The Forbidden Lady

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  He hauled her to her feet and dragged her past the others and out the front door. With a viselike grip on her arm, he towed her along to his carriage.

  Virginia had never seen him so angry. As stunned and frightened as she was, she went along with him for the consequences of staying behind seemed worse.

  He yanked open the carriage door and tossed her inside like a sack of cornmeal. She sprawled on the backseat with a flurry of skirts as a perverse thought sneaked into her shocked and confused mind. Was he fleeing the scene not to protect her, but himself? If they searched him, would they find the jewels? It would explain his secretive behavior. And he was always present when the thefts occurred.

  Quincy Stanton could be the Boston Burglar.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “We’re getting out of here now.” Quin escorted Virginia out the door.

  One look at the panic-stricken terror on her face and he had known she was in trouble. What could she have done? She had promised not to spy, and he knew she couldn’t steal. Unless, the thought sizzled through him, she was stealing to help her indebted aunt. Anger boiled inside him, threatening to explode.

  He helped her into the coach and yelled to the driver to return to his house with all haste. He leapt in and slammed the door behind him. Ginny’s wide skirts covered most of the backseat as she struggled to sit up properly. He sat across from her, frowning with the realization he might have been a little too forceful. As the coach lurched forward, he braced himself by grabbing the edge of the open window frame.

  The sudden forward movement of the carriage sent her careening backward again with a bewildered exclamation. Flailing her arms about, she reached for the looped silken cord that hung from the ceiling.

  “No!” He lunged for her.

  She toppled onto her back, pulling the cord as she fell.

  The trap door swooshed open to release the iron bar.

  “Umph.” He landed on top of her just seconds before the heavy iron rod smacked the cushions of the front seat.

  She slapped at his shoulders. “What are you doing? You knocked me down!”

  “You nearly knocked me out.” He seized her wrists. “Calm down, Ginny. You’re safe, now.”

  “Safe? You jumped on me. You attacked me!”

  “No, I . . .” He realized he was on top of her, his face only an inch from the rounded curves of the exposed portion of her breasts.

  “Get off of me.” With each frantic breath she took, her breasts rose toward him, tempting him.

  He released her wrists. “Dear Lord.”

  She shoved at his shoulders. “Go back to your seat.”

  “I cannot.” He grazed her soft, pliant skin with the tip of his nose. She was warm and smelled of lavender and sweet woman.

  “Go back to your seat!”

  He breathed deeply, reveling in her scent. “I cannot. The rod fell out.”

  “The what?”

  “The rod. It fell out.”

  “Why do you have a rod?”

  Grinning, he nuzzled his face against her breasts.

  “Stop that.” She pushed at his head. “Go back to your seat this instant.”

  “There’s no room. The rod takes up the entire seat.”

  “I don’t care how big your rod is. Get off of me!”

  He buried his face in her breasts to stifle his laughter.

  “Why are you snickering on me?” She shoved at his head. “Get your face off of me.”

  He lifted his face when he felt his wig coming off.

  “Oh, blast!” She scowled at the wig in her hand and threw it behind her.

  He raised himself onto his elbows. “Ginny, you threw my wig out the window.”

  “What?” She twisted around to look at the open windows of the carriage. “Oh, no! We should go back for it.” She struggled to sit up.

  “Forget about it.” Chuckling, he leaned down and knocked heads with her as she was coming up.

  “Ow!” She fell back on the cushions.

  He winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to run into you. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry about your wig.”

  “Where did I hit you?”

  “My chin.”

  He stroked his fingers along the line of her jaw. “Sweet Ginny. Can you open your mouth?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m talking, aren’t I?”

  He closed in, sliding his hands behind her head. “Open your mouth.”

  “I said I was all right. What are you doing?”

  He planted his mouth on hers. She made a startled noise and tensed beneath him.

  He eased the pressure of his kiss, persuading her with gentler, nibbling kisses.

  With a moan she responded. She wrapped her arms around him and scrunched her lips tightly against him. He pulled back, awed by her innocent eagerness.

  “Quin?”

  “Open for me.” He pressed his lips against hers and felt them mold against his, soft and giving. She made a small noise of surprise when he slipped his tongue inside.

  Her mouth tasted of rum punch; her tongue grew bolder as she adjusted to his exploration. He took his time, relishing her willingness. He moved down her neck, his lips on one side, his fingertips on the other. Her skin was velvet to touch and smelled of lavender soap.

  He traced the delicate curve of her collarbone and proceeded to her breasts. She moaned, running her fingers into his hair. Her heart pounded beneath his mouth. He brushed his lips over her skin, the rise and fall of her breasts like the foamy white waves of the sea, the sea calling him home.

  He slipped his fingers into the neckline of her dress, hoping to disclose more sweet flesh. His fingers brushed against something loose inside her bodice. It crackled against the pressure of his fingers.

  Paper.

  “What is this?” He pulled the folded paper from her bodice.

  “What?” Her voice sounded drowsy.

  He tossed the paper to the side and jammed his fingers back inside her bodice. “What else are you hiding?”

  “Nothing.” Now alert, she yanked his hand out of her dress.

  “Do you have the jewels?” Sitting up, he ran his hand up her legs.

  “What are you doing?” She kicked her legs at him and squirmed to a sitting position.

  “I saw your face when they were planning to search for the missing jewelry. You were terrified.”

  She stared at him, stunned, then huffed with indignation. “You believe I’m a common thief? How . . . how could you?”

  “I don’t believe you would do it for yourself, but you are concerned about your aunt’s financial situation, and you were present when the theft took place.”

  “I cannot believe this! You would kiss a woman you believe to be a criminal?”

  He took a deep breath and shoved a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I don’t know how I . . . I panicked. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “I have never been so insulted. Are you aware the same logic works against you, Quincy Stanton? You sneak about people’s houses. You refuse to explain your activities. You’re always present when the thefts take place.”

  He blinked, dumbfounded. “You’re saying I’m the Boston Burglar?”

  She shrugged. “What am I to think when you won’t confide in me?”

  He clenched his teeth. Was her opinion of him that low? “If the same logic applies to me, then so does the same insult. You kissed me, you laid down on the cushions beneath me, thinking I’m a criminal.”

  “I couldn’t think at all. Besides, you pushed me.”

  “Oh. So like a bastard I forced you?”

  Her mouth fell open. She covered her mouth to stifle a groan.

  The carriage stopped.

  He glared out the window at h
is rented house. He had been so frantic, he had not thought clearly. He should take Ginny to her house. And then he would have to return to the Ashfords’ for Josiah.

  “Oh, no.” He sat back. Josiah, the best pickpocket in all of London.

  “What?” Ginny asked.

  “We must go back immediately. I forgot Josiah.” He leaned out the window and yelled to the coachman to return to the Ashfords’.

  The carriage moved with a jolt.

  “I believe you’re a spy.”

  Astonished by her sudden accusation, he could only stare at her a moment. “Ginny, don’t ask me—”

  “I’m not asking, for I would not have you lie to me. But ’tis what I believe, and I think it is unconscionable of you to involve Josiah. The courts would hang him right alongside you.”

  “And you would not object to me hanging?”

  She huddled back in the corner, frowning at him. “Of course I would.”

  He breathed out a sigh of relief. “You have my word. Josiah will not be placed in danger again. I should never have taken him to these parties. The temptation was too much for him.”

  “Temptation?”

  “Aye. Josiah could be the burglar.”

  “Nonsense! He’s only a boy.”

  “A boy thief, the best pickpocket in London.” He moved to the front seat and lifted the iron rod.

  “Do you need help getting it up?”

  Grinning, he stashed the bar overhead. “I’m sure I can manage when the time comes.” With a click he closed the trapdoor. When the time comes. He felt sure it would. “If you don’t mind, Ginny, I would prefer to share your seat. I hate sitting under this thing.”

  “Why do you have such an odd contraption?”

  He settled in the seat beside her. “ ’Tis for protection, in case I find myself in poor company. The silken cord from the ceiling releases it.”

  “Oh, so that’s why you pounced on me.”

  “Originally, yes. Once there, I remained for the sheer pleasure.”

  She studied her hands folded in her lap. “You didn’t force me.”

  He smiled, remembering her sweet eagerness. “No, but I went too far.” He picked up the paper from the floor. “Is this what caused your terror of being searched?”

  “Yes.”

  He unfolded it. “I thought you agreed to stop spying.”

  “I know, but this was too important to pass up. You’ll understand once you read it.”

  He removed his snuffbox, flicked open the magnifying glass outlined with phosphorescence, and held it over the paper.

  She gasped. “That’s what I was seeing in the garden. It truly does glow in the dark. How does it work?”

  He forgot to answer her as he scanned the contents of the paper twice. “This is invaluable. This is incredible.” He gazed out the window, unseeing. This was proof the British were using their power to suppress, not protect.

  “May I see your snuffbox?”

  Without thinking he passed it to her. “Where did you find this?” He folded the paper. It was exactly what Johnson had been hoping for, and Ginny had found it. Not him.

  “In the study. I found it by accident. I was looking for you.”

  He had been upstairs, rummaging through Colonel Farley’s bedchamber. “Can you move to the front seat for a moment?”

  “Hmm?” She studied her hand under the magnifying glass.

  “Ginny, raise your arse for a moment.” He lifted her up, ignoring her huff of indignation, deposited her on the front seat, and slipped the paper into the compartment beneath the back one.

  “There.” He sat back down and reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “Now if they want to search us, they’ll find nothing.” He took the snuffbox from her hand and closed it.

  “That is the most amazing machine.”

  He slipped it into his pocket. “You’re the amazing one, Ginny, but please, no more spying.”

  She rested against him, nestling her head against his shoulder. “Do you worry about me?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’re wrong about Josiah being the thief.”

  “I hope so.”

  Hidden in the shadows, he saw the carriage roll to a stop in front of the Ashford home. Quincy Stanton jumped out, followed by Miss Munro. The pair scurried to the front door.

  Interesting. The saucy Miss Munro likes a quick frolic in a carriage. He would remember that for the future. Even so, it might not be the sole reason they ran away. Did Quincy have a reason to avoid being searched? A closer watch was warranted from now on. Meanwhile, he had to stash the jewelry somewhere and return to the party to be searched.

  He approached the carriage, careful to remain unseen. With open windows, it was a simple matter to reach inside. He stuffed the ring and necklace between the cushion and side wall of the carriage. He would retrieve the goods later.

  As he withdrew his hand, an idea struck him. Of course! He was a genius. He would plant one of his stolen items amongst Quincy Stanton’s possessions, then alert the authorities. Everyone would believe the bastard was the Boston Burglar.

  Quincy would hang. He’d be rid of the bastard once and for all.

  And Virginia Munro would be his.

  Wednesday, November 15, 1769

  “This here be the paper for today.” Josiah handed the sheet of newspaper to Virginia, then settled down at the table to write his assignment for the day—what he would do if stranded on an island like Robinson Crusoe.

  Virginia scanned the paper, which for three days in a row had printed the information she had stolen from the Ashfords’ study. A surge of pride shot through her. She, a woman, had successfully aided the Colonial cause.

  All of Boston was in an uproar, demanding the immediate withdrawal of British troops. The paper reported a number of brawls between apprentices and British soldiers. She could only hope the British would leave before serious injury occurred.

  Aunt Mary had been greatly relieved that Quincy had taken care of the matter and informed his uncle. She refused to see Edward Stanton until she had the money to pay him back.

  Virginia’s thoughts turned to Quincy as they so often did these days, flooding her with warmth and excitement. Quin’s arms around her, his fingers caressing her, his lips moving on her. She took a deep breath and fanned herself with the paper. She had accused him of spying, but he had avoided speaking of it. If only he would learn to trust her.

  “Finished,” Josiah announced. “Can we read me book now?”

  “Yes, but first, I have something for you. Your reading has so greatly improved, I believe you deserve this small reward.” She reached through the slit in her skirt and removed a small package from the sewing pocket tied around her waist underneath the skirt.

  Josiah ripped off the ribbon and homespun cloth to discover his present. “A sack?” He wrinkled his nose.

  “A sack of marbles. Look inside.”

  He upended the sack, shaking a few marbles into his outstretched hand. His eyes lit up. “I ain’t never had nuthin’ like this before.”

  She winced as she rose to her feet. “That was three negatives in one sentence.”

  He grinned. “Then I’m improving?”

  “Hah! You rascal, you know better than that.” Her laughter stopped abruptly when he flung his arms around her waist for a tight hug. She closed her eyes and hugged him back. He had not disappointed her. When she and Quincy had returned to the ball, he had already been searched and declared innocent.

  Josiah admired the marbles in his hand. “Thank you, Miss Munro.”

  “ ’Twas Mr. Stanton who picked them out for you.”

  “Oh, I just remembered. Me master said if ye wanted to see something exciting, ye should come to the rally on the north side next Wednesday night.”

  “A rally? For what?”
r />   “The rebels are gathering at Hancock’s Wharf, giving out free rum. I’ll be going.”

  She frowned at her young student. “Not to drink rum, I hope.”

  Wednesday, November 22, 1769

  The crowd roared, incited to a feverish pitch, as the speaker rained insults on the mother country from the makeshift stage.

  He shook his fist in the air. “What kind of mother, I ask you, does not nurture her young, but drains them dry to feed her own lust for power?”

  “A venomous bloodsucker, that’s what!” The slovenly man next to Virginia bellowed so loud, her ears hummed.

  She turned to her sister beside her. “Let’s go home. ’Tis too loud.”

  Caroline yelled back, “I cannot hear you. ’Tis too loud!”

  Virginia huffed with annoyance, her breath vaporizing in front of her face. It was a very chilly night, only made bearable by the warmth of the boisterous crowd and the torches held by numerous men.

  The man on stage stopped shouting to confer with his cronies. The grubby man beside Virginia took a big swig from one of the many bottles of rum being passed about.

  “Here, lass.” He rubbed the mouth of the bottle on his filthy coat, and handed her the bottle with a loud belch. “Have a drink. ’Twill warm ye up.”

  “Thank you.” Virginia passed the bottle on. Caroline lifted the bottle to her mouth.

  “Don’t you dare!” Virginia ripped the bottle from her sister’s hands.

  “I’ll take it,” George Peeper said.

  “You will not. You’re supposed to be protecting us, not getting drunk.”

  “Here now, lass.” A young man behind her tapped her shoulder. “Don’t hog the rum.”

  “You’re welcome to it.” Virginia passed the bottle back.

  “Now that’s a sweet lass.” The young man thanked her with a pinch on her backside.

  She jumped. “Aagh! I’ve had enough.” She shouldered her way through the drunken crowd.

  Breaking free from the mob, she strode past Revere’s silver shop to the water’s edge. Hancock’s Wharf jutted far out into the harbor, a number of sloops docked along its length. Larger ships lay anchored in the distance. A breeze of chilled, salty air blew across the dark waters to sting her cheeks. She wrapped her green woolen cape more tightly about her and raised the hood to cover her head. It warmed her ears, but did little to lessen the noise of the crowd.