Page 9 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Chapter 4
“If you succeed in reuniting me with what is rightfully mine, I shall compensate you for your efforts by not reporting you to local authorities for defiling a corpse.” Havencrest replied idly, as though he weren’t threatening her life while examining the raw blisters seeping clear fluid over his palms. Antonia had drifted with the current on her way out to the middle of the river. She hadn’t given a thought as to how she might return to shore. She always took flying leaps of faith and prayed for a safe landing. One day, her luck would run out.
“What do I have to do to avoid being turned over to the authorities?” Steal jewels, obviously, but the more she knew about his expectations the better Antonia could evaluate whether to run at the first hint of freedom. As mistakes went, Antonia had a hard time remembering when she had last made an error this grave. Dukes we not known for leaping into leaky boats to chase down thieves in the middle of the night. She had underestimated Havencrest. Worse, she had disappointed herself.
“You were watching me,” she said accusingly after a winding mile or so through London’s side streets. Across the seat, the Duke of Havencrest examined his bloody palms.
“Yes,” he said with feigned boredom. “My employee, anyway.”
That must be how he knew she had it—but this was one pilfered bauble she had no intention of giving up. The gold filigree pendant’s exquisite workmanship was the only reason Antonia had not yet melted it down to sell. Ever since she had clipped a single chain link and snaked the gem from an older woman’s bosom at an opera house several months ago Antonia had been unwilling to part with the bold red tear-shaped diamond at the center.
It was her savings, Antonia told herself.
“I need your…” Havencrest paused. His gaze flicked down her body and back up so quickly she barely registered his brazenness. “Assistance,” he finished.
Antonia grinned. Needing her made the man despise himself for weakness. When the time came, she would use that leverage to make her escape. Antonia was nothing if not practiced at biding her time. In the meantime, men who needed to control the people around them were often the easiest to manipulate.
“I see,” Antonia smirked. “My assistance. With bandaging your hands?”
Where the devil had that offer come from?
Havencrest stiffened. He tucked his hands behind his elbows, arms crossed over his broad chest. “My hands are fine.”
“You had best clean the wounds and bandage them to prevent infection. I further recommend you take leave of your heavy schedule of scowling at ladies lest your injuries provoke an excess of heartfelt outpourings. You might find yourself saddled with a duchess.” Antonia prodded him with any combination of words she could think of that might provoke a reaction.
All he did was scoff. Antonia felt like a kitten dangling by the scruff of her neck, hissing with impotent fury.
“I hardly set foot in London society, as you well know.”
She did know. Antonia made it her business to observe. Havencrest, apparently, did too. Well, now that the man had caught her dead to rights defiling a corpse, she had little choice but to cooperate with his plan.
“I need specifics,” Antonia insisted as color bloomed across the morning sky over dark rooftops. “What is it you want me to steal?”
Havencrest hesitated. “The other half of the necklace you stole. I know you’re capable of it. You’ve done it before.”
“Perhaps.” Antonia shrugged. If she was not mistaken, the way the scowling man’s gaze flicked over her body indicated interest beyond the mercenary. She could use that, too. “Whose?”
“The Dowager Duchess of Summervale’s.”
Antonia crossed her arms over her chest. “You hardly need me for that. Any fool could clip the chain. I doubt she would even notice it was missing until…”
A faint smirk quirked up the corners of the duke’s lips, the shape of which she ought not to be noticing at this inconvenient moment. Antonia’s eyes narrowed. The bastard had as good as tricked her into a confession. It was one more powerful piece of leverage he held over her. Anger flared in her breast. No man controlled her. Not now. Not ever.
The tension between them shifted subtly. Havencrest’s mouth softened. His blue diamond gaze bored into hers until she averted her eyes and lifted her chin. “My point is, any fool could nick the old lady’s necklace in a trice.”
“How do you do that, Miss Lowry?” he asked roughly.
“Do what?”
“Mimic my accent to perfection.”
Antonia shifted in her seat. She had always been able to copy another person’s mannerisms and accent with a few minutes’ study. It was how she had turned herself into a shy maid, and then an American heiress, and countless other identities over the years. Garbed in a stable boy’s shirt and trousers, Antonia hadn’t even realized she had slipped into another person’s skin.
“I wasn’t trying to,” she snapped. The carriage jolted around a turn and she slid a few inches across the seat. Antonia stomped her boot to the floor and braced her arm against the side of the coach. Her fingers dug into plush velvet. When they completed the turn, she found her foot trapped between the Duke’s gleaming Hessians. Unbidden, her gaze followed the line of his long leg up to the knee where black leather became buff trousers. Thick thighs a few inches apart from one another invited her to look where no lady’s eyes should wander—
But then, Antonia had never been a lady.
Her cheeks burned as she contemplated what she had almost done. Though the sky had lightened with portending dawn, it was not yet light enough for Havencrest to see it. She composed herself with a sharp inhale and removed her foot from between his calves as if her leg had been caught in a steel trap.
