Chapter Three
The touch of Michael’s fingers on the slender bones of Chloe’s wrist sent a jolt of lust to his brain. Her breathing was rapid, and her breasts rose and fell temptingly against the neckline of her gown. Her full lips parted, and he knew she felt the undeniable attraction as well.
Chloe yanked her wrist away, and he reluctantly released her. “I don’t want your money or anything you have to offer,” she said coolly. “As you’ve already observed, I’m not like most women.”
No, she wasn’t. She was infinitely more interesting.
He sipped his whisky, savoring the expensive alcohol as much as the woman seated across from him. Despite what he’d said earlier, he was surprised by Chloe Somerton’s unchaperoned, late-night visit. He was rarely surprised by people’s behavior. One of the things he’d learned as a military officer was to study the patterns of his enemies and attempt to predict their next move. He’d become good at it, and other officers looked to him for strategy and planning. People were no different. Until Chloe Somerton had reappeared.
She was unpredictable.
He tamped down his desire. He needed to have his wits about him. He could not allow Chloe Somerton, no matter how attractive, to distract him from his purpose. He owed a debt of honor that he intended to uphold.
Her fingers twisted in her lap. “Your attempts at bribery are for naught. I won’t hurt Henry.”
“You are a thief and a liar. Forgive me if I don’t believe a word you say.”
Her blue eyes sparked with fury. “Do you want to know what I think?”
He leaned back in his seat. “Please enlighten me.”
“You’re bluffing. You attempted to use your dukedom, your wealth, and even your physical presence to intimidate and bribe me. You have failed on every account.”
It was as if she’d thrown down a gauntlet. The months since the war had been mundane. He’d joined the army and purchased his commission as a younger son, a spare. But he’d returned from battle only to learn that his father and brother had died in a freak accident, and he was the new Duke of Cameron. He’d had his fair share of difficulty managing all the estates, but it hadn’t been close to the flash of challenge in her eyes.
“As I said, I believe telling Henry my past would devastate him,” she said.
Devastate him, not her. Her words revealed the true extent of her emotions regarding his young ward. She knew Henry would be horribly upset if Michael revealed Chloe’s past and ruined her reputation. Henry could never propose to her. She would suffer the consequences of scandal, but she wouldn’t be heartbroken, which confirmed she didn’t love Henry.
Why did that thought buoy him? He must be a heartless bastard after all.
“You need a man, Chloe Somerton, not a boy.”
“You think Henry is a boy and that I need someone else?”
“That’s precisely what I mean.”
“I see. And you think it should be you?”
“Why not?” The thought came to him suddenly and the words were out of his lips before he could consider all the consequences. Since his return to England, he hadn’t bothered with a mistress. Even that type of relationship seemed too permanent. He enjoyed women, of course, but only brief affairs with widows who’d wanted a night of pleasure in his bed, never innocent, unmarried ladies.
Which made him wonder if she was even a virgin. She wasn’t raised in a proper household. Her father had been a thief and a criminal. And if she had been immoral enough to follow his example and steal, then it wasn’t a far leap to assume that she’d been with a man. Either way, there was something about Chloe Somerton that provoked and aroused him.
Once again, she stood abruptly, and he followed. But instead of reaching for her cloak and attempting to flee, a coy look crossed her face and she licked those pink lips. Reaching out, she touched him with the tip of her forefinger to the center of his chest. She grazed his shirt, just above his heart, and he sucked in a breath. Every inch of his skin tightened in awareness.
Jesus.
“Careful, my lady. You play with fire.” His voice was hoarse to his own ears.
She dropped her hand and a satisfied smile curled her lips. “You’re wrong,” she said in a taunting voice. “You are the last type of man I want or need.”
“Prove it,” he said.
She hesitated. “How?”
“A kiss. If you don’t feel anything, then I’ll believe you have true feelings for young Henry.”
“I cannot.”
“What are you afraid of? I’ll keep your secret and leave you to enjoy Henry’s pursuit.”
He could see the indecision in her eyes. He was surprised at how badly he wanted her to agree, to take the challenge. At last, her impulsive nature won and she took a step forward. “All right. One kiss.” Standing on tiptoe, she clutched her hands by her sides, raised her pert chin, and shut her eyes.
His lips twitched with humor as he gazed down at her upturned face. Seconds passed, then she opened her eyes. “Well?”
“I prefer you to look at me.”
“And I prefer to shut—”
He pulled her to him and swooped down to capture her mouth. Desire spiraled in his gut at the very first touch of their lips. Her hands were against his chest, but she didn’t push him away. She wasn’t as tall as he liked, but her lush curves pressed against his hard angles in all the right places. She tasted like wild strawberries and the whisky he should not have given her. It was a tantalizing combination and reminded him just how complicated the lady was. He felt his iron control slip, and he caressed the length of her back and pressed closer.
She gasped, and he took advantage and his tongue swept inside her mouth. Her fingers curled into the linen fabric of his shirt, and her lips relaxed beneath his. The tentative stroke of her tongue, hesitant and light as a butterfly, tangled with his. An explosion of lust shot straight to his groin. Instinct took over and he increased the pressure of his kiss, his tongue greedily exploring the recesses of her mouth.
The uneven rhythm of her breathing made him come to his senses. This had gone too far and was not what he’d intended. With effort, he lifted his head to gaze down at her upturned face.
His voice was hoarse. “Just as I thought. There’s fierce passion in you, Chloe Somerton. Don’t waste it on a boy.”
She touched her lips. “You’re wrong. I felt nothing.”
“Little liar. Your body trembled at the first touch of my lips. And even if you were as frigid as a block of ice, I would still insist you leave Lord Sefton be.”
“You may be a duke, but you are not a gentleman.”
“There’s no room for chivalry in war.”
“And is this war?”
“Only if you don’t obey.”
Blue sparks flashed in her eyes. “So be it, Your Grace.” Whirling away, she snatched her cloak from the settee and walked out of the room with a swirl of skirts. He heard her footsteps down the marble hall, and a moment later, the front door slammed closed.
Michael followed Chloe at a discreet distance until he saw her climb into a hackney at the end of the street. At least she had the good sense to tell the driver to wait. He imagined her slipping through the servants’ entrance at Huntingdon’s home, or knowing her audacity, she may attempt to climb through one of the windows.
He curled his lips into a smile. He wouldn’t put anything past Chloe Somerton.
Michael returned to the library, poured himself another whisky, sat in the chair, and stretched his booted feet before him. Sleep would elude him tonight, as it did almost every night since he’d returned from the war. A memory of his friend, Sefton, rose before him, and Michael absentmindedly rubbed the thin scar beneath his chin. They’d met as homesick boys at Eaton and had disliked each other at first until Michael had defended twelve-year-old Sefton from the school tyrant. Michael had won the fight, but he’d received the scar. Thereafter, Sefton and Michael had become best friends, and they’d gone on to Oxford before joining the army.
Michael sighed. He sipped his drink, savoring the expensive alcohol, hoping it would numb him enough to get a few hours respite.
His thoughts returned to the lady.
He picked up her discarded glass on the end table, and lamplight flickered off the cut crystal. He envied the glass where her lips touched. He envisioned her full pink lips parting for his kiss, the smooth, expensive whisky on her tongue.
The possession of her mouth had nearly brought him to his knees. He hadn’t expected the flare of lust from one simple kiss.
Had he been wrong about her? Could she be sexually innocent?
Highly unlikely.
He’d seen her pick pockets with quick, skillful fingers. She was a consummate actress and skilled at deception and thievery.
He’d first seen her on Bond Street when he’d accompanied his brother, Everet, on the way to the shoemaker’s for a new pair of boots. Everet had spotted a friend from Oxford and had stopped to speak with the man. Michael had waited nearby as pedestrians entered shops and wandered along the busy street. Couples chatted, and a hawker selling fresh baked rolls called out, selling his wares outside a bakery. It was a pleasant spring afternoon, and people were out enjoying the fine weather and the wares of the London shops.
Then he saw her.
Her pale hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore a faded blue dress. Her clothing was simple, certainly not that of a wealthy lady but of the working class. A shopkeeper, most likely. She was smiling and the sun glinted off her golden hair, and when she turned to face him he was struck by a pair of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. She was charming. Lovely.
And young.
She was carrying a basket with what looked like cakes of paint and brushes. An artist? His gaze followed her as she wove through the crowd. He noticed she was following a pair of dandies, gentlemen with flowered waistcoats, ridiculously high-pointed collars, and beaver hats. The men were strutting about like arrogant peacocks, reveling in the attention from the passersby. The lady kept two or three paces behind them. Subtle, very subtle. Anyone else watching would never have thought she was following the pair, but Michael was a military man, and he knew a well-practiced maneuver when he spotted one.
Then she bumped into one of the dandies, blushed prettily, and anyone watching would think that was the end of it. But sure enough, her slender fingers snuck into a flowered waistcoat and pulled out a handkerchief. With a flick of her wrist, the stolen good was tucked into her basket. He watched, absorbed, as she efficiently pilfered three more items from well-dressed gentlemen. Two additional handkerchiefs and a snuffbox.
Damn, she was good.
Then Everet had called his name, distracting Michael. An instant later, he had turned back, but she had disappeared into the crowd.
Fascinating.
He’d never attempted to summon a constable. From the look of the dandy’s fine clothing, when he discovered his handkerchief missing, he would think he dropped it in the street or forgotten it at home in a chest of drawers cluttered with dozens of similar handkerchiefs. Either way, it would be no hardship to the man’s purse.
The other men looked just as wealthy. Michael had felt a stab of sympathy for the bloke who had his snuffbox taken, but for some reason, he had not notified the man or the authorities. Something about the girl was compelling, enchanting, and he hadn’t wanted to see her shackled and dragged away by a hardened, unsympathetic constable.
Michael had thought of the lady thief for days afterward. He’d returned to the same spot on Bond Street several times over the next two weeks, hoping to spot her, but she’d never appeared. She’d slipped through his fingers then, only to show up now, five years later.
Chloe’s life circumstances may have changed, but her unscrupulous past remained a part of her. Instead of filching handkerchiefs or other belongings from wealthy men, she planned to snag the young Earl of Sefton and his fortune.
Not on my watch, she won’t.
He grinned as he sipped his whisky. He hadn’t cared about anything in a long, long time. His evenings were filled with dread as he recalled the final battle and the sacrifice of his best friend—the sacrifice that had ensured Michael’s return home, and Henry’s father’s—the former Earl of Sefton’s—funeral.
But now, for the first time in over a year, Michael’s thoughts were occupied by the lady’s unexpected visit and the challenge shining in her exquisite sapphire eyes. He may not have planned on kissing her, but he didn’t regret it.