Page 8 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
“No.”
“Suit yourself. Stubborn woman.” Havencrest shrugged out of it and abandoned the thing in a sad pile behind his seat, between himself and Miss Lowry. By the time he could see the shore, the sky had lightened to predawn gray.
“To the right,” she directed sullenly. Havencrest adjusted wordlessly. His fingers had frozen into arcs around the oar handles. With each pull he cut through the tide to inch them closer to shore.
“I have it,” Miss Lowry said at last, when his shoulders had strained to the point of fatigue. There was the scrape of rope over stone and a bump of wood against rock. Where they had landed was anyone’s guess, yet they were alive. That was all that mattered.
Havencrest worked his icy hands to secure the rough rope. He glanced up to find Miss Lowry had taken up his abandoned coat, after all. Now that he wasn’t rowing, sweat dried against his skin in an icy corset. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask for it back…but a gentleman would never take a warm garment from a woman.
Even if she was a thief.
Even if she was a murderer.
Even if he was tempted to murder her himself.
He couldn’t though. After all, he was the one who wanted Miss Lowry’s services. After tonight, Havencrest felt certain he had secured them.
“Sir!” Malcolm’s footmen had followed with the coach. His joints ached for warmth. Thirty-six was too old to be playing midnight seaman. Malcolm’s liveried footman, eyed Miss Lowry warily. “Inside,” he directed, practically shoving her up the step into the relative warmth of his coach. What a sight, his fine horses and gleaming coach trawling the docks in the wee hours of the morning. He judged their adventure had taken more than an hour, and the time close to four. The vehicle lurched into motion. His skin had grown clammy with damp and cold. What would she do if he stripped naked and rode home in his small clothes? But all he asked was, “Why did you go to such lengths to make people believe you were dead?”
Miss Lowry regarded him with pitying eyes. “Because I needed to disappear.”Imbecile.The insult was implied. “You don’t intend to let me, though, do you?” she asked softly.
“No, Miss Lowry, I do not. When I next ask for a few moments of your time I expect you to grant them to me. It will be soon. In the meantime,” Malcolm eyed the dawn streaking the sky with pink. “I require you to maintain the facade you have cultivated over the past several months.”
They had washed up in a working-class residential part of London well south of the wealthier center. Miss Lowry stood her ground several feet away, still wrapped in his coat.
“To what point and purpose?” A shiver wracked her body.
“You have something I want.” Havencrest hesitated. “And you can get me the rest of it.”
Understanding blossomed over her beautiful face. “You need me to steal for you.”
“Exactly.”
Relief like a summer breeze wafted through him. This woman—whatever her real name was—could reunite the two halves of the Heart’s Cry necklace his mother had owned. A memory of rustling silk and perfume dragged his eyes closed.
Blue dress like a summer sky.
Hair piled high and powdered with lavender.
Blood-red diamonds—not rubies as they were sometimes presumed to be—set in whorls of gold filigree so fine as to be spun by fairies. Or, so he had believed as a child. The sound of the two halves of a precious necklace clicking together. Silk rustling as his mother set him on her lap.
“I am going out with your father this evening. Be good for Nana.”
The scent of lilies, faint but growing stronger until the smell made him gag.
Havencrest opened his eyes. Miss Lowry regarded him with feline wariness. An understanding passed between them.
“If I can get you what you want, Lord Havencrest,” she asked softly, “what will you do for me?”
