Star Crossed Seduction (7 page)

“I don’t want your heart.”

Something dropped out of the bottom of her stomach. “What do you want?” she whispered.

His indigo eyes met hers, frank and hiding nothing, though she had not the courage to explore them. She dropped her gaze.

“A woman whose passions are strong enough to meet mine,” he said. “A woman who doesn’t need me but who wants me. For a little while. A very little while.”

“A night?”
What was she negotiating
?

“Perhaps, or a week. At most a month. I can offer nothing more. I’m to be married this summer, and I won’t shame my wife by breaking my vows.”

She sneered. “How noble of you to offer me your body when you’ve already given your heart to your chosen bride.”

“I have chosen no bride,” he said. “Nor do I look forward to doing so. I marry to fulfill my obligations to my family, and have no more wish to give my heart to a bride than I do to you. But whoever she turns out to be, you may take comfort from knowing she is not likely to please me nearly as much as you could.”

She had never heard a man speak this way. They all promised her more—far more—though they were always lying.

This man wasn’t lying. Strange as his words were, he spoke the truth. His voice dropped, and he raised his forefinger to his ruined mouth, stroking the edge of the scar. His tongue flicked out, echoing her earlier seductive gesture.

“But it needn’t be you,” he said dismissively. “Indeed, it’s perhaps best if it isn’t you. Your lack of self-control doesn’t bode well.”

Her lack of self-control? She prided herself upon it. She opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. Don’t let him see that he’d struck a nerve. He already had far too much power over her.

“The handkerchief,” he reminded her. “And the watch.”

“I chose to take them for a good reason. I could stop if I wanted.”

“I wonder if you could. It would make all the difference.”

In what? What did this man want from her? Why did he make her feel as if she’d been thrown into the sea and was struggling to keep her head above the water?

“It’s no concern of yours what I choose to do,” she said. “I came only to retrieve the locket. It’s the only thing I have to remind me of my beloved.”

“What would you give me for restoring it to you?”

How little would he settle for? “A kiss?”

“Now?” He drew closer, enveloping her in the spicy scent of his costume and the subtle musk of his body. Then he glanced down at her breeches, letting his glance linger just a bit too long on her crotch.

“You’re dressed as a boy,” he said.

“Does that disturb you?”

“Was it supposed to?” His eyebrows rose. “Would it excite you more if it did?”

His question startled her. She had dressed as a boy for safety, to keep from being recognized if the Watch was still hunting for her—and to make it harder for him to discover her. She had wanted to be in control of the situation when she revealed herself to him. But had that been all there was to it?

Had she also chosen the boy’s outfit to excite him with its hint of perversity? Her hand tightened into a fist, despite herself. She had known what he would want of her and that her choice of disguise would make it more exciting.

Mercifully, he did not press her for an answer but merely gave his own. “Transgression may add something to the strength of a man’s passion—a certain kind of man’s. But I need no pepper to stimulate me. And I know full well you are a woman.”

“These others don’t.” She gestured toward the crowd. “It’s a crime for a man to embrace a boy.”

“It’s a crime to pick pockets,” he said. “And it would be a crime, too, not to kiss you.”

I
n the bright glow of the candles she was even more beautiful than he remembered. His hope that confronting her again would free him of his desire for her had been a dangerous delusion. Her skin was flawless, her lips so red, her tongue so pink. But it was her eyes, so defiant and tempting, that made her irresistible. There were women all around him with stronger curves and larger breasts, but the complexity of her nature—her mix of perverseness, honesty, and alertness—that he would find nowhere else.

She was daring him now. She had taken a step closer, her lips parted. Her small, even teeth were sparkling white, and the moisture on her mouth’s inner surface was exceptionally alluring. She knew exactly how much he wanted her, aware, as only a beautiful woman could be, of the power of her beauty and, as only an experienced woman could be, of the tricks that might inflame him.

But to give in to her blatant seduction would be to lose her. He must make her want him as much as he wanted her before he could take what she was pretending to offer. He must hold back and fan the faint spark of need he had aroused in her until it flared into a flame. He must not let himself be seduced but tease and tempt her. He must play the same game she played with him better than she played it—though she played it so very skillfully.

He bent over her lips to deliver his answer to their invitation, allowing himself to take a single kiss. As their tongues met, he inhaled the scent of oranges. He clasped her in his arms. Her small firm breasts flattened as he crushed them against the thin silk of his Mughal shirt. With his other arm, he reached down to grasp her rump, so scandalously clothed in a man’s breeches. She thrust her hips against him to excite him further. And yet, for all that she was employing seductive wiles, she was not unmoved herself. She had meant to stay in control, but the hunger he was arousing in her confused her.

Good.

Brutally, he terminated the kiss and pushed her away. She gasped, her breathing coming harsh and fast.

“We are in character, are we not?” he taunted her. “The love of the potentates of the East for beautiful boys is well known. But I tire of the masquerade.”

At the coldness in his voice, she flinched. She’d thought it would be easy to master him again, but it was dawning on her that he wasn’t as gullible as she’d hoped. This time, he wouldn’t let her play on his lust as she had in their first meeting. He gave her a moment to contemplate her failure.

She rebounded quickly. “Give me the locket,” she said. “You know what it means to me. A man of honor would return it to me out of respect for that.”

“Why should I defend my honor to you, a thief, and a woman who kisses strange men—though most deliciously?”

Her shoulders sagged. He’d won this round. Relenting, he added, “But I will give you your locket back.”

She held out her hand, in a gesture surprisingly childlike, as if she were waiting for a sweet. She looked so obscenely young in that instant, he couldn’t help but ask, “Were you telling the truth when you said you were just eighteen?”

“Of course. I always tell the truth—when I can.”

So very young.
Her air of sophistication had made him think she was lying about her age that first night. But he believed her now and felt a twinge at having played so roughly with her. Perhaps she was not up to his weight, after all, despite her willingness to engage with him in combat.

In a gentler voice, he said, “I would gladly give you back your locket, but, alas, I feared that once you had it, you would flee as you did before. I didn’t want to lose you that quickly, so I didn’t bring it. I regret my stratagem. Now that I know why you value it, I should like to restore it to you.”

A calculating look came into her eyes. “Bring it to me tonight, then. Where I live. You’ll be well rewarded.” She stroked his stubbled cheek, her message as unmistakable as was her duplicity.

“Alas, it must be tomorrow,” he countered. “At noon.” He would not risk becoming the victim of some bully in a dark alley. She calculated her next move, swiftly, and said, “Noon, then.”

“And your direction?”

She gave him an address in a neighborhood he recognized as being made up mostly of the ancient homes of nobility. What was she doing there? She was clearly not a servant, and there was only one other reason why a woman of her sort might dwell in such a neighborhood—an association with one of the more discreet bagnios, mixed in among the noble homes, that catered to the needs of wealthy men. He had not taken her for that kind of woman, but he had made more than one mistake so far in his evaluation of her.

“How did you come to dwell in such a neighborhood?” he asked. “Are you under the protection of an abbess?”

A furtive look crossed her face. “I removed there since we first met.”

Was his new supposition right? “Whose house is it?”

“A woman as goes by the name Lady Lightning.”

What a name for a bawd! The girl must have fled to her for protection after he had almost taken her there on the street. Perhaps she hoped that, with such backing, she might wrest more profit from her next encounter with him.

If so, she had made a clever move, for whatever she was, he could not resist her.

“I shall be there at noon,” he said. “Don’t disappoint me. If I don’t find you then, that will be an end to the matter, and you won’t get your locket back.”

“Don’t disappoint
me,
cully,” she countered. “I’ll be waiting for you. And when you bring me my locket, you won’t be disappointed. You’ll get your reward.”

“I’ll be a good boy until then,” he said. Adding to himself,
And then I shall have cake.

The crafty look she gave him in response made him glad he had remembered why he must not trust.

She took a step closer to him, confident now that she had achieved her objective, hoping to seal her victory with the kiss that would draw him deeper into her toils. For a moment, he contemplated giving in to her and drawing her into another intoxicating embrace. Why wait until tomorrow if he could have her now, tonight?

But he remembered why as her long, strong fingers, so skilled at removing valuables from the pockets of the unwary, reached toward the thin silk of his shirtfront and touched him lightly, making gooseflesh rise. Best to find out first what this adventure was likely to cost him before he allowed her to enchant him further. If she were under the protection of a high-class madam, it could be a lot.

He pulled away. “Tomorrow then,” he said, turning on his heel and striding off, leaving her behind in the alcove, openmouthed.

The evening had gone well. This time, she was the one left all a-tingle. Let her wonder how much desire she had roused in him and spend her morning worrying if he’d show up. He’d held his own with her and kept things manageable. Tomorrow, he would have her and be done with her. It would be a relief when it was over.

But it wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot.

Chapter 6

H
e was a cheeky bastard, and too clever by half. Temperance’s body was still tingling with the craving he’d aroused in her. But he’d bested her this time, turning on his heel that way and dashing for the exit. He was a quick study, just like her. She had to admire how he’d got back at her for the way she’d left him standing at attention there in the alley. A fine sight she must have been when he took off just now, leaving her puckered up, as hot for him as a bitch in heat.

It would have been funny if it weren’t so disturbing. Once again he’d made her forget everything but the magic of his kiss. Made her betray Randall. Made her want to throw herself at him and cling to him and let him carry her away, just as he’d done when he’d dragged her away from the brutal shoemaker. He was so strong. So resolute. So impossible to dominate.

But he wouldn’t be carrying her away anytime soon. She’d made sure of that. She might be weak and lustful, but she would be damned if she’d turn herself into the whore he took her for. At the last moment, she’d seen how she could keep herself from giving in to him, and in a way, too, that didn’t depend on the strength of her own resolution.

When he came after her tomorrow at the Refuge, all cock-swollen, thinking he’d be meeting her in a fine bawdy ken, Matron would send him packing. With luck, there’d be some way to get her locket back, first. She hoped so. But even if she couldn’t, her latest trick should ensure he’d leave her alone in the future, and she’d no longer have to fight the shameful urges he aroused in her. That couldn’t happen too soon.

It was only then that she noticed the ring of bystanders who had gathered at a polite distance, their smirks making it clear how much they’d enjoyed watching a lusty boy embrace a man in public. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. But, of course, that had been the point, to make folk watch. She’d thought their scrutiny would keep her safe from the captain if he had plans to harm her. But all that had gone out of her head when she’d found herself once again confronted with his sheer animal magnetism.

She let out a slow breath, recovering her poise. She must never underestimate him. He hadn’t repeated the mistakes he’d made that first time, tonight. He was as fly as she was. And the way he had crept up on her and stopped her with her hand half out of the flat’s pocket, just after she’d nimmed his ticker—he was good. Too good. He’d been alert to her tricks, too, here in the alcove. It would be tough to put one over on him again. She’d have to keep on her toes.

But why was she thinking like that? He’d come tomorrow. Matron would send him packing, and that would be the last she’d ever see of him. Good riddance to him. He was a magnificent male animal, to be sure, but she must never forget he was an enemy who served their tyrant king. And she didn’t like the way his mind penetrated through the clouds of confusion she wrapped around herself and pierced them like a beacon shining through the London fog.

She tied on her mask again, so she could rejoin the revelers. She was tempted to have another go at a pocket or two but thought better of it. The captain might have lingered, and she didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d been speaking the truth about turning her in if he were to catch her at it again.

As she squared her shoulders and launched out from the shelter of the alcove, more than one man sent a speculative glance her way, wanting a piece of what they’d seen the pretty boy offer the sultan. Tough luck for them. Some women showed interest in her, too. She ignored them all. How pathetic it was how people let themselves be led about by
that
.

She’d almost reached the other side of the assembly room when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder. She wheeled around, expecting it to be some twiddlepoop hoping to get his yard stroked, but stopped dead when she saw who it was.

Snake.
Though he was masked and wore the same monk’s costume as twenty other revelers, it could be no one else but him. No one else would have pinched her shoulder that hard. And it was just like Snake to choose the dullest costume. He’d have worn a cloak of invisibility had it been possible to buy one off the old-clothes man. He was a master at keeping himself hidden until he wanted to reveal himself, and when he did, he was like smoke, or a bad smell, arising suddenly without warning and so hard to get rid of.

She took a deep breath, hoping he hadn’t come to collect the payment she still owed his master, the Weaver. She had a few shillings left from what Lady Hartwood had given her, but that wouldn’t be enough.

As if reading her thoughts, Snake said, “A bit late with the grease, moll.” He spoke with a lisp, having had his tongue nicked in punishment for something long ago. “The Weaver’s not happy about that.” He gave her a moment to let his words sink in. “But you could still make the Weaver happy now that you’ve stumbled into a bit of luck.”

So Danny wasn’t the only one who had heard of her good fortune. Time to set Snake right about that. “If it’s Her Ladyship you refer to, she won’t be putting up with the likes of me much longer.”

“That ain’t the luck I was referrin’ to, moll. It’s the prancer.”
The dragoon
. “Looks like he’d be happy to put up with the likes of you for as long as you let him.”

“Which is no time at all. You know I’m not on the game.”

“So you’re putting it out for free, then. Shortsighted, but no business of mine. But the Weaver has his eye on the prancer, and being as the cove’s fond of you, we could use you. We’ll forget about the grease if you take on a little job.”

“I want no part of any of the Weaver’s jobs. Everyone knows he does the king’s dirty work.”

“Keep yer clapper shut!” Snake brought a finger to his lips. “ ’Tain’t safe to mention such things. But ’tain’t safe neither to refuse the Weaver when there’s work to be done. You know that, Tem.”

“I know more than I want to know about the Weaver. And I’m not doing no job for him.”

“Your Randall weren’t too fine to put his hand to the task from time to time.”

“How can you dirty his name with such an accusation when he’s dead and can’t defend himself?”

Snake’s brows shot up. “Died, did he? I’m that sorry to hear it.” His features arranged themselves in a somber expression. “He were a good ’un, Randall. How’d he go? I hadn’t heard
Lady Lucy
’d gone down. Or did it happen after he got to America?”

America?
Her heart stopped. “What are you talking about? Randall was murdered in London after the Cato Street Conspirators were betrayed. A cursed dragoon shot him and threw his body into the river.”

“Don’t know who told you that, but I drove him down to Portsmouth meself the day after they nobbled the conspirators. I saw him board
Lady Lucy.
He got off safely.”

Ice ran in her veins. “Lady Lucy?” she demanded. “Who’s she?” she said, keeping her voice unnaturally steady.

Snake looked surprised. “Not who, but what. She’s a tea clipper out of Boston.”

The room spun. She struggled to breathe and fought the lump rising in her throat. No tears. She couldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not with people watching. And not in front of Snake.

But it couldn’t be true. Snake was lying to get her to do his master’s bidding. He must be. But
Lady Lucy
had been one of the names written on the list Becky had shown her. Those names etched into her brain as if by acid. Could Randall really be alive and safe in America?

She advanced on Snake. “Why would Randall have turned to you for help when the conspiracy failed? Everyone knows you’re the Weaver’s man.”

“Who else would he turn to, moll? The Weaver looks after his own, and after the bang-up job Randall did for him that night, he’d have trusted his safety to no one but me.”

“Randall wasn’t working for the Weaver. The Weaver serves the king. He was fighting for liberty against the king and his government. ”

Snake looked at her as if she were an imbecile child. “You’ll spin a hempen necklace for yerself if you keep clacking on ’bout things no one should gab about. ’Twas your Randall betrayed the conspirators—and he was well paid to do it. But enough jawing. Be at the usual place tomorrow, and you’ll learn what the Weaver has in mind for you.”

“I won’t do it,” she managed to choke out. “There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

“If that’s your decision, I wouldn’t want to change it. There’s plenty of others who would be happy to have a chance to serve the Weaver. I was doing you a favor, I was, in asking you, though it looks like I wasted my breath But I’d watch my step now if I was you, moll. It don’t pay to displease the Weaver, not when he’s already at the end of his patience with you. Turn down this job, and you’d better say good-bye to the prancer right quick. Stick with him, and I don’t give it a month till they drag
you
out of the river.”

I
t was late when she got back to the Refuge. The household was sound asleep, but she pounded loudly on the door, throwing her whole weight behind each blow and finding release in the pain that shot up her arms. She didn’t care if she woke the whole neighborhood. When the groggy porter let her in, she rushed up the stairs to Becky’s room. The gibbous moon showed the girl’s thin form curled up on her bed. Temperance flung herself toward her, grabbed a hank of her hair, and tugged it to force her awake.

“Cor blimey, Tem, what’s up?” Becky cried in a harsh whisper. “ ’Tis the middle of the night!”

“I don’t care if it’s the middle of your funeral. Get up and tell me. Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That he was alive.”

“Who?” Becky said, but the look that flitted over her features as she said it told her she
had
known. Temperance felt sick.

“You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

“Well, what if I did?” Becky had sat up and was shaking her head as if to clear it. “No one could tell you anything, not where he was involved. He had you right where he wanted you from the day he first brought you into the gang, fresh from your papa’s mansion, your lips still wet with country cream. I tried to warn you, more than once, ’cause I knew what was coming, but you were too wrapped up in being his flash girl. Well, I’m glad you finally found out—and I’m glad it wasn’t me who had to tell you.” Becky’s voice dropped. “Who was it who did?”

“Snake.”

“Good. He won’t get into trouble for spilling the beans. He’s in good with the Weaver, he is.”

“Did everyone know but me?”

Becky shook her head. “No, just me. I found out when I caught Sukey Cowly trying to steal our last farthings when she was packing her stuff so she could sneak off and join that slubberdegullion the day after he disappeared. I shook the truth out of her and kicked her out.”

“That bitch went with him?”

Becky turned away, unwilling to say any more.

Temperance had thought she couldn’t possibly feel worse, but she’d been wrong. “You could have said something, Beck, instead of letting me go round wearing the willow for the bastard, thinking he’d died a hero’s death. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend. How long do you think you would have lasted if it weren’t for me? You weren’t born on these streets, and though you learned how to patter flash, there’s a lot you’ll never know. Your cradle was too soft. I did what I could to keep you safe. I may be a small, crooked thing; but I know a bit of this and a bit of that, and there’s those who know it’s worth it to keep me sweet. I kept your precious Randall from forcing you onto the game by teaching you how to steal. Otherwise, it would have been Mother Bristwick’s for you as soon as he’d tired of you.”

“He wouldn’t have done that. Whatever he did later, I know he loved me—at least for a while.”

Becky’s eyes were full of pity. “Mother Bristwick offered him twenty pound for you, after you’d been with us that first year. He was tempted until I convinced him you’d earn him more on the prigging lay.”

It took her several moments to get her breath back after that. Could she have really been that blind? The pain that seared her heart gave her the answer. She had wanted so much to believe in him. She’d given up so much to join him. It had been impossible to face the truth.

“He was a charmer,” Becky said, relenting. “You weren’t the only blowen that fell for his rig. And I would ha’ told you he wasn’t dead if I could ha’. But I had no choice about it. You wouldn’t have been safe if you’d known. The Weaver was glad to have you carry on like he was dead as last week’s cod. Your weeping and wailing kept them off the scent—the conspirators he betrayed. The Weaver would have silenced anyone who let you know the truth.”

“So Randall really was working for the Weaver—not for the cause of freedom.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

“There was no blunt to be had, fighting for freedom.”

Temperance threw herself down on the bed, unable to summon the strength to hold herself upright a moment longer. Her friend tried to draw her into a comforting embrace, but she pushed her away. “Does Clary know?”

“No.”

“It better stay that way. Because I’ll tell you this. If you let a word out to anyone else, I’ll go to the beak, I swear it, and tell him about every single thing you ever stole.”