The Secret Life of Lady Julia (23 page)

The pain returned, like hitting the cold water at the bottom of the well, bringing with it the regret, the guilt. She tore her eyes from his. “He—died.”

She glanced up as a flicker passed over his face. Horror, perhaps, or was it merely pity? She didn’t want his pity. Anger flared.

“And you, Mr. Merritt, were you a thief even then?”

He smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid so. I was hoping to steal your mother’s tiara that night.”

She felt something snap inside, a thread of hope, perhaps. He hadn’t cared a whit for her, not while he danced with her and flattered her, not when he kissed her, and not when he made love to her in her father’s library. And in the park, when he rescued her, made her feel feminine and beautiful? Just part of the ruse, no doubt.

“I see,” she said coldly. “You said you came to steal Lady Castlereagh’s tiara too. Do you specialize in tiaras?”

He looked appreciative of the jest. “I got neither one. I’m sure if you ask your mother, she will confirm that her jewels are exactly where she left them, as are Lady Castlereagh’s.”

Ask her mother?
“That would make you the worst thief in Christendom!” she said, her heart sinking. She had promised Lord Castlereagh he could— Oh, no.

“And beyond,” he agreed easily. “How did you end up in Vienna?”

Julia blinked at the question. “I—I came with the embassy.”

“Why?” he shot back.

“I wanted an adventure.” It was partly true. That adventure that started the moment she laid eyes on him in her father’s ballroom.

“An adventure,” he drawled. “With—” He jerked his head toward the door. “What
is
Ives to you? A replacement for Dull Duke David?”

Indignation closed her throat, kept her from a tart reply. “Major Lord Ives is a gentleman and a diplomat,” she said, telling him nothing at all that he didn’t know.

He smiled at her again, a mocking smile, touched with a little sadness. He raised his hand to touch her again, but she moved out of reach, and he dropped his hand. “Not a thief. Whatever he is to you, he’s a lucky son of a—”

She gasped at the jangle of the keys and turned to look at the door. Stephen entered.

“Here you are. I was looking for you,” he said, and glanced suspiciously at Thomas Merritt. “What are you—”

“I was hoping you were the footman with tea,” Thomas quipped, distracting him, rescuing her once again, stepping in front of her, blocking Stephen’s view of her flushed face so she could compose herself. “Might I have some stale bread and moldy cheese, at least, or whatever it is you feed condemned prisoners here?”

Stephen smiled coolly at him. “You’re not condemned, Mr. Merritt. In fact, you’re about to be offered a reprieve. I suggest you take it.”

Thomas raked her with a glance, then turned back to Stephen. “What the devil does that mean?”

“Sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”

T
homas stared at them as if they were mad. Julia was perched on the very edge of the settee across from him, her lower lip caught between her teeth, nervous, unsure of his response to the odd—and dangerous—request. Only it wasn’t a request at all. Ives’s cold glare dared him to refuse the proposition, hoped he would.

Thomas sat forward. “You want me to break into the Kaunitz Palace, the most carefully guarded building in this city, and steal some papers?” No one moved. “And if I won’t do it?”

“You’ll hang,” Ives said pleasantly. Thomas waited for more. “Surely this is not a difficult proposition. You’re a thief. We have something that requires stealing.”

Thomas felt Julia’s gaze on him like a touch. His fingers still burned from touching her cheek. “Have you no patriotism?” she asked.

He laughed at that. “Patriotism? England has hardly been a friend to me.”

“Do you believe in nothing, then?” she said softly.

“I believe in preserving my own skin.” She looked at him as if she suspected that wasn’t true at all, knew it in her heart. He frowned at her, but she held his eyes steadily, giving him no choice.

Stephen Ives got to his feet, began to pace. “This is pointless. Will you do it or not?”

Julia didn’t look away, and Thomas held her gaze. This was a fool’s errand, certain to get him killed. And yet how could he say no? “I have conditions of my own,” he said instead.

Ives stopped pacing. “
Conditions?
Isn’t letting you live enough?”

“You’ll have a full pardon,” Julia said. “You could, if you wished, go back to England.”

He laughed again. “No, thank you.” When had Julia become a spy? She was good at it. He hadn’t suspected a thing until she breathlessly outlined her plan. He felt a surge of admiration. She wasn’t the blushing debutante now. She’d grown up since he last saw her, and he wondered again what the hell had happened to her, and how she’d ended up here, with Ives.

“What conditions?” she asked. He read the fear in her eyes, at what he might ask.

“Freedom, first of all,” he said. He watched her shoulders drop a little with relief. “I wish to return to my own lodgings, comfortable though your dungeon might be. You have my word—if you meet the rest of my conditions—that I will not try to flee.”

Julia nodded agreement, but Stephen Ives shook his head. “I’d be a fool to agree to that. You’re a thief, Merritt. Why should I trust you?” he demanded.

Thomas shrugged. “Then I’ll stay here, but I want a room on the second floor, a bedroom with a sitting room, and . . .” He slid his eyes ever so slightly toward Julia, and watched Stephen Ives turn purple. Ives did not want him anywhere near Julia.

“You may remain in your own lodgings, but under guard,” Ives said stiffly.

“That is my second condition,” Thomas said. “No guards.”

Ives snorted. “You have a very long list of demands for a condemned criminal.”

“ ‘Condemned’ being the important word,” Thomas said. “This job could get me killed. You might decide to hang me anyway once the documents are retrieved and the job is done.”

“Major Lord Ives is an honorable man,” Julia objected, but one glance at Ives’s dark scowl, and Thomas knew he’d gladly betray this agreement—even go so far as to hang him personally. For Ives, this was entirely about Julia, he realized.

He wondered if Ives knew what had occurred between himself and Julia. Would she have told him? Pillow talk, perhaps. Apparently she did not know Ives as well as she thought. Under his shining, righteous honor, jealousy made Stephen Ives as ruthless as any other man. He felt a frisson of his own jealousy.

“I want Castlereagh’s Order of the Garter star.”

Julia gasped, and Stephen gaped at him. “If you can’t steal it, you expect me to hand it over to you?” Ives demanded.

“Why?” Julia asked. “You could never sell such a thing.”

He raised one eyebrow, surprised that she knew that. Her lips parted and she blushed at the gesture, looked away. Now what did
that
mean? “Call it part of my reward for contributing to the successful conclusion of peace in His Majesty’s favor, if you wish.”

“Anything else?” Ives asked sarcastically. “The Crown jewels, perhaps?”

A large ruby on a gold chain might help, he was tempted to say. “Money,” he said instead. “Enough to leave Vienna and go where I wish when this is done.” If he rescued Donovan, he’d dismiss him, send him home with the price of a horse farm in his pocket.
If . . .

He watched Julia frown at the crass demand. What did she expect from a man she was hiring to steal? “I want all of this in writing,” he said.

Ives folded his arms. “Impossible. This is a secret mission, Merritt, and time is of the essence. We cannot simply draw up a formal agreement.”

“Then I will take your vowel, Major, since you are a gentleman.”

Ives looked surprised, but Thomas let him read the fact that he didn’t really care if they hanged him or not.

“Agreed.” He watched Stephen Ives cross to the desk to find a piece of paper.

“Money and a souvenir,” Julia said softly. “I had not imagined it would be so cheap a price.”

Damn her. She had no right to mock him, look down on him. Anyone else, but not her, not now that he’d agreed. He wouldn’t have, except for her.

“Ah, but there is one more condition, this one just between you and me.”

He watched her throat bob, and the smugness went out of her hazel eyes. She glanced at Ives, but he was all the way across the room. “What?” she asked in a husky whisper, but she knew. He could read it in her eyes, fear—and desire too.

“You. One more night together.”

She shut her eyes. “I cannot—”

Ives was coming back. “Say yes, or I shall tear up the vowel,” Thomas whispered.

“Why?” she pleaded.

He wanted to step over the tea table that separated them, take her into his arms and show her why. She felt it too, the unfinished desire between them. She stared at him, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted, and he stifled a groan and curled his hand on his knee, almost wishing he hadn’t said it.

“Do you agree or not?” he asked.

She sent him a desperate, wordless plea as Ives arrived behind her, but he held her gaze, his desire naked in his eyes.

“Here you are,” Ives said. “But if you betray me, I will hunt you down and put a bullet in your brain, is that clear?”

He didn’t even glance at Ives as he took the note, held it between his fingers, daring her to refuse.

At last she nodded, an almost imperceptible jerk of her head.

He put the vowel into his pocket and rose to his feet. “We’re done here, then. I shall return tomorrow night,” he said, and strode toward the door.

One more night. One more chance to hold her, touch her skin. If, of course, he survived breaking into the French Embassy and stealing secret documents. Could he do it?

For one more night with Julia, he would break into hell itself and come back alive.

Chapter 37

J
ulia couldn’t breathe. She watched Thomas leave the room, the house, without a backward glance.

He wouldn’t hold her to it, surely. It was just a game.

“My God, he’s cocky. He won’t hold us to any of those agreements,” Stephen said. Julia turned to look at him.

“What?” Surely he didn’t mean to hang Thomas Merritt anyway, even if he succeeded? The look on his face spoke of hatred. It made her shiver.

The door opened again, and Julia’s heart leapt into her throat, but it was Dorothea, not Thomas.

“Ah, there you are. I met your Mr. Merritt on his way out.”

“He’s not my Mr. Merritt,” Julia said.

“Well, your housebreaker,” Dorothea said. “He’s charming. He reminds me of someone, though. I wonder if we’ve met before?”

Stephen sniffed. “He hardly travels in the same circles you do, Doe.”

“But Julia knew him in London,” she said. “Perhaps I met him too.”

“That’s quite impossible. Anyway, he won’t be in Vienna much longer,” Stephen said.

“Then I’m glad I invited him to dine with us tomorrow evening,” Dorothea said. “To thank him for his kindness in returning my watch. He accepted.”

“What?” Stephen gaped at his sister.

“I think I will ask Peter to join us as well.”

She turned to Julia. “The afternoon has turned sunny, and the snow is almost gone. Mrs. Hawes is preparing Jamie for his walk, and I thought I’d go along for some fresh air. Would you like to come too? You look rather flushed. Are you well?”

“This room is—rather warm,” Julia managed. Dorothea had never shown the slightest interest in walking Jamie in the past. Why now?

She went upstairs to get her bonnet and gloves. Mrs. Hawes was wrapping Jamie in shawls and blankets, and Dorothea looked on, laughing, and bent over to tie his bonnet herself.

“Oh, Julia, he’s a lovely child. He
is
strong, isn’t he?” Julia caught a flash of sadness in her eyes.

“Of course he is,” Julia said, looking at her son’s rosy cheeks. He had Thomas Merritt’s eyes, her own snub nose. She drew a shaky breath.

“Life is so fragile, isn’t it?” Dorothea said, then smiled. “All the more reason to enjoy every moment, don’t you think?”

Julia stared at her, but her eyes were on Jamie, bright with unshed tears. Jamie cooed, and Dorothea laughed, the tears disappearing. “I feel so happy today!”

Chapter 38

P
rincess Kostova’s footman was waiting for Thomas at his lodgings. Katerina didn’t bother with notes—she sent servants to recite her invitations.

The man snapped to attention and bowed as Thomas approached him, waiting on the steps, and carefully delivered his memorized message. “Her Highness wishes to inform you that her—no,
our
—dear friend the Prince de Ligne is ill, and a visit from you would cheer him considerably. Will you come? I am to wait for your answer, and remind you that he is a very old gentleman, and not strong, and if necessary escort you to his lodgings.”

“You may tell Princess Kostova that I will come,” he said. “But I will need to change my clothes and bathe first.”

The Russian bowed. “I will wait.”

Thomas gave him a few coins. He must already have been waiting in the cold all morning. “Go and get a drink in the tavern. I’ll find my own way to the prince’s lodgings.”

He climbed the stairs to his flat. The place was empty without Donovan’s cheeky presence, and he bathed quickly and did his best to shave himself with a borrowed razor. He stared at his battered face in the mirror. He’d have to make up a story to tell. Katerina would immediately suspect it was another woman, especially since he hadn’t been to see her recently. He’d become so obsessed with the watch that he’d been avoiding her. Every time he saw her, Donovan had expected him to return with her jewels. Thomas began to spend his nights in gaming hells instead of attending her salons and parties, earning enough to cover his expenses without stealing.

He’d never been a very good thief, and now his future depended on it, and that of England, if Julia was to be believed. He had no reason to doubt her. She had told the story of the French ambassador’s blackmail with fear in her eyes, afraid for her country, perhaps, but there was something else.

If she knew his one and only attempt at housebreaking had ended with him unconscious on her bedroom floor, she’d be afraid indeed. He couldn’t afford to fail this time. Lives hung in the balance, including his own.

He tied his own cravat with less efficiency than Donovan would have and picked up his coat. He’d worn it to break into the embassy, and it still smelled faintly of Julia’s perfume. He held it to his nose, felt a powerful surge of lust that stopped his breath.

Why on earth had he demanded she spend the night with him? He’d been carrying around an obsession for a woman he couldn’t have for too long as it was. If she honored the bargain, it wouldn’t make it better. She belonged with Stephen Ives, an honorable gentleman, a diplomat with a title and a future beyond tomorrow night.

But he’d never felt about any woman the way he did about Julia Leighton. Tomorrow night he’d do his best to break into the French Embassy and steal the documents. His success would gain Stephen Ives recognition, promotion, and Julia would benefit by that—and he’d get to live another day, and hold Julia one more time. If he held her to the agreement, of course.

And beyond that?

He turned away from the mirror.

There was nothing.