Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  “My poor dear,” Lord Barton soothed a likely frazzled and mortified Jude. “I must apologize for Lord Cartwright’s abysmal behavior.”

  Cart’s abysmal behavior, he wanted to shout in annoyance.

  And shouldn’t the man be assisting Cart from the murky water instead of sidling up to Jude?

  On principle alone, Cart felt the immense urge to turn away Lord Barton’s request for representation and acquire the antiquity the old man sought for his own collection. If Cart had the funds required for the purchase, he would most certainly do just that—and burn the thing before Barton’s eyes.

  “No one fret,” Cart said, pushing himself to his knees in the sludge and reaching behind him to untangle his boot. “I fear I have beaten all the odds and have survived.”

  “Cart—err, Lord Cartwright,” Jude corrected quickly. “Do allow me to help you regain your feet.”

  He could hear Barton chuckle—and instantly wanted to unleash his fist on the man’s bulbous nose. What had come over him? Cart was not by any nature a man inclined to violent outbursts, nor had he ever so much as attended a boxing club or witnessed a brawl.

  “Do step back, Miss Judith,” Cart called over his shoulder. “It would be highly abysmal of me to splash mud on your fine slippers or gown. I do not seek to offend you any further with my behavior.”

  “Very wise, Cartwright.” Barton worked hard to suppress his mirth, but Cart could still hear his soft laughter. “I will attend the Misses Samantha and Judith to their relations while you disentangle yourself and depart.”

  Cart sighed, still kneeling in the mud. “That is ever so kind of you, Barton. Again, my sincere apologies, ladies.”

  He couldn’t even bring himself to face Jude. His cheeks were likely tinted red with embarrassment. All that crossed his mind was how infuriated his mother would be when she learned of his blunder—and he would never expect Jude to align herself, even in friendship, with a man as inept as he.

  Chapter 5

  Jude silently signaled Sam and Lord Barton to return to the gathering without her. When Sam gave her a questioning glance, Jude cocked her head in the direction of the other partygoers once more. Neither she nor her twin was adept at taking direction—or hints—from others or each other. Many twins Jude had read about seemed to live in a constant state of awareness in regards to their womb mate, but unfortunately for Jude, that was not the case with her and Sam.

  Except for their identical appearance, they could not be more different.

  “Bloody fool, ignorant scalawag,” Lord Cartwright mumbled as he lifted his leg and applied his hands to his bent knee to stand. “Inconceivable, blundering mug. You should refrain from polite society, for certain.”

  Jude wanted to laugh at the entire debacle but kept her gaiety to herself. Normally, social excursions fell into either the tedious category or utter boredom, but Lord Cartwright was a bout of fresh air—though her amusement at this expense was not something she would ever share with him. She did not seek to wound his pride further than it already was.

  His every movement was calculated and precise—something Jude was unfamiliar with as she was prone to hasty decisions. Obvious from her part in stealing the vase from Lord Gunther’s home.

  But Cart’s stumble was nothing deliberate and Jude felt a measure of responsibility for his fall. She’d been distracting him, though if she were truthful, he had distracted her just as fully. His reluctant smiles and odd choice of topics had interested her greatly. That he looked the perfect gentleman next to her a boon. He did not speak of trivial things to appease her supposedly delicate sensibilities.

  Lord Cartwright gained his feet and ran his hands down his trousers to remove some of the filth that clung to the material, his head hung in disgrace.

  “If I traverse the edge of the pond and duck behind the trees bordering the property, I can escape without further incident,” he continued to talk to himself, fully unaware of her presence on the shore. “But then how will I journey home? I arrived with Barton. Maybe a hackney? How does one gain the attention of one?”

  Lord Cartwright continued to work through his dilemma audibly, something Jude had never witnessed thus. Nevertheless, she could certainly see the benefit to puzzling through one’s problems aloud.

  “Lord Cartwright?” Jude hated to disturb him or humiliate him further by alerting him to her presence. “My family carriage is in the drive. I can have my coachman deliver you home and then return for my sister and me.”

  “Jude.” He turned to face her, heat creeping up his neck. “You should attend your sister…return to the gathering…enjoy your afternoon.”

  She should be doing all those things, yet, Jude could not abandon Lord Cartwright to sulk out of Lady Haversham’s gardens. A quick glance over her shoulder told her the others had gone back to the festivities, Lord Cartwright’s stumble into the pond forgotten for the moment—likely to be retold over evening meals in numerous households across London.

  Instead of fleeing, Jude offered a warm smile and her arm—she only wished she was in the habit of carrying a towel with her. “I do not believe we are finished with our stroll, my lord.” When he stared at her, his mouth gaping open, she continued, “Please allow me to accompany you to my carriage. My coachman will make sure you arrive home safely, without any further…” Her words trailed off, at a loss for what to say. “…incident.”

  “I am quite capable of securing transport home,” he countered. “I am no damsel in distress.”

  Jude laughed at his twist of her previous words. “I think we have both established we are not helpless creatures.” She hoped his wounded sensibility would improve with a bit of coaxing. “Same as we can agree that you requested my company for a stroll, not out of any obligation or male possessiveness, but because we might enjoy one another’s companionship.” He nodded. “This is much the same. I do not feel any obligation to assist you in departing Lady Haversham’s gathering—I believe we have enjoyed our short stroll and wish it not to end on a sour note.”

  And Jude desperately wanted to learn more about his position as a collector—namely, if he or one of his associates would be interested in the vase. Her day had taken a grand turn by making his acquaintance; a new home for the vase was possibly on the near horizon, and money to add to the Craven House coffers. Lord Cartwright had made it clear that he was an amateur collector, which boded well for her and Sam. It was possible Cart had no previous knowledge of the vase’s origins—or its current status as stolen.

  “Are you certain you seek to be seen with me”—he gestured toward his soiled attire—“in this condition? I have it on good account that a woman’s status in society is based on her every decision, both favorable and unfavorable. I would never wish a bad light to be cast on you or Miss Samantha.”

  Again with his verbiage mirroring a lady’s guide to modesty.

  “Do you always fret so much, my lord?” Jude didn’t bother to dampen her grin. “I can compile a list of things far more worrisome than me being spotted in your company. Specifically, what your valet will say when he sees how you’ve fairly ruined your jacket and breeches. He will likely need hours to repair the damage done to your boots alone.”

  A startled expression covered Cartwright’s face and he looked down at his once finely pressed linen shirt, his artfully tied neckcloth now limp about his neck.

  Jude could only describe his look as utter and complete horror at the sight of himself. Water still dripped from his coattails and his hair stuck out in every direction.

  “I jest with you, my lord,” Jude teased. “But I do suggest we continue on our path, which will eventually lead to the front drive—and my family’s carriage. I will make any excuses you wish as to your hurried departure.”

  “I am not usually such a wreck,” he replied to her offer. “It is simply—“

  “There is no need for you to explain yourself to me.” Though Jude found herself wanting to know more about him, curious as he was with his odd be
havior. “But if you wish, you may as we continue our walk.” Jude set her hand on his wet coat arm and stepped back on the path, giving him little option but to follow her lead—or appear the ungentlemanly lord who refused her.

  She didn’t know much about the man next to her, but she did get the impression he would never insult someone so blatantly. And true to her assessment, he fell into step next to her. He did not, however, walk as closely as before, more than likely out of fear of soiling her skirt.

  They strolled in silence until they reached the far side of the pond where they could continue a straight path and reach the front drive or continue along the water’s edge and return to the gathering beyond. Jude held back and allowed Lord Cartwright the choice.

  Would he feel obligated to return to the party, or accept Jude’s offer of transport?

  Ironically, he settled on neither as he stopped and faced her, taking a step closer to her and removing her hand from his moist sleeve. “It has been lovely making your acquaintance.”

  “And yours, my lord,” she said with a tentative smile, unsure what was to happen next.

  “I hope it is not too forward of me to ask, but…”

  “Anything between friends can be overlooked.” Her words were meant to encourage him to speak, but it only made him take a step back as he shifted nervously before her. “Cart?”

  He moved his gaze from over her shoulder to meet Jude’s stare. “Please tell me if you find this unacceptable.” He paused again, gathering his thoughts—and possibly his bravado. “May I call on you at some future date?”

  Future date… Jude wanted to ask exactly when that date would be.

  Not only did she see potential for getting rid of that blasted vase and an end to her and Sam’s outlandish notions, but—if she were completely honest—Jude had enjoyed their short acquaintance immensely. There was more to Lord Cartwright than anyone would ever assume. The method with which Lord Barton had dismissed him was unjust and insulting, to say the least. Though, inviting Cartwright into Craven House, her home and sanctuary, was a daunting prospect.

  How did one tell a lord in good standing that she lived in a former bordello? That her mother, God rest her soul, had been the proprietor of London’s finest gentlemen’s house…and that many in the ton still believed the property housed all sorts of sordid activities, even though that hadn’t been true in many years?

  No, Jude desperately wanted to know more about Lord Cartwright, but at the expense of him learning her family’s past transgressions… Jude was unsure. Many did not look favorably on Craven House’s history.

  He continued to stare, his brow furrowing and his mouth clenched tightly, awaiting her response.

  “I would like that, my lord.” She only hoped the “future date” was sometime very soon. There was little doubt that if he found out where she lived and whom she called family, he would certainly change his mind about calling on her. Even with Lady Haversham sponsoring her and Sam before all of society, their chances of finding suitable men to offer for their hands was not stellar. With no dowry to speak of and little to verify their acceptable lineage, they would be thankful to have younger sons or men of the upper merchant class for husbands.

  “I will bid you good day, Miss Jude.” Lord Cartwright bowed, his damp hair falling before his eyes. With a quick toss of his head, the wayward lock flew to the side, and again she sensed that they’d crossed paths before. “Thank you for your offer of transport, but I will procure my own conveyance home.”

  Without another word, he turned on his heels and marched across the rolling lawn toward the house, his feet squeaking softly in his saturated boots.

  As soon as Lord Cartwright rounded the side of Lord Haversham’s townhouse, Jude hurried across the lawn to where Sam sat with Lady Chastain. Both women were dressed in the height of London fashion, yet their look of boredom showed. Their feet were tucked beneath their skirts as they rolled a small ball back and forth—likely left by Neill, Lady Haversham’s son.

  Lady Chastain stood when Jude lowered herself to the blanket.

  “I will return shortly.” Lady Chastain—Ellie—hurried off to where her sister stood speaking with several older matrons. She must be overcome with boredom to seek out such a group.

  “What did you learn from Lord Barton?” Jude asked in a hushed tone, spying the elderly man nowhere.

  A dour look crossed her twin’s face, creating creases at the corners of her mouth and above her brows. “Nothing of import.”

  “That is good to hear because I do not plan to be a part of any future misdeeds. Things were too close last time and I cannot place myself—or you—in that position again. We must hope to sell the vase.”

  “I am sorry for deserting you with Lord Cartwright.”

  Jude saw no sense in gaining Sam’s curiosity with regards to Jude’s opinion of Cart. “Lord Cartwright is a nice enough man. The few minutes we spent together were far more illuminating than your time with Barton, I would assume.”

  “How so?” Sam straightened her shoulders.

  “He is a collector,” Jude confided, allowing Sam’s brain to work to the same conclusion hers had during her stroll with Cart. “Amateur collector and antiquities broker.”

  “And you think he will be interested in the vase?” Her twin’s mind worked fast. “Lord Barton said he is an earl…seems unlikely a man of his status has extensive knowledge of historical artifacts. He may be the correct man to approach.”

  “I agree,” Jude said, leaning in closer to make sure their conversation was not overheard. “I have not seen him about town, nor does he appear overly acquainted. We can only hope he does not know of the vase’s theft—or make the connection to us.”

  “You did not tell him of the vase already, did you?” Sam asked.

  “Certainly not.” Jude should be insulted that her sister would think her so daft as to speak out of turn. Besides, there had not been enough time before he’d taken his tumble into the pond. “He did inquire about calling on me at a ‘later date’.”

  “Oh, that sounds promising.” Sam raised a brow. “I was certain you’d have fled with Barton and me when given the chance, but there was obviously a reason you stayed to assist the clumsy man.”

  It was on the tip of Jude’s tongue to chastise her sister for speaking thusly about Lord Cartwright—her twin’s unfair assessment was hurtful. And Jude hadn’t stayed behind to learn more about his interest in antiquities, or at least not entirely.

  Lord Cartwright intrigued her.

  A man of the ton; however, he showed all the signs of a highly intellectual man—educated at the finest universities in England, no doubt. Not only in the common areas of financial and estate management but also in history, arithmetic, and the sciences. She’d met many men in her short time moving through London’s elite who claimed cleverness. But Jude found most lacking except in their inflated esteem of themselves. Oh, and their need to align others to their delusions of grandeur.

  Lord Cartwright was different; she’d known it from the moment they met.

  Jude’s stare drifted across the crowd to avoid Sam noticing her ire at her sister’s insensitive comment, or deducing that there was a far greater reason she’d stayed with him after Lord Barton and Sam had fled the unsavory scene.

  “If Lord Cartwright calls,” Jude said flippantly, “I will question him further in regards to his fascination with antiquities. He may be precisely who we have been searching for.”

  “And if he suits, you will do what is necessary?” Sam probed.

  It irritated Jude to no end that her family saw her as the weak twin—the one who’d buckle under any pressure. Even Sam thought this of her. Apparently, stealing into two households hadn’t changed her sister’s opinion in the slightest. If Marce, Payton, and Garrett knew all she’d done of her own volition, they’d certainly think differently. And if Sam saw herself as the leader between the pair, she was greatly mistaken.

  “Have no fear, I am dedicated to my fam
ily and will do all that is required to secure the money Marce needs.” Every word she said was true. There was nothing more important to Jude than relieving what pressure she could from her eldest sister, even if that meant putting herself in jeopardy of discovery.

  Chapter 6

  Cart reclined against the fraying seat of his dated carriage as his mother lectured Theo on her decorum when visiting her first modiste. Unbeknownst to him, there was a proper protocol females used when attending their modistes. There were measurements to take, orders to be recorded, and fabrics to be chosen. All he saw was any advantage earned from Lord Barton’s acquisition flying quickly from his hands to pay for ladies’ finery; gloves, slippers, bonnets, and gowns. It was unimaginable how little his coin covered in the way of women’s necessities—and Theo had yet to be presented to society. What then? Formal ball gowns and headpieces? A proper phaeton to take rides in the park?

  Cart would do well to keep his options open. Business with men such as Barton was not enjoyable on a personal level, but provided the funds necessary to keep his mother happy with enough stashed away for Theo’s grand presentation to the ton.

  Expense, expense, expense.

  Everything translated to a figure—a shilling here or a pound there.

  There was no end in sight, certainly.

  It would be best if he kept his eyes closed as if he dozed as the carriage delivered them to Bond Street with its fashionable modistes, mercantiles, booksellers, and even hat shops with exquisitely constructed—and preposterously adorned—headpieces displayed in large glass windows to lure in London’s finest members.

  It was a way of life Cart was uninterested in: the opera, the musicales, the dinner soirees, the balls. Not a single one drew his interest…until his encounter with Miss Judith Pengarden. Jude.