Chapter 10

Tabitha paced the room and tried not to think about what would happen when he stepped back through the door. He'd said he wouldn't turn her over to the authorities, but she doubted he would just let her resume her thieving, no matter how noble the cause might be. What if he forced her to reveal Hannah and Julia's involvement or tried to extract something from her in return for his silence? What if he spread word to his friends to keep her from being invited to any other engagements that she, Hannah, and Julia would need access in order to steal more jewels? The house of cards they'd built was on the verge of collapse—all Fitz had to do was breathe a word against her.

She truly didn't know what Fitz was capable of, and yet, as she ran through each possibility of what he might do, she just couldn't believe he would blackmail her into anything, nor did she think he would intentionally do anything to hurt Julia or Hannah. He was far too much of a gentleman to treat true ladies like criminals. But whatever he did do could have unintended consequences that could send the cards toppling all around them. Hannah and Julia could be tainted by association and would be forced to choose her or their own social lives, and she knew which they would pick, which meant she would need to leave them to save them.

Tabitha would be back on the streets again and with a scandal hanging over her head employment at a shop would likely be impossible. Shopkeepers would not want women working for them who would drive customers away. Fitz could act with the best of intentions and still doom them all...

But all these worries paled against the twist she felt in her belly each time she recalled the moment Fitz realized she was the thief. That would leave a shadow in her heart for the rest of her life. She'd wrecked something beautiful between them, something she'd never dreamed of having. And it was gone forever because she'd taken that bloody diamond.

Too weary to pace any further, she settled herself down in a chair to await her doom. She ignored the throb of pain in her arm from the graze of Fitz's bullet as she watched the flames attempt to burn the diamond. The fake diamond. She had risked her life for a bit of glass. She'd destroyed the golden memories she had made with Fitz, destroyed her future, for nothing. She'd ruined everything except Hannah and Julia's lives, and even they were not yet safe.

Their involvement was a secret for now, but someone could put the pieces together if they examined Tabitha's whereabouts during each theft. Tabitha had to make certain that Fitz would not only let her go but would also agree that he would never tell anyone what she had done, not even his friends. And in order to do that, she knew he would likely exact a promise from her that she would never set foot in polite society again so that she might not be tempted to steal from those around her. If only he knew she had no compulsion to steal, no desire to take anything from anyone else, but did it only because it was necessary. But such an argument would likely fall on deaf ears. So she would have to agree to whatever terms he set forth to keep his silence. It would be the only way she could be certain she could protect her friends.

Someone knocked on the door. She padded across the carpets to open it up. Fitz's face, still shadowed by quiet anger, appeared in the space between the door and the frame.

"You may let me in. The corridor is empty."

She stepped back, and he quickly entered before he closed and locked the door behind him. He held a small black leather satchel under one arm.

"I have called off the search in the house. Everyone is returning to their beds." He set the bag down at the foot of the bed and opened the silver clasps at the top before digging around in the contents.

"Fitz," she said, breathing his name.

He stilled at that. "Helston or Your Grace, if you please. Only my friends may call me Fitz."

The words, though softly spoken, were delivered so formally that it felt like a slap across her face.

"Come here," he commanded and pointed to the bed.

Tabitha obeyed and eased onto the edge of the bed beside the satchel. She freed her arm from her nightgown and allowed him to use a bottle of clear alcohol to wipe the blood away from the gash in her flesh. He then dabbed the cotton cloth over the wound itself. It burned viciously, but the only sound she allowed herself to make was a soft hiss.

Fitz's lowered brows and silent glare softened slightly, but he said nothing as he continued to clean her wound.

"I don't keep the jewels," she whispered softly. Her words seemed to startle him, and he glanced at her.

"I don't," she insisted. "It's as I told you before. They are sold, and nearly all of the proceeds are then given to charities that we are acquainted with."

"Nearly all? What, pray tell, do you do with the rest of the proceeds? Is that where your lavish gowns come from?" His words were sharp, but she deserved the sting of them and didn't shy away.

"No, the gowns are from Hannah. You know what sort of person she is. She is all heart. She insists that I have fine gowns, but I always try to stop her. I wanted to wear nothing but dull colors and fade into the background, but she refused to let me."

"I doubt you could ever fade into the background," he murmured.

She blinked and glanced away from him for a brief moment. "Oh, but I do, quite easily. It's possible you've passed me upon the street. I would have worn old clothes, my hair up in a knot and covered by a boy's cap to guard against the cold. I would have been covered in dust from the carriages, my palms calloused and dirty. I would have begged a man like you for a bit of coin to fill my belly." She let out a breath. "And you, like every other man, would have kept on walking, your head high, your cane ready to strike if I drew too close to your perfect world."

His fingers curled around her elbow, the hold firm, but he didn't hurt her. He gazed at her a long moment.

"I would have seen you," he promised. "I would have, I know it."

Their gazes held, and she felt her heart shattering and reforming and shattering all over again.

"But would you have seen my sisters of the streets? Or the children starving as they sell you fading blooms? Would you see the men who've lost limbs in war as they gaze unseeing at the stone walls of the alleyways? Those men who served alongside your father, those men who saw friends and brothers die... Why haven't you lifted a hand to help them? They gave up their lives, their homes, their families... their very futures for this country, and you treat them as though they do not exist."

She'd gone too far, but she only wanted him to see what she'd seen, to understand that her mission was beyond the selfish need to care for her own person.

Fitz was quiet as he finished cleaning her wound.

"You give the money to these charities—how does that work? How can you be sure the funds are put to good use?"

"Because I've seen the results for myself. Your friend, Lord Brightstone, I stole the diamond earbobs off his cousin... and when I resold them, the money paid for more than twenty children to have new clothes—not simply new clothes, but two sets of clothing, one for winter and one for summer. Some of the children at the orphanage had never owned a pair of shoes in their lives. Do you know what that means? When the snow and ice cover the roads, these children can walk without fear of frostbite and losing toes. It changes their lives... and the woman I took those earrings from has only suffered a pang of pricked pride."

"Did you ever walk in the snow without shoes?" he asked quietly.

"Once, my second winter being alone. One of the girls, one of my friends, she stole a fine bracelet and sold it, bought me shoes she took all of us girls buy sweet cakes. I was so grateful to her that I gave her my cake..."

"Christ, that's one of the girls you mentioned who perished from the adulterated food, isn't it?"

She nodded mutely, the old memories still too raw to get too close to.

"And my diamond? What could you do with it?" he asked.

"A great many things... I planned to use it to help a woman who owns a boarding house. She takes in wounded veterans and gives them food and shelter. I wanted to help her. She has so many mouths to feed and so little to live on since many of the men can't find work. Not everyone could go home to a dukedom like your father."

"Yes, he was a lucky one, yet he still shot himself when the nightmares and memories became too much for him." Fitz's words were gruff with emotion, and she ached to put her arms around his neck and hold him so that he didn't have to mourn his father alone. But she didn't dare touch him. She had no right to any intimacy with this man, not after breaking his trust.

Fitz dipped the tip of his finger in a pot of salve that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and rubbed it along the injury. After that, he carefully patted the wound with a cloth and wrapped it snug with some bandages.

"Is that too tight? There should be some pressure to restrict the wound from bleeding, but I don't wish to cut the flow of blood off to the rest of your arm." His voice was gruff, but there was no ignoring the tenderness she heard in each word as he focused on caring for her. It tugged at her heart to see his hands tremble as he tended to her wound.

"It feels fine," she replied. For a moment, their gazes connected. His eyes, usually so stormy, were dark and fathomless now, still as a windless sea. She could read nothing in their glass-like depths. He had shuttered the windows to his soul, blocking her view. It was a fresh stab to her heart to lose that ability she once had to read him and see his feelings. He hadn't acted that way with anyone else. She'd been the only one he'd let his guard down with, and she'd repaid him with betrayal.

"I'm finished. You may... er... dress." His gaze flicked along the skin of her arm and shoulder that had been exposed these last few minutes. For a moment, she saw that heat and desire that so called to her own. A low heat pulled in her belly, and that inescapable desire for this man flared to life again. Even after all that had happened, she still wanted him with a hopeless, ardent longing.

As she reached up to adjust her arm and slip it back into her nightgown, he blinked and turned his back to her.

He put his tools away and tossed the bloody rags into the fire. Then he closed the medical bag and started for the door. A chill grew between them once more, so frosty that she expected snow to start falling from the ceiling above them. There was a finality to his manner that filled her with a panic that she'd never known before.

"Helston." Her voice was pitched higher with desperation at the thought of truly losing him. He halted. He didn't turn, but his tall, powerful frame went rigid, as though he'd stopped breathing.

She summoned her courage. "You said you were your truest self with me. Despite what you learned of me tonight, I swear on my word—whatever it may be worth—that I was my truest self with you as well."

The tightness in his shoulders and neck seemed to make his body vibrate.

She waited a heartbeat before continuing. "I learned early in my life to hide myself. I had to. Only by hiding could I protect myself. But you..." She struggled for the right words. "You made me forget to hide. You made me feel like the woman I should have been... had I not lost so much so early in my life." It pained her to speak these words, but this was a moment where the truth mattered more than life itself.

Still he didn't move, didn't even so much as twitch or shift his weight. He was as still as stone. But she held out hope, because he hadn't left.

"I'm not mad... am I? To believe that there was something between us... something wonderful?" She shook her head, smiling bitterly. "Whatever it was... I know I have ruined it forever. I would give anything to go back and never steal the diamond and just stay the night in your arms in the hothouse and speak in the language of flowers until dawn. I wish I had that memory of being with you to take with me when I leave."

She held her breath, knowing how foolish it was to open herself up to him like this. But among all the other regrets she would carry away this day, speaking these words would not be among them.

"I would have given everything to you in that moment... Fitz. Everything that I am would have been yours." Her mind, her body, her heart... even her soul would have forever belonged to him, had he only continued to kiss her with the flowers blooming around them in that endless night.

Fitz let the medical bag fall to the floor, and he slowly turned, his hands at his sides fisting as though he wasn't sure what to do with them. His handsome face was a stream of emotions, ranging from anger to sorrow. It was a long moment before he spoke.

"I wish I had that too... because I can't wipe the memory of your lips from my mind, no matter how hard I try. You were a light in the darkness that I never expected to see. You have carved yourself into my bones, and I cannot get you out." His voice, so gruff with pain, made her eyes burn with tears. "And I do not know if I want to."

She knew then... this change in her heart, this feeling of breaking apart so completely that she'd never feel whole again unless she was in his arms. She stifled a sob, and he looked heavenward, his face so beautiful, so haunted, so pained. It was as if he was standing upon a cliff of his own control, teetering at its edge.

"I'm damned to want you so fiercely now—even knowing what you are."

What you are...How harsh, how utterly wounding those words were. Yet he was right. She was a thief. A liar. But she also cared about him.

She rubbed her forearms, trying to warm herself from the sudden chill inside her chest. That burning intensity that filled his eyes hadn't faded, and it was the singular flash of hope she needed. She had one last chance to know him, to feel like the future she'd secretly craved with him was possible, even if for just one night.

"One night," she whispered. "Give me one night of you... of your touch, your kiss. Please. I'd sell my soul if the devil would take it, just to know what it means to be loved by you." In her life, she had begged for food, for shelter, for safety. This was the first time she had ever begged for love, and she was certain that if he rejected her, she wouldn't survive.

He stared at her a long moment, unmoving. Then the tension bled out of him as he took a single step toward her. The move was so decisive that she caught her breath in her throat. She slid off the bed, coming toward him. They met in the center of the room, and his hands rose, one coming to rest on her hip and the other cupping her face. The hold was possessive yet so completely tender that Tabitha trembled in his arms. She leaned into his touch and briefly closed her eyes.

"One night," he agreed. "Just one."

She nodded, relief washing over her. It was not the end between them, not yet.

"Lift your arms," he ordered.

She hastened to obey, raising her arms in the tight space between their bodies. His hands left her hips to clutch the folds of her nightgown. It came off over her head with little resistance, and he let it drop to the floor at her feet. She lifted her gaze to his, the heat there sealing their bittersweet bargain in the darkness. His eyes swept over her, and she wondered what he saw. Her skin told the story of a life lived hard—faint scars from her past and fresh bruises from tonight's struggle.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know... I thought you were—" He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he bit his bottom lip.

"You thought I was a man," she said, finishing his thought. "It's all right, Fitz, please don't think of it. Not tonight." She'd said his given name without thinking, but he didn't correct her. For this night only, he would be Fitz.

He trailed the backs of his fingers over her throat, her collarbone, and down to her breasts, teasing one of her nipples into a taut peak. His touch felt exquisite. Wanting to give him the same glorious pleasure and sense of connection, she touched him in return, tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the prickle of his beard growing in, the delicate shells of his ears. He turned his face, allowing her to explore him as he explored her. There was something so wonderful, so intimate about being allowed to touch him like this. To be close and to know that she could kiss him, and glide her hands over his form.

She'd seen so little of Joseph's body when they'd come together long ago. Now she wanted to see Fitz with an almost violent desperation. She tugged at the buttons of his waistcoat and then peeled it away from him before pulling his shirt free of his trousers. He stopped touching her body only long enough to remove his shirt and boots. Then he pulled her against him. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, teasing her so much that she moaned. A faint smattering of dark-gold hair on his upper pectoral muscles was soft beneath her fingers as she placed her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. She leaned in and kissed his skin, which made him shudder and tighten his hold on her.

"Why does everything feel a thousand times more intense with you?" he asked, his voice full of wonder.

She had no answers to give. All she knew was that if she did not claim his body tonight and let him claim hers, something they both needed would be lost to them. This was her only moment to be with Fitz, and she would not lose this memory for as long as she lived.

He dug his hands into her hair, his fingers finding the last few stray pins she had missed, and he spread her hair out in a waterfall.

His hand dove inside that hair, and he tilted her head up to seal his mouth over hers. She abandoned herself to the sweetness of his mouth, the coaxing, the gentleness, as it turned deeper, harder, more desperate. He flicked his tongue between her lips, and she groaned as his free hand gripped her bottom in an almost punishing hold. That hint of pain only heightened the intensity between them.

"Dawn will be here in a few hours," he whispered before kissing her again. "I need you."

She felt his unspoken warning. He would leave the mark of his passion upon her soul so that any man who dared to come after would never own her, would never fully possess her. There would always be some part of her that was forever his.

"Yes," she begged, her eyes blurring with tears. She wanted that too, to know that he would carry a part of her with him, even though they would never come together like this again. At least tonight they would have parts of each other deep within the wells of their hearts.

He brushed away her tears with his thumbs, his gaze softening as he kissed the shining tracks of tears upon her cheeks. His mouth covered hers again as he lifted her up onto the bed and laid her flat beneath him. He kissed a path from her mouth down to her breasts, sucking hungrily on each tip, making her cry out at the exquisite feeling. She dug her hands into his hair, urging him not to stop.

The connection between them grew as he lavished kisses upon her skin. She whimpered as he released the tip of her breast, and then, to her delight and relief, he took the other nipple between his lips next. Her body arched upward, trying to rub against him, seeking that need that was too powerful to name. The need to join her body and soul with this man was overwhelming. This throbbing, pulsing, pounding need to surrender to her own desires and his.

He slid lower, his mouth kissing her hips, then the thatch of dark curls between her thighs, and finally he was grasping her knees and widening them. Part of her wanted to hide herself, but she was driven by a need so ancient that modern modesty lost its battle.

"Keep your legs open," he growled as he settled at the foot of the bed and pressed his lips to her inner thighs. "Trust me, Tabitha." She trembled as he breathed warm air upon her exposed feminine core. "Trust me to never hurt you."

Then his lips and tongue danced in wild, lazy patterns in the most sensitive part of her flesh.

It was almost too much to bear, both frightening and wonderful in equal measure. She felt as though she could reach the sky and stir up new galaxies with her fingertips as she collected stars like precious gems. A burst of brilliant light behind her closed eyes overwhelmed her, and she surrendered to the explosion of pleasure that followed between her thighs as he explored her with his mouth. Every muscle, once tense with fear and anxiety, was now so relaxed that she didn't want to move ever again.

She opened her eyes as the bed shifted slightly. She felt the heat of his body as he moved over her. He had tossed his trousers away. She hadn't seen him remove them, but she'd also been blissfully unaware of anything but pleasure for the last few minutes.

Tabitha tried to sit up and look at him but collapsed back upon the bed.

"Be careful with your arm," Fitz murmured with compassion as he settled between her thighs.

"It's all right. It doesn't hurt just now." He'd given her so much pleasure in the last few minutes that she doubted she'd ever feel pain again.

He was so much larger than she was, so packed with muscle, and yet she cradled him with her body. She felt an ancient feminine strength flare within her. She was made to hold this man, to touch him and love him, just as he was made to touch and love her. Her heart stuttered as she sensed that in another life, this man could have been her husband, her other half. Yet in this life, it could never be. Tonight was all they would have. A stolen moment, one gone too soon.

His eyes searched her face as if he seemed to sense her sorrowful realization. Tabitha cupped his cheek with one hand while her other curled around the back of his neck. She pulled his head down to hers.

"In all my life," he began, his words drifting over her lips between kisses, "there has never been anyone like you..." A hint of terrible longing and desperation laced the meeting of their mouths. Like a fire burning late in the dark autumn months, defying the coming snow.

She lifted her hips, seeking him, and he moved above her, guiding himself into her. Then he filled her, creating a connection that stretched into an infinite amount of space, beyond rational thoughts and words.

She dug her fingers into him, pulling him deeper, urging him to move and let them both feel alive. There would be no moment beyond this. No diamonds, no guilt, no struggle. Only that unimaginable peace that came with discovering something perfect. She was a butterfly slowly crawling out of its chrysalis. Her wings were wet and new and oh so bright. Now she lay upon the ground of her soul and breathed for the first time, waiting for the moment when she could fly.

Fitz murmured soft, wonderful things, his lips teasing her ear and making her laugh breathlessly in the dark as he made love to her. The joy of their joining was stronger knowing they would soon part.

Their fingers laced together as he pinned her hands to the bed on either side of her head. Their gazes held as he drove into her urgently, the soft sounds of their bodies meeting and the panting breaths surrounding them in an exquisite sphere of their own making. Sweat dewed upon their bodies and Fitz's skin shimmered as he moved above her, moved in her. He truly was the most handsome man she'd ever seen as he opened himself to her, letting her see his soul in his eyes once more.

"Tell me no other man shall own your soul," he demanded, his breath hard in the dark. He drove into her, the exquisite pleasure of him sinking deep making her cry his name.

"Tell me," he said again.

"No one," she gasped. "No one but you."

Her reply seemed to set him on fire as he claimed her, his roughness the only hint that his passion and possession of her had given him what he needed. She exploded with pleasure beneath him, her body straining as she reached that bursting star horizon.

"You're mine, Tabitha," he said as he slammed his hips against hers one last time. He braced himself above her, but his large shoulders trembled as he released their laced hands. She moved to embrace him. Her palms slid over his burning skin and her knees hugged his lean, muscled hips, locking them together so he could not withdraw from her body.

Fitz pressed soft, lingering kisses to her cheeks, her closed eyelids, her forehead, and then her lips. They struggled for breath as they drifted down from their lovemaking like downy feathers weaving through a lazy sunbeam.

They listened to the fire popping and cracking in the hearth. Bit by bit, an awareness of the rest of the world around them came back to her. She knew that she needed to hear the words spoken before she lost her chance.

"Tell me you're mine, Fitz."

He lifted his head to stare down at her. For a moment she feared he would deny her claim on him, but his eyes softened as they always seemed to do whenever he looked at her, and the world spun wildly around her as he spoke the words she would replay over and over for the rest of her life.

"There shall never be another for me but you," he said. "Never."

Neverwas such a permanent word, but she saw the truth in his eyes. If he married someday and produced an heir with another woman, it wouldn't matter. He would love no other but her. And she would love no other but him.

They lay in silence, neither wanting to speak. Words would only bring the end closer now. She could not bear the dawn, not anymore.

* * *

Fitz could tellthe moment she fell sleep. And now, feeling her surrender to exhaustion and knowing their lovemaking was over... a slow, bitter ache grew inside him. He was losing her now, moment by moment, because he would have to leave this bed and leave her and return to his life... without her.

His chest tightened as he struggled to resist the need to wake her, and make love to her again, and deny the night its right to end. He burrowed beneath the bedsheets and pulled her into his arms, kissing the crown of her hair. No one would ever know about this. About a duke falling in love with a common thief.

No, she was not common—she was exceptional. She'd stolen a diamond under cover of darkness and fought him as valiantly as any man to evade capture. If he hadn't come to check on her tonight, he never would have known she was the thief. He also never would have known what her real life had been like before they'd met. The vague stories she'd told him were filtered enough for him to have remained ignorant of the truth if he'd chosen to. But now he knew what she'd endured, what strength she needed to overcome her circumstances and still have a heart open enough to fight for others who needed help.

In another life, she might have been a saint, such was the goodness that came from her actions. And he, the man with all the means in the world to change things for others, hadn't. But he could change. He could give her the diamond and let her do what she could to help others. It would give him a small measure of peace to let the gem go under such circumstances. It eased the shame he'd felt over knowing he'd failed to see what he could have done all these years to help others.

He stroked his fingers over Tabitha's cheekbones and nose, then played with the tendrils of her hair that curled into dark wisps near her ears. There were so many delightful little things about Tabitha that enchanted him. It broke his heart to think that he would never have the chance to learn everything about her, to have the intimacy that a lover, a husband, might as they grew old. Too much had passed between them, too much pain and heartache that he could not see any other path but one that led away from her.

He checked the bandage on her arm, wanting to make sure the bleeding hadn't started up again.

A wiser, saner man would not have taken a woman while she was so injured. But when Tabitha was near, he was anything but wise, and this had been their one and only opportunity. She'd said she wanted him, and he couldn't deny them what they both needed.

As the pale-pink hue of the coming morning filtered through the curtains, he knew he had made his decision about their future. With great reluctance, he slipped out of bed and dressed. Then he tucked the sheets up around Tabitha.

He'd come to the decision that he didn't want his grandmother's diamond anymore, so while Tabitha was sleeping, he went to his study to remove it from its hiding spot. When he returned to Tabitha's room, he stared at the diamond in his palm, weighing it and thinking about what Tabitha had said, how this gem could help men who'd fought alongside his father. Men who hadn't had dukedoms and money to come home to. Men who'd given up their futures so that he and Tabitha and all the rest would never know what it would mean to see war upon English shores. These were men with honor, yet they'd been denied even a humble life. Their lives were taken from them and they lived as ghosts upon the streets.

Tabitha had been right. He hadn't seen them, those dust-covered faces and pleading hands held out, needing a bit of love, a bit of care from their fellow humans. He had walked past, determined to make his appointments, and he'd had no care for the souls who needed him.

He couldn't keep the diamond because whenever he looked at it, it would remind him of tonight, of Tabitha's betrayal and the night they'd shared that he could never experience again.

The diamond had become a manifestation of Tabitha's presence in his soul. This jewel didn't belong to him, not any longer. He knew his grandmother wouldn't miss it. She'd insisted time and again that he take ownership of it, but he knew once he had the diamond in his possession, she would expect a wedding announcement to follow shortly afterward. Since he'd had no desire to marry yet, he'd refused taking the diamond into his care and insisted she keep it in her tiara.

But after what he'd shared with Tabitha, he understood what his grandmother had wanted him to see all along. Giving that diamond to the woman he loved would feel special. Special was not a strong enough word for what he felt knowing he was giving the diamond to the woman he loved. It belonged to her and he wanted her to take it, to do whatever she needed or desired to do with it. It was the only thing he could give her now. He could not take her as a bride, could not give her his name, but only the diamond…and his heart.

He placed the diamond on the table beside the bed and retrieved paper and ink from the writing desk in the corner to leave her a message. Before he wrote the words upon the page, however, he studied her sleeping face.

He would envy the man who would someday have this view each morning, and he would curse himself for not knowing what he could do to keep her. He couldn't trust himself, and he couldn't trust her. He had to do what he did best, run away from the pain. Bury it. Hide himself from the world and all the things that could harm him.

I'm a bloody coward...

Too afraid to love, too afraid to risk losing another person or trusting someone with his heart. Too afraid to do anything but run and hide.

Fitz placed the folded note under the diamond and let himself out of the room, closing the door, and his heart, forever.

There would never be another for him. It was the only thing that gave him any peace in that instant, however small it might be. His heart would not break a second time.