Home > The Devil's Thief (The Saint's Devils Book 1)(7)

The Devil's Thief (The Saint's Devils Book 1)(7)
Author: Samantha Kane

He had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the night had taken on a new and exciting thrill, as he pulled away from her kiss to stare at her heavy-lidded eyes. He was the first. The first to taste her, to touch her. The first to make her feel this way.

“Make no mistake, Juliet,” he whispered. “If we don’t stop now, there will be no turning back.” She was his to take care of now. They were beyond the turning point, whether she knew it or not.

She smiled, though it was still a bit uncertain. That smile captured a small piece of him. He wondered how much of himself he would lose to Juliet before the night was through.

“I don’t want to turn back, Alasdair. We made a bargain.” She quickly added, “But I expect you to meet your end of it, too.”

“That is as much as I expected, Juliet,” he assured her, settling deeper between her thighs with a groan, “and I am prepared to make the sacrifice.”

Juliet laughed and Alasdair’s heart skipped a beat. “Then I shall keep the bargain, and accept what you offer,” she said, wrapping him tightly in her embrace.

 

 

Four

 

 

Julianna slipped her shirt back on. She had gathered her clothes and was dressing in the far corner of the bedroom, careful not to wake Alasdair. It had been hard to lie in his arms, forcing herself to stay awake until she was sure he slept soundly. She hadn’t slept the night before worrying over her plan to steal the pearl. And last night…ah, last night.

Even though she had been lecturing herself nonstop for the last few minutes, ever since she’d stolen out of Alasdair’s bed, she couldn’t resist looking at him one more time. The sun was only just peeking over the horizon; the bedroom no more than a shade brighter than it had been when the waning moon was their only light. She could see him better now. See his blond curls against the pristine white of his sheets, the creamy color of his smooth skin just waiting for the sun to warm it. His shoulders looked so broad and muscular, even lying there in repose. She could see freckles on them, and on his arms. She hadn’t noticed them earlier.

He slept so soundly. The sleep of the innocent, she supposed. She hadn’t ever slept like that, it seemed.

Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! / Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest, Julianna thought. But those were Romeo’s lines. Juliet’s were perhaps more appropriate. Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow, / That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

She sighed. She was no Juliet, and Alasdair was not her Romeo. A grim smile crossed her lips. Thank God. Because everyone knew that had ended rather badly.

Julianna took one last glance at her sleeping Romeo before turning toward the window. It was the way she’d arrived. Alasdair had a rather convenient balcony facing the mews, which were still quiet in the early morning. She patted the hidden pocket in her shirt, which still contained the pearl. Then she pushed her hair out of the way and climbed over the railing and shimmied down the post to the grass below. She hadn’t dared to risk searching for her hairpins. But it mattered little. If she was quick, no one would see her with her hair down.

She had only to cross the street, after all.

 

 

“Good morning, Father.”

When she walked into the breakfast room three hours later, Julianna greeted her father in the same manner she did every morning. He was sitting at the head of the table, his spectacles perched on his nose as he sipped his tea, ate his toast, and read the paper.

Her usual morning routine seemed rather surreal to Julianna. All was as it had been the day before. All except her. It was as if her night with Alasdair had never happened, and yet it was one of the most important nights of her life. It was hard to reconcile the two realities.

“Good morning, my dear. Would you care for tea?” He gestured at the footman, but their butler, Handley, was already bringing her a cup. He set it before her and held the teapot with a questioning quirk of his head.

Julianna wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Handley did the same thing every morning, and every morning she nodded politely, just as she was doing now, and then he would pour the tea—yes, just like that. And then he would ask, “Would you care for something to eat, miss?”

“Yes, Handley, thank you.”

He stepped over to the sideboard and took a plate from the footman. It was already heaping with her usual morning fare of toast, eggs, and tomatoes. Julianna could have cried at the sheer monotony of it.

“And what do you have planned for the day, Julianna?” her father asked hopefully. Every day he asked, wishing that she would regale him with plans that included a ride in Hyde Park, and perhaps a shopping excursion to Bond Street with some mindless little horde of marriage-market hopefuls. Really, it was as if the man had forgotten everything about what their life had been like up until his recent marriage to Baroness Linville.

“I have an errand to run,” she said vaguely. She took a sip of tea and set the cup down just as Handley placed her plate in front of her. “Thank you, Handley,” she said with a smile, not willing to forego that particular morning routine. Julianna made a point of thanking everyone, whoever they were, for anything they did.

“You’re welcome, Miss Harte,” Handley replied gravely. He’d learned to say it, or else Julianna would ignore her food and the conversation until he did. She couldn’t wait for the day her stepmother, who hardly acknowledged the servants, inadvertently thanked him and he replied with You’re welcome. Then her life would truly be complete.

Her father was looking at her suspiciously. “What kind of errand?”

Julianna finished chewing her bite of toast and wiped her mouth before answering. “I have a…friend in need.” She was being deliberately evasive.

“Handley, will you excuse us for a moment?” Mr. Harte asked, still looking at Julianna. “You should refresh the tea for her ladyship. She will be down shortly.”

“Of course, sir,” Handley said smoothly. He shooed the footman out of the room and closed the door behind them after he picked up the teapot, which Julianna could see was still steaming.

Her father sighed, and it was all Julianna could do not to follow suit. They were going to have “the discussion” again.

“Julianna,” he began, “you know I admire your desire to help those less fortunate. But you know Lady Linville does not approve of your association with the foundling home.”

Julianna kept eating. She knew he wasn’t yet finished.

“Those children, unfortunate innocents though they may be, are the by-blows of prostitutes and other unsavory characters from the stews of London. It does not reflect well on you or your stepmother that you involve yourself there. The baroness worries that you will be unable to attract a good marriage prospect if you continue.”

“But, Father, you helped me to start the home, and you still provide a small stipend each month. If you truly wish me to close the home, why are you still helping me?”

Her father sighed. “I do not wish to make you unhappy, Julianna. I understand helping others is important to you, and I did make a promise to you. But my promise only goes so far. As you know, I only agreed to support your work until the end of July or until you found another patron, whichever came first. T here are many acceptable forms of patronage, my dear. Perhaps you could consider putting your limitless energy to work at one of those?”

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