The Cracksman's Kiss Page 3

  To Kassie’s delight, she found the comté seated to her right and an older gentleman, who she hoped she remembered correctly as Lord Kent, seated to her left. He gave her a brief nod and turned his attention to the conversation concerning the artifact.

  Kassie sipped her wine to occupy herself as the men engaged in animated discussion. The unaccustomed tartness of the red beverage thrilled her tongue, and she decided she liked the taste.

  The comté’s smooth voice interrupted her internal speculation. “Lord Everton has excellent taste in wine.”

  She looked up. He gave her a gracious smile and lifted his wine glass to his lips.

  “I suppose so. This is but the second time I have tasted wine,” Kassie explained with a perplexed smile.

  “Indeed?” He paused to take a sip, watching her over the rim of his glass.

  Kassie flushed as she sought an explanation which did not mark her as a child. Finally she sighed and uttered the truth, knowing how unsophisticated it sounded. “My lord insists I should drink milk at dinner.”

  “Milk?” The comté set down his wine glass and quirked an eyebrow. “I should think you are old enough to partake in a glass of wine or two at dinner if you so choose.”

  “My lord says drinking milk is better since I, umm we, are trying to conceive.” She focused her gaze on her napkin in her lap, immediately regretting her admission. “Oh, dear, I suppose I should not have said that. I am unskilled in social graces, I fear.”

  The comté chuckled. “Think nothing of it, Lady Kassandra, I find your candid manner delightful and refreshing.”

  She looked up with skepticism.

  His smile faded, and his lips pressed into a grim line. “You do know Lord Everton has had three other wives and none ever conceived?”

  Kassie nodded. What could she say? He was right. She picked up her glass and finished her wine. Before she returned it to the table a footman hurried to refill it and placed a bowl of turtle soup in front of her.

  The comté leaned forward as soon as the footman moved down the table. “He is incapable of fathering a child, old war injury you know,” he whispered.

  “I beg your pardon?” Kassie’s face burned at the intimate insinuation.

  He gave her a weak smile. “If you are hoping for a child you had better look elsewhere, my dear.”

  Kassie took a hasty swallow of wine and almost choked. Setting the glass down, she cleared her throat, and turned her attention to the soup. Good Lord! Can the man be any crasser?

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Kassandra, I did not mean to be rude.”

  She glanced up, unsure whether he was amusing himself at her expense.

  The comté smiled. “Sometimes I tend to see things from a slightly uncivilized point of view. I suppose it is from spending too many days digging in the dirt, in some of the most uncouth countries in the world.”

  His words piqued her curiosity. “Digging?”

  “Yes, Lord Everton and I share an interest in acquiring rare artifacts. Unfortunately, we do not agree on what to do with them once they are unearthed.”

  Kassie stirred her soup in order to occupy her hands. “You want to put my husband’s Egyptian cat in a museum where everyone can see it, but the earl wants to keep it for himself.”

  “Yes.”

  “For what it is worth, I think you are right to want to share it with the world.” Kassie spared her husband a quick glance, hoping he had not overheard her comment. The earl gave no indication he had, engrossed as he was in the conversation at the other end of the table. When she looked back to the comté, he inclined his head, and gave her an admiring smile.

  “Ah, you are clever, as well as beautiful, Lady Kassandra. If you could persuade the earl to donate the piece to a museum, I would be forever in your debt.”

  She gave him a tepid smile. “I am sorry, but I am afraid I have no influence over his lordship’s decisions. He seems to think me incapable of any thoughts of importance.” Frowning at the bitter sound of her own words, she looked away, not meaning to betray her feelings.

  “That is truly a pity Lady Kassandra. You are clearly a very intelligent and underappreciated woman. Tell me, how is it you are married to one so advanced in years as the earl?”

  Kassie looked at her bowl. “My father gained much for my family by the match. My mother says it is an honor for a simple parson’s daughter to marry a titled man.”

  The comté placed his hand over hers as Kassie avoided his eye. “Pardon my disrespect when I say your father is a fool. Any man, titled or not, would be honored to have you for a wife,” his tone was gentle.

  Uncomfortable in the face of his praise she removed her hand from his and reached for her wine glass. It would be easy to forgive this man anything. The earl caught her eye as she raised the glass to her lips. Despite his disapproving look she downed the contents. Lifting her chin in stubborn defiance she signaled the footman to refill her glass. I am tired of being treated like a child.

  They ate in silence until the second course of roast pheasant, baby potatoes, and asparagus in white sauce was served.

  The comté cleared his throat. “I hear you are to take a trip to Bath. Will this be your first time attending the waters there?”

  She speared a small bite of pheasant with her fork before glancing at him. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it will. I have never been far from my home village until I married my husband.”

  “Did you not go on a grand tour for your honeymoon?”

  “No. My husband has been ill.” She raised her fork and tasted the meat. The flavor was sweet, reminiscent of peach preserves.

  “That is too bad, I am sure you would delight in the many sights Europe has to offer.” He sliced a piece of pheasant and popped the morsel into his mouth. Her gaze was drawn to his sensual lips as he chewed. “I shall be taking a trip to Bath as well—perhaps I could call on you there?”

  She looked down the table at her husband. He frowned at her, and she dropped her gaze to her plate. “I do not think my husband would approve.”

  “I see. Lord Everton is keeping you hidden away like one of his precious artifacts.”

  Kassie took another sip of her wine. She was warm and a little giddy. “Something like that, I suppose.” A movement caught her eye, and she looked up.

  Lord Kent waved his fork. “Lord Ashton, did I hear you say earlier you are funding another dig in Rome this year?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Last year we found an entire set of pottery, completely preserved.”

  “You do not say? How extraordinary!” Lord Wendell interjected.

  “I believe the museum expert dated the pieces to the time of Julius Caesar himself,” Ashton boasted.

  “That is fascinating.” Kassie leaned forward in her chair. “How does one determine the age of a piece of pottery?”

  The comté smiled. “It is a very complicated process involving different instruments and, I suppose, a little educated guessing.”

  The earl interrupted, “The process is too complicated for a female to understand.”

  Kassie lowered her eyes to hide her anger at her husband’s cutting remark. No one seemed to think anything of the comment, and the discussion of Roman artifacts continued. Pressing her lips together she picked up her spoon and toyed with the candied hothouse peaches in cream before her.

  “If you would like, I shall be happy to explain the dating of pottery for you after dinner.”

  She tilted her head and glanced up, giving the comté a doubtful look. “I would not like to impose on you.”

  He smiled at her. “It would be my pleasure. It is not often I meet a woman who is interested in anything beyond fashion plates and dancing.”

  “Thank you, I would like that.” Kassie smiled. She looked back down at her dessert as the earl stood and cleared his throat.

  “Lady Kassandra, excuse us, we will remove ourselves so you may retire for the night.”

  The men stood as she rose from her chair. The comté too
k her hand in his and placed a light kiss on the back. “Your presence will be sorely missed, Lady Kassandra. Until we meet again.”

  He executed a graceful bow and released her hand.

  Kassie did not miss the scowl the earl directed at the comté. She mumbled a hasty goodnight and retreated from the dining room.

  Sally was waiting when she entered her bedchamber. “Did you enjoy yourself, my lady?”

  “Oh, Sally, I met a very nice man. I think he is the kindest, most handsome man I have ever met.”

  Giving her a bemused smile the maid helped her undress.

  Kassie sighed as the maid slipped her nightdress over her head. “I think the earl does not like him much though. He seemed angry the comté spoke with me.”

  “His lordship is very protective. Perhaps he was jealous?”

  “Ha! I do not think the earl likes me enough to be jealous,” Kassie muttered.

  Sally shrugged. “Bernard left your drink on the table beside your bed and made me promise you would finish it.”

  Kassie picked up the glass and wrinkled her nose. She gave Sally a mischievous grin over her shoulder, and then, in a fit of spiteful will, she poured it into a vase of spring flowers. “You can assure the blasted butler I drank the fertility potion.”

  Sally giggled. “Yes, my lady. Is there anything else you require before retiring for the evening?”

  “No, thank you, Sally.” Kassie returned the cup and climbed into bed. “Perhaps if you are not too tired, I could read the next chapter in Maria Edgeworth’s Castle Rackrent?”

  The maid nodded and then settled herself atop the covers beside her as was their custom when Kassie read out loud to her during the earl’s infirmity. “You know, if his lordship were to catch us he would have a fit of apoplexy,” she whispered, with a nervous look at the closed door.

  “‘Tis not proper for us to behave like this.”

  Kassie shrugged and took the book from under her mattress. “He will not visit me tonight.” She opened the book to the page she had already dog-eared and began to read.

  Chapter Three

  The figure crept along the corridor and then slipped into the parlor, his dark clothing blending into the shades of shadows. A single lamp burned on the table across from the Egyptian statue. Its bejeweled eyes winked in the flickering light, as if privy to some immensely wicked secret. The cracks-man moved without a sound across the carpet and stopped before the pedestal, with bated breath, listening for any sign his presence was discovered. All was quiet, almost eerie in the mansion. Expelling his pent up breath, the man reached up and closed his glove encased hands around the statue. With a practiced touch he eased the archaic feline from its perch, so loving the thrill of the hunt. The quest for this treasure was exciting, although as easy as petting its loafing namesake. Perhaps thrice as risky.

  With a cocky smirk, he paused to listen before tucking the ill-gotten treasure into the satchel at his waist. Pride made him stay his retreat for the briefest second and pat the object before slinking back into the inky recesses of the hallway. The man faded into the dark corridor in the hope of making an inconspicuous exit. Without a sound, the study door opened, spilling a shaft of light into the hall across his path. Caught off guard, he darted into the servant’s stairwell.

  Voices breached the silence.

  “…retire for the night, Bernard.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  A second of frustration permeated his calm. Damn! The earl should be long in bed by now.

  The stairwell was not a good place to hide in case a servant happened by. They would be sure to raise the alarm if an intruder was spotted lurking this late in the evening. In desperation he slunk up the stairs to the second floor. A smile rode his lips. The rope and grapple in his satchel would come in handy, experience telling him it was best to be prepared for any situation. It would make climbing down from one of the windows on the second floor easy.

  Topping the landing, the thief peered down the long hallway. A door closed and footsteps approached the bottom of the staircase. He eased back into the murkiness. The first room on his right would suffice as a hiding place for the moment. With a last nervous glance behind him and a twist of the door handle, he slipped inside, closing it without a sound behind him. It took only seconds for his eyes to adjust to the meager firelight before locking the door. A pink robe lay across the back of one of the chairs nearest the fire. The female occupant of the room must already be in bed, since the fire had burned down to glowing coals. In silence he crossed the room to the window beside the bed, freezing at a rustling sound accompanied by a soft sigh. Then he turned and peered at the bed. The curtains were drawn to protect the occupant from drafts. He hesitated before easing the curtain back. The light from the fire cast a pale glow on the sleeping figure. She sighed again and rolled in her slumber toward the edge of the bed.

  He leaned closer. The firelight enhanced her delicate beauty as her lips parted. A blonde curl caught in the edge of her sleeping mask, slid free to caress her creamy cheek. He ducked inside the curtain, dropping it back in place.

  “My lord?” she murmured, still half in dream hibernation. “I have not readied myself for you. You did not tell me you would visit tonight.”

  To keep his amusement in check he clenched his lips together. The woman believes I am her ancient husband, come to claim his marriage rights. The thought of the withered old earl being able to perform any matrimonial act amused him.

  A slamming door somewhere downstairs distracted him from his reverie. Footsteps hurried down the hallway outside the bedroom. Has the missing statue already been discovered? The front door opened and voices carried from outside. Damn! If I try to escape out the window now they will surely catch me. I have to find somewhere to hide until I can figure out another route of escape.

  “My lord?”

  The woman had rolled onto her back, and now lay stiff, with her arms at her side. Good Lord! Is she waiting for the decrepit earl to make love to her? The hounds outside began to bay. Already they are searching for my trail. I will have to lie low for a few hours until I can make good my escape, but where? A glimmer of an idea sparked, and then flamed to life. Here, with her. As long as the woman thinks I am her husband, I will be safe. No one would think to look for me with her. With the drapes pulled, can I fool the lady?

  Setting his bundle on the floor he eased onto the bed, his fingertips touching the side of her cheek. It was warm and silken. Trailing his fingers down to her lips, she quivered but did not move. It would not be right to exact from her a husband’s toll. She is so beautiful. His desire to touch her was overpowering.

  Leaning forward, he kissed her soft and gentle, inviting her tongue to come out and play with his. She sighed with wonder, allowing him to trace her lips before delving into her mouth. His passion fogged mind registered her taste; sweet and intoxicating, like wine. As his tongue danced with hers his fingers teased her sensitive peaks. She moaned, relaxing at his touch. Does the earl ever touch her like this? It is doubtful. Removing his lips from hers, raining a little trail of feather-light kisses down the column of her throat to her other breast. She gasped when his lips closed over the peak through the thin material of her nightdress, making him sure she never experienced anything like it in the months of her marriage. When his stimulation stopped she whimpered in protest. Placing a hand on either side of her thighs he began to ease her nightdress up. She shivered as the silky material slipped across her breasts and over her head. Before she could protest, the garment was off. It fluttered to the floor in a whisper of satin. The earl probably never wanted her naked before, the old man seems far too frigid.

  “My lord?”

  Her breathless inquiry made him smile. “Shh.”In order to silence any further protests, a kiss sealed her lips. She reached for him and he caught her hands, pinning them above her head with a gentle grip, releasing them when she relaxed. They stayed above her head when his fingers slid down her arm, along the side of her breast whe
re his other hand returned to playing, and then down across her hip to the indent of her naval. She inhaled as the pad of his thumb traced a lazy circle there for a moment. Switching his mouth to her other breast, his tongue traced a similar pattern to which had already been bestowed on its twin. She gasped, stiffening, letting his fingers slide into her soft Aphrodite’s mound.

  “My lord, you must not. ‘Tis not proper.”

  Her breathy voice made him smile. “Shh.” The word whispered against her breast, making her shiver.

  She moaned as his breath brushed over her sensitive nipples. Wiggling with desire, she moaned again as his fingers slid further down until they touched her sensitive bud nestled in the downy hair. With a sharp inhale she clenched her legs together on his hand. He returned his attention to her breast until she surrendered and then slid his fingers between her slick, damp folds. She whimpered, clutching his arm. Moving his lips back to cover hers and silence her arousal, he vowed not to take her. It was enough to show her what her body was capable of, but, oh, how he wanted her. His hands shook with his desire to have her for himself.

  She quivered as his fingers caressed her sensitive bud, allowing her hands to slip down and grip his shoulders. The frown puckering her cupid’s lips betrayed her confusion. She knew the touch was not the earl’s, he suspected, so what would she do now? Without waiting for her reaction to this new discovery, he rolled her sensitive bud between his fingers. She cried out against his lips, arching toward his hand. Panting, she rocked her hips in rhythm with his stroking fingers.

  The tension built in her sweet body, and when he was certain she could not bear the feeling any longer, he shifted his weight. Despite his vow to refrain from bedding her, his resolve broke. Her response to him fueled his desire beyond control. Freeing his member from his breeches, he slid it into her in one quick thrust. Tearing her lips from his, she cried out. Settling into a steady rhythm, a thousand fireworks exploded in his head. Bucking her hips to fulfil her release, she moved in unison with him. The lady stiffened beneath him. A low, animal-like growl erupted from his throat, releasing his pent up passion as she sagged against the mattress, her breathing as ragged as his own.