Touch of a Thief

by Mia Marlowe

  “Brute,” she muttered as she stooped to hoist the luggage herself and scuttle after him.

  Sailors pulled up the gangplank behind her and the mooring lines were loosed. The Minstrel’s Lady wallowed into the main channel of the Thames as her sails filled. She was not a large craft, only about eighteen feet across and little more than twice that in length. Certainly not equipped for luxury travel. Viola saw no other women on deck.

  “I need something on my stomach if I’m to be a pleasant sailing companion,” Viola said as she followed Quinn. Her mother was plagued with mal de mer whenever she traveled by boat. Viola had never taken an extended voyage, so it was reasonable to assume she might be too. “Bread for choice.”

  “Don’t worry,” Quinn said. “I won’t let you starve.”

  “I assume we’ll put in at Dover.” Her breath came in huffing pants. A corset was such a bother. It would have served him right if she’d decided to make the trip in the male attire she wore when she was working. That would’ve been packing light. “Won’t we board the paddle steamer for the crossing?”

  “No, this ship is sailing to Le Havre and then up the Seine all the way to Paris.”

  “We’re crossing the channel in this?” Viola looked around her. The bustling crew swarmed over the small vessel like ants over an upset hill. They tried to make her shipshape, but the gunwale timber was noticeably worm-eaten, the sails patched and much mended. “My estimation of your courage has ticked up several notches, Lieutenant. Sadly, I cannot say the same for your intelligence. Are you mad? This is a river craft, not an oceangoing vessel.”

  “It’s the only ship leaving today for Paris. The captain assures me he’s made the trip several times. It saves a dusty carriage ride from Calais. If you have a better way of getting us there, by all means, enlighten me.”

  Viola clamped her lips shut. She didn’t even have fare for a hansom to get herself home.

  “No? Then we’ll go with my plan. Come, I’ll see you to the cabin.”

  Cabin? There was a ray of sunshine. At least she’d enjoy some privacy on the small vessel. She followed him down the narrow companionway toward the stern. When she snagged the valises on one of the inner hatches, he relieved her of their weight. He lifted one bag, tucked the other under his arm and led the way, holding her hatbox out in front of him.

  Quinn glanced back over his shoulder to see if she was following as he stooped under a low beam. The Minstrel’s Lady was built with much shorter sailors in mind. If Quinn wasn’t careful, he’d crack his head before the trip was over.

  “The captain has agreed to surrender his cabin, so the accommodations are the best available.”

  “How kind.”

  “Kindness has nothing to do with it.” Quinn dropped the hatbox in order to open the cabin door.

  “Careful with that!”

  “How else should I turn the knob, your ladyship? With my teeth?” Quinn stepped aside to let her enter first.

  The cabin was spartan, but clean and held the faint tarry smell of carbolic soap. The linens on the narrow bed appeared fresh and there was a small commode with an ewer built into it. A pitcher swung from a hook above. A square table was bolted to the floor in the center of the space.

  “I’m paying handily for the use of this cabin,” Quinn said. “That means you have me to thank for not having to shift for yourself on the open deck.”

  “If I were making this trip of my own free will, perhaps I would thank you.” She flashed him a poisonous smile.

  “And if you weren’t wanted for larceny in several English shires, perhaps this would be a pleasure cruise,” he returned smoothly as he set her luggage on the bunk. “There’s not much room in here, but there’s a decent porthole and a private head through that door. I suppose we’ll make do.”

  “What do you mean we?”

  “I’ll be sharing the cabin with you. For your protection. We’re listed on the ship’s manifest as husband and wife.”

  “Husband and—of all the cheek! This is totally unacceptable.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. A woman traveling alone is—”

  “Is what? Mannish? Beyond the pale? Please.” She untied the bow beneath her chin and removed her bonnet. “We are living in the Year of Our Lord 1857, not the Stone Age. A grown woman is perfectly capable of traveling safely by herself.”

  “Capable, perhaps. But safely, no. Sailors are an unruly lot. If it’s noised about that you’re under my protection, no one will trouble you.”

  “And who’ll protect me from you?”

  One corner of his mouth hitched up. “I’ve already told you whether our relationship is more than business is your choice. It’s a long way to Paris and I’ll not deny that shared pleasure makes for pleasant travel.” He took a step closer and gazed down at her, his eyes darkening with interest. Her whole body tingled with awareness. “Would you like to amend your previous decision?”

  “Ah . . . well.” The ship hit a swell and Viola stumbled back till her spine was pressed against the curved hull. Quinn swayed with the movement of the ship, but kept his feet, lifting a hand to the low ceiling to steady himself. He still looked every inch the English gentleman, but beneath the civilized trappings, she sensed a feral quality to his maleness. All that was feminine in her responded.

  He reached over and tucked that errant lock of hair behind her ear again. Then he traced her cheekbone with his fingertips, his movement unhurried, his expression both hungry and strangely vulnerable. He ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. The sensitive skin sparked with excitement. She caught a whiff of his scent, a bracing combination of leather and gun oil and something indefinably male. Viola trembled under his touch, not with fear, but with suppressed desire. Her insides churned like a cauldron over a low flame.

  She would not let a man control her like that again.

  “No.” She pushed his hand away. “Don’t do that.”

  He stood stock still for a moment, as if he’d suddenly turned to stone.

  “As you wish,” he finally said. “But unless you have a derringer tucked in your garter and know how to use it, I suggest you resign yourself to sharing this cabin with me.”

  She nodded mutely, refusing to look at him. Her heart was fluttering so fast, she was sure he must be able to hear it in the small space. That wild person inside her, the mad part that had escaped once before and made her do things she regretted, pounded to get out again.

  If only they hadn’t been such outrageously exciting things.

  The wanton she kept under tight control threatened to claw her way free once again. How could she keep the hidden side of her from breaking out and doing something stupid?

  Something that would undoubtedly be quite filthy and quite lovely all at the same time.

  She couldn’t risk everything just because her knickers bunched in a knot every time Lieutenant Quinn glanced sideways at her. She had to be strong. She had to shut down that part of her. Ladies weren’t supposed to like such things.

  “I hope your silence doesn’t mean you want a quick annulment,” he said softly.

  If she could stand sharing the small cabin with him without succumbing, it would prove she was in full possession of herself.

  “No, now that I’ve had time to consider it”—she met his steady gaze—“I think your plan is a wise one. If we’re to pose as husband and wife, I suppose I should call you something besides Lieutenant. What is your Christian name?”

  “Greydon, but no one except my mother ever calls me that.”

  “Why not? It’s a perfectly respectable name.”

  “It’s one of my father’s names.” A wall dropped down behind his eyes. “He’s many things, but worthy of respect is not one of them.”

  “I’d be careful casting stones if I were you. You’re about to embark on a life of larceny in Paris, so if Quinn the elder is less than respectable, I rather think our partnership proves you are your father’s son, Greydon.”

  �
��Call me Quinn.” His gaze cut to her sharply. “I’m nothing like him. And I’m not the one committing larceny. You are.”

  “My, my! That’s an exceptionally fine blade you slice your conscience with.” She leaned toward him, bracing both palms on the table, pleased that she seemed to have the upper hand for the first time since she’d met him. “So long as you only bankroll thievery, your hands don’t carry any taint? How convenient.”

  “I’m not doing this for myself. I—” He closed his mouth abruptly.

  “You’re stealing that red diamond for someone else,” she guessed. She came around the table and walked her fingers up the center of his hard chest. “Are you trying to impress some woman?”

  “No.” He caught her hand and held it still.

  “I’m the one taking all the risks. I think I deserve to know the particulars. You can start with what your father did to make you hate him and finish with why this diamond is so important to you.”

  “You already know all you need to know.” He released her hand and backed toward the door.

  “I don’t think so.” She followed, not willing to let him retreat when she sensed she was winning the skirmish.

  “This conversation is over.”

  “Not until you—”

  He grabbed her and pulled her flush against his body. Surprise forced all the air from her lungs. Their gazes locked, and he bent slowly to cover her mouth with his. Her lips parted and his tongue swept in to claim her dark moistness.

  She knew she ought to pull away, but his strength would make the contest woefully lopsided. And his warm, wet mouth on hers sapped her will to resist. She tasted brandy on his tongue. His rough chin scratched against her smooth one. His breath feathered hotly across her cheek. She felt herself melt into him without being able to stop it.

  She began to kiss him back, chasing his tongue and nipping at his bottom lip. Her fingers curled around his lapel and pulled him closer. He groaned into her mouth.

  His hands left her waist and found her breasts, stroking and circling them through the heavy serge fabric. Her nipples hardened and ached beneath their whalebone prison. Longing sang in her veins and pooled between her thighs.

  It had been so long.

  But she remembered the bitterness that followed bliss.

  With reluctance, she slipped her hands into his and pulled them away from her needy breasts. Finishing off their kiss she drew away gently. “You, sir,” she whispered, “do not fight like a gentleman.”

  He grinned down at her, bending to touch his forehead to hers. “I guess that makes us even, because you certainly don’t kiss like a lady.”

  She pushed away from him with a low growl in the back of her throat.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He tried to wrap his arms around her again.

  She straight-armed him.

  “I only meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” she said through clenched teeth, staring out the porthole as London slipped away from them. “Now leave me alone.”

  She heard the doorknob turn, and called to him, “Lieutenant.”

  “Yes?”

  “Just so you know.” She straightened her spine and turned to look him in the eye. She could be strong when she had to. Traveling to Paris with Greydon Quinn in that little cabin, she’d need all her strength. “I may not have a derringer, but I do know how to use one.”

  His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. “I’d have been hugely surprised if you didn’t.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Quinn leaned on the gunwale and watched the receding coastline until the Dover cliffs disappeared into the mist. The stiff late March wind and salt spray buffeted him, but the top button of his greatcoat remained undone at his neck.

  “I am sorry you must leave your home after so soon returning.” Sanjay shivered beside him even though he was more thoroughly muffled than Quinn. Accustomed to India’s baking heat, the prince suffered from England’s cold dampness in every fiber of his southern body.

  Quinn waved away Sanjay’s sympathy. Leaving again troubled him far less than he expected. His parents were as tied to the English soil as the two-hundred-year-old oaks surrounding their manor. Quinn was more like a poplar. He thrived wherever he was. Leaving any place, be it England or his adopted India, was a small matter. No place truly seemed like home.

  Perhaps he simply wasn’t the type to put down deep roots.

  “When would you like dinner served, sahib?” Sanjay asked as a sailor passed them with the rolling gait that marks a seaman even on land.

  “Whenever it’s ready.” It bothered Quinn to have the prince pose as his servant, but they’d agreed it was the best way to proceed. Genuine friendship and respect between men of different races was unusual and therefore viewed with suspicion. In order to steal the most valuable treasure ever packed into such a small size, it was best to seem as unremarkable as possible.

  “I assume you will dine with her.” If Sanjay was truly Quinn’s servant, he’d have been in grave danger of reprimand for the obvious distaste for Lady Viola in his tone.

  Quinn nodded. “I don’t like it any better than you do, believe me.”

  But not for the same reasons.

  Sanjay had distrusted Viola on sight. Quinn had no doubt he could keep the lady close enough to not worry if he could trust her. He was more troubled by the fact that his unwilling partner in crime was a woman.

  And he was using her.

  Though Viola was a thief and independent enough he didn’t feel obligated to cosset her, his sense of chivalry was offended by their arrangement. It wouldn’t bother him a bit to bend another man to his will.

  It gnawed at his gut to coerce a woman.

  “I sense you share my misgivings,” the prince said. “Perhaps we should reconsider this plan.”

  Sanjay didn’t sense the half of it. Not only did Quinn suffer guilt over manipulating Viola into committing yet another burglary, if he hadn’t escaped the small cabin when he did, he might have been tempted to seduce her, using the skills Padmaa had taught him.

  Since that first time he’d pulled her onto his bed and felt her soft body beneath his, she’d featured prominently in his most wicked imaginings. Already in his mind, he’d undressed the woman and demonstrated a few of Padmaa’s lovemaking tricks to devastating effect.

  “Pleasure is a formidable chain, Quinn-sahib,” the courtesan had told him. “It binds lovers together in mutual need.”

  Somehow, he never managed to visualize Viola and himself as lovers. The word was too tame, too gentle. When they came together in his mind’s eye, it was intense. Fierce.

  Like tigers mating.

  They’d die of bliss if they didn’t kill each other first. He’d never wanted a woman with as much keen-edged hunger as he wanted the one waiting for him in his cabin.

  It made no sense to his mind, but his body could care less for logic. A physical entanglement might jeopardize the success of his plans. Once they retrieved the red diamond, what then?

  Even though she was wellborn, her larceny meant she wasn’t the fine English Rose men of his station expected to wed. There was a raw sensuality in her kisses. She was not a woman to take lightly and forget.

  A man would be marked forever by her.

  The mere thought of Viola was enough to make him feel achingly male. He’d already visualized her silken limbs, her shuddering sighs. He throbbed to rut her senseless, beating against her like a moth against the glass of a lantern flue.

  “. . . and then we can put the lady off in Le Havre and find another way,” Sanjay was saying.

  Quinn had missed quite a bit of what his friend thought, but his own about Viola nearly had him spilling his seed in his trousers. It’d been months since he’d had a woman, but he had to get a grip on his reaction to her.

  “No,” he said with more force than he intended. “We press ahead. This will work. It has to.”

  He turned away and headed for the cabin, like a man destined for the r
ack.

  When he reached the door, he raised his hand to knock, but caught himself. He was supposed to be her husband. It was his cabin, too. He turned the knob and slipped in.

  She’d pulled back the bedclothes, stripped a sheet from the narrow bunk and hung it from one of the low beams. A lantern flickered on the far side of the sheet, treating Quinn to her shadowy silhouette backlit on the fabric.

  Her naked shadowy silhouette. Every curve and line of her form danced on the thin sheet.

  “Is that you, Quinn?”

  “Have you another faux husband on board, madam?”

  “No, thank God. One of you is quite enough.” She peeped around the sheet, showing one smooth bare shoulder. “I’m taking my bath, such as it is. Kindly remain on that side of the cabin.”

  “You have my solemn oath that I will not move from this spot.” The mingled scents of warm woman and light floral wafted around the sheet. His balls clenched. Wild elephants couldn’t drive him away.

  “The captain had two chairs brought in for us. I left one on your side in case you returned before I was done.”

  He was nearly done. He plopped into the chair, not sure his knees would continue to support him.

  She disappeared behind the sheet again, apparently oblivious to the fact that he could make out the dip of her waist, the curve of her calf when she propped a foot on the chair, the swell of her breasts as they fell forward when she bent over to soap her leg.

  He ached to hold them. When she spread her legs to shoulder width and her hand disappeared between her thighs, he nearly groaned aloud.

  “How long will it take us to reach Paris?” she asked.

  Quinn cleared his throat to make sure his voice would work. “Three days, if we have fair weather.”

  Three days of pleasurable agony trapped in the cabin with that siren who’d already turned him down twice. Like Odysseus, he ought to have Sanjay strap him to the mast.

  She was toweling off. Quinn stared at the tips of his boots with complete absorption. If she peered around the sheet again, he didn’t want her to catch him ogling. It was one thing to want a woman. Another thing to be seen wanting.