Читать книгу Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 8

Chapter 2

Sophie DuPlessy watched Julian disappear into the crowd on his quest for champagne. She had to act quickly. Dancing with Vienna’s premier lover had been an unlooked- for complication but not necessarily an unenjoyable one. He was as handsome in person as he was reputed to be, and just as rakish.

In spite of her intentions to remain aloof, she’d found it impossible to ignore the seductive maleness of Julian Burke. His hot, dark eyes, his grace on the dance floor and the intimate feel of his hand at her back had been a powerful elixir. But he had not left well enough alone.

His hand had not stayed strictly at her back. Rather, it had strayed from her back to her waist, his thumb lying discreetly at her hip bone, conveying a secret message of its own; that the owner of that hand knew a woman’s body, and could with a simple touch bring that body pleasure. Then he’d started with that sinful litany of feats he’d perform, and she’d thought she would melt right there on the dance floor. Surely if a girl was going to be seduced, Julian Burke was the man to do it. And he had the arrogance to know it. He’d known exactly what he was doing with her. He probably knew what he was doing to her as well, and she would have indulged in his temptations to a certain degree if she hadn’t had other plans tonight.

Sophie looked around her once more and slid back into the crowded ballroom. Julian Burke would have to wait. Tonight, she was nearly at the end of her quest. By midnight, she’d have the jewels in her possession. In the morning, she’d present them to the Italian count who’d hired her and claim her reward. Then her life could begin, her real life, the life she’d dreamed of for the past seven years.

Sophie navigated the ballroom and made her way upstairs, ostensibly in search of the ladies’ retiring room. At the last moment, she changed direction, making her way cautiously down the hall toward the west wing of the house and the family’s private chambers. Her luck held. She encountered no one. The hall was darker toward this end of the house, no doubt to discourage anyone from wandering far from the party.

The dimly lit hall posed no barriers to Sophie. She’d memorized the upstairs floor plan days ago in preparation for this evening; down the hall, a left turn at the first corridor and then three doors on the right. The third room was the private office where the safe was located behind a portrait of a relative; a great-uncle from whom the house was inherited, to be precise, and Sophie DuPlessy was always precise. It was the trait that had made her so very successful in her line of work.

Sophie turned the handle of the door and stepped inside. As expected, the room was dark, lit only by a small lamp on the desk. Sophie shut the door softly behind her, expecting to savor the moment of peace before taking the final steps in her mission. She inhaled deeply and stopped. Something was wrong.

Her eyes went immediately to the portrait of the great-uncle across the room. She couldn’t see it well as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, but it didn’t appear to be disturbed. No, it wasn’t the portrait. The room was alive with energy, with a presence.

With great deliberation, Sophie reached into the hidden pocket of her gown for the small gun she carried there. She withdrew it, reassured by the smooth feel of steel in her palm. She kept the weapon concealed in the folds of her skirts, thankful for the fuller fashions.

She debated the wisdom of simply backing out of the room and trying again later. But her mental debate was purely academic. There was no “later.” How would she gain legal entry into this home again? It was unlikely this family would host another party soon enough for her needs. No, backing out of the room was not an option. She would have to brave it out.

“Excuse me, is anyone there?” Sophie called out in guileless tones. No one hearing her would guess she concealed a weapon in her gauzy pink skirts or that she’d entered the room intent on committing an act of a dubious nature. Truly, it wasn’t stealing. She was merely returning the items in the safe to their rightful owner.

Should he make himself known? Julian Burke cursed his bad luck. There were twenty-five rooms upstairs for a lost young lady to wander into, and yet the young lady had picked his, as unlikely as it was, since the room was so far from the main corridor. Well, maybe not so unlikely if she was meeting someone, a young beau perhaps, for a private assignation. The thought of being a party to such an untutored interlude galvanized Julian into action. His decision was made. He would make his presence known and gently guide the intruder back to the main venue. Then he could return to his rendezvous with the portrait and what lay behind it.

Julian raised his dark head over the back of the sofa where he’d taken refuge. “A thousand pardons, mademoiselle. It seems this room is indeed occupied.”

Recognition hit him as soon as the glib words were out of his mouth. What was she doing here? She couldn’t possibly have followed him. She’d been gone when he’d returned to the veranda. In fact, if this was her destination, he was lucky to have gotten here beforehand. She must have gone through the ballroom, which would have slowed her down quite a bit. Still, such conjecture didn’t explain what she was doing here to start with. This wasn’t exactly a room one deliberately sought out.

Her eyes followed the sound of his voice until they found him rising from the sofa. She masked her own surprise quite well. “Is this where they’re keeping the champagne these days?”

“I brought the champagne. You were gone,” Julian replied tersely. He stepped around the sofa and moved closer. “Have you gotten lost? I’d be glad to escort you back to the ball.”

“Oh no, I’m not ready to go back to the ball,” she demurred politely, moving to take a chair near the sofa he’d just vacated. “In truth, Mr. Burke, I am hiding from someone. It’s why I had to slip off and leave you, much to my regret.” She shook her head most convincingly. “When I saw this dreadful person, I couldn’t bear the thought of being discovered by him. He’s quite odious in his attentions. I think I shall rest here a bit. You don’t need to wait for me if you wish to return downstairs. I doubt anyone will find me here.”

Julian crossed his arms. “True enough. It’s amazing you found your way here, so far from the ballroom.” Her answer was not conducive to his plans. He needed her out of this room. He’d spent months planning this. He would not be subdued at the end by a pretty, nameless chit. But she showed no signs of moving from the chair.

“It could be compromising for the two of us to be found in this room alone together,” Julian pressed, finding his patience quickly waning. She had deserted him on the veranda and now she had suddenly appeared again with no intentions of leaving in the near future.

“As you said, this room is not on the common path. It’s doubtful anyone will come across us,” she said confidently, then added coyly, “If you’re worried for your reputation or mine, you could always leave.”

The pretty minx was getting on his nerves. Julian decided to be blunt. “On principle, you should leave. I was here first.”

“On principle, you, as the gentleman in this scenario, should leave and accede to a lady’s wishes,” she said sweetly before adding, “But principles and reputations are moot issues really after our earlier discussion. Unless I misunderstood you in the ballroom? Was all that talk of strawberries and wool blankets just a gentleman’s daydream?” She dropped her eyes to a place a lady was never supposed to look on a man while managing to give the impression of demureness. “I thought you were going to try to seduce me and I was going to try to resist.”

Julian’s jaw clenched. It was time to test this dichotomous angel’s mettle. Was she as innocent as she looked, or was she the adventuress her dancing eyes and wicked challenges suggested? He stepped toward the chair she occupied and bent forward, a hand resting on each arm of the chair, effectively trapping her. She caught her breath.

“You are a master flirt, my pretty vixen. I would be happy to seduce you if you think you’re up to it.” He expected her to push at him. It was what he wanted. He’d let her succeed and race toward the door. No self-respecting society miss would countenance such a naked invitation. It might be one thing to tease a man so avidly on a dance floor surrounded by hundreds of others. It was a far riskier proposition to flaunt those wiles in private with no one to interfere. Here in the dark, the proverbial safety net was gone.

Instead, she propelled herself into his arms with three little words he’d have loved to hear if circumstances had been different: “The sofa, quickly.”