Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  To think she was stealing from a wealthy and depraved lord to give to the less fortunate and downtrodden allowed her to sleep at night. Yet her nightly slumber had not been peaceful of late. The cause of her discord was not one she relished contemplating. She’d spent weeks telling herself it was that blasted vase—and the risk its possession would cost her—that plagued her every night, but she’d only begun to lose sleep after meeting a very specific earl. And she refused to speculate over his latest mood change. Her eyelids lowered as if of their own accord and she imagined her and Cart’s embrace along the path at Hyde Park—his arms securely around her but still gentle enough to allow her escape if it was her wish.

  Feminine laughter drifted down the hall and snapped Jude from her thoughts.

  She had only a brief time to locate the canvas and remove it to her waiting carriage while Sam slipped in to take her place with the partygoers. They’d convinced Lady Haversham to allow them to meet her at the dinner party instead of traveling together for the sole purpose of keeping the duchess far from their nefarious activities. She was a smart, perceptive woman, who’d not tarry in alerting Jude and Sam’s sister to any transgressions on her watch. Lady Haversham hadn’t found anything suspicious about Sam remaining home due to a dreadful headache.

  They’d seen fit to ask Mr. Curtis to keep the carriage close if Jude found herself needing to leave early. If the elderly man noticed their late-night comings and goings and odd requests, he kept it to himself.

  With one final look toward the partially open door to the drawing room, Jude walked leisurely back toward the formal dining room they’d departed. She discovered it did not house what they sought. No, the painted canvas would be kept in a far grander chamber where more guests could admire the artist’s mastery. As it hadn’t been hung in the dining area, Jude’s next thought was the grand ballroom—a part of the house left unused for the small gathering being thrown that evening.

  Jude knew the risk was great, but the ballroom’s double doors stood at the top of the grand staircase—the main stairs were the simplest path.

  The foyer was deserted, all servants tasked with accommodating all attending guests in the salon and study; even the butler was hard at work away from his post by the front door. This allowed Jude a moment to cast her gaze to the landing above—and the firmly closed double doors. She hoped she wasn’t wrong in assuming the canvas could be found within, for Jude’s luck was running out quickly.

  She need only climb the stairs, grab the painted canvas, and make it out the front door without being seen—far simpler than breaking into a house through an unbarred window and fleeing after being caught.

  “Can I help ye, miss?” a quiet voice asked behind her, causing Jude to fairly jump out of her skin as she yelped with fright. “The ladies be in the drawing room.”

  Jude straightened her back and pasted a thankful smile on her face before turning and facing a young servant—no older than Payton. “Oh, heavens. This is quite the most embarrassing moment in my life.” Jude grasped the back of her gown, lowering her stare to the floor before the servant. “I fear my dress has been torn. I am in no condition for polite conversation. I was hoping to locate the ladies’ retiring room to see if my gown could be mended.”

  The girl’s smile turned to a frown of concern. “The ladies’ room be down that hall.” She nodded in the direction Jude had come from—where the women’s talking could still be heard. “I jus’ go an’ collect me mending kit to fix ye right up.”

  Jude felt a pang of remorse at misleading the girl. “That would be ever so kind of you.”

  The servant’s smile returned and she headed toward the kitchens.

  Her time was now significantly reduced. It would not take the girl long to journey to her sleeping quarters, collect her mending kit, and return before the girl found Sam waiting in the retiring room.

  There was no way around it—Jude grabbed her skirt and lifted the material high, dashing up the stairs two at a time. She gave credit to her sisters for her skill at climbing stairs quickly, for they’d raced up and down them at Craven House in their youth. Hitting the first landing, she turned and hurried up the final flight, skidding to a halt outside the double doors she’d admired from below.

  She glanced over her shoulder to the empty foyer below and whipped back around, grabbing the knob. The door slid open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a massive room that fairly sparkled with all the gilded adornments on the chandeliers, wall fixtures, chairs, and other room decorations. The room oozed wealth, privilege, and prestige—so much so, that Jude had a hard time drawing breath at the sight.

  The marble floor was polished until it shone and she feared to slip when she set one slippered foot on it. The drapery was pulled back allowing the moonlight to invade the room, glistening off every surface, lending some visibility in the darkness.

  It had escaped her mind to consider finding a candle to light her path into the room. Thankfully, the space was empty except for chairs lining one wall and the artwork hanging with care in frames of varying sizes. The paintings adorning the center of each wall were far larger than the one she sought, so she concentrated her search on the smaller, less gaudy pieces. She also knew the artist had focused on the landscape—Jude passed two paintings featuring children and one of a large farm animal.

  If Sam had sent her on another fool’s errand, Jude was going to be peeved.

  Rounding the room to the third wall, a landscape came into view—rolling countryside with a cloudless, blue sky and an uneven rock formation cutting two fields in half. It had to be the painting described in the post article several weeks back. It was no larger than a silver serving tray and was housed in a narrow frame. The piece did not appear old or special in any way—it could not be any older than Jude herself. Odd that it was so very valuable.

  Taking hold of the painting with both hands, Jude lifted it from the peg it hung on and admired the item up close. Certainly, the area and view captured by the artist was breathtaking, but the actual brushstrokes appeared hurried and disjointed; the exact shape and texture of the rock wall were not fully recognized or portrayed.

  Jude would ask Cart his opinion of the piece—if he ever contacted her about the vase. She had half a mind to call on him unannounced, as inappropriate as that may be, but time was running slim. Regardless of what she and her sister did with the painting, it would have to be done quickly.

  For now, she only need remove the painting from this house without having the alarm sounded on her—again.

  There would be plenty of time to think about Cart and his peculiar behavior when she was out of the duke’s townhouse, and she and Sam were safely at home.

  Jude tucked the landscape under her arm as she walked from the ballroom and pulled the doors closed behind her without a single noise. She tiptoed to the edge of the landing and peeked over to see if the maid had returned and was looking for her to mend the supposedly torn gown, but the lower floor was empty, to Jude’s great pleasure.

  She descended the stairs with more caution than when she’d climbed them a few moments before, for fear of dropping the artwork. The front door was only steps away—if she could make the last length without being caught, her night would be a success. Her breathing increased with the anticipation of freedom, especially knowing the painting would not be missed until a servant entered the ballroom—highly unlikely that night.

  Pulling the door only wide enough for her and the painting to slip through, Jude closed the heavy front door and surveyed the rounded drive before her. A moment of panic set in when she didn’t immediately spot Mr. Curtis and their closed carriage. She craned her neck to see around the line of other coaches but also kept herself hidden in the shadows outside the townhouse.

  With great relief, Jude spied Mr. Curtis slumped in the driver’s box of their dated carriage. With any luck, the older man would be sound asleep and would not notice Jude slipping the painting into the boot of their carriage for safe passage back to Craven
House.

  The shadows bordering the drive kept her unrecognizable as she moved past carriage after carriage on her way to the only conveyance without a proper ancestral crest. Jude crept to the back of the Craven House carriage, tilted open the boot, and slid the painting to safety.

  “Curse you Samantha for being the pretty, social sister,” she muttered. It wasn’t Sam’s fault she’d acquired the personable demeanor while Jude had inherited other useful qualities, including her ability to blend in and go unseen in the most crowded of rooms. But for once, she’d enjoy not being the one risking her neck with their schemes. However, Jude knew her skills did not include captivating an audience or distracting partygoers enough to not notice her change of voice when Sam took her place.

  Jude slipped into her darkened coach and awaited Sam’s return. They’d be on their way shortly…without anyone the wiser.

  Chapter 16

  Cart counted the large cracks in the polished floor, following each groove until it met another and branched off into even more connecting networks of cracks. The indentations had been swept and polished so many times over the years, that if people brought their fingers to trace the lines, no hollow depressions could be detected. He knew this to be fact because he’d posed the theory to Theo several years ago and they’d spent an afternoon with their hands flat upon the ground, proving Cart’s assumption.

  The building, Montagu House, had been built over a hundred years prior, commissioned by the Duke of Montagu and then abandoned—gifted as part of the Act of Parliament in 1753 and established the British Museum, which opened in 1759. It was a fascinating tale of a father’s legacy being abandoned by a son in favor of a more fashionable living in Whitehall.

  The son had actually done all of England a great favor with his actions. Now, the massive building housed books, manuscripts, coins, and drawings of unbelievable history. Over the past two decades, the museum had even acquired the Rosetta Stone, Townley’s collection of sculptures, and the Parthenon sculptures. Montagu House held an overpowering draw for Cart, due to the main fact that it was a free place of learning. It enabled him to introduce Theo to all sorts of antiquities that many people would never encounter in their lives.

  A few years prior, Lord Cummings, an acquaintance from Eton, had reached out to Cart, letting Cart know he had accepted a new post as curator. Since then, Cart had been invited to the museum to dine with Cummings after-hours and partake in examinations of new acquisitions—and restorations of older pieces. It had only fueled Cart’s desire for a path in the academics and antiquities field.

  Today was one such day, however, where Cummings had requested Cart’s attendance during museum hours to help identify the exact place and date a coal drawing had been created. It was precisely the thing Cart would have taken great pleasure and satisfaction in doing only short days ago. But this day, Cart was unable to focus, especially as the minutes passed without Cummings arriving in the grand entrance to collect and escort Cart into the secured rooms of the museum.

  He paced, following a particularly jagged crack until it split into three and then selected the ridge that moved back toward the main area—and the many early risers who were flocking to the house of impressive history. It was likely that most were in attendance to see the Parthenon sculptures, as they were the newest display of important note. He was in agreement of their extraordinary presence, with their faceless bodies etched into stone. It was even fabled that long ago, the pieces were not white, but painted in vivid colors, hues that had deteriorated over time.

  It was in large measure why Cart felt the way he did about pieces of art of historical nature—they must be preserved, kept in a manner maintaining their beauty for generations to come.

  Thankfully, Lord Cummings was of a similar mindset.

  It would not injure Cart overly if Cummings forgot their appointment. The atmosphere of the building brought a calm that had eluded him for some time. First, his attraction to Jude—so overwhelming that he’d allowed his guard and common sense to fall. Then, the discovery of the vase…in her possession. He’d immediately jumped to the conclusion that she’d stolen the piece. However, that was completely irrational, much like most of his thoughts of late. Why would a woman of the ton, from a solid family, have need to steal a vase?

  There was no logic in that conclusion—and Cart prided himself on his logic.

  He’d spent much time scrutinizing the alternatives. How had the vase come to be in her possession? It was possible she’d been duped into purchasing a stolen piece. But why buy it only to turn around and sell it? And, if she’d bought it from someone, who? And why the fabricated story of it being found in a stable? She’d avoided his questions on the topic—and he’d allowed it.

  He was too close to the situation. To her. She was dulling his senses, leading him to believe that what seemed to be, wasn’t at all.

  He couldn’t allow that.

  Looking up, he realized he’d wandered into a more densely populated portion of the museum, one that housed small objects of Greek origin, unearthed a decade before when a group of explorers had stumbled upon a city buried by a mudslide or rock split five hundred years prior. It had perfectly preserved pottery, coins, tools, and fabrics used by a community previously unknown to the museum.

  The exhibit was fascinating, but Cart had studied everything in great detail over the years. One of his habitual pastimes was standing against the wall, unnoticed, watching the people who came and went as they discovered the wonders of the museum. He’d brought Theo with him several times in the last year, but she tired of watching others and not stepping forward to discuss the exhibits with them. Cart was resigned to blending into the background. His sibling, however, was more the social butterfly. He could not fault her for that. Many times, he longed to be the one who sought out company and did not lock himself away as a recluse, a misfit of society.

  Cart backed against a wall, hidden from view by a large statue as people streamed into the room. Their voices echoed off the elevated ceilings and he picked up on bits and pieces of conversation. It pleased him greatly to be able to hear people’s thoughts on the pieces without having to join their company. One man thought a coin must certainly be crafted of pure brass and, therefore, be almost worthless except for its historical value. Little did the man know that the brass layer only covered the solid gold below.

  Another woman admired a fabric—deteriorated by its time beneath hundreds of pounds of dirt and debris—commenting on the basic nature of the coloring. If only she knew that each thread had been hand dyed by crushed berries and insects to gain what little pigment it had, she’d be astounded.

  But Cart kept to himself, listening but not interfering. Every museumgoer was entitled to their own experience—whether that led to increased interest in art and antiquities or a personal confirmation of the primitive nature of past cultures was irrelevant.

  Mercifully, human nature and beliefs did not fascinate him. He didn’t feel compelled to dispute their irrational and illogical notions of history.

  A light laugh followed by a much deeper chuckle drew Cart’s attention from a group of young men who found it amusing to grope a nude male statue to a more familiar grouping of ladies. At first, he thought his mind so preoccupied with thoughts of her that he’d imagined her into existence. But that would not explain the accompaniment of Miss Samantha and Miss Payton by her side.

  Here of all places—one of Cart’s greatest sanctuaries and a refuge of sorts.

  He moved slightly right to hide from their view behind the statue at the exhibit’s entrance.

  He knew he should have slipped from the room, sent his regrets to Cummings on their missed appointment, and returned home—or anywhere besides the museum—but he found himself stuck, needing to see her and judge her true nature without her notice. He knew above all others that people could acclimate their outward appearance to successfully fulfill another’s perception of them.

  As much as he loathed admitting it, that
was precisely what Jude had done—used Cart’s interests, habits, and personality against him. It was exactly the thing he’d feared since his uncle’s disappearance and Cart’s return to London.

  Jude was attired in a simple dress of pale yellow with black boots and an unobtrusive hat, while her twin was adorned in a bold blue gown of a shiny material with black, elbow length gloves. The subject of twins was something Cart hadn’t given any attention to studying, but the correlation between two such similar-appearing individuals with utter lack of parallel oneness did, indeed, intrigue him.

  “Can we go now?” Jude’s youngest sister asked, slumping on a bench in the middle of the room. “My feet hurt and there are likely over a dozen things I’d rather be doing.”

  “We just arrived,” Jude called over her shoulder without taking her eyes off the crude drawing she inspected. “Besides, I did not make the pair of you accompany me.”

  “You know Garrett would not allow you to leave the house unattended,” Miss Samantha huffed, sitting next to Miss Payton on the bench. “We were not given the liberty of choice in our afternoon distraction.”

  Cart wanted to laugh at the scowl Jude sent over her shoulder until he remembered her less than honest possession of the vase belonging to Lord Gunther.

  “Do you not love the authentic coal strokes of this drawing?” Jude asked her sisters. “The artist had only rudimentary tools, yet crafted such an elegantly abstract picture.” When neither of the women answered, Jude turned a sharp look on the pair. “Come now, do appear a bit interested or I shall endeavor to spend until closing inspecting every item, painting, and sculpture in this museum.”

  “Oh, the man’s adept skill at capturing the precise light in his dreary life is captivating, dear sister.” Miss Samantha sat on the bench, inspecting the painting as if she were a matron of the ton inspecting a young debutante’s acceptability for Almacks. “What would we do with all our extra time if we weren’t trapped here taking in all these stunningly ancient masterpieces?”