Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  “He has amassed a rather extensive collection of antiquity registers with hand-drawn inserts.” Her words sped up with excitement, something he well understood. “It has been my home away from home for some time now.”

  “If you think the establishment will suit our needs then far be it for me to dissuade you, Miss Jude,” he conceded. Even if the library lacked the proper ledgers to identify the time period and origin of the vase, at least he would have another afternoon in Jude’s company—hidden amongst a large number of books—his previous favorite pastime, joining with his newly discovered one. “Is your family agreeable to us spending time together?”

  She stopped at his question, turning to him. Facing one another, their eyes met on almost the same level, Jude only a couple of inches shorter than Cart. “They do not disagree, my lord.”

  On some level, Cart realized that agreeing to their association and not disagreeing meant two utterly different things. But the way she stared at him, her rounded green eyes an open book and her lips in the slightest pout with a peek of her straight, white teeth visible, with one long, curling strand of rosewood red hair teasing the side of her face, had him disregarding his instincts on the matter.

  With only a slight bit of reluctance, Cart reached forward, allowing her hair to curl around his finger. It was as silky smooth as he’d expected—teasing his senses with a hint of lavender.

  “Miss Judith,” he mumbled on an exhale. “I find everything about you to my liking.”

  She stood frozen before him, both of them forgetting to breathe. Scared to make any movement and break the bond forming between them, encompassing the space around them.

  Cart could not be the only one feeling the pull to be close. “Can you feel that?” he asked. He’d heard of certain electromagnetic forces at work. He’d read the words recently in a science pamphlet, but had doubts about the believability of invisible fields of force surrounding objects—and especially their ability to draw things together.

  Some unknown force—magnetic or otherwise—was pulling him and Jude together.

  He could not move away if he wanted to.

  And Cart certainly did not want to step away from Jude.

  In fact, he yearned to have her nearer. He slid his free hand around her waist, drawing her ever closer, his fingers lightly running across her gown. The stays hidden by her overskirt could be felt underneath. It was a liberty he’d never taken with a woman.

  The few inches separating their heights was apparent with Jude so close he could feel her warm breath on his neck as she raised her eyes to his.

  Cart expected to see questions in her gaze—or uncertainty—but she continued to stare, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before retreating, her lips remaining slightly parted.

  Tightening his hold, Cart brought Jude up against his body, her bosom pressed securely to his chest and her hands secured to his shoulders. Even their thighs rested against each other’s. A connection, both emotional and physical, that he’d never allowed himself—nor sensed that he wanted. Letting another so close was not something he was against, but it was not something necessary to his objectives in life.

  But now, after this, how would he want anything less? This joining of not only bodies but also minds in a way that captivated him completely.

  Her fingers gripped his shoulders and he knew she felt the connection, too.

  Cart released her curl, his fingers grazing her cheek to settle at her exposed neck.

  The next moment passed quickly, but also lasted what seemed like centuries.

  He breathed in the scent of her lavender hair and the sweetness of her exhale—as if she’d enjoyed marmalade with toast at her last repast. Their lips met and Cart was lost.

  Lost in the sensation of such an intimate touching, Jude’s soft, plump lips pressed to his far stiffer mouth. The light brushing of their mouths turned to something deeper, more sensual, when Jude’s hands moved from his shoulders to tangle in his hair just above his collar. There was not time for Cart to examine his lack of knowledge on the physical act of kissing. Certainly, he was unversed in the emotional aspect of the act, as well. But as the pace quickened and their lips found their own rhythm, any timidity on Cart’s part was forgotten.

  The distant sounds of laughter, carriage wheels, and horse hooves faded completely as all his senses focused on Jude and her fingers grasping his hair, tugging slightly. Even the smell of her receded, replaced by only the feel of her: her soft gown, her hair brushing his face as their mouths moved, the feel of her quickened pulse at her neck where his fingers rested.

  And her lips against his, which suddenly faded when he felt her pull back slightly and something foreign grazed his bottom lip. It startled him to realize it was her tongue. He’d never read of such a thing being done during a kiss. It shocked him, yet at the same time, it also lent an air of exhilaration to the moment.

  His hand stroked her back while hers continued to caress his head.

  Sensation after sensation swept over and through him.

  It was no wonder great men were brought to their knees by pleasures of the flesh—any longer, and Cart would fall heavier than most, but he found everything about Jude intoxicating.

  Suddenly, Jude stiffened in his arms, her hands falling to her sides and her lips freezing against his.

  “Did you hear that?” she mumbled against his lips, still pressed close.

  “No, I—“ Cart started before he heard something coming from the shrubs not far away.

  “It is a rustling.” Jude stepped fully from his arms, glancing both ways down the path. “Maybe it is time we return.”

  Cart wanted to scream his disagreement, pull her back to him, and finishing what they had started—whatever that may be. Instead, he nodded.

  He noticed her face was a lovely shade of rose when she brought her hands to her cheeks before quickly running them down the front for her gown, looking in any direction but at him.

  Another new experience; what should one say or do after a particularly pleasurable kiss? A kiss that left a person mentally fuzzy with no track of how much time had passed. It was certainly not the first time he’d felt this way in her presence, but it seemed to worsen with each meeting.

  He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame any wayward pieces that were out of place from her wandering hands. Thankfully, he’d left his spectacles at home or they’d have likely been knocked from his face.

  “Miss Judith—“

  Laughter, followed by footsteps, sounded from the path they’d traveled down.

  With regret, their moment alone had come to an end—to his extreme disappointment.

  Jude finally gazed at him, an unreadable expression on her face—pensive, but at the same time, weary—as if she, too, had experienced something new and pleasurable and was sad to see it end.

  “There you two are,” Sam’s throaty voice deepened with suggestion. “I thought we’d need venture off the path to find the pair of you.”

  “My apologies if I kept you waiting long,” Cart rushed to offer explanation for their extended absence. “We were making our way back to your carriage just now. Allow me to escort you all back to the main trail.”

  Cart glanced at Jude, offering his arm. She gladly set her hand on it, moving once more to his side. Her blush had lessened and both of their breathing had returned to normal, though he noted her lips were a bit fuller than usual.

  Something he’d do well to remember in the future—kissing was a dangerous thing, leaving its mark for the world to see if one weren’t careful.

  Cart paused, looking up at the swinging wooden sign proudly proclaiming Lewis Stanford Auctioneers. The place—its smells, noises, and patrons—was all too familiar to him. It was the place Cart had spent countless hours combing through written documents and searching room after room for his family heirlooms. He’d found quite a few for all his efforts.

  But today was different.

  He was not here to locate a precious
treasure or to bid on a newly discovered one.

  Cart sucked in a deep breath, hefted the large box he’d lugged from his home—loaded on a hackney and unloaded here—into his arms and pushed through the door. A bell chimed, announcing his arrival.

  “Good morn, my lord,” Mr. Stanford greeted warmly. “I was not expecting you until the end of next week. What have you here?” The shopkeeper came around the shelf of books he was organizing as Cart set the chest on the floor.

  It was something Cart had hoped never to have to do, but with his mother’s demand for increased funds, he had no other option. So, he’d spent his evening the night before collecting anything of significant worth that he could part with. They were all objects of little to no sentimental value—but that did not lessen the loss he was feeling even before handing them over to Mr. Stanford.

  “I brought a few neglected pieces to sell, things I am sure others will appreciate far more than myself,” Cart lied. He’d rarely met another collector who treasured a piece of art of historical worth better than he, but now was neither the time nor the place to anguish over the difficult decision he’d had to make. “I thought you might be interested in some or all of the pieces—several paintings, a few statues, and even a ring fabled to belong to an Egyptian queen.”

  The man eyed Cart suspiciously before scurrying close for a look, unable to resist the lure of anything that could turn a profit.

  Cart flipped the latch on the chest and opened it wide to reveal the treasures within.

  He averted his gaze, focusing on objects around the cluttered room as if interested in a purchase. “Have a look. There is much you’ll find to your liking.”

  Stepping away, Cart lifted a ceramic statue of a Greek sea goddess, Amphitrite, and inspected the fine sculpting skills needed to craft such an exquisite sculpture. The piece was not particularly old, but kept his attention so as to avoid watching the man paw through his things in search of anything that caught his eye.

  Stanford mumbled exclamations of excitement several times as he rummaged through the chest.

  “Thirty-five pounds for the entire lot.” The entirety of its holding was far closer to forty-five pounds by Cart’s estimates, but he needed the money now—not tomorrow or in a fortnight. He did not possess the liberty to haggle with the man.

  “Twenty-five—not a shilling more,” Stanford retorted.

  “Absolutely not,” Cart refuted. “I am insulted that you would balk at my asking price.”

  “My lord.” Stanford shrugged his shoulders. “I am but a lowly businessman seeking to support his family.”

  “That is poppycock!” Cart couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. “You are unwed and I know you recently purchased a farm outside London—do not try to fool me, Stanford.”

  “Thirty pounds,” he gave in, throwing his hands up in disgust. “A man cannot make an honest living at such rates.”

  It was the price Cart had hoped to garner from the chest’s contents, but it stung to part with them all the same. “Agreed,” he said through gritted teeth.

  He sincerely hoped his mother appreciated all that he’d done to rectify their current predicament. This had to be the last time she requested such a large allowance or they’d be forced to be rid of necessities next.

  “On another matter,” Cart said, his irritation at the man dissipating quickly. “Have you heard any word on the painting I’ve been searching for?”

  Stanford cocked a brow at Cart’s interest. Cart knew if the man did, indeed, find his father’s painting, the price would be steep. Most days, Stanford was an honest shop keep and auctioneer of collectibles. But on those other days, he dabbled in business of the more illicit kind, either dealing in stolen, lost, or long-forgotten items. He was Cart’s main source of information when he’d been hired to find an antiquity—and a large majority of the time, the man could either locate the piece or direct Cart in the right direction.

  “Not a word, my lord.” Stanford shook his head, disappointed he’d been unsuccessful in his search. “I do not believe the painting is in London—or even in England. I have done as you said and offered a reward for the painting or any information on its whereabouts…but nothing.”

  Not every assignment Cart undertook was a success, but this one was personal. His family’s painting, commissioned by his father—the last of such things.

  It meant a great deal to him and the need to locate it would never diminish. “Please, ask around again and let me know if you learn anything.”

  “Of course, Lord Cartwright. This way.” Stanford led Cart to the back of his shop that housed his coin case, where the man counted out the appropriate pounds and handed them to Cart. “While I appreciate your business, I do understand the sorrow in letting these pieces go.” The man seemed satisfied that the transaction was complete and he could now boast at his great acquisition. “I will make sure the pieces are sold to deserving individuals.”

  “See to it, Stanford.” Cart turned to leave, tucking the funds into his coat pocket for safe-keeping—until he was required to hand them over to his mother.

  “Will I see you next week?”

  “I’m afraid not. I will be otherwise engaged.” Cart tried his best to look downcast at missing this month’s auction. “Do send word if anything I may be interested in comes available.”

  With a nod of agreement, Cart left the shop, destined for home—and his mother, Lady Cartwright.

  Chapter 13

  Jude sat, a book open in her lap, waiting for her sisters to take their leave. Payton’s tutor would arrive shortly, and Samantha was departing for the Haversham townhouse for tea with Lady Haversham and Mrs. Jakeston. It was the perfect opportunity for Jude to grab the vase and slip from Craven House without her elder brother noticing. He’d been told she would be visiting Lady Haversham with Sam. It would allow Jude several hours of time for her and Lord Cartwright to research the vase—which Jude didn’t need. She knew all there was to know about the item, especially that she couldn’t risk being seen with it in such a public venue.

  But she’d had little choice but to suggest the library for their meeting—it was either that or risk being recognized at Lord Cartwright’s townhouse. Her luck of going unnoticed could not last long—and the child could not be kept in her schoolroom indefinitely.

  It had been agreed upon that Jude would gain whatever coin Cart was willing to spare for the piece and that they’d wipe their hands of it—allow him to suffer the punishment for being in possession of the stolen artifact.

  Sam had no regrets about their plan, concocted before they’d found a suitable collector to purchases the piece and certainly long before she’d met Cart.

  Jude had nothing but regrets at the moment.

  It hurt most to realize her largest pang of guilt was meeting Lord Cartwright, stumbling upon him at Lady Haversham’s garden party—and then fooling him into befriending her.

  And her greatest remorse?

  Allowing him to kiss her.

  A lie she’d been telling herself for the past few days since their walk in Hyde Park.

  She hadn’t allowed him to kiss her—she’d initiated the kiss. She’d taken advantage of him by stepping close in that wooded area and pressing her lips to his.

  Jude’s first kiss.

  And it had been a sham. It was a kiss given under false pretenses.

  But she knew time was running out for Craven House, if the notices were to be believed. Marce owed someone money—and selling the vase was the only way Jude could help with the situation. Her eldest sister wouldn’t speak of the dangers awaiting them if the note was not satisfied, but it did not take much for Jude and Sam to piece together the consequences. They’d be thrown from their home and would have no place to go.

  That left her a mere few days to get rid of the vase and collect the coin—which made Cart her only opinion.

  More shameful was that she hoped their lips met again—as soon as possible.

  And that had nothing to
do with the vase or rescuing their home.

  She felt her cheeks heat at her indecent thoughts. Glancing around the room, she confirmed that neither of her sisters paid her any mind. Sam flipped through the gossip rags as she did each week and Payton sat idle, staring out the window at nothing more than the shrubs lining the drive. Her youngest sibling—and her affinity to retreat into her own thoughts—worried Jude, but lately, she hadn’t the time to explore her sister’s melancholy ways. Marce and Sam were happy she’d dispelled her youthful, petty whining. Jude was not convinced a withdrawn Payton was favorable over a whimpering, selfish miss.

  Maybe it would take a special someone to pull her from her musings—and introduce her to…

  Jude stopped herself, pushing the thought from her mind. However, it struggled its way back in. There was nothing left to do but close her eyes and allow her mind to wander—it did not hurt anyone if her thoughts explored the longings newly aroused in her.

  First, she remembered the feel of his lips—so unlike she’d imagined. They were possessive in the most inspiring sort of way, firm and commanding. And at complete odds with the man who possessed them. Cart had taken an imposing role during their embrace, yet he’d been unsure of his actions and retreated when her tongue grazed his lip.

  It was with wise thinking that he’d wrapped his arms around her or Jude would have likely collapsed when her legs turned to mush, betraying her.

  Would he be so daring at Sir Edwin’s Circulating Library?

  She imagined a tryst hidden within the many narrow shelves of books or a stolen kiss in an alcove bordering the main reading room. Her chest tightened and her breathing increased, thinking about the possible opportunities to be in his arms.

  No one would know her there—she’d lied when she’d claimed the library was like a second home to her. Jude had visited the archive only twice, and both times were in the early morning hours before most of her household had departed their chambers. Yes, she’d explored the many sections—science, history, newspapers—but she’d hesitated being seen in the place for fear if items began to disappear around London, someone would remember her scouring the ancient volumes on similar matters. Her interest in history and artifacts should not be compromised by her decision to steal the vase. Their illicit activities had to end, before it was too late and her family was connected to any wrongdoing.