Chapter 4

Tabitha's throat was dry and her skin burned as she gazed up at Helston and his sultry, arrogant mouth that at that moment seemed just ripe for kissing.

Was he going to kiss her?

He lowered his head toward hers but didn't uncover her mouth with his hand, nor did he try to kiss her. He held very still, his head tilted, his cheek ever so slightly touching her arm as the faint sound of voices carried down the hall. He held perfectly still, and it gave her mind just enough space to remember that someone was coming down the corridor toward them. She recognized one of the voices as the dowager duchess, but her words were broken up a bit as she whispered to someone.

"Mr. Tracy, you must keep a close watch on Fitz... acting so strangely... I can't figure out why... I do have my hopes set on—" Her words halted abruptly.

"Set on what, Your Grace?" she heard the butler ask.

"Oh, it feels silly, but I want to see him married. I'm not getting any younger, and after losing his father, I need to know he's settled down and happy."

"He seems content," Mr. Tracy said.

"Content and happy are not the same thing. I fear I've failed him, Mr. Tracy. If his father hadn't ended his life, if he hadn't gone to that damned war, I wonder if Fitz might have seen the world through different eyes. My grandson has known more pain than joy. Finding a woman, the right one, could save him."

"You believe he has found someone?"

"He asked me to invite the Sherborne girl. I think he's taken with her. It's the first real interest he's shown in a woman. I'll be damned if I don't press that advantage."

Tabitha held her breath and Helston stiffened against her as the voices grew louder and they feared being discovered.

If his grandmother found them like this, it would cause a scandal. He might even be forced to offer his hand in marriage. That couldn't happen. It didn't matter that she liked him, that his very nearness and spellbinding touch did wonderful things that made her feel wildly alive. Even if she wasn't here with the intent of punishing him for his misdeeds, marrying someone like her could only end in disgrace.

"I assume you have a plan to bring them together?" Mr. Tracy said, his voice starting to grow softer again as they passed by.

"Yes, I want them seated together at every meal and..." The rest of the dowager's words trailed off as she and the butler moved farther down the hall and turned a corner, carrying them out of earshot.

For a long moment, neither Tabitha nor Helston moved. He remained tense against her as he slowly let out a breath. He dropped his hand from her mouth, and they stared at each other a long moment, their faces still close.

The dowager's words tumbled in her head like a spinning kaleidoscope. "I think he's taken with her." Was he? It baffled Tabitha to think that a duke would have any kind of interest in her.

Helston raised his hand to her cheek, brushing the backs of his fingers over her skin. The caress felt wonderful.

"Your Grace..." Her words were faint, as she was still overcome by their heated closeness.

"Tell me to let you go, Tabitha. Tell me now..." He used her given name even though she hadn't told him he could. Something about the way he simply claimed her name flushed her body with a wild and primal heat.

"If you don't, I'm going to kiss you," he warned. "Christ, I'm liable to do much more than that. My grandmother is right, you know. I am taken with you." His voice grew deep, a hint of gravel to his words. "Taken doesn't seem to be quite strong enough of a word, though. I feel possessed by you."

"Possessed?" she echoed as she found her own hands had moved up to grip his waistcoat. Until that moment, she hadn't even realized she'd been reaching for him.

"This is your last chance... Push me away. Tell me to stop."

But her lips couldn't form the words. They felt wrong. She craved a connection like this with him, even knowing it would be brief.

She tilted her face up to his, her lashes lowering as she gazed at Helston's beautiful mouth, and she was lost.

With a soft growl, he captured her wrists in one of his hands and raised them over her head, pinning them in place against the wall. The sensual assault of his lips upon hers was like nothing she'd experienced before. She fell into a euphoria as her lips opened to his and his tongue thrust into her mouth, flicking against hers. He kissed her ruthlessly, devouring her whole. She understood the feeling. She wanted the same—all of him, every fiber of his being to join with hers in every way possible. A fierce ache started between her thighs and she whimpered, pressing close to him, searching for the ease to her ache.

He tore his lips from her mouth to trail kisses up to her ear, and she protested the loss of his mouth upon hers with a whimper.

"Do you ache for me, darling? Do you need me?" he demanded in a rough pant.

"Yes."

He pulled her right leg up, holding it against his hip. This allowed her to rub herself against his thigh, which only heightened that wild need inside her, a desire for things she'd long thought she'd never have.

"That's it, darling," he murmured, and then he was kissing her again. His deft fingers slid under the vast layers of her skirts to find the bare, vulnerable skin of her inner thighs and the aching center of her body that throbbed with need.

That first caress of his fingers upon the place so hungry for his touch made her cry out in shock. He swallowed the sound with his mouth, and she bucked into him, urging him to continue. After a long, torturous moment, he gave her what she needed. He slid a finger into her, pushing it deep. She moaned as a thousand sensations rioted within her.

"Yes," he encouraged in a gruff whisper. "There's my good girl. Take what you want." He continued to thrust his finger, and she pressed herself into him, trying to rock that finger in and out. They developed a rhythm, him moving his hand against her mound and her jerking as the tension built inside her.

They made a soft thump—thump—thump against the wall, such was the rough urgency of their movements. The way he murmured for her to take what she wanted, how he called her his good girl, it all lit some deep fire inside of her and she cried out again. He didn't cover her mouth this time, he didn't kiss her, he simply gazed at her as she dissolved into a creature of pure bliss.

Their eyes locked, and she knew in that moment he owned every part of her. His gaze consumed her, and she could do nothing but surrender to the moment. Her body spasmed as little aftershocks quaked inside her. Helston absorbed every one of her little tremors, his gaze still intense as he kept her wrists above her head and her body pinned against the wall.

"Was that your first time?" he asked when her shaking eased.

"My first?"

"The pleasure. It's called climax. Have you ever felt it before?"

She slowly shook her head, and he let out a breath and leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.

"It's never felt…like that before…when I dared to…" she didn't finish.

"When you dared to touch yourself?" he asked and she nodded. "You are innocent," he mused, his eyes closed. She briefly closed her eyes as well, reliving the feeling of what they'd shared. It felt so deep, so real compared to anything else she'd ever experienced.

"You have such a beautiful response to pleasure. My God..." Helston smiled as he opened his eyes. "If I wasn't that mad to have you beforeI'm certainly mad for you now."

He slowly withdrew his hand from beneath her skirts, making her twitch and her legs tremble.

"Don't move." He used a handkerchief to clean his fingers and then used it to wipe between her legs. She covered her face with her hands in mortification but then peeped through parted fingers at him.

"Don't be shy now, not after what we've been through," he said with a chuckle. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to a couch. He sat down with her on his lap. She tried to slide off to sit beside him, but he tsked at her as though she were a misbehaving child.

"You need a minute to get your legs back. Just rest," he said. "No one shall see us."

She was silent a long while as she regained her breath. "Did... er... have you done that with a lot of women?" she finally asked. She had been changed irrevocably, but she feared it meant nothing to him. What she knew of men, the men she'd been around on the streets, they spoke callously of women and often treated them even worse. She had been lucky to be taken in by the warehouse girls for so many years. They had kept her safe from the dangerous realities of the streets.

"I have done it before," he answered. "But never so quickly. By that, I mean we've only seen each other twice and I just jumped you like a wild animal." She heard the puzzlement in his tone. "I should apologize, should admit it was wrong, but?—"

"Don't," she said. "It was wonderful, even if it was a little frightening."

He lowered his head to nuzzle her cheek. "You are quite a mystery to me, Tabitha. Most women would have slapped me and run away for what I did."

She reached up to place her palm on his cheek. "Why would I hurt you when it felt so wonderful?" she asked.

"Because I'm supposed to be a gentleman, though I am not acting like one with you." He sighed. "Who knew that a house tour could be so scandalous?"

Tabitha smiled a little at his joke, feeling strangely laid bare after what they had done.

"My friends... I mean, my cousin and my friend would be furious with me."

"You mean Mrs. Winslow and Miss Starling." He spoke their names with a dark chuckle. "Yes, I'm quite aware they don't like me."

"They call you a bastard." Tabitha stiffened as she realized what she'd just said. Her old pickpocket self would've had no problem with speaking in such a way on the streets, but this was not how a proper lady spoke.

He looked a little startled. "A bastard?"

"A beautiful one," she added. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"They are your friends. I understand. Believe me. I suppose I have been a bastard at times, but it's because I know I'm right about a great many things. You would be surprised to learn that very few people want to be told when they are wrong. I am often the one telling them that they are wrong, which I suppose incurs their dislike."

He said this so matter-of-factly that she simply stared at him. Did he really not understand that he couldn't simply dictate to others what their life choices should be?

"But how can you be so certain you are right all the time?" Tabitha asked, more than a little curious that he could believe such a thing.

He flashed her a cocky grin. "Because I am. I was a duke at an earlier age than most men. It is the same for shouldering responsibilities. I've been in a lot of situations and seen much of the world. I would challenge you to find something I know little about."

Tabitha almost asked him what he knew of the conditions of the poor in London, but she didn't want to ruin this moment. No one had ever told her how good it would feel to be held in a man's arms like this. She felt safe, secure, and cherished.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked.

"Better, but..." She hesitated, feeling shy.

"But?"

"But I don't want to move just yet. This feels nice." It was likely a terrible idea to be so open and honest with him, but it was so easy to feel like herself when he was there. Yes, she had lived on the streets, she had faced down danger and fought off cold and hunger. Despair had been her constant companion, but it hadn't hardened her as it had most of those who lived on the streets. She was still a person seeking warmth, safety, security. And most of all, love. Helston could, for the moment, offer some of that to her, and she let it comfort her for as long as she could.

"We can stay here a little longer unless we hear my grandmother again."

Tabitha giggled and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

"I can't believe they didn't hear us," she whispered.

Helston chuckled. "I'm damned good at being quiet when it counts. How long will you be in London with your cousin?"

"I'm not sure." She honestly hadn't thought about that far-off day when the Merry Robins would retire from stealing. What would be her future then? Hannah would never cast her back out onto the streets, but she couldn't live forever on her friend's generosity. They had discussed that someday they might help her find a man to marry, if she so wished, or that she might find work at a reputable shop or even that she could take a part of the proceeds of the sale of the jewels. She'd refused the last option, of course. There was no way she could sleep at night knowing that she had a warm bed and food and was also keeping some of the money of the thefts. In the past, she'd only ever stolen things to survive. Now she didn't need to. She stole for others and therefore couldn't keep any of the money for herself.

"I can't stay with Hannah forever. I will need to marry or find some other means of supporting myself."

"You will need to?" He seemed surprised.

"I suppose you believe I come from money like Hannah, but I assure you I do not." She guessed it was safe enough to admit some things about her life without giving away the larger truth.

He waited for her to continue, so she did. "I lived in a small set of rooms my entire life until my father died. He worked as a clerk for a private banker and made very little money. But as poor as our lives were, our home was rich in love." She smiled as she remembered her father reading to her late into the night, never worrying about wasting precious candles.

"When he died, things were not easy. There were nights with empty bellies and cold days." It was as close as she could get to telling him that she had lived on the streets.

He rubbed her back with one hand, trying to soothe her, and it was only then that she realized she'd started to tremble from the memories of those hard, lean years.

"I wish I had known you then. I would've helped you," he said, his tone a little rough with emotion.

"Would you?" she asked, her tone hardening a little. "Do you know how many fine gentlemen and ladies pass by someone in need and do nothing? You think, What a poor, pitiful wretch. They should be able to take care of themselves by finding work, and since they haven't they must be lazy. Their fates must be their own with no help from you." She said the words harshly and pulled herself off his lap to stand. He let her go and sat there watching her with those stormy eyes.

"But the truth is, there isn't enough work, there isn't enough food. There isn't enough of anything for a good majority of the people in this country," she said.

Helston's posture now grew defensive. "If you're suggesting I part with my coin to allow a few gin-soaked men to drink more so they might go home and beat their wives and children even worse than they already do?—"

She spun away from him, her anger flaring hot out of nowhere as she interrupted him. "Of course you think of the men. But what of the women, the children? The starving flower girls, the boys selling matchsticks. The frail elderly women with hands too old to sew and eyes too weak to see by candlelight to work, the old men who can no longer work in the factories, and the veterans from the wars. They are the ones you fail each day."

"Now hold on." He got to his feet and caught her arm, turning her back to face him. "You're throwing accusations at me. Have you seen me deny a child or an old woman anything?" he challenged.

"I've seen enough men of station turn a blind eye to believe the worst." The words left her mouth too quickly, before she realized they were a mistake.

The flash of fire in his eyes frightened her. But rather than strike out at her the way the men she had just spoken of would, he released her and stepped back.

"I'm very sorry you think so poorly of me, Miss Sherborne," he said. "I believe it's time I returned to my guests. Please excuse me." He gave a slight bow and left her alone in the drawing room.

She stood there a long moment, her heart pounding as she fought off the urge to burst into tears. Why had she said such things to him? Why did he wield such power to break down her walls and make her speak with such painful honesty? How she felt and acted around him was a jumbled mess of contradictions she didn't understand. If she wasn't careful, she might reveal too much and give away her true motives for being here.

When she finally collected herself, she found her way back to the terrace. Almost at once, her friends descended upon her.

"Where have you been? Helston came back alone a short while ago and... Good Lord, Tabby, are you all right?" Hannah took one of Tabitha's hands in her own and gave it a squeeze.

"Er... yes. Of course." But Tabitha was the farthest thing from all right. She snuck a glance at the duke, who stood at the far end of the terrace. He watched her with a quiet, challenging look as he studied her in return. She felt as though they were on the opposite sides of a giant chessboard, the pieces moving between her and Helston, with no way of knowing what his next move or hers. She could only pray that he didn't know what the stakes of this game between them truly were. For him, it was a game of seduction, but for her? It was a game for a diamond. A diamond that could help so many people—or cost her her freedom if she was caught.

"Helston wasn't a brute to you, was he? He can be so rude. What did he say to you?" Julia asked. She looked ready to march across the terrace toward the duke and do battle.

"No, he wasn't. I'm afraid I might have been too honest when speaking to him, and he, in turn, was far too blunt with me. I fear I may have hurt our chances for gathering more information from him."

That was true enough. She didn't want to tell her friends about what had happened. It was too intimate, too personal.

"Why don't we go upstairs and rest a bit before dinner," Hannah suggested. "You can tell us everything once we're alone."

"Yes, let's," Tabitha agreed. "It will give us a chance to talk. I believe I know where we must direct our attention." She emphasized the word with a raising of her eyebrows.

Julia's eyes glowed with excitement. "Oh?"

"Yes. It's here, as we thought. We will have to go at night, and I believe we'll need to access the room through a window. He has a footman stationed at the door."

"I see." Hannah tapped her chin. "Once we have it, he will know it's been taken. We will have to be careful. We need a place to store it safely, though, as he will search the guests."

"I wish we'd been able to get a replica made in paste," Tabitha said. "But we would need to get our hands on the real one in order for the closest match to be made."

"Yes, it is a pity. It would have been far easier, but we shall simply have to do this as we've done the others," Hannah replied.

"In that case, we have much to plan," Julia said as the three of them left the group of guests gathered outside.

Tabitha cast one last glance at Helston, who stood at the far end of the terrace with two other men. He was still watching her and doing nothing to hide the scowl on his face.

She feared their quarrel had destroyed his interest in her and he would leave her be, which would be for the best. But perhaps not, if the intensity of his focus was anything to judge by. She turned her face away, a flush of mortification heating her skin. It would be wise to avoid him as much as possible for the duration of their mission.

* * *

"Well,that certainly looks like trouble, Fitz. What the devil did you do?" Beck gave a subtle nod to the three retreating women, who all darted harsh glances in their direction. The women looked furtive as they whispered to each other in the way women did when they wanted to discuss their secrets.

"I suppose I acted a little rashly," he admitted. And harshly, he silently added.

"Rash? You? Bloody hell, man, the world must be ending," Evan teased, but his grin faded as he saw the black look on Fitz's face.

"What did you do, Fitz?" Evan asked more quietly.

"I conducted myself in an ungentlemanly manner with Miss Tabitha Sherborne."

"Who is she?" Beck asked as he watched the three women vanish inside the house.

"Hannah Winslow's cousin from the country." A flash of Tabitha in his arms shot through his body like lightning. The feel of her mouth, the taste of her, the erotic way she'd panted his name between kisses and how it seemed to remake everything he understood about the universe. That moment had been heat and light in their purest forms, and it had rocked him to his very core.

"She cannot be Hannah Winslow's cousin," Evan said.

Fitz felt a new tension vibrate within him, one that had nothing to do with his unfinished business with Tabitha. "What do you mean?"

"Hannah doesn't have any cousins in the country, at least none named Tabitha Sherborne," Evan declared confidently.

"You're sure?" Fitz asked.

"Quite."

Beck leaned in. "How do you know?"

"Because... because..." Evan rubbed the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic red hue coloring his face as he glanced away from Fitz and Beck. "Because once upon a time, I was madly in love with Hannah. I made it my mission to know everything I could about her."

Fitz stared in shock at his friend. "You were in love with Hannah the Harridan?" He'd had no idea that Evan had ever felt strongly about any woman. He'd had mistresses by the score over the years, but he'd never once mentioned having any affection for Hannah, let alone a mad love for her. This was something he would have to discuss with his friend later, after these jewel thieves were caught.

"Yes, I was, and she's no harridan, as you well know. She was never the same after losing him." Evan glanced away from them. "What I felt for her was a long time ago." He cleared his throat. "One thing I'm certain of is that she has no cousin named Tabitha Sherborne."

All three men turned to look in the direction the women had gone, and Fitz frowned.

"Then who the devil is the woman I just kissed?"