Loving Lady Lazuli (London Jewel Thieves Book 1)

by Shehanne Moore

  “What my doxies do behind my back is none of my damned concern.”

  She set down the knife, placed the pork tart on her plate. It was difficult to do so with a modicum of control. But control was what she was famed for.

  “Maybe that’s because I’m not actually your doxy, Lord Hawley.”

  “That’s not how it seemed to me this morning.”

  “And actually, technically you’ve just contradicted yourself being as I’m not behind your back. So …”

  She tilted her jaw. These damned papers were surely not worth whatever this was. Certainly not after this morning. What did it matter she must also leave the county? She set down the plate, rubbed the back of her neck.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes. Actually I am. If you think a pile of papers that in all probability you got from your laundry maid, or every gaming house and whore-parlor in the county, if not the country, are enough to keep me here, putting up with your vile cheek and perfectly revolting advances, you are mistaken.”

  “I see. You’re sure it’s not because this morning is as much as you’ve got in that arsenal of yours?”

  All she had? She begged his pardon. Was that what he thought? Why, for a woman as inexperienced as she, a woman who hadn’t wanted to come here, wanted even less to be his mistress, she’d been pretty damned good actually. She must be, or he wouldn’t want to see more. Well, his loss, talking to her like this. As if he just had to insult her for reasons best known to himself. Ones she didn’t see she should trouble herself to find out. Finding out who she was, was bad enough.

  “You don’t think it might be because what’s in yours isn’t to my liking?”

  “If you didn’t have such a funny way of showing it perhaps.”

  “Me?”

  "Leaving me with no choice but to assume you won’t join me because you can’t.”

  “Oh, that’a good one.”

  “That you’re afraid after this morning of what I might do to you.”

  “Not very much. No. I think you should worry about what I might conceivably do to you, Lord Hawley.”

  “You?”

  It was true, wasn’t it? As the morning had shown she was hardly a novice, although what she’d do to him had nothing to do with sex. No. She eyed the platter of salmon mousse. It would decorate him very nicely. She wrinkled her nose. The smell in particular. Then she eyed him. No, he hadn’t left the bed. Just done a lot of shifting about. Probably because he couldn’t contain himself.

  “Yes. Me,” she said.

  “You have my attention already. So why don’t you come over here?”

  He shoved the cover aside, his gaze very definitely holding hers.

  “If something interested me, perhaps. But it doesn’t. This salmon now, this pork tart?” Not to mention the door. Remember?

  “Very well. Then I’ll just have to come to—”

  The log cracked open in the fire. Dear God, never mind hearing his words, she didn’t want him over here, parading about naked whatever his body was really like. She hadn’t exactly seen all of it yet. Been possessed by it maybe. But that was--all wasn’t the word to use. Not given the sudden electric tingle between her legs.

  She shrugged. “Oh, you do what you want, Lord Hawley. I hope you think I’m interested in your naked parade.”

  “Well seeing as you say so, Cassidy.”

  Her hair stood on end as he swung his feet to the floor—it felt as if it did anyway. Why the hell had she said what she had when his body was such a thing of beauty, the desire to be possessed by it was an overwhelming wave. She’d had enough of this, remember? And this morning she hadn’t exactly been immune to him either. This morning she’d seen she’d been wrong about sex being a lot of fuss about nothing. That it was … in fact … a reason to leave.

  From head to toe, she wanted him, was she going to have a bastard like him for a heap of old papers though? A bastard who thought he could insult her into bed with him?

  On his terms.

  And yet, damn it, what would she have if she didn’t have these papers? A half hour’s head start and Ruby knowing she’d messed this up? After all these years of squirrelling every brass farthing under Starkadder’s nose? The other girls and Gil’s too? All because she hadn’t left last night when she should have? When she hated being owned too?

  Before he could protest, she rustled across the floor and pushed him back. Then she straddled him in a swish of black muslin. Not that he was likely to protest. Still, one thing she’d learned this morning, in addition to the fact she had urges the same as anyone else, it was better to control him than the other way about.

  Another session of pleasure wasn’t what she sought here, so this—this kiss would have his lips aflame, not the other way about. Now that might just surprise him. But if anyone was going to lose restraint here, it wouldn’t be her. No. This would be on her terms.

  His hands clasped her thighs. An instant force to be reckoned with. When his contempt for her said it all? Don’t make her laugh.

  Her hand edged between their bodies and he groaned as her fingers curled around his taut flesh. This bit of him she could so easily dig her nails into, put an end to this now. It would serve him right, especially when this bit of him, was so electrically connected to him, she tasted the charge in his lips.

  Grunting, he twisted around and flipped her onto her back.

  “Hmmm. So now what, Miss Armstrong? How are you going to surprise me?”

  Truthfully? She’d no idea--she wasn’t expecting this—but she would think of something. Let him turn this round on her? No.

  “No … no … wait.”

  If she’d struggled to push a mountain off her, she couldn’t have tried harder to budge him. He landed on his back with a soft thump in the mattress.

  “Hmm. Believe me, Miss Armstrong, I’m all eyes.”

  “I said … Just let me … ” She thought wildly. “Let me get my stockings off. It won’t take a minute.”

  “That’s good to know, because … I don’t know I can wait.”

  He reached up to drag her back down. What would be best given this awful expectation he plainly had of her? How to get him at her mercy? How to return this to her satisfaction? From out of the blue an idea came, where all her best ideas came from. Well, she was Sapphire after all.

  She reached across and wound the stocking around the bed rail. It was daring and slightly degenerate. Slightly? It was appalling. But if there was one way to keep control while showing him how skilled she was, then this was it. Now, this encounter would be down to her. How clever was that? He’d be the one being owned.

  “Miss Armstrong … ”

  “Yes, Lord Hawley.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  What did he think she was doing? With his wrist, a piece of stocking, and the bedrail? What did it look like for goodness sake? That she was practicing her embroidery?

  “I’m making you comfortable. My way.”

  His eyes glazed. Oh, he wanted to, didn’t he? Now all she need do was straddle him. Yes. Then he could do the rest. There would be no more talk of proof or armories and he would never discover just how much of a front the glittering Sapphire had, of necessity, lived behind, although frankly Sapphire had her uses. Maybe she was being too hard on her?

  She gathered her skirt and straddled him. “In another moment, or so, you can give me what I want. What you want too, I’m sure of it. A man like you.”

  She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. “So don’t be coy. Or I’ll just have to tie your ankles as well.”

  “Christ, Miss Armstrong … ”

  “Cassidy. You should call me it, just as you did a second ago.” She reached for the bedrail.

  The air left her body in a startled gasp as he shifted suddenly and she landed on her back on the mattress. Now he was on top, his breath brushing her lips, her hair, as he gazed down into her eyes. His hair fell like a silk curtain across his face. />
  What would it take to overcome her defenses? That wall she’d systematically erected around herself? Nothing much at this moment in time.

  “Well, Cassidy, we do it this way, or I won’t be able to stop myself. Do you understand?”

  She teased the stocking across her lips. “But isn’t that what you want? For me, the greatest jewel thief in London, to surprise you? Hmm? Show you my … prowess?”

  “You being quiet is what I want.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Now.”

  Covering her mouth, he met her tongue with his own. Simply because a man looked like this and dived on her like this too, it didn’t mean she should succumb though.

  “Excuse me asking but is you doing it your way because you don’t want to have me, as much as I don’t want to take you, Lord Hawley?”

  A sort of lie if ever there was one.

  “It’s because I don’t want to take any chances on a permanent reminder, if you must know.”

  She didn’t. But it did make sense.

  “Fine.” She cleared her throat. Made a play of sorting her dress. “Then just you get on with it. Far be it for me to stand in your way.”

  “Stand?”

  “Lie. I meant lie.”

  “Then I will.”

  Perhaps had she offered him this lack of interest from the start, instead of determining to face him on an equal footing, she would now be in a better position? Only she wasn’t exactly disinterested. More like playing a part of expecting this, anticipating that and meeting it all with a stoicism she was proud of. At least he didn’t hurt her as he pushed into her flesh, although she felt so tight, she bit her lip. Not because she expected the sudden short movements to harm her, but because she knew one thing. This was brisk. This was businesslike. While it was, she should rejoice that, unlike this morning, she felt nothing.

  Now she’d tasted that much though, she wasn’t certain about the rejoicing. The stoic faces she was making either.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cass jerked upright, blinking at the shadows of the room glaring back at her. For a horrible second uncertainty raked her scalp. She’d no idea which chamber she was even in. There had been so many over the last few weeks. Barwych, the monk’s cell, Chessington. Moonlight lay in cold pools among the silver brushes on the dressing table and her heart sank like a stone. Damn, bloody, Chessington.

  A noise came from beyond the linked door. A steady rattling. As if…? Well, she didn’t like to think now she’d a fairly good idea. My God. Disbelief flickered along her veins. She threw the covers back, then paced to the door, to the self same spot she’d stood in last night. How incredible was this?

  Devorlane Hawley had a woman in there. In—since it was his bedroom, he was entitled to do what he wanted in it. With who too. Should she stand for such lowness though, when the man was also doing it with her?

  She hesitated. She could let this go. How easily she could let this go. The morning would be the time to tell him in no uncertain terms the deal was at an end. He gave her the papers and she went home. He never darkened her door again.

  Devorlane Hawley had taken more dealing with than a bag of cats though. He’d deny it unless she caught him red handed. Then where would it leave her? Certainly in no position to haggle over a breadcrumb, let alone a wig receipt.

  Besides how damn dare he bring another woman in here beneath her nose? Who was it? Etti? Some of the other maids? God in heaven, it couldn’t—oh, nothing would surprise her, although it would be amusing if it was—it couldn’t be Belle he was clattering off the bedrail?

  Straightening her spine, Cass set her jaw. Then she marched to the fireplace. The embers were cold, but not so dead she couldn’t light a candle. That her hands shook was unfortunate. Obviously she was not enough for the damned man though. He’d chosen, after that session earlier, to take his clothes and go. Was this why?

  Setting her jaw harder, she swept to the door. Now she could hear voices. At least she could hear a voice. Sure enough he wasn’t alone.

  “Christ, Guv, bleedin’ stop biting will yer?”

  Charlie?

  “Or I will bleedin’ make yer.”

  Charlie? Charlie and him?

  “Yer ain’t in the soddin’ army now.”

  Impossible.

  And yet, when she considered it, why not? The man was a roué. In every respect. Look at that woman he’d arrived with. The only surprise was he hadn’t demanded more of her. So now? Now … Her intention was to catch him red handed, wasn’t it, so she could have these papers for nothing? This was her chance. Swallowing a gulp, she threw open the door.

  “Jeez.”

  She was surprised by Charlie’s startled exclamation. Surprised to see Devorlane Hawley hadn’t locked the door. Surprised too by the sight of the man in the bed.

  Seeing Charlie’s pale face turned toward her in the candle arc, she couldn’t think what else to say, except the obvious. “What on earth? What is going on here, Charlie?”

  “It ain’t bleedin’ preparations for Christmas, that’s fer sure.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. This was none of her concern after all, but her lips parted anyway. “I can see that and I should hope not. What is wrong with—”

  “S’all right. Dev’ll be fine by morning. ‘E always is.”

  “He doesn’t look fine to me.”

  Cass advanced across the Turkish rug and set the candlestick down on the scrolled bedside cabinet.

  “Miss, please, ‘e won’t want you ‘ere. ‘E’s particular about all this. Truly.”

  Perhaps he was. But in this instance? She gazed at Devorlane Hawley’s juddering form. How could this be the same man whose wrist she’d attempted to tie to the bedrail earlier. Who’d sat against it when she first opened her bedroom door, as if he owned her. Gray sweat glistened on the sharpened contours of his handsome face. He twitched, moaning as his body contracted.

  “‘E don’t even want me ‘ere, when ‘e’s loike this. That’s the truth. So you better just go back, I’ll see to ‘im. I generally do. Don’t worry your ‘ead about it.”

  “Well, I am worried. What’s wrong with—” Her hand acted independently of her brain and touched his burning forehead. “Why is he like this?” And yet, if he was dying, was it anything to her? If he was dying, just think how she’d be free. Only the shaking, the gray pallor, the muttering? It could have been Matthew lying there. How could she walk away, close the door, and pretend she never saw this?

  “Look, Miss—”

  “I am looking and if I liked what I saw I’d go. But I don’t.” Not only that but his forehead hotter than a warming pan. Before she could stop herself, she edged down onto the bed, grasped his hand. “Lord Hawley, can you hear me?”

  “Miss … Please …”

  “No. Lord Hawley, can you hear me?”

  “‘E can’t. It’s ‘is leg, Miss.”

  “His leg?”

  “Gives him proper gip it does. Even on a good day. I were trying to get ‘im to take some water, ter cool ‘isself down. But ‘e won’t open ‘is bleedin’ mouth. He gets awkward that way. Seriously, you leave ‘im to me, I’ll see ‘im all right. I always do.”

  Leave him? Heaven help her, she’d like to. Leave him to the devil for that matter after what he’d done, and not just to her body, but the cheap way he spoke to her as if she was no more than a common whore. Not when she thought how immaculate, how controlled he always was though.

  She drew back the blanket.

  “Miss … don’t do—”

  “Thank you, Charlie, but I’m not seeing anything I’ve not before.”

  Of course she might have known the damn man would disdain something so common as a nightshirt. Although the heat that came from him? Perhaps it was as well. She swallowed. Actually her attention wasn’t riveted by what she’d thought. For the first time, looking at the inflamed wound that ran the length of his thigh, she suffered a pang of guilt for thinking he was with someone. How cou
ld she have missed this earlier? It wasn’t as if she’d failed to observe that he limped, be it ever so slightly. She hadn’t really wanted to look, look properly anyway.

  Was this the real reason he didn’t want to spend the night with her? Worse. Was it why he’d kept that sheet positioned a certain way? Been in bed when she’d come upstairs for that matter? Vanity? Or didn’t he want her feeling pity?

  She glanced around. “Soak that towel, the one on the washstand. Soak the cloth as well.”

  “Miss—”

  “Do it will you?”

  “Dev don’t like—”

  “I don’t give too much of any one damn what he likes. Or doesn’t.” Flicking her hair back, she leaned closer. “Lord Hawley, it’s Cassidy Armstrong. Can you hear me at all?”

  He went on trembling. Behind her, the splash of water from the ewer into the basin at least said Charlie had done what she said.

  “Lord Hawley, listen, I know you don’t want me here, I know you don’t want anyone, but I’m going to just place this cloth on your forehead.” She took the cloth from Charlie. “That’s … that’s it. Then, then we’ll try to drink some water.”

  How often had she done this for Matthew? Although this man was in a worse state than ever Matthew had been in. “It’s cool, you see, and you’re burning.”

  “‘Ere, Miss,” Charlie whispered, handing her the wet towel.

  “That wound needs properly cleaned, Charlie. I think it’s infected.”

  “I try Miss, but you can see for yourself, ‘e don’t like bein’ touched. Not by me at any road. Certainly not a place intimate as ‘is leg.”

  He wouldn’t, of course, although he wasn’t in any way diminished by the fact he lay like this. His narrow hips were still a thing of beauty. As was his perfectly molded stomach. As for his chest and biceps? She’d already noticed how strongly muscled they were.

  “Doesn’t he have dressings? Something for the pain?” She eased the pressure for the briefest of moments on his forehead and he twitched. “No. Lord Hawley, it’s all right. I’m going to stay.” She glanced at what stood on the bedside cabinet. “If we pour some of that brandy there in the basin, we can at least clean that wound with it. Maybe even get some down his throat.”