by Mia Marlowe
Quinn leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. “I suppose I wasn’t attending either.”
He had no idea what had sent her scurrying off. The evening’s events scrolled past his mind’s eye. The last time he’d heard anything from her, he was fighting with Willie and he’d ordered her to stay back. Then Fenimore and the peelers had burst in and arrested her fence, thinking he was the Mayfair Jewel Thief.
Could that have been it? Was she afraid Willie would regain consciousness and expose her for a thief?
“Did she take anything with her?” Quinn asked.
“I should say so! She took all my pin money,” Lady Meade said indignantly. “But I suppose the jewels are worth a bit more than that.”
“A good deal more, I should think.”
“Oh! And she took one of yesterday’s loaves of bread.”
“I need something on my stomach if I’m to be a pleasant sailing companion, bread for choice.” Viola’s words when she’d boarded the Minstrel’s Lady rose up to taunt him. She was preparing to take ship.
“Oh, Lord, she could be headed anywhere.” Quinn bolted for the door without so much as a fare-thee-well to Lady Meade. He’d apologize later if he must. If he missed Viola on the London wharves, he’d never find her unless she wished to be found.
Dawn was breaking when Viola reached the docks at Wapping, but men were already at work, loading and unloading the vessels riding at anchor. The fragrant aromas of tobacco leaves and coffee beans mingled with tar and the stench of hides and pungent rum fumes. Chains attached to the unloading cranes rattled and workers grunted a boisterous and offcolor sea shanty as they hauled on heavy ropes. A forest of masts dipped and swayed with the swells of the Thames and a steamer preparing to depart belched black clouds of smoke.
Viola couldn’t afford passage on the steamer, not even if she was willing to travel steerage. She pressed on toward the smaller sailing vessels, looking for something like the Minstrel’s Lady, that might offer passenger accommodations for less. Her meager cash would have to stretch into the foreseeable future, at least until she lighted somewhere and figured out what to do with herself.
She could continue with thievery, she supposed, but it made her stomach lurch to think of it. Having a near brush with arrest was a sobering experience. For the first time, she felt the full weight of the consequences of her actions and couldn’t bear the thought of her mother and sister, not to mention little Portia, being tainted with her shame.
She’d find work. Honest work. She might serve as a governess or a tutor or even a shop girl with a clear conscience. But she had to quit England before the peelers discovered they’d arrested the wrong person and came looking for her.
And she had to put as much distance between her and Quinn as possible.
Her chest ached at the thought of him. A lump of caring rose in her throat. He’d betrayed her, but she still loved him. Why didn’t her heart have a tap she could shut off?
She switched her single valise to her other hand as she threaded her way through the crowd of milling people. “At least Quinn can’t say I’m not traveling light this time,” she murmured.
“What if he’s not happy about you traveling at all?” came a masculine rumble behind her.
She turned around to find Quinn dogging her steps. He smiled at her.
Damn the man, he had the audacity to smile.
“What’s it to be, Quinn? A Judas kiss?” Her gaze darted about, looking for the authorities he must be dragging in his wake. “Oh, no. How silly of me. You prefer to shag those you mean to betray.”
His brows shot up at her casual obscenity. “Betray? What are you talking about?”
“You told Mr. Fenimore you were working with the Mayfair Jewel Thief. Fortunately for me, he assumed Willie was your accomplice.” She turned back around and started walking away with a determined stride. He fell into step beside her. “However, Willie will promptly denounce me, so Fenimore probably knows and is on his way to take me into custody.”
“No one is after you, Viola. Who’d believe anything Willie says? I’m the only one daft enough to want custody of you,” Quinn said, “and I’d never turn you over to the authorities. Besides, Fenimore is dead.”
She stopped and looked askance at him.
“I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re thinking. It was the diamond. Just like de Foix.” Quinn shrugged. “But Sanjay has his kingdom back and the Blood of the Tiger will be returning to the temple of Shiva.”
“Oh.” She started walking again. “Congratulations. You accomplished your goal.”
“I did a good deal more than that.” He reached over and took her valise from her, still keeping step with her.
“Oh?”
He stopped her with a hand to her forearm. “I fell in love.”
“Oh!”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on her palm. “I love you, Viola. If you’re still intent on running away, I’ll run with you, but I hope you’ll stay here with me.”
Her heart leaped at that, but she knew he’d never intended on staying in England. “You’re not going back to India?” It had been his first thought when he received news of the uprising.
His brows drew together slightly. “No. My father’s ill. From what I’ve heard, it’s probably mortal. And that means I’m needed at home.”
Viola glanced up at him, sensing tension in the set of his shoulders. “But you want to go back to India, don’t you?”
“I’ll always love that land, but once I take my seat in the House of Lords, I’ll be in a position to do more good for England and Sanjay’s country here than I would as a line officer there.” He pressed her hand to his chest. “I’m heir to a title I wasn’t born to, that shouldn’t be mine. I’m drawn to a land halfway around the world, but I’ve been exiled from it. I’ve never quite known where I belong.” He palmed her cheek. “Until now.”
He bent and kissed her, right on Wapping Dock, in front of God and everybody. A trio of sailors walking by broke into loud huzzahs.
“You are my home, Viola. I belong with you. Marry me.”
“Oh, Quinn.” She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust, but she’d had to fend for herself for so long, it was hard to put so much hope in another soul.
“Don’t you love me?”
“Of course, I do.” If she loved him any more, her living heart would leap out of her chest.
“Don’t you believe I love you?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“You can hear what a jewel has to say, but you can’t sense the love I bear for you?”
He pressed his forehead to hers and suddenly she felt it, a Sending more intense than from any gem she’d ever touched. Quinn’s love washed over her, a warm sea, buoying her up on its waves, fierce, then gentle. She could trust her heart, her life to this man.
“I feel it,” she admitted. “And I love you too.”
“Then say yes.” One corner of his mouth curved up. “You’ve already stolen my heart. You may as well take the rest of me.”
“When you put it like that”—she stood on tiptoe to nip his bottom lip—“what self-respecting thief could resist?”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Touch of a Thief is a work of fiction, but there are a number of historical facts embedded in it.
My story begins with a scene featuring the Kama Sutra, a third-century Hindu text written by a holy man, Mallanaga Vatsyayana. It is considered far more than a manual of sexual positions: like the Kabala and the Song of Solomon, it has spiritual implications as well.
The kingdom of Amjerat in my story is my own invention, but many real principalities were stripped from their hereditary rulers under British India’s Doctrine of Lapse. Lord Dalhousie added in excess of three million pounds sterling to the coffers of the East India Company with this policy—per annum. In the case of one princely state, when the rana died without a son to succeed him, his queen, Lakshmi Bai, ad
opted an heir. Since royal adoption was foreign to Britain, this was not accepted by the British and the state devolved to the Crown. Not to be set aside lightly, Lakshmi Bai donned warrior’s gear and led her people in armed rebellion. The uprising was put down, but she died fighting at the head of her force and has become an icon of feminine courage in India.
The Sepoy Mutiny is a sad fact of history. The reason given for it in Touch of a Thief, the greased cartridges for the new infantry rifles, is actually said to have been the spark that ignited the growing Indian resentment of the British.
The specific red diamond named Baaghh kaa kkhuun is another invention of mine. Red diamonds do exist, but they are so rare that few jewelers have ever seen one—fewer than twenty exist. The largest pure red diamond ever recorded is the Moussaieff Red. Only 5.11 carats, it sold for nearly $8 million in 2001.
Lastly, we come to my heroine’s unique gift—the ability to receive information from gemstones. This is known as psychometry , and there are those who claim to be able to discern things about people through touching their possessions. Some believe that part of an individual’s energy is imprinted on the objects around them. Personally, I’ve never met anyone for whom “the rocks cry out,” but I won’t discount it either.
I hope you enjoyed Touch of a Thief. Please stop by my website, www.miamarlowe.com, for news of my upcoming releases, contests, and more. I love to hear from you!
I wish you romance unending.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32