Touch of a Thief

by Mia Marlowe

  What about his heart?

  She despised herself for the soppy sentiment. Why couldn’t she accept the new wrinkle in their relationship as a man would?

  Quinn was a thorough pragmatist. Of course, he was gallant and dependable, but he’d never spoken a word that suggested he harbored tender feelings toward her. Just lustful feelings.

  Except for calling her love.

  She wouldn’t dwell on that. It didn’t signify anything beyond supporting their spurious claim of matrimony. She’d savor the moment. She’d relish the beautiful man who was moving down her body, covering her with kisses. He made her skin dance. She’d take her pleasure as he did.

  And maybe give it.

  She grasped a handful of his hair and forced him to look up at her face.

  “Have I done something that displeases you?” He thumbed a nipple and need zinged from her breast to that emptiness between her legs.

  “Not yet.” She shuddered with bliss and covered his hand to stop him from tormenting her to distraction. “It would be so easy to just let you play my body as if I were your harp.”

  He licked the crease beneath her breast and waggled his brows at her. “Are you saying I’m a virtuoso?”

  “Yes, I’ll admit it, if you like. You’re an amazing lover.” She lightly smacked the top of his head when he claimed her other nipple with his mouth and sucked. “Keep doing that and I’ll sing it for you.”

  He released her nipple long enough to murmur, “If you like it so much, why do you keep interrupting me?”

  “I want to be amazing for you, too.”

  He lifted his head to meet her gaze. “What makes you think you aren’t?”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “On the contrary, you’re exactly as I’d hoped,” Quinn said. “Don’t you know how your responses heat my blood? When you make that little drowning kitten noise . . .”

  “Drowning kitten?” She tried to sit up, but he was too heavy for her to budge.

  “Well, maybe that isn’t the best description, but you do sound in dire straits when you’re near to coming.” He nuzzled along the valley between her breasts. “It thrills me to have put you there.”

  She palmed his cheeks. “How do I put you there?”

  His smile was wickedness incarnate. “Are you sure you want to know?

  Quinn fisted the damp sheets. It had taken every ounce of control not to end the little exercise by flipping her over and rutting her senseless, but Viola seemed to be enjoying herself, so he gritted his teeth and let her toy with him.

  The game required him to lie perfectly still while she touched him wherever and however she liked. She leaned over him, letting her taut nipples graze his chest. She held them tantalizingly close to his mouth, but wouldn’t let him catch them between his lips.

  “I want to touch you,” he said hoarsely.

  “Not yet.” Though she’d come to him no longer a maiden, she was new to extended loveplay.

  But Viola Preston was a very fast learner.

  She climbed atop him, her wet yoni positioned over his balls. His erection protruded between her legs, stretching up his belly nearly to his navel. She leaned forward and teased the end of her braid along his ridgeline, dallying at the sensitive patch of rough skin near the head.

  He almost wished he hadn’t shown her that when she’d asked him to explain the mysteries of a man. She was using her new knowledge to devastating effect. He’d never wanted a woman so badly in his life.

  He bit his bottom lip till he tasted blood.

  She stroked him hard and his ballocks clenched, tensed for release. He could feel the pressure building. Fluid rose in his shaft like sap in the spring. Thank God he hadn’t told her about reaching around to massage the narrow bit of skin between his scrotum and anus, or he’d be spewing over his own belly.

  She halted suddenly and he felt as if the world stopped spinning. He clutched the iron headboard to avoid flying off the edge on his own. “You’re stopping? Are you finished?”

  “Almost.” She slid down so she could lean forward and press little kisses along the length of his cock. He wanted to join his body to hers with a longing that was almost a sickness. She whorled her tongue around the head.

  If she took him into her mouth, he was lost.

  Instead she sat up and slid forward on him again, rocking her pelvis over his groin. Her head tipped back, her mouth passion-slack, her nipples taut, her yoni leaving a glistening trail on his skin.

  Quinn had never seen anything so erotic in his life.

  She met his gaze. “When does this stop being a game and start being lovemaking?”

  “This ancient dance . . . is always a game, love.” The word slipped out again, but he was too far gone in need to worry about it now. “I torment you.” He raised his hips beneath her. “You torment me. And a delicious torment it is.”

  He broke the rules of engagement to cup her cheek with his palm. She didn’t censure him, but leaned into his touch.

  “If we stop thinking about each other in bits and parts and start to see each other entire,” Quinn said, his voice passionrough, “then it becomes lovemaking.”

  She climbed off his groin and settled on her knees beside him. “I’m ready to see you entire.”

  He sat up and cradled the back of her head, then leaned in to kiss her. A simple kiss. A giving kiss. A kiss with no take in it at all.

  It might be irrational, but he heard the words tumble out his mouth. “I’m ready to see you, too.”

  Sunlight shafted through the slit in the damask curtain and made Viola open her eyes. She was lying on her side, with Quinn spooned around her, one of his big hands splayed possessively over her hip. All her joints felt loose and she was tender between her legs, but she sighed with contentment.

  Even though she’d done it again.

  Granted, it was far more pleasurable this time—what an understatement! The desperate groping in the meadow with Neville couldn’t compare with her heart-stopping joining with Quinn. It was almost a totally different act—but the sin was the same.

  She’d let her attraction to a man cloud her judgment. And Quinn hadn’t even asked her to marry him, as Neville had. He’d just offered her pleasure.

  Pressed down and running over.

  And delivered on his promise as Neville had not.

  Perhaps it was better this way. She’d already decided she’d probably never marry. Once word of her exploits, larking about Paris with a man who was not her husband, reached Society’s ears, she was finished. No decent door would be open to her, no matter how wealthy the jewels she’d earn from Quinn made her.

  But if last night had taught her anything, it was something about herself. She was an innately sensual person. Her body flared to life in Quinn’s arms.

  And she couldn’t imagine it not happening again.

  Often.

  But she really ought to have been more careful. Or rather Quinn should have been. Childbed was no light matter, never mind the scandal of bearing a bastard. He shouldn’t mind if she insisted that he use a French letter, a sheep’s bladder condom, next time.

  Quinn stirred behind her and dropped a kiss on her nape. “G’morning,” he slurred, his deep voice rumbling through her. His hand slid up from her hip to cup a breast, thrumming her nipple to aching life.

  The hard ridge of him pressed against her bum. She rocked back into him. “A very good morning.”

  She rolled over to greet him with a kiss and a wicked idea of how to make the morning better—even if he didn’t have a condom.

  If she was going to hell in any case, she might as well make it worth the devil’s time.

  “How do we get back into the embassy?” Viola asked as she sipped her second cup of tea.

  After she and Quinn thoroughly woke each other up with a satisfying romp, they broke their fast en suite when Sanjay delivered a tray of buttery pastry, fresh fruit, eggs, and kippers.

  Sanjay had tossed her yet another fou
l glance, obviously taking note of the fact that she was clad in her robe de chambre and Quinn in his banyan. The Hindu frowned at the bedclothes, the sheets rumpled beyond redemption. His dark glare focused on her again. She’d smiled sweetly at Sanjay in return, which made him scowl all the more before he left them to their meal.

  Her vicar was right. Kindness did heap burning coals on an enemy’s head.

  “Getting back into the embassy will be no problem,” Quinn said as he sopped up his eggs with a croissant. He carried no excess flesh, but all his appetites were large. “There’s an embassy ball scheduled for tomorrow night and I wangled an invitation for us.”

  “Good. Climbing in windows is vastly overrated.” Viola speared a slice of orange and popped it into her mouth. “I’m sure you realize a ball calls for another ball gown. I couldn’t possibly be seen again so soon in the emerald one and all my other new ensembles, while very fine, are not appropriate for a formal occasion.”

  “We’ll nip back to Madame Puisette’s this afternoon. Her sample gowns fit you and I’ve a mind to see you in that burgundy one.”

  “It was terribly French. Most revealing.” So was the Vee neckline of his banyan. A few dark chest hairs peeped at her.

  He flashed a wicked smile. “Which is why I want to see you in it.”

  “But there’s a problem with going for the diamond during the ball.” She considered helping herself to another scone, but decided against it. All her new things fit glove-tight. Besides, Quinn was the most delicious thing in the room. She was tempted to climb across the table and settle onto his lap.

  Wiping away the naughty thoughts, she refocused on the matter of the coming burglary. “It may take a while to locate the ambassador’s office and I might be missed. A floor plan of the building or, at the very least, directions would make my job easier.”

  “Not to worry,” Quinn said as he rose. “I know where the office is. I’m going with you.”

  “But I work alone.”

  “Not this time. I can’t imagine making small talk and avoiding waltzes with Lady Wimbly, while you’re at risk. I’m coming, too, and that’s final.” He leaned down to plant a kiss on her crown. “If we’re missed, we can claim we wanted some privacy. Newlyweds, you know.”

  Warmth pooled in her belly. “You play the devoted bridegroom with devastating conviction.”

  “And it may prove useful.” He turned to go into the adjoining bath, leaving the door ajar. Viola heard the scraping sound of a blade stropped on leather as Quinn prepared to shave. “No one loves lovers like the French, after all. If we find ourselves in danger of being caught, we’ll simply make sure we’re caught in flagrante delicto. That should remove all suspicion.”

  “You wicked man!” If he’d been close enough and she’d been armed with a fan, she’d have swatted him with it. But a thrill of the forbidden shot through her. What would it be like to engage in sexual congress knowing you might be caught mid-act at any moment?

  “Alas, my love, you don’t know the half of it.”

  My love. There it was again. Her heart fluttered. No, she wasn’t his love. He was simply remaining in character for their ruse.

  But the rest of his statement was deadly accurate. She still didn’t know the half of Lt. Greydon Quinn, Lord Ashford. He held his past and his personal life closer than a gambler clutches his cards.

  Perhaps she could learn more about him without the effort of drawing him out.

  He’d left his wrist studs, his uncle’s snuffbox, the medal, and signet ring on a salver on the lowboy. Viola glanced toward the lavatory door. Quinn was whistling while he shaved, a rather bawdy tune she recognized from her time spent in Willie’s disreputable shop.

  She’d have time to touch one of the jewels at least. She couldn’t be sure how long he’d owned the diamond studs and she despised the screech of diamonds. The medal for valor was ornamented by a small topaz. It would probably show her something military and she wasn’t sure she had the stomach for seeing Quinn in mortal danger.

  The signet ring would probably yield the most information since he’d been his father’s heir for a couple decades and presumably had worn it often. The set was very old-fashioned; the Ashford barony had been created before Cromwell. Heavy gold filigree surrounded a cabochon sapphire carved with the Ashford crest intaglio style. It seemed to wink at her, tempting her with its secrets. If she was quick about it, perhaps she could avoid the sick headache that accompanied prolonged use of her gift.

  It was worth the risk.

  She ambled over to the tray, cast one last look toward the door, and stretched out her hand for the ring. She picked it up by the gold circle and then pressed the carved crest into her palm.

  The sapphire wailed like the damned.

  CHAPTER 13

  Water shot up her nose. She couldn’t breathe. A hand thrashed before her face, stubby fingers with nails bitten down to the quick. Sickly green light filtered through the murky water. The signet ring flashed on the right forefinger. The hand clawed the water. Yarn was wrapped around the backside of the heavy ring to make it fit the childish finger.

  Her head broke the surface, but only long enough to gulp a quick breath. Arms and legs pumping furiously, a boy was running along the dock toward her.

  No, not toward her. Toward the one in the water.

  She struggled to separate herself from the vision, but she continued to see through the eyes of the floundering child. Arms flailing, she sank like a stone.

  Slimy dock posts wavered before her. Waterweed grasped at her ankles. Sediment sparkled in a shaft of dying sun.

  She looked up. It was hard to tell how much water separated her from the surface. The boy knelt on the dock and leaned out, stretching a hand toward her. The whites showed all the way around his gunmetal gray eyes. His lips were moving. She could hear his voice, frantic and rising in pitch, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. The hand with the signet ring strained upward, trying to catch hold.

  She looked down, past a bare flat chest with nipples no bigger than a pair of pimples, past a little boy’s penis contracted to almost nothing, and on to the boy’s feet. They were churning furiously, knobby knees rising and falling as if he were running uphill.

  She seemed to be moving upward, but not nearly fast enough. Her lungs burned for air.

  Then a hand reached down into the water.

  Relief melted her bones.

  Instead of grasping the stubby-fingered hand, the hand settled on the top of her head, pushing her down. She thrashed and kicked. She clawed at the arm, but the hand wouldn’t let go.

  She tried to look up, but the hand held her immobile. Its long fingers wrapped around her skull like a vise. Her vision tunneled.

  An explosion of bubbles escaped her lips and, muffled by water, she heard one long wavering cry. Her senses couldn’t make out the child’s last word, but it echoed clearly in her brain, a despairing howl. “Greydon!”

  “Viola. Viola.” The voice grew more urgent.

  She slitted one eyelid. Quinn loomed over her, his gray eyes wide.

  Oh, God. The same eyes.

  She squeezed hers shut. A claw sank its talons into the base of her brain, sending a shrieking message of pain. She shouldn’t have held the ring so long.

  But she hadn’t been able to turn it loose. She’d never had such a vivid vision, never been inside the body of a jewel’s previous owner before. She’d always been able to pull out of an unpleasant Sending, but the jewel had forced her to stay till the bitter conclusion of its tale. It sucked her in. Made her part of the ring’s story. It was as if the ring demanded that she see, feel, know, . . . something she fervently wished she didn’t.

  “Viola, what’s wrong?” Quinn’s voice cut through the pain. Someone was tapping her wrist and trying to make her sit up. “Sanjay, call for a doctor.”

  Quinn wrapped his arms around her and rocked, pressing her head to his chest.

  “No,” she murmured, forcing her eyes open. Th
e screaming headache made her clamp them shut again. “No doctor, please.”

  A physician would only bleed her and make her weaker than she already was. Bile rose in her throat but she swallowed it back. If she allowed herself to be sick, she expected she’d spew murky green water. She tried to pull out of his embrace and rise to her feet.

  “No, you don’t.” Quinn scooped her up and laid her flat on the bed. “Rest now.”

  She let herself sink into the feather tick and kept her eyes closed. She couldn’t meet his gaze yet. Like Adam, who knew with just a look that Eve had eaten fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, Quinn would see the damnable knowing in her.

  What she’d experienced would shoot out her eyes without her conscious volition. He’d see that she knew.

  “What happened, sahib?”

  “I’m not sure. I wasn’t in the room.”

  Quinn’s voice sounded worried, but otherwise the same. How could he not sound different? Surely there should be a telltale marker in his tone, the predatory rumble of one who stops at nothing to achieve his ends.

  “She must have fainted and knocked over the tray with my effects as she fell,” he said. “Look, there’s my ring under the lowboy.”

  “Or she was maybe trying to steal it,” Sanjay said sullenly.

  Viola peered in Sanjay’s direction from beneath her lashes. The Hindu was fiercely loyal to Quinn. Did he know Quinn’s dark secret?

  “If I was to steal from Quinn, it wouldn’t be those trinkets.” She forced her voice to remain calm even despite her jittery belly and splitting head. She must give the appearance of normalcy. She mustn’t betray herself. “Not when he has a stocking full of jewels in his drawer.”

  Quinn snorted. “She has a point.”

  “This sickness of Lady Viola’s, it is not of the body. Her aura is different,” Sanjay said. “It is a darkness of the heart.”

  He was right. Her heart had never felt so bleak.

  Thoughts darted through her mind like a school of fish, zipping this way and that before she could get a net around one.