With a deep inhale, she took hold of the knob, preparing to pull the door wide.
Something in her told her she’d made a terrible mistake, that she should run—leave Craven House behind her and distance herself from the fate that awaited her if she opened the door.
“Judith Pengarden,” a familiar voice shouted from the far side. “Open this door immediately or I shall be forced to break it down.”
Her confusion was quickly replaced by relief as her hand fell from the knob and her shoulders sagged.
It took everything she had not to fling the door wide and jump into his arms.
The relief that initially filled her when she heard his voice faded to trepidation.
Cart wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t meant to witness her further humiliation—maybe he’d come to make sure she got what she deserved. The idea of him watching the magistrate take her away from her home, likely enjoying her disgrace, wounded Jude to her core. He was not a heartless or cruel man.
Though she’d hurt him deeply. The stark fact made only more glaring with Garrett’s news of Cart’s past. He’d been injured by a man who should have cherished him. His own flesh and blood. Jude couldn’t imagine the emotions that must have overtaken him at Jude’s deception.
She laid the palm of her hand against the solid door as Cart started pounding again.
She wanted to let him in, not only into the house, but also into her life. Bare her soul to him. She could trust him to treat her heart with care, but after all she’d done, how could he expect her to do the same?
This time, she allowed the tears to fall, etching a path down her cheeks. Dripping off her chin and jawline. The lucky ones landing at the collar of her gown, while the rest continued to the floor, small droplets pooling at her feet.
“I heard you walk to the door,” he shouted over the sound of his fist slamming against the door. “Your footfalls are as recognizable as your voice. Open the door, Jude.”
If she opened the door and gave him entrance, she’d never follow through with turning herself over for her crimes—and then he’d by no means see how much she truly cared for him. It was the only way.
“Go away, Cart,” she whispered. When his pounding abruptly stopped, she knew he’d either heard her or sensed she’d spoken. They had that connection, the pair of them. Or maybe it was only that he was attuned to her in a very uncanny way. Jude didn’t understand it—nor did she need to. She loved him—far more than she loved anything. There was nothing she wouldn’t give up to confirm that love. “Please, leave me be.”
“I most certainly will not,” he said, his voice returning to normal volume. “You are being irrational and impulsive.”
He knew nothing of what she was thinking or how many hours she’d toiled over her choices before coming to the conclusion she had—far longer than she’d debated stealing that blasted vase or Cart’s family’s painting. He was the typical man who thought no woman shrewd enough to make a decision for herself about her future.
“You know nothing of my decisions,” she responded.
“You are going to get yourself into far worse trouble if you continue in this manner.”
“Why are you here?”
“To stop you from continuing down this foolish path,” he said. “You are putting yourself in great jeopardy.”
He thought to stop her from continuing in her thievery. That must be it. Did he think her so callous that she hadn’t been gravely affected by how her actions had hurt him? That she could continue her life as if it had never happened—to either of them?
Her hand fell from the door.
“I will not leave,” he said again. “By my estimate, I have at least forty-eight hours until my hunger will become taxing. I can sit on this stoop all day—and night—if that is what it takes.”
Jude envisioned her sisters returning home to find Cart sitting at their entrance. Or worse yet, if he were still there when guests arrived this evening for cards. Her gut told her Garrett would demand he leave long before then.
But none of that would come to pass, for the magistrate would arrive and take her away before the sun set.
Chapter 25
Cart’s hand had begun to throb after only several moments of slamming his fist against the wooden door of Craven House. Now, it was devoid of feeling and hanging limply at his side. He needed to be within the house so he could dissuade her, show her that all was not as dire as she suspected.
The time he’d wasted staring at the envelope before opening it could have been too long.
“Jude.” His gravelly voice conveyed the pain he’d tried to keep inside. “I am not going away. Take the time you need, but I will be waiting. Right here.”
Cart leaned his back against the door and slid to the ground, not caring if his white linen shirt became soiled with dirt or if his trousers creased. He pulled the letter from his pocket and read it once more:
Dear Sir Featherstone, JP,
I, Miss Judith Pengarden, am responsible for the theft—and return—of Lord Gunther’s cherished vase. I am aware that my actions were wrong and am ready to take full responsibility for everything. No one else knew of my crimes.
She’d signed the letter with a hasty J.
Featherstone, the magistrate responsible for several miles surrounding his townhouse. The letter had not been meant for him and he shuddered to think what senseless scheme she’d concocted. This was a serious confession to a crime that would not go unpunished if Lord Gunther’s anger at Cart told him anything.
Jude and her entire family would be ostracized and publicly shamed for her offenses. Even if Jude escaped without going to Newgate, she’d never escape the scandal. Her chances of finding a match—or employment—would be zero. And society had a long and detailed memory about such things. Her name and portrait would circulate in every newspaper and gossip rag for months to come. Her invitations to soirees and dinners would disappear as no hostess would risk having a thief in their midst. Yes, she may appear the mysterious creature for a time, but that too would fade. She would be relegated to a life in the shadows, obscurity her only way of any life at all.
And for what?
To clear Cart’s name—certainly not. Cart was a peer, an earl. It was likely many would view him differently, maybe even whisper behind his back about his culpability in the Gunther fiasco, but that gossip would fade far quicker than if Jude were to see charges for her crimes. There would be lasting consequences for Cart, but nothing that time could not mend. He’d returned the fifty pounds to Gunther and, truly, the lord’s only recourse was to go to the post with the sensationalized story. That was all it was—no magistrate could offer any proof that Cart was in any way involved with the theft and return of the vase.
As far as society’s opinion of Cart went, he had no interest in it. Besides a few men he’d met at university and his many business acquaintances, all of society—and their lofty brashness—could go straight to the devil.
He’d overreacted at the situation and had treated Jude horribly. He’d come to terms with that before seeing his name in the post this morning. The slanderous article about him hadn’t changed his opinion either.
Everything had been out of his control since he’d met Jude—and it was exactly what he’d needed. Life was not about controlling every aspect of your life, so much so that not a thing excited you or created any surprise. His life had been mundane and routine since returning home from Eton. He’d thought if he created an environment free from anything out of the ordinary, each day progressing as the one before it with order and consistency, then life would not return to the hectic time directly following his return from university. He would keep a firm grasp on his life and continue to be in control of his family’s future. He would ensure his sister never go through the turmoil he’d been forced to endure and never need give up something she held dear.
He’d always assumed he thrived on consistency; counting his steps, making his calculations, and studying any topic
that proved out of his grasp.
The whirlwind and change that came with Jude should have solidified that fact in his mind.
Instead, it had him questioning his life thus far. Order, consistency, and routine would lead to a bleak future with little pleasure and, certainly, no surprises.
It was not the way he wanted to continue, for once he secured a school for Theo, that would leave only him and his mother…and his collecting. With his sister away, it only left him to appreciate all he’d attained. His mother would gladly sell every piece of his treasured collection.
But not Jude.
She may have been dishonest about the reasoning behind her interest in him, but he’d observed her passion for art and history firsthand—just as he’d witnessed her reaction to their kiss in Hyde Park. She’d been as affected by their intimacy as he—that was something neither of them could have falsified.
“Jude.”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded mere inches away, as if she, too, sat against the door.
“You are so unpredictable,” Cart conceded.
“I know, but—“
“And cunning,” he continued, cutting her off. “And extraordinary…and breathtaking…and intelligent…and everything. You, Judith Pengarden, are everything.”
“I am also a liar,” she sighed. He could almost hear her tears falling. “And a thief…”
Cart had no response to her words. She was both of those things, but it changed nothing about his feelings for her.
“Why?” It was the question he’d never asked because he feared the answer would crush him further. “Why do you do it?”
“Did it,” she said. “I have no plans to steal again.”
“Why?” he asked again.
“For my family,” she confessed. “Marce toils endlessly, day and night. She works to take care of us, to care for any woman who comes to Craven House seeking a safe haven, and she lives no life of her own. None of this is what any woman would choose for her future, but she never complains.”
“She knows of everything?” Cart could not believe her eldest sister would allow Jude to put herself in harm’s way for any measly amount of money.
“No. Samantha and I came up with the ploy to help Marce.”
“And she takes the money without question of where it came from?”
Jude chuckled lightly. “Heavens no, we’d planned to slip the money into her private chambers or add it to the money brought in from the card room. She hasn’t a clue—about any of this.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked. He wasn’t sure why he mentioned it and doubted she remembered him at all.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Lady Haversham’s party…”
“No, before that.” She didn’t remember and Cart would be lying if he didn’t admit, at least to himself, that it stung. “You bumped into me outside the night watchman’s residence—the morning after you broke into my home.”
If he’d only taken better notice, questioned her reasons for being there, and hadn’t been duped by her attentions at Lady Haversham’s garden party, maybe they wouldn’t be in their current situation.
“It was you?” she asked. “I told Sam you looked familiar that day at the party. And I truly didn’t mean to break into your home. I was directed to your home, thinking it was Lord Asherton’s residence.”
While he was unsure if he believed her, the reasoning behind her actions made sense to him now.
Cart pondered the name, unfamiliar with the man or his direction.
“He has, purportedly is in possession, several Bible leaves of unimaginable value.” Jude tilted her head back against the door, unsure why she needed to share that piece of information as it only made her look like more of a horrid person. “Not that it has any bearing on my current situation.”
“I cannot help you if you turn yourself over to the magistrate.”
She sucked in a breath. “How do you know?”
“A letter was delivered to my home—and I am certain it was not meant for me.”
“It was not,” she replied. Curse Mr. Curtis and his meddling ways. She’d thought he found something needing attention in the stables and that was the reason she hadn’t seen or heard from him since he departed earlier to deliver her missive. He’d known Cart would come and discourage her from her decision when he read the letter.
“Cart,” she whispered. “This is something I have to do.”
“You need do nothing of the sort,” he challenged, his voice rising in frustration.
“I am sorry. Sorry for everything I have done. Sorry for the hurt I’ve caused you,” she said on a sob. It was too much to hold in any longer. He was finally allowing her to speak, to explain herself, and all she could do was cry. “I never meant to wound you—or your family. I swear it. I had no intention of misleading you when we met. It was only that Sam saw an opportunity to be rid of that cursed vase and still gain a small portion of the money we’d planned. It was to be our final time, I promise that, but everything was so muddled at that point.” Jude took a deep breath to focus her thoughts. He could return to anger at any moment and depart. She need say her piece before he was gone. “I need to prove how truly remorseful I am. I know you may never fully believe me and that forgiveness is something I do not deserve, but neither does your family deserve the shame and disgrace caused by my actions.”
He was so silent on the other side of the door. Not even his breathing could be heard.
Jude feared he’d had enough of her rationalizations and left.
“All this time, on no occasion, did I think about how this would affect anyone else—except my own family,” she continued, unable to stop even if Cart no longer listened. “I am a selfish person, Cart, but I want to change. I need to change, even if that means revealing my secret to the magistrate and my family. My intent was never to hurt anyone and my punishment will be losing the love and loyalty of so many people. You included.”
“Maybe your penance can be served without losing anything.”
She was relieved to hear him finally speak. “It was you who told me that intent does not dictate consequences.”
“Sometimes I am not a smart man,” he confided with a small, weak laugh. “Sometimes, more times than I will admit, I have little notion of what I speak, especially with social interactions and, worst of all, emotions. Neither is concrete and definitive—but ever-changing and growing.”
“You think the magnitude of my actions does not justify severe consequences?” she asked. “I hurt you and that should receive the stiffest punishment imaginable.”
“I am only a person, Jude.” She heard him move, his booted feet hitting the ground as he stood. “Why would hurting me—out of everyone—be the most important and dire to you?”
She knew the words were going to pass her lips and Jude didn’t even attempt to hush them. “Because I love you.”
“Open the door, Jude.”
She couldn’t face him, not now, not after her confession.
She could not take it if he said he didn’t feel the same. She couldn’t take it if he said that he couldn’t look past the hurt she’d caused and her deception. Cart should hold his family and their well-being before anyone and she’d tarnished them before society. His sister deserved better than to have people talking behind her back about Cart’s past.
“Please,” he begged.
But it would make everything easier to accept if she faced him now and heard directly from his mouth that he did not feel the same for her.
It would make the lonely hours to come more bearable, to know that her feelings were not reciprocated and that Cart had spoken his piece and moved on from her.
Her future was unsure, but she would not take him down with her. He deserved years of happiness—a family, friends, and acceptance—she could not give him any of that, not where she was going.
A clean break—with no ties or obligations to one another.
Surely, Cart sought the same thing.
Closure. With no secrets or regrets left unsaid.
Beyond this moment, she and Cart were guaranteed nothing.
With trembling hands, Jude moved and turned the key in the lock.
Cart pushed the door wide as she stepped back, dressed as gentlemanly as ever with his fine linen shirt, crisp cravat, and gleaming Hessians. His hair was the only thing out of place, as if he’d run his hands through it many times while he begged her to open the door.
His face was a mask of confusion and pain.
The exact emotions that coursed through Jude.
“You have been crying.” His fingers brushed her cheek, taking with the swipe her tears. If only it were so simple to wipe away all the bad things between them. “Come now,” he said, taking her hand. Their palms met and their fingers intertwined, fitting perfectly. “No tears.”
“I don’t think I am capable of stopping them.” They stood facing one another, less than a foot separating them, their hands still clasped. “Saying goodbye is so much harder than I ever dreamt it would be.” Which was the exact reason she’d planned to never have this moment with him. Once the magistrate took her away, she’d made up her mind to deny him a chance to visit her, not that she’d held much hope that he would ever come for her.
Saying goodbye was admitting things were over and done with—all that she’d experienced in their short time together would be gone and all she’d be left with would be memories. Wonderful memories. She would hold them tightly, relive them often, and never allow them to fade. All at the same time, Cart would go on. Certainly, he would remember the woman who’d betrayed him with her lies. The woman who’d drawn him in with a passionate kiss, the woman who’d stayed by his side after he fell into a pond before hordes of people—and the woman he could never trust. Because of Jude, he would remain guarded with every new person he met; assessing their motivations and trying to decipher if their intentions were pure.
She had done this to him—and she could never forgive herself.
She stared into his brown eyes, noticing his confusion had faded and the tight line of his mouth had relaxed.
Thief Steals Her Earl Page 24