ago. At least that was when I realized it was missing.”
“It was…it was your sister’s, wasn’t it?” she pressed, even though she shouldn’t.
His gaze jerked to her face and his lips thinned, turning as white as the scar that cut through them. “Yes. Did you know Anne?”
“A little,” Marianne admitted. “We were of an age. I wasn’t close to her, but we were friendly when we encountered each other. She was a lovely young woman. I-I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t bother with your empty words,” he snapped, stepping toward her. “Your father stole from me and now you sneak into my house, as much a liar as he was, to give it back. Why?”
She let out a long sigh at his anger. She’d known she had earned it, so it didn’t surprise her. “Because when I initially uncovered what he’d done, I called the watch, hoping the things he’d taken could be returned with some discretion. Instead, this horrible inspector used my father’s bad acts in order to further himself. He has spread the truth far and wide, and he has destroyed our family reputation. He is nothing less than a demon and seems to take great pleasure in hurting others. I knew if I called on him to help me return this to you, it would only add fuel to an already raging inferno. Sneaking in here with the idea of just leaving it on your desk was cowardly, I admit it. But it was an act of desperation.”
“To protect yourself,” he sneered.
She shook her head. “I have very little to protect. I am already considered an old maid, Your Grace. I have no illusions that my reputation will recover from this. I’m trying to protect…to protect my younger sister. She is a child, just ten. I can only pray these whispers may die down by the time she is to enter Society. I must hope for that so that she could have some chance at a future. But I must do everything in my power to make those whispers go away more quickly.”
He arched a brow. “Give the girl a good dowry when she comes of age and any sins will be forgiven.”
“I agree, but that is out of the question. My cousin has inherited the title from my father, as he had no sons, and the new earl is bent on removing us from sight. We have a pittance as an inheritance—it will barely be enough to keep us fed and sheltered.” Tears filled her eyes as she told this stranger her plight. Hearing the full weight of it for the first time made her stomach turn. “It is an uphill battle.”
He stared at her in a silence that seemed to stretch forever, then slowly shook his head. “You could have destroyed this or sold it. You didn’t have to risk what you did to return it.”
She shrugged. “I could not do that. It would make me no better than my father, wouldn’t it? What kind of sister would I be if that was the example I set for Juliet?”
His expression remained cool and unreadable as he took in what she said. Then he asked, “And you think bringing this back to me makes up for what your father did?”
“It’s all I can do,” she said softly.
His eyes lit up briefly and he moved toward her another long step. She shifted in her seat as she watched him move. His motions were graceful but also intimidating. And yet she didn’t stand or back away from him. She didn’t want to.
“It’s not all you can do,” he retorted.
Now she did stand, shoving her shaking hands behind her back. “You want something from me. Something as compensation? What is it?”
He glided forward again and held out his hand. To her shock, his fingers moved across her jawline, tracing the skin there with intimate and utterly inappropriate slowness.
“What would you say if I told you I want you?”
Chapter Three
Alexander watched as understanding dawned across Marianne’s face. He waited to see her disgust at the notion, for her fear because of his monstrous appearance. But there was none. Her eyes instead lit up with interest at his suggestion, coupled with confusion.
“I-I’m a lady,” she stammered at last.
He nodded slowly. “Indeed, you are that. Does that mean you pretend not to understand what I desire?”
She licked her lips and his cock hardened at the swipe of her pink tongue. He wanted to feel the same across his skin. He had from the moment he first touched her and realized his intruder was a woman.
It had been a long time since he wanted something or someone so much. He found himself quite desperate for her, despite what she’d come here to do. Despite the fact that she was not the kind of woman one made this type of offer to. Despite the fact that she could talk and talk and talk, it seemed. Despite it all, he wanted her.
“You wish to…” Her cheeks flamed and her voice dropped to a whisper. “…bed me.”
“Say it again,” he ordered. “Louder.”
She cleared her throat and glared at him before she said, “You wish to bed me.”
He nodded. “For a time, yes, I want to bed you. But you know there will be consequences to that action. I assume you are a virgin?”
The blush of her skin grew darker. “Of course I am, Your Grace. My father was a thief—that does not make me a wanton.”
“I hope you are a wanton once you let me touch you,” he said with a rusty laugh. “That will make this so much more fun. But you will surrender your virginity. That will limit your future.”
She pondered that a moment. “My future is already severely limited, as I’ve told you. My virginity isn’t what will keep a man of means and standing from offering for me. Still, it will put an end to any future I might have once wished for. What will I gain in return for this?”
His eyes widened at her strength and grit. Rather than mincing or blushing or fainting, she was negotiating with him.
“You said you are about to be put out of your home. That your inheritance is hardly enough to keep you,” he said. “How lon
g is your cousin allowing you to have to find a new arrangement?”
“A month,” she said, and her voice broke. Her fear was obvious, and for a moment he wished he could comfort her.
Of course, he did no such foolish thing. He hardened his tone and said, “I have a cottage on my estate in Avondale that used to be let but is currently empty. I would guarantee you to have it for a very reduced rent. Low enough that your purse would stretch.”
She met his eyes, and he could see her interest growing. “But if anyone found out what I had traded for, it would hurt my sister even more than this mess with my father has.”
He shrugged. “I have no interest in telling tales, not that I have anyone to tell them to. And if it would strengthen my offer, I would be willing to add to your sister’s future dowry. I think a few thousand pounds when she turns eighteen would certainly make her a viable prospect for a man of respectability.”
Her lips parted, and for a moment it seemed he had stunned her into silence. He watched as she attempted to regather herself. “A few thousand pounds,” she breathed at last. “That is a great deal of money. What will you expect from me in return? What will you have me do?”
He stepped closer, drawing in a long drag of her sweet scent. Slowly, he caught her arms and pulled her tight against him. God’s teeth, but she was soft and molded to him like she’d been made to do so.
“Anything I desire,” he responded. “You will come with me to the estate as soon as possible. Have your servants prepare your sister for travel in a month when she will come to join you at the cottage. Until then, you’ll be mine. All mine. How and when and where I desire it.”
Stealing The Duke Page 2