Chapter Eighteen

Ellie could scarcely look at Harry as they stood on the Willinghams' front steps awaiting his carriage. She was desperate to get the prayer book home, and so full of restless, nervous energy that it took all her control not to hop from one foot to the other.

She'd been on successful missions before, with Daisy and Tess, but she'd never felt so terrifyingly alive as she did now, in Harry's presence. Excitement and daring seemed to fizz in her blood.

The cold wind whipped at her cloak and brought a sheen of moisture to her eyes, and she was glad when Carson finally drew the horses to a stop at the front of the queue. She threw herself down on the seat with a theatrical sigh, and smiled up at Harry as he settled across from her.

"We did it! I can't believe it! What a night."

He returned her grin, his eyes glowing with good humor. "Feels good, doesn't it? Admit it, Miss Law. Sneaking around can be fun."

Ellie laughed. "Sneaking around can be terrifying . So many things could have gone wrong."

"Ah, but they didn't. Luck was on our side. And talent. We make a good team."

She shook her head with a wry chuckle. "We still committed a crime. I can't believe I've stooped so low."

He shot her a mocking, commiserating look. "Yes, guilty of aiding and abetting a known criminal. What a naughty girl you are."

The way he said it brought the heat back to her cheeks. He sounded more approving than anything else.

She felt like a bad girl.

Not for the stealing, but because she wanted another kiss. Quite desperately.

He sat back, his arm resting along the back of the seat, the picture of masculine ease, and she squirmed as she tried not to look at his mouth and remember the taste of it.

He'd been acting. Playing a part. Nothing more. She had to pull herself together.

"If it's any consolation," he said lightly, "you're in excellent company. Most of the great artists and composers were thieves, too. They all copied one another, stealing ideas and techniques. Michelangelo started his career by faking ancient Greek statues. He buried them in the ground to artificially age them, and when the Italian cardinal he sold them to as ‘antique' discovered they were new, he was so impressed by Michelangelo's talent for imitating that instead of prosecuting him, he invited him to Rome, and became his patron."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "That's an exceptional case. You only have to look at the trials at the Old Bailey to know that the vast majority of crimes are punished, not rewarded."

"I happen to think that everyone is capable of becoming a thief, given the right circumstances. For example, stealing a painting just because it would look nice in your drawing room is undoubtedly bad. But is stealing that same painting to sell and feed your starving family equally wrong?"

"The law would say yes. Stealing is stealing, regardless of the motivation."

"Pfft. People aren't so clear-cut. We're all a mass of contradictions."

Like you , Ellie thought.

Harry had so many facets to his personality she wasn't sure what to believe. She didn't even know his real name, and yet she felt closer to him, more attracted to him, than to any other man she'd ever met.

How was that possible?

"What did you do with the key to the safe?" she asked instead.

"Dropped it on the floor by the billiard room as we left. Willingham will assume he mislaid it."

Ellie nodded approvingly. "Do you mind if I take off this wig? The pins are sticking into my skull."

"Go ahead."

With a relieved sigh she removed the elaborate hairpiece, and began to pull out the numerous hairpins that Tess had used to secure her own hair. She did it by feel, since the carriage lacked a mirror, patting her hands over her head and releasing her curls one by one until they fell around her shoulders in an unruly brown cloud.

Harry watched her efforts with unconcealed amusement, and when she finally shook her head, free of the last pin, he gave a silent nod, despite the fact that she probably looked an absolute fright.

"That feels so much better," she breathed.

"You look delightfully rumpled." His eyes looked almost black in the shadows, and there was a roughness in his voice that made her spine tingle.

They traveled in silence for a few minutes, then he glanced at her again.

"Do your parents expect you home tonight?"

"No. I told them I'd be staying with Daisy, but you can drop me off at King and Company. I'll put the prayer book in our safe, and sleep on the cot in the back office."

He tilted his head and his gaze burned into her. "Do you really think you'll be able to sleep, after so much excitement? I doubt I will."

Her breath caught. "What are you suggesting?"

"Come back to my house."

She sent him an arch look. "And…?"

"We'll have a drink and inspect our ill-gotten gains." His eyes dropped to her thigh, where the tiny book rested beneath her skirts, and her body tingled. Just the way he looked at her made her heart miss a beat.

His gaze traveled inward, to the wrinkled silk in her lap, then up, over the exposed skin of her chest, lingering in the shadowed cleft between her breasts, and a dull, aching throb pulsed between her legs.

She wasn't naive. Harry wasn't simply inviting her in for a nightcap. If she said yes, she'd be tacitly agreeing to so much more.

If he kissed her again, she'd kiss him back—willingly.

And if he wanted to do more than kissing, well… she wanted that too.

She wanted him .

"And after that?" she asked softly.

His brows rose. "I'll show you how to run three-card monte, if you like. In case you change your mind about pursuing a life of crime."

"It never hurts to have a backup plan." Her voice sounded scratchy, hoarse. "Will you take me back to Lincoln's Inn Fields after that?"

The look in his eyes made her stomach somersault.

"If that's what you want. But, Ellie, if you still weren't sleepy… then I suppose I could kiss you."

Her pulse stuttered, but she couldn't resist teasing him. "To pass the time? Or because your kisses make ladies want to go to sleep?"

He raised his brows. "Did you feel remotely sleepy when I kissed you earlier?"

She bit her lip. "No."

"I didn't think so." He uncrossed his legs. "You could kiss me back. And then I'd strip off that dress you're wearing—the one that's been driving me slowly insane all evening—and I'd do what I've been dreaming of since the first moment I saw you, which is to take you to bed and make love to you until we were both so exhausted, we'd have to sleep."

Her bodice was definitely too tight. He wasn't even touching her, and she felt like she might go up in flames.

"Oh," she managed weakly.

His dimples flashed. "Oh, indeed. So, what's your answer?"