Hil could see his intent, and he jumped over the rail, knowing that whether he moved or not, Weekes was going to kill her. But he might get there in time. He had to get to her. Suddenly a shot rang out. There were screams from the crowd and Hil jerked to a stop, confused, his horrified gaze on Eleanor, waiting for her to fall. But it was Weekes who fell. He toppled over Eleanor and she shrieked, scrambling to get out from under him, encumbered by the shackles. Hil moved again, running to her, and he reached up the steps and grabbed the back of Weekes’s coat, tossing him aside to grab Eleanor and yank her out of the dock. She tumbled down the steps and crashed into him, nearly sending them both to the ground. She was panting and backing away, trying to get as far from Weekes as possible.
“He’s dead!” Wiley shouted from the dock. He pointed behind Hil. “Lavender.”
Hil turned and saw the Bow Street runner standing on the balcony of the upper level, his gun still pointed at Weekes. At Wiley’s shout he lowered the gun and Eleanor collapsed against Hil.
“They all know now,” Hil told her, wrapping her in his arms and sinking to the floor with her. “They know for a fact you didn’t do it.”
She laughed weakly. “I would have settled for a verdict of not guilty.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Mrs. St. John,” Hilary said, entering her boudoir. “I have seen the last of our guests out.”
She smiled at him in the mirror, still brushing her hair. “Have you? Good, seeing as how they were your Bow Street friends and quite intoxicated.”
“I am not intoxicated, except by your beauty,” Hilary said dramatically, bowing before her and waving his hand as if he held a large, plumed hat. He stumbled a little, and cleared his throat as he righted himself.
“Are you?” she said with a laugh. “I do seem to have overset your balance.”
“Completely,” he said with a lopsided grin. She’d never seen him like this. It was rather amusing. “They just wanted to come and see the new house and celebrate a little.”
“It’s been months. When are you all going to stop congratulating yourselves?”
“Never,” he said. He slid up behind her chair and leaned over, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Such beauty deserves unending celebration.”
“I see,” she said wryly. “So that’s the excuse you’re going to use for the next fifty years when you feel like lifting a cup with your cronies?”
“You have been learning cant from Wiley,” he said, disgusted. “I seek out criminals and their cronies, I do not have them myself.”
“That’s what you think,” she mumbled under her breath. “Of course not, Mr. St. John,” she said sweetly.
He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of contentment. “How I love to hear you say that, Mrs. St. John.”
She turned then and kneeled on the chair backwards, facing him. He was still taller than her. She began to undo his cravat. “Do you, Mr. St. John?” she asked. “Well, I like to say it, so have no fear. We didn’t have to move, you know. I loved Number Five Saville Street.”
“We needed bigger lodgings,” he told her with a little exasperation. They’d discussed this numerous times. “You needed your own space in the house. Between my inquiries and my scientific experiments, there was no room for you at Saville Street.” He cupped her face. “A new beginning deserved a new location.”
“You’re right,” she agreed. She secretly loved their new house in Marylebone on Baker Street, not far from Harry and Roger. But she felt a twinge of guilt over the move, even though Hilary had been the one to suggest it.
“Besides, Wiley had taken over most of Saville Street already, with his tailored finery and his gang of informers. May he enjoy his new bachelor lodgings there.” Hil tipped his imaginary hat.
Eleanor frowned. “Are you sure he can afford the rent you’re charging? Perhaps you should lower it.”
Hil snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s earning a fine income on the rewards he earns from Bow Street and the other officers around London. And now he’s learned how to work the stock exchange, the English economy will never be the same.” He tilted his head back so she could get the cravat off. “Are you going to take advantage of me?” he asked hopefully.
“Absolutely,” she said briskly. “Beauty like yours deserves endless celebrating.”
“Wait,” he said, frowning down at her. “Didn’t I say that?”
“Mm-hmm,” she told him. “It deserved repeating.”
“It does,” he agreed. “O my love’s like a red, red rose,” he sang, “that’s newly sprung in June; O my love’s like the melody that’s sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, as deep in love am I, and I will love thee still my dear, till a’ the seas gang dry.” He pulled her up from the chair and spun her around. Eleanor laughed with delight.
“Till a’ the seas gang dry my dear,” she sang back, “and the rocks melt wi’ the sun. I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands of life shall run.”
He kissed her then, a bold, hard kiss. “God bless those Scots,” he said. “They do have a way with a verse.”
“Indeed they do,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “There was a time when you had your way with me.”
He growled and nuzzled her neck. “I shall do so again,” he said with a thick Scots burr.
“We spent far too much time in Glasgow researching your work on a metropolitan police force,” she said. “It’s turned you into a Highlander.”
“Nonsense,” he said in his regular voice. “Highlander refers to people who live in the Scottish Highlands. Glasgow is in the Lowlands. We spent three months there on our wedding trip. Surely you should know that. If we are to go back, you will have to learn your geography.”
“My geography skills are just fine,” she said. “I found you, didn’t I?”
“So you did,” he said smartly, spinning her about again. “I stand corrected.”
“Perhaps you should lie corrected?” she suggested as he stumbled again.
“The better to have your way with me?” he said with a lascivious grin.
“Of course,” she told him, leading him by the hand into the bedroom. “I’m plotting my wicked ways right now.”
He crawled onto the bed and lay spread-eagled. “Do your worst, madam.”
“I was rather hoping to do my best,” she said, climbing on top of him. “I certainly hope you’re up to the task of pleasing me, my inebriated knight in shining armor.”
He grabbed her and rolled them over so that he lay on top of her. He clasped her hands and raised them over her head and then nudged her legs apart, and she realized he was perhaps not as intoxicated as she’d first believed. She complied readily, wrapping her legs around his waist, her loose nightgown making it an easy task. “Of course I am up to it,” he said, stressing the word up with a slight cant of his hips into her. She felt the proof of his readiness and smiled with wicked anticipation. “I was a Devil long before I became a saint.”
“You are still a Devil,” she told him. “And I am the infamous lady at your side.”
“Very true,” he agreed. His kiss was slow and deep and he didn’t stop until her toes were curling and her breath was ragged. He broke the kiss slowly and then stared down at her with eyes heavy lidded with desire. “I would not have you unless you were infamous,” he said. “How boring life would be with an ordinary woman, when I could have someone extraordinary like you.”
“I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere,” she mused breathlessly. “At least I choose to believe so. Kiss me again, Devil.”
“Beware my price, lady,” he said roughly. “I am not the saint I pretend to be.”
“A Devil never is,” she said, and then he kissed her again.
Reviewers have called SAMANTHA KANE “an absolute marvel to read,” and “one of historical romance’s most erotic and sensuous authors.” Her books have been called “sinful,” “sensuous,” and “sizzling.” She won the Passion
ate Plume for best erotic historical in 2008, the Historical CAPA award from The Romance Studio in 2011, and has been nominated multiple times for Favorite Author at The Romance Studio. She was born in the Midwest, but now resides in North Carolina with her family.
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
I have a little secret: when I’m shopping for gifts, I can never resist buying myself a little treat as well – usually in the form of a sexy and romantic read. If you’re like me, then you’re in luck because we have some exceptional books on sale this month. Like Juliet Rosetti’s CRAZY FOR YOU, the next book in her fun and sexy series featuring Mazie Maguire, everyone’s favorite escaped (but exonerated!) felon, and her hilarious capers. For historical romance fans, there’s Samantha Kane’s DEVIL IN MY ARMS, the last installment in her Saint’s Devils series which is heaping with steamy intrigue and mystery. Then there’s Lauren Layne’s LOVE THE ONE YOU’RE WITH, the next book in the clever and sassy Sex, Love & Stiletto series—which reminds me so much of Sex & the City, with the story of two high-powered magazine writers who find love amid a war of words. And don’t miss Toni Aleo’s BLUE LINES; if you’re not already a Toni Aleo fan, you will be after this book. Sports romance are so hot right now– and Toni’s sexy hockey book will have you craving for more sports in your life.
So treat yourself; you won’t regret it!
And, you can’t miss these classics:
Two sizzling books from Ruth Owen: TAMING THE PIRATE, where a woman in danger must hide the truth about her past from the sexy PI who’s bent on protecting—and loving—her, and, LAST AMERICAN HERO, where a seductive cowboy loner learns a lesson in love; GREAT AMERICAN BACHELOR, Adrienne Staff and Sally Goldenbaum’s story of a small-town girl who shows a high-powered bachelor that some things in life are more important than the perfect deal; Iris Johansen’s mesmerizing WINTER BRIDE, about a woman who risks her life to win the love she’s always dreamed of; IMAGINARY LOVER, a haunting love story and HANNAH’S LOVER, a scorching hot fantasy – both from Sandra Chastain; and as a special treat, we’re also releasing Connie Brockway’s — McClairen’s Isle trilogy featuring the restless, daring and proud Merrick siblings as they find a love as wild and glorious as the Highland isle they claimed as their own: THE PASSIONATE ONE, THE RECKLESS ONE and THE RAVISHING ONE.
Be swept away with Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …
Read on for an excerpt from Samantha Kane’s
The Devil’s Thief
Chapter One
London, June 5, 1817
The faint, metallic screech sounded as loud as thunder in the oppressive silence of the dark bedroom. Julianna froze, silhouetted by the moonlight against the back wall, the sudden noise stealing her breath away.
“Unless you care to be shot this evening, I wouldn’t move from where you’re standing.” The deep voice was quiet but firm and it came from the shadows of the big bed.
Julianna remained still as a statue, her mind awhirl. For a moment all was silent, but then she heard the bedsheets rustle and the mattress groan. She cast her eyes toward the bed, afraid to move even an inch. She could see from the man’s outline that he was now leaning against the headboard. His arm appeared to be resting on his upraised knee, but it was too dark to tell whether or not he was actually holding a gun.
“You’re probably wondering if I do indeed have a gun,” he said nonchalantly, and Julianna had to suppress a gasp. How did he know? She closed her eyes and pursed her lips in annoyance at herself. Of course he knew. It’s what any halfway intelligent person would be thinking if they were discovered in her position.
“Let me reassure you that the answer is yes.”
His reassurance was hardly necessary, since she had already concluded that to be the case. In her experience, gentlemen were alarmingly odd, at least in most respects, so it was no surprise that this one apparently slept with a gun. Given his wild and reckless reputation, it would perhaps be more surprising if he did not.
He snorted inelegantly from the bed, which amused Julianna in spite of the dangerous situation she was in. In that moment he didn’t sound at all like the Honorable Mr. Alasdair Sharp to whom she’d recently been introduced, but very much like an annoyed schoolmaster.
“Stand up, for God’s sake,” Mr. Sharp ordered from the bed. “You look like a caricature of a thief, hunched over and creeping along the wall.”
Julianna started to straighten and she heard another rustle from the bed.
“Slowly,” Mr. Sharp admonished, and she froze again for a moment before straightening very, very slowly.
“And now you must tell me what you found so irresistible in my bedroom in the middle of the night.”
Julianna heard the amusement in his voice and it irritated her. So he found her amusing, did he?
The slight weight in the secret pocket of her shirt burned into her side like a brand as she faced him. “Let me reassure you that it was the Stewart Pearl I found irresistible,” she retorted, “and nothing else.”
As soon as she spoke she could have bitten off her tongue. Why, oh why did she always open her mouth before thinking things through? Surely he would recognize her now.
“You’re a woman,” Mr. Sharp exclaimed in shock.
Julianna closed her eyes in despair at her own foolishness. If she had kept her mouth shut, he wouldn’t have figured that out so quickly, maybe not at all. She was dressed in dark trousers and a dark shirt, her hair pinned up. In the dark she was certain she could pass for a man. The waning crescent moon outside barely gave enough light for him to see her. Even though her outburst had given away her sex, she refused to confirm it by answering him. She was light-headed with relief that he had not recognized her voice.
“I thought you looked a little short for a man,” he mused, “but I imagined that you were an apprentice thief or some such thing. It never entered my head that you might be a woman.”
Julianna had to press her lips together not to make a disparaging comment about the contents of his head, since it was clear he had no idea who she was. It wouldn’t be wise in this situation, although it was her natural inclination.
“Cat got your tongue, Miss Thief?” he asked, and Julianna shivered. She was not afraid of him—rather, she was afraid that she was losing control of the situation and of herself.
He shoved the covers aside and rose from the bed, and Julianna almost squeaked in alarm. He was naked. The pale moonlight flowing through the open window fell across the floor at an angle, and as he stood next to the bed, the light shone on his very naked body, illuminating him from his flat stomach to his bare feet.
His face was still covered in shadow, but Julianna remembered it from the many times she had seen him leaving his house and walking down the street, not to mention the party she had attended the other night. Mr. Sharp was a descendent of the Stewarts, all right: tall, handsome, with a high forehead and spectacular blue eyes. He looked just as the eyewitness accounts had described Bonnie Prince Charlie. She should have known from his firm, pointed chin that he wouldn’t be an easy mark. But she’d been distracted by his silky blond curls and those eyes, not to mention the width of his shoulders. Oh, yes, and, more important, the Stewart Pearl. At the party she had barely been able to take her eyes off the famous pearl, which sat in solitary splendor in a glass case surrounded by candelabra—gleaming, pale, and round and begging to be stolen.
“So you want my pearl, do you?” he asked, his voice smooth and suggestive.
Julianna’s gaze darted up to his shadowed face, but she could see nothing. The anger and amusement in his voice, however, had been replaced by something else. Something that made her distinctly nervous, considering that he was naked and she was caught.
He slowly moved toward her. As he approached, she saw that he was indeed holding a pistol. She wasn’t all that knowledgeable about guns, but at that moment h
er primary concern was that the gun might contain a bullet, and she really did not care to be shot this evening. When he stopped in front of her, Julianna couldn’t take her eyes away from the gun.
She was so intent on the pistol, she was startled when she felt his finger under her chin, urging her gaze upward. She met his eyes and a measure of her fear must have shown on her face.
“I don’t need this, do I?” he murmured, lowering the pistol. Julianna vehemently shook her head. He smiled at her response, and then released the trigger gently. He leaned over and set the gun down on a nearby table. Julianna was so relieved, she leaned back against the wall, her knees weak.
“Why do you want my pearl?” he asked quietly. He reached out and gently brushed a fallen lock of hair off her cheek, his finger trailing along from her forehead to her jaw.
He was so close and so unguarded, and a dozen scenarios of how she could escape this unfortunate situation flashed through Julianna’s mind. But each one ended in violence, and she found herself strangely unwilling to attack him. He had put the gun down, as foolish as that might have been, which represented a modicum of trust that she did not want to betray. The truth was, her odds of escaping were fairly slim. The only feasible exit was the window, and it was too far away to make it there without being caught. And if she ran, this odd truce would surely be at an end.
Devil in My Arms: A Loveswept Historical Romance (The Saint's Devils) Page 26