Free Star Crossed Seduction by Jenny Brown Page B

he couldn’t have.
    When the dance was over, he led his nun back to where he had found her and took his leave with a faint bow calculated to make it clear he had no further interest in her. Then, feeling a need for refreshment, he turned toward the farther end of the ballroom, where a table of dainties had been set out for the dancers.
    The youth dressed as a highwayman was headed that way, too, pushing through the crowd of men intent on filling their glasses with the cheap wine included in the price of admission. He moved with a sinuous grace that put Trev on the alert. This was how he felt when he was on reconnaissance, just a few moments before he became aware of an actual threat.
    He wondered what had awakened his instincts, then he got his answer. The highwayman’s hand moved with an economy of motion that would have escaped Trev’s notice had he not been on high alert, but he was, so he saw how it darted toward the back pocket of a heavyset man dressed in a judge’s robes and extracted a lacy pocket handkerchief, which disappeared instantaneously into the youth’s own pocket.
    Trev glided toward him, taking care to stay behind him and change direction now and then so that, to an onlooker, he would appear to be moving randomly. He was starting to enjoy himself. He’d missed the feeling that possessed him now as he used his mind and body to do what he did so well. And as he observed the youth employing his carefully honed skills, his excitement grew. His own skills were better.
    The youth’s hand brushed against the coat of a man encumbered with the oversized lancet that proclaimed him a quack doctor. He’d tried to make it look like an accident. But he’d failed. Trev’s hand shot out and grasped the youth’s wrist. His quarry whipped around, vainly trying to hide the glittering object in his hand. Behind his mask, his eyes were wide with emotion.
    “Put it back,” Trev said.
    The youth’s lips clamped down hard. “Don’t know whatcher on about, Guv,” he rasped, in an unconvincing imitation of a Cockney accent.
    “I saved you once. I won’t do it again.”
    A deep flush rose along the swanlike neck. His instincts had been correct. And there was that mole, clearly visible at the opening of the highwayman’s ruffled shirt.
    “I must thank you for making it easy to find you. I was at a loss as to how I’d do it in this crush. But now that we have met, you can put back the gentleman’s watch. And the other man’s handkerchief.”
    Her eyes were the color of thunderheads just before a storm. They locked onto his, probing him, sending a jolt of desire through his loins. After a drawn-out pause, her hand went limp. She knew he wasn’t fooling.
    In a low whisper, he said, “When you’ve restored your takings to their owners, meet me over there—by that alcove.”
    “And if I won’t?”
    “Then I keep your locket.”
    She bit her lip. It reddened, further stimulating his desire. He could see the thoughts go through her mind as she calculated the possibilities open to her.
    At length, she said, “Let me go, then. Can’t do nothing ’til you do.”
    He released her wrist and stepped back though he kept her in view in case she intended to run away again. It would be harder for her to replace the stolen goods than it had been to extract them, but he’d seen enough to trust she had the skills.
    To give her cover, he made a show of extracting a long pipe from one pocket and waved it around in what a Londoner might think was an oriental fashion. It would give anyone watching something to divert their attention. He didn’t like sending her to do something so dangerous, but he had no choice. He must show her who would be in command this time, and make it clear to her—and himself—that he wasn’t going to be making a habit of aiding her in crime.
    After a decent interval, he headed to the alcove. After a longer wait, she followed him in. He wished he wasn’t so delighted at finding her again. The