Stealing the Duke's Heart

by Shana Galen

  She imagined from below it might look like she was clinging to the sheer brick wall, but what most people didn’t realize was that almost every structure had irregularities, and one could use those as foot- and handholds if one was small and nimble.

  She found another outcropping, big enough for most of her toes, and perched on it. One of her hands slipped, and she tried to ignore the panic that came with the possibility of falling. She found another place to put her hand, a bit flatter than she would have liked, and held on.

  Thus, slowly, very slowly, she began to climb down. She was so intent upon her work that she didn’t notice the clerk any longer. At least not until he hurled a book down at her. He missed, but not by much. She looked up and scowled. She hadn’t even stolen anything, and he was trying to kill her?

  A glance down told her she still had some ways to go before she could jump. She also saw the book land on the top of a passing carriage. The coachman paused, his mouth dropping open as he spotted her. Rosalyn went back to the task at hand. She couldn’t hurry, much as she wanted to, and so forced herself to take her time finding the next outcropping and balancing on it before lowering herself another foot or so.

  Another book sailed toward her, bouncing off her shoulder. She bit her lip to stifle the flinch of pain and maintained her tenuous hold.

  “You there!” came an imperious voice. “Stop that at once!”

  Rosalyn could not help but look down. There, emerging from the carriage that had halted, was a tall man dressed in dark breeches, a white shirt and cravat, and a dark coat. He looked up at her, his bright blue eyes peering out from under the shadow of his beaver hat. His eyes were striking, and he would have been handsome if his expression hadn’t been so severe. Those turquoise eyes were hard, his lips a thin line, his jaw tight, his cheeks sharp slashes. Rosalyn had the urge to climb right back up again. She rather thought she might fare better with the book thrower than this man.

  He was a noble. She didn’t even have to look at the cut of his clothes or the shine of his carriage to know that. Everything about him spoke of nobility—and the imperiousness that came with it. She’d moved in those circles once, perhaps not such exalted circles as this man must occupy, but she was familiar with the look of privilege and hauteur.

  “Watchman!” the clerk yelled above her. “Stop this thief!”

  “I haven’t stolen anything, you dolt!” Rosalyn yelled back. Her shoulder still stung from the impact of the last tome he’d thrown.

  “You there!” the nobleman called. “Climb down here.”

  Rosalyn looked down at him, then back up at the clerk. She couldn’t hang on forever. Her arms ached, and the muscles still shook with fatigue. Her toes were numb and would soon cramp from clinging to the small foothold.

  “Lad, climb down,” the nobleman ordered. “No harm will come to you.”

  As though she believed that, but she didn’t have the strength left to climb back up, so down seemed the way to go. Besides, once the nob realized she was a woman, he might be more likely to give her clemency. Still taking care, she began to descend again. The clerk disappeared from the window above, and Rosalyn assumed he would be waiting on the street below when she landed on solid ground. Her hands had begun to cramp, and her arms and legs shook so badly with strain that she almost lost her grip. But she held on, descended another foot, then glanced down. The drop was not so far. She could make it.

  Releasing the building’s wall, she jumped, landing in a crouch. She stayed down, swiveling to face the nobleman and the clerk, who stood beside him. “Watch!” the clerk called.

  “Stubble it,” the nobleman ordered, coming toward her. Rosalyn might have shrunk back, but she had nowhere to go. Instead, she rose fluidly to her full height, quite a few inches shorter than he, and stared up at him defiantly.

  “What is your name, boy?” he asked.

  “They call me The Cat,” she said.

  His eyes widened with interest. “I can see why. You’re not a boy either.”

  “And I’m not a thief.” This was not completely true, but she hadn’t stolen anything tonight. “I didn’t take anything from that man.” She nodded to the clerk. With some dismay, she noted a watchman was approaching, waddling as quickly as he could manage.

  “Then what were you doing in the shop?” His gaze shifted to the sign above the door. “The jewelry shop, after it had been closed for the day?”

  She met his gaze, feeling very much like a schoolgirl under the critical eye of her governess.

  “What’s this about?” the watch demanded. “What is happening here?”

  “He’s a thief!” the clerk said, pointing to her. “He picked the lock on the shop, and if I hadn’t stopped him, he would have robbed Mr. Thomas blind.”

  “Is this true?” the watch asked her.

  “No,” she said. “He has it all wrong. I’m not a he. I’m a she. And I didn’t pick any lock. Go ahead and check them if you don’t believe me. I don’t know the first thing about picking locks.” That wasn’t precisely true either.

  “Then how was it you managed to be crawling out of the shop’s window?” the nobleman asked.

  “Now see here,” the watch said, his face growing red with annoyance. “I am asking the questions, Mr.—”

  One of the footmen who had been riding on the coach stepped forward. “You will address the duke as Your Grace.”

  The watchman’s small eyes widened. “Duke? I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace. Do forgive me.”

  Duke. Wonderful. She had somehow managed to not only attract the notice of a clerk and the watch but also a duke. Her mother had always said one day she would be caught. This appeared to be the day.

  “As I was saying,” the duke continued, looking at her, “can you explain how you came to be crawling out of the shop’s window?”

  “Of course,” she said with a decisive nod. “I fell into it by mistake. I was making my way to the ground floor to ask for assistance when this man”—she looked at the clerk—“began yelling and accusing me of theft. Naturally, I ran.”

  “Naturally.”

  She couldn’t tell whether the duke believed her or not. His voice and expression betrayed nothing. The sky was darkening as night came upon the city, and she could barely make out his features.

  “Did you hear that?” the clerk spluttered. “How did she fall into a closed window?”

  “Are you certain it was closed?” the duke asked, never taking his gaze from her. The longer he looked at her, the warmer she felt.

  “Well, no, but it’s always closed.”

  “But you can’t be certain,” the duke said.

  “I’d like to know how the chit fell.” The watch waddled up to her, hands on his hips. “Do you claim you can fly, girl?”

  “I like to walk on the roofs,” she said. “It’s much safer than the streets for a woman like me.”

  The three men stared at her, the watch and the clerk clearly incredulous. The duke’s expression was still unreadable. Rosalyn blew out a breath of air. This was the end, then.

  “That’s the most ridic—” the clerk began.

  “That makes perfect sense to me,” the duke declared.

  “It does?” The watchman’s eyes bulged.

  Rosalyn’s own eyes felt like bulging as well. It was, as the clerk had no doubt been about to point out, a ridiculous story.

  “Clearly, she isn’t a thief,” the duke declared. Rosalyn fumbled to turn out her pockets in illustration. The duke looked at the clerk. “Has anything been taken?”

  “I-I don’t know.” The clerk eyed her empty pockets. “I would have to inventory everything.”

  “Do that, sir. In the meantime, I will escort this lady home. If you discover something has been stolen, appeal to my solicitor for compensation.” He reached into his coat and handed the clerk a card. “If you will excuse us.”

  A footman opened the door to the carriage, and the duke gestured for her to climb inside. Rosalyn looked at the clerk,
the watch, and then the duke. Her choice was clear. She could stay and go to prison, or enter the duke’s carriage and... and she knew not what might happen. Prison or a duke’s carriage... She took the footman’s hand and climbed into the carriage.

  This night had not ended at all as she’d planned, but one thing was clear. The duke had just rescued her.

  The question was why.

  Chapter Three

  SHE WAS A SMALL THING—PETITE was how his mother would have put it. But she wasn’t a child. He’d seen the lift of her chin and the flash of determination in her green eyes. No, she was a woman, and an intelligent one at that.

  She was also a thief. When he’d seen her scaling the wall of the shop, he’d known exactly what she’d been about. She probably deserved to be left to the mercy of the watch and whatever magistrate she was brought before.

  Except Dominick needed someone who could scale walls, and this woman was a veritable cat.

  “What’s your name?” he asked as he settled back in his seat across from her.

  “The Cat.”

  “Your real name.”

  She blinked at him, her eyes large in the dim light from the carriage lamps and her lips clamped shut.

  “Very well. Where do you live?”

  “Here and there.”

  He crossed his arms. “I fear my coachman needs more specific directions than that.”

  “Then you do intend to take me home?” She sounded surprised, as well she might. She had no idea what he meant to do with her. And she probably wouldn’t like it when she found out.

  “Of course.”

  “There’s no need, Your Grace. I can make it on my own.”

  Oh, now she was referring to him as Your Grace. He smiled thinly. “I wouldn’t want you to risk your welfare on the dangerous streets or chance... falling into any more open windows.”

  “No risk of that, Your Grace. My mother and brothers are waiting for me, so I’ll just be off.” She reached for the door, and he closed his gloved hand over hers.

  “I said I would take you home, and that is what I plan to do. Now, Miss... Cat. We can sit here all night, or you can tell me where you live and we can be on our way. I prefer the latter.”

  “I prefer none of the above. Unhand me, please.”

  He ignored her. “I wonder at your identity, Miss Cat. Your accent is that of an educated person, and correct me if I’m mistaken, but you are not from London.”

  “You are not mistaken.”

  “I never am.”

  She rolled her eyes at that remark. He was almost offended. He could not remember the last time anyone had dared roll their eyes at him. Perhaps one of his siblings had when they’d been in the nursery.

  “Then might I assume that you were intent upon stealing from that jewelry shop—no, I do not believe your absurd claim to have fallen into the window—because your family has fallen on hard times?”

  She said nothing, but her expression was full of suspicion. She might not have been raised in London, but she knew enough to be wary.

  “You mentioned a mother and brothers, but you did not mention a father.” He knew this story well. A woman was widowed and then taken advantage of by unscrupulous sorts. Soon, she was destitute and forced to move to London to find honest work and cheap housing. Neither were to be readily found, and the widow was forced to take on less-honest work. In this case, it appeared her children had gone that route.

  Dominick would help them. Not because he cared, although it couldn’t be said he didn’t care—he gave to various charitable organizations—but because aiding her would serve his purposes.

  “I have a proposition for you, one that will ensure neither you nor your family want for funds in the near future.”

  She stiffened. The hand that had lain docilely beneath his jerked away. “You mistake me, Your Grace. I am no doxy you can buy for a night.”

  He stared at her, at this thin, small woman dressed in men’s clothing. She was about the furthest thing from the sort of woman he’d want in his bed as he could imagine.

  “Now open this door, or I shall scream until someone comes to rescue me.”

  He leaned forward. “First of all, no one will come to your aid no matter how much you scream. I am the Duke of Tremayne. I have more money than, if not God, certainly the king. You leave when I say you leave.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

  “Secondly, you mistake me, Miss Cat. I do not want your body. You hold absolutely no appeal for me. I want to buy your skills as a thief. I have a... job, so to speak, and I need someone with your abilities. You acquire the object I need, and I pay you. We part ways and never need meet again.”

  She stared at him for a very long time, so long, in fact, that he realized he’d been disingenuous, inadvertently, when he’d said she held no appeal for him. Her eyes were really quite beautiful, and her skin looked far softer than it should have, considering her “profession.” Then there was her mouth, plump and red—

  “I accept.”

  He snatched his gaze from her lips. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, I accept.”

  “Of course you do.” He sat back smugly, ignoring her eye roll. Two in the space of a quarter hour. The next dozen days would be a trial indeed.

  “Where is this object?” she asked.

  “I will tell you more as you need to know. Suffice it to say, the object I seek is not in London. You and I will have to travel to reach its location.”

  She bit her lip, seeming to consider this. He watched the way her small white teeth seemed to sink into the lush flesh.

  “I need half the fee up front, then.”

  “I see.” He’d been expecting this. “What is your fee, might I ask?”

  “It’s hard to say since you won’t give me any details.”

  “Shall we say fifty pounds?”

  Her mouth dropped open. It was almost comical the way she gaped at him. He hadn’t been this amused in a very long time.

  But she closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “If you are willing to give me fifty pounds, what you have planned must be dangerous.”

  “It could be, but from what I have seen, it will be nothing you cannot handle. Do hurry up and make your decision. I plan to leave first thing in the morning, and there are arrangements yet to be made.”

  She gulped, like a fish struggling to breathe out of water. “I said I accept, and I do. Give me the twenty-five pounds now, and I will meet you at your town house at first light. Where do you live?”

  “I don’t think so, Miss Cat. Once I pay you, you are mine. I don’t allow you out of my sight. That’s a protection on my investment.”

  “I cannot simply disappear. My family will be frantic with worry.”

  “Which brings us right back to where we began. Where do you live? I will take you home, you may collect what you need, say your farewells, and we will be off.”

  “And you will give my mother the money, the twenty-five pounds?”

  “I will press it into her hand personally.”

  She closed her eyes tightly, reminding him of someone about to leap off a very tall cliff. When she opened them again, he saw that determined glint again. “My name is Rosalyn Dashner. If you summon your coachman, I’ll give him my address.”

  THIS WAS A MISTAKE. This had to be a mistake. Why on earth had she agreed to this ludicrous plan? Her mother and brothers would never agree to it. She couldn’t run off to God knew where with a duke. But as the carriage sped closer and closer to the small flat her family rented, and the moment approached when she would have to explain to her mother and brothers the bargain she had struck, Rosalyn couldn’t summon the will to tell the duke she’d changed her mind.

  She hadn’t changed her mind. This was their chance to break the chains of poverty that had been taking an ever firmer hold. With fifty pounds, they could pay the doctor’s fees, the rent, and buy food and coal to see them through the winter. The little her mot
her earned from sewing could be put aside for the future, and her brothers could look for work instead of spending all day plotting burglaries with her and all night carrying them out.

  And she could... Well, she could finally be a help to her mother. She might nurse Michael or help with the sewing or even take in some washing. This fifty pounds would mean they could finally get ahead, instead of always struggling to catch up.

  She glanced at the man seated across from her. He sat facing the rear, which was the less desirable seat. Even though he’d not known her father was a gentleman, he’d treated her as a lady. He probably wasn’t aware she understood his show of regard. He stared out the curtains she had parted earlier, his face impassive. Now that he’d struck his bargain, he was silent. He was no fool, then. He wouldn’t risk saying anything that might make her change her mind. And she had enough questions to fill a library. What did he want her to steal? Why did a duke even need to steal? And what would happen if she failed? Not that she planned to fail. But, of course, she hadn’t planned to fail tonight.

  “How did you come to be outside Thomas & Sons tonight?” she asked.

  His eyes never left the window. “I told my coachman to take a different route to my town house. The streets around Covent Garden were crowded.”

  A new show was opening. She’d seen the pamphlets. “But how did you know I would be there?” she asked. “Have you had me followed?”

  His gaze touched on her briefly. “Our paths crossing was merely coincidence. Until the moment that book landed on the roof of my carriage, I had no idea you even existed.”

  She studied his face, which remained stoic. He didn’t look as though he was lying. “Your Grace, I am a thief, and you need a thief. That seems a rather large coincidence.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t need a thief. I happened to see you, realized what you were, and decided I could use a thief. Perhaps I misspoke when I said our meeting was coincidence. I should have said it was an opportunity—one I think will be mutually beneficial.”