Chapter Fourteen
He'd finally caught her. As Grant met Juliet's defiant gaze, he felt a triumphant surge run hot and heavy through his veins. During his time on Bow Street he had captured his fair share of criminals. Murderers, thieves, and the like. But no victory had ever tasted as sweet as this...nor looked quite so lovely.
Even with her hair hidden beneath an ugly brown cap and mud splattered across her high cheekbones, Juliet was a vision. He hadn't the faintest idea how she managed to pass as a boy. How could any man look at her and not see the luscious curves of a full grown woman? Baggy trousers or not, it was clear – at least to him – that she was pure female. Anyone who thought otherwise was a bloody fool.
"What now, runner?" Her pretty mouth curled in a sneer as she glared up him, inadvertently drawing his gaze to her plump bottom lip. His eyes darkened as he studied her plump pout.
What he wouldn't give to taste her again. To sink his hands into her hair and devour that impudent little mouth in one hungry bite. Transfixed on her lips, he actually started to lift his hand, fingers curling in anticipation of tangling in the silky strands of her hair...until he remembered that this fierce tigress bit back.
"Now I take you into Bow Street," he said coldly, disguising his desire behind an impassive countenance that could have been carved from stone. "You'll be held there overnight and transferred to the magistrate in the morning for sentencing."
Was that a flicker of fear he saw in her eyes? No. It couldn't be. Juliet did not fear anything or anyone. And yet...
"You will not be hurt." He didn't know why he felt the need to reassure her. Juliet was hard and tough and resourceful. Something he’d learned firsthand when she’d stolen his pistol right out from under his nose. But at the moment the woman glaring up at him didn’t look hard or tough. Behind the sneer he desperately wanted to kiss off her lips she looked frightened…and his chest ached when he thought of her sitting on the floor of a cold cell, that defiant light drained from her eyes and her shoulders slumped in defeat.
As his resolve to arrest her began to waver, he clenched his jaw tight. She was the one who had made the decisions that had led to this moment, not him, and he refused to feel sympathy for a common criminal. If Juliet was found guilty and sentenced to prison it would be no less than she deserved for breaking the law. She was no different from the hundreds of other thieves he had arrested over the years. She was not special. She did not mean anything to him.
Or so he told himself.
"If you believe having your freedom taken away doesn't hurt, think again, runner."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you began a life of crime."
"And what else would you have had me do?" she demanded with a furious toss of her head that dislodged her hat and sent a mass of Titian curls tumbling down over her shoulders. “Earn five shillings an hour on the flat of my back?”
“No,” he said, his gut twisting at the thought of other men touching her. “I would never wish that fate upon any woman.”
“Oh, then I suppose you’d rather me starve to death?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” he scowled. “There are ways to make a decent wage other than stealing.”
“Like what?” she challenged, arching a brow. “A textile worker? I’d rather spend the rest of my life in Newgate. At least I have a better chance of survival there than in some factory.”
“Good, because that’s exactly where you’re going.” Tired of arguing with her, he pulled a pair of iron manacles off his belt and held them up in the air. “This is not a negotiation, Juliet. Turn around and hold out your hands.”
Her cheeks paled as her gaze dropped to the manacles, but when she looked up at him her eyes were filled with fire. “And if I don’t?” she said defiantly.
“Then I’ll do this.” Sliding his pistol into its holster, he grabbed her left arm just above the elbow and spun her around so she was facing away from him.
“Let me go!” She kicked back at him like a horse, and he grunted in pain when the sturdy heel of her boot connected with his shin. Grunted again with she drove her other elbow into his ribcage.
“It’s over.” The manacles dropped to the ground as he struggled to restrain her before simply pinning both of her hands to her sides. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her snugly against her chest. “It’s over, Juliet.”
“Get your bloody paws off me!” she cried.
“I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands.”
She began to paint the air blue with curses, but Grant was too distracted by the smell of her hair to take much offense. Carefully tipping his face down – he wouldn’t put it past her to slam her head back and break his damn nose – he inhaled the faintest hint of lavender. He wondered if that was the type of soap she used, for the scent wasn’t potent enough to be a perfume. And then, because he was a virile man holding a squirming woman, he wondered what she would look like in a bath.
Surrounded by bubbles, her auburn curls pinned messily to the top of her head so that a few tendrils clung to her damp skin. Her ivory countenance flushed a delightful, delectable pink. The tops of her breasts skimming the water as she washed herself, slowly trailing the sponge up one long, silky leg…
“That better be your pistol poking me in the back,” she said darkly.
It wasn’t.
Focus on the matter at hand, Hargrave, he ordered himself sternly. Unfortunately that was easier to say than do given what was in his hands.
He held eight stones of enraged female who would stab a dagger through his heart the first chance she got. He didn’t know why the devil that was so arousing, but then nothing about Juliet made any bloody sense.
If he believed in such things, he might have been tempted to think she was a witch…for surely only a supernatural being could make him feel both desire and loathing in such equal measure.
She represented everything that was morally corrupt in London. Everything that was wrong with society. Everything that he had spent his entire adult life trying to fix. And yet…and yet there was a part of him that did not want to fix her. There was a part of him that liked the wildness in her. That enjoyed seeing the flash of defiance in her eyes. That craved the violence simmering just beneath the surface.
“What are you doing?” she said warily when his grip loosened just enough to spin her around until they were thigh to thigh, belly to belly, face to face. She stared up him out of sharp green eyes filled with mistrust, her lips curved in a wary frown. “Runner? What are you doing?”
“Something I know I damn well shouldn’t.” Before he could change his mind he sank his hands into her hair, lowered his head, and roughly claimed her mouth with his.