The Taming of the Thief (34 page)

 
   
“Whatever to do you mean?”

 
   
His eyes flashed with irritation as they
narrowed. “I mean the man is trouble. I fear that he is after but one thing in
his pursuit of you.”

 
   
Where was the tact Blackburn was famous for?
Everyone in the ton knew her situation, or thought they knew. It was much worse
than she let people know, otherwise she would never be invited to these
functions. And while everyone attending knew that her brother was drinking away
her inheritance, none of them knew she was so close to living on the street.

 
   
People may gossip about her, but they did
not do it in front of her. Did Blackburn realize he insulted her? Looking at
his serious expression, she thought not. The man actually thought he was
helping.

 
   
She adopted her most innocent look. “What
would that be Mr. Blackburn?”

 
   
His expression blanked as he studied her. “I
beg your pardon. I was led to believe you were somewhat of a...”

 
   
“What, sir?”

 
   
Oh, he did not like being put in the corner,
but she was happy to shove the man there.
The gall of him to
insult her so.
Granted, she was positive Hurst was after her for the
reason Blackburn implied. Though, even that was odd because the viscount could
have his choice of most women of the ton—married and unmarried. Why he would
want the Lady Fionna's bastard daughter who had no dowry and penchant for
books? His pursuit made little sense. But, most men of the ton had little
sense.

 
   
With an aggravated sigh, he maneuvered them
through the French doors out onto the patio. Light from the ballroom spilled
out over them as the cool night air hit her skin, cooling her anger and desire.

 
   
Blackburn hesitated,
then
released her. The dark night surrounded them, the tension in the air rising.
She walked away from him, to the edge of the terrace. “Whyever are we out
here?”

 
   
When he did not answer, she turned to face
him. He placed a hand on each of his hips and frowned at her.
Again.
“Stop playing the simpleton.”

 
   
She blinked. “Playing?”

 
   
“Lord Hurst is not a well man.”

 
   
That was not what she expected to hear. She
dropped all
pretense
. “Not well?”

 
   
He hesitated then said, “There have been
rumors about him.”

 
   
“Indeed. There are rumors about almost every
eligible man here tonight, including
yourself
.”

 
   
He nodded in acknowledgement.  “He has
certain...tastes that would shock you.”

 
   
“Do you mean he frequents the House of Rod?”

 
   
That had his eyebrows rising. “You know of
that?”

 
   
“Why do you think I accepted your dance? I
didn't have to. After eight years in the ton, I am well aware of how men
behave. I know there is something wrong with the viscount.”

 
   
His gaze sharpened. “You do?”

 
   
His intense study suddenly made her very
wary. It was if she were a specimen he was trying to decipher. Blackburn’s
attention filled her with an unusual flash of warmth.

 
   
“Y-yes.
He...well,
he acting just a bit strange.” She could not come up with another way to
describe it.

 
   
“Strange?”

 
   
She nodded. “Quite.”

 
   
He sighed. “Well, thank goodness you have
some sense. Most women swoon over him.”

 
   
“Yes, but as you said, he isn't after my
hand in marriage. Many ladies have set their cap for him.
I
am not one of them.”

 
   
 
“Indeed. I do apologize for my insensitivity.”

 
   
She waved it away. “You are not the first,
and you will not be the last.”

 
   
With a smile, he offered her his arm. “If
you would allow me to walk you back into the ballroom?”

 
   
“Before you do, could you answer one
question?”

 
   
He dropped his arm as his brow furrowed.
“That depends.”

 
   
“I understand you are in the shipping
business.”

 
   
“Yes.”

 
   
She bit back an irritated sigh. He was not
going to make this an easy task. “There have been some questions about the
nature of the shipments.”

 
   
His expression darkened, his eyes narrowing
again as he studied her. As his gaze moved over her face, but she did not allow
her own to waver. Breath clogged her throat; her pulse doubled. 

 
   
“I import many things, Lady Cordelia.” She
opened her mouth to ask another question, but Blackburn took another step
closer. He towered over her, but she did not feel threatened as when other men
did it. She felt…hot. Her whole body shimmered with heat.

 
   
“My company is known for its fine silks. I
understand they are in demand by many ladies. Have you ever felt truly fine
silk?”

 
   
She could not answer. His voice had dipped
lower, caressing her like the fine silk he spoke of. Cordelia knew she should
step back, but she could not make her feet move. He inched closer, his legs now
brushing the front of her dress.

 
   
When she did not answer, Blackburn
continued, leaning down to place his hand on the stone wall behind her. He was
now much closer than propriety allowed, and her heart threatened to beat from
her chest.

 
   
 
“Fine
silk slides against flesh,” he murmured.

 
   
His breath heated her earlobe. Cordelia
pulled in a deep breath trying to regain her wits. But her breasts brushed
against his chest and tingles shot through her body like shooting stars.

 
   
 
She
shook her head. Other questions swirled in her brain, and she knew that
Blackburn was trying to divert her attention. Her body did not care. Need
coursed through her veins, urging her to move closer, into Blackburn’s heat.

 
   
At that moment, a group of younger people
came out laughing and talking, their excitement of the season easily heard in
their voices. Blackburn’s head whipped around, and a growl rumbled in his
chest. For a moment, she thought he might attack them.

 
   
“Mr. Blackburn.”

 
   
She whispered the words as not to gain the
others attention. He hesitated,
then
looked down
her.  Fierce hunger darkened his eyes. Cordelia was not sure he even heard
her, but a moment later, his expression
blanked,
the
harsh lines of his face smoothing.  He drew in a deep breath, then stepped
back, the cool night air replacing his heat. She shivered as goose bumps rose
over her flesh. Cordelia should be thankful he had pulled back in time. With
her background, she had to be careful. There was always a chance that she would
step over the line. And at that point, her invitations would stop and she
needed them to earn money.

 
   
He offered her arm once again. “May I escort
you back to the ballroom, Lady Cordelia?” He pitched his voice just loud enough
for the group to hear.

 
   
She nodded, laying her hand on his arm. “I
do thank you sir for your help. Hurst is a nuisance and I could have deflected
him. Your help just made it much easier.”

 
   
He guided her over to a group of matrons. “I
trust you will be able to avoid him in the future.”

 
   
It was not a question, but an order.
Odd, because, before tonight, she had barely spoken to him.
She sent him a sharp stare to tell them man he had overstepped his bounds.
Little shock that he ignored her.

 
   
Instead, he bowed and, loud enough for a
group of nearby matrons to hear, he said, “Thank you for the dance, Lady
Cordelia.”

 
   
She had been in his company for the last
five minutes and had yet to ask him more than one question about his finances.
As she stared at him, that eyebrow of his rose again. Mr. Blackburn knew she
had questions for him…which was why he had avoided her for days. Now that he
was dumping her with the matrons, she had no way of asking them. She was
stuck—and he knew it.

 
   
She offered him a smile she reserved for the
most vapid of young misses. “You are most welcome, Mr. Blackburn.”

 
   
His lips twitched as if he repressed a
smile. After a nod to the matrons—watching the whole scene as if they were at
the theater—he turned and walked away.

 
   
And Cordelia cursed herself again. She still
didn’t know if the man earned his money legally or not. She thought back to the
dance, the way his body pressed against hers, the heat she saw in his eyes and
sighed. She had to learn how to keep her wits about her the next time she
encountered Mr. Blackburn.

 
   
Her livelihood depended on it.

*

 
   
“You look ready to faint, Blackburn,”
Grayson, Duke of Nothingham said, amusement threading his voice. “Done in by a
little mouse of a woman?”

 
   
Nico threw him what he hoped was a nasty
look and grabbed a drink as a waiter passed by him. Bloody hell, his hand was
shaking.  “You are treading on thin ice.”

 
   
“I've never known Lady Cordelia to have this
affect on anyone but Hurst, and seriously, I cannot understand why he is
interested.”

 
   
Without knowing or caring what the drink
was, Nico tossed back the contents in one huge gulp, wincing as the warm
lemonade slid down his throat. God, he needed to get out of there, find a woman.
The moment he thought it, he caught sight of Lady Cordelia. His body responded
as if he’d been struck by lightning.

 
   
“So, tell me, how did Lady Cordelia ensnare
you? Was it her modest gown, or her discussion on anything political?”

 
   
How could he explain it? Not once in society
had he come so close to losing control. How could one petite, blue-eyed miss
have brought him so close to the edge? Even now he had to grind his teeth
together to keep his incisors from descending. He had been moments from taking
her, and she would not have resisted. It was in her makeup to respond to
him—even if she did not understand. His plan to divert her attention had gone
horribly awry.  Even now, he could remember the feel of her hardened
nipples as they lightly brushed his chest.

 
   
Damn! He pulled his attention away from Lady
Cordelia and back to Gray who was now studying Nico with enjoyment.

 
   
“She's a Carrier.”

 
   
Gray's face lost all emotion, his body
turning to stone. “You must be mistaken. I know every Born in the ton. She is
not one.”

 
   
Nico glanced around looking to see if anyone
had overheard and realized that the only attention they had were from eligible
young women across the floor. With a sigh, he motioned with his head and
turned, not even waiting to see if Gray followed. Nico knew the duke would. He
found the library easily, and was relieved to discover it empty. Gray shut the
door quietly and leaned against it.

 
   
“Do you really think she is a Carrier?”

 
   
“I don't think. I know. At age five hundred,
I think I know the difference between a Carrier and a normal human female.”