She was fortunate that her father signed the lease for her before he remarried. He understood her need to help the children and had left the entire management of the home in her hands. He’d given her a budget to cover expenses and left it at that. She’d hired Mrs. Eden to handle the day-to-day operations, but she still kept a close eye on the home and handled the books.
It had been a shock to realize how much she was in arrears on the rent. The problem was that over the last year, Julianna had gotten in the habit of spending most of the rent money on incidentals for the home, planning to cover the missed rent in small payments over the next few months. But each payment had gotten smaller. The previous owner had been amenable, and simply turned a blind eye to what she owed, letting her make it up at her own pace.
Julianna really did not want her father to find out about her predicament. If he knew, he would do one of two things: either help her with the payment, which would upset her stepmother; or, more than likely, end the lease, and the children would be sent away, the older ones probably to the workhouse. And, of course, he’d never trust her with so much responsibility again.
She took a deep breath and tried to think. She must find a way to visit the receiving houses her father had spoken of, today if possible. She had no choice. It was too late to ask her father for help. How on earth could she tell him she had stolen the Stuart Pearl, when he’d left his own criminal past behind to seek a better life for her?
She had taken Alasdair’s pearl and she could not give it back. So she was going to make sure that it was used for good. She was going to sell it and save the foundling home, with her father none the wiser.
Julianna vowed that after this entire ordeal was over she would never take a risk like this again. She would do as her father and stepmother asked and meet the new barrister and try to keep an open mind. And maybe, possibly, she would eventually stop feeling guilty that she had stolen Alasdair’s priceless treasure in return for unparalleled pleasure and the memory of a lifetime.
Five
Alasdair rolled over and pulled her close. But instead of warm lavender-scented hair, he got a nose full of linen.
“Juli—?” he said sleepily, raising his head and looking around. He had to blink several times against the glare of the sun through the open curtains.
The room was quiet except for the noises drifting up from the street. Alasdair shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his brain. The sun was high. He’d slept late. It was no wonder, considering how little sleep he’d gotten the night before.
“Juliet?” he called again. There was no response, and he realized that she was gone. The room was empty. The open curtains and street noise took on a new meaning. The balcony doors were open. She had climbed down off the damn balcony.
He threw back the sheet and rose from the bed, anger beginning a slow boil inside him. He looked around and confirmed that her things were gone.
He leaned down and picked up a forgotten hairpin, all that was left of her. She had snuck out the damn window like a thief in the night.
The thought stopped him in his tracks. His stomach lurched, and he was afraid for a moment that he might lose its contents. With a sinking sense of dread, he spun around and ran over to his dressing table.
His hands were shaking as he found the small key in his drawer. He hurried over to the lockbox on the secretary in the corner and shoved the key in, but he knew immediately that it was too late. The box was unlocked. He raised the lid and stared with dawning horror at the empty space inside.
She had stolen it. She had stolen his pearl. His family’s most priceless possession. The pearl that he had been entrusted to keep safe. It was gone.
Stolen by a wanton, lying, deceitful little cat who’d used him and then snuck out his window with it.
He stood there, immobile with disbelief for several seconds, his ragged breathing blocking the noise from the street.
Damn his lustful, careless, useless soul. As if his cock alone would make a thief forget about her prize. What a colossal, vain idiot he was.
And now he’d proven them all right, had he not? His cousin Ernest, the Earl of Throckton, had wanted to keep the pearl for Alasdair. They had much more secure places at his estate for such a priceless treasure. Ernest had been so condescending, just as he’d always been, and he’d looked down his nose at Alasdair, the offspring of his uncle’s unfortunate marriage to a Scots woman. Alasdair had refused his offer because he enjoyed taunting his cousin with it, enjoyed having a treasure that Ernest, with all of his investments and his properties and his possessions, had no right to. The pearl had come to Alasdair from his mother’s side of the family.
Alasdair pulled his hair and screamed in rage as a horse whinnied in fright in the street below. “How could I have been so stupid?” he bellowed.
He stalked over to the open door of the balcony and slammed it shut. He punched his closed fist into the frame and leaned there, his head hanging down. This was his fault. He could shift the blame to no one. All his life he had taken the pearl for granted. He’d complained about it, telling everyone what a terrible burden it was. His family had placed such importance on the pearl that people gazed upon it with awe. And now it was gone.
He’d lost it.
No. He raised his head and glared at the wall unseeing. She’d stolen it. She’d taken it from right under his nose, laughing all the while. She must have known he hadn’t truly meant to give it to her. That was why she’d snuck out and he’d awoken alone to an empty box.
There was a timid knock on his door. “Mr. Sharp?” he heard his valet inquire tentatively. “Is everything all right?”
Alasdair started to reply, to raise the alarm, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t let anyone know. He had to find her himself. He did not want his cousin to find out what he’d done. He would never live it down. He would be the laughing stock of Great Britain, and the scourge of Scotland.
“I’m fine, Evans,” he called out, regulating his voice and breathing. “I just…had a dream and fell out of bed.” Good Lord, as if that didn’t make him appear like a raving nincompoop. “Bring me some coffee, please, and I should like to get dressed,” he ordered, a plan forming in his mind.
He needed to find her immediately. They’d stayed up late into the night talking before they’d finally fallen asleep, sharing bits and pieces about their lives, or so he’d thought. Now he’d find out if what she’d told him was true. Admittedly, it wasn’t much to go on. Her reluctance to talk about herself now took on new meaning. But truly, how hard could it be to find a beautiful, lying little thief in London who may be trying to sell a stolen pearl?
He shook his head in despair at the enormity of the task. But, he promised himself, when he found her, when he had the pearl in his possession again, she would pay, and pay dearly, for her deceit.
Fortunately, he knew just the man to help.
Six
“I need help finding a woman.”
Sir Hilary St. John looked up with a curious expression as Alasdair burst into his study without being announced. Hil was sitting at a table near the window, sipping his tea and reading the paper. He wore no jacket and the sun glinted off the red-gold hair that curled onto his neck—too long for fashion but just right for the eccentric Hil.