Leah Ball - The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance

“Your … your cousin?” She blinked up at him, her heart catching with a wild, irrational hope. “Lady Pembroke is your cousin?”

“Yes.” A mischievous light sparked in his eyes. “Lucy. My meddling plague of a cousin. The one who bribed Mr Bent to take an extended holiday, then suggested I pose as a piano tutor and tempt you out of hiding.” He shook his head. “But it didn’t work.”

“No?” She had been tempted, all too easily. Even now she felt breathless.

He smiled at her, rueful and amused all at once. “My plan was to slowly draw you out. To, as Lucy put it, ‘help ease you from your widowhood’. But falling in love with you made things bloody awkward.”

Falling in love? Happy tears tingled at the back of her eyes. The Marquess of Somerton? “But … you make an excellent piano tutor.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders and he drew her forwards. “I assure you, I make a far better suitor.”

She went willingly, lifting her face to his kiss. A kiss that swirled her senses, even as it anchored her fully to herself. A kiss full of passion. Delight. Life.

As a partner in crime, Stephen Hammond was an abysmal failure so far.

Lady Sabrina Pearson shot the man crouched next to her a withering look. “Can’t you do this faster?”

He muttered something unintelligible in response, which she had a feeling was not meant for her innocent ears, and his long fingers worked the metal picklock in the door.

Five minutes later, still no success.

“Stephen — ”

“It isn’t as blasted easy as it looks, Sabrina.” He hissed the words and almost the minute he spoke there was a clean, smooth click that signalled success. With a graceful, mocking bow, he opened the door for her. “I wish you joy in your burglary, My Lady.”

Dignifying that ironic tone was beneath her, so she swept past him into Lord Bloomfield’s study, adjusting her lantern so it illuminated the space better. The room was cluttered and smelled of stale tobacco smoke, spilled claret and musty books she doubted the man had ever read.

Bloomfield was an academic buffoon, a charlatan of the worst order, and without the papers and notes, he would be exposed as such. His Lordship had stolen her father’s life’s work and she intended to get it back. It was her only legacy and, since Bloomfield claimed the papers had been lost during a fire at their last encampment in Egypt after her father’s death, he could hardly charge her with the theft, even if he knew who had broken in and taken them.

It was really, in her opinion, a brilliant plan. It hadn’t been quite so easy to convince Stephen to help her, but in the end, he’d grudgingly agreed. Now all she had to do was find where the papers were stashed.

“See if the desk has any locked drawers,” she suggested, keeping her voice low. “If it does, go to work on them, please.”

“Whatever Your thieving Ladyship desires,” he murmured in a mocking tone, but did go over and begin to examine the desk. In the dim lamplight, his dark hair looked dishevelled, and a wavy lock fell over his brow as he frowned in concentration. Sabrina, in turn, roamed around the room, scouring the shelves for any hiding place, taking out books, even lifting a painting off the wall to see if there might be a cubbyhole behind it.

“The bottom left drawer is locked.” Stephen’s voice held an audible sigh. “I’ll do my best, but I think this is all confirmation that I should hold to my chosen profession as a solicitor and help uphold the law rather than break it.”

“It isn’t theft to take what should be yours,” Sabrina pointed out.

“Rationalization has its place. I suppose this is one of those occasions.” He bent down and went to work on the drawer. The scrape of the picklock came clearly, the little clicks loud in the otherwise quiet, shrouded room.

If we are caught …

No, they wouldn’t be, Sabrina assured herself, replacing a small statue of Isis on the mantel. It was a huge house, all the servants were abed, His Lordship had left for London that morning, and this was the perfect time to regain the documents.

It felt like an hour but was probably only a few minutes before Stephen said, “There it goes. I’ve got it open. You’d best come over here. I am not as confident of recognizing what we’re looking for. Is this it?”

She crossed the room, handing him the lantern, excitement making her heart beat rapidly. In the bottom of the drawer was a leather pouch, and, sure enough, as she lifted it out with shaking hands, her father’s initials were engraved on the front of it.

How many times had she watched him tuck away a bit of vellum into that pouch? How many times had he turned to her, his quick, affable smile curving his lips, his face alight as he talked of the latest discovery?

Tears blurred her eyes and she had to clear her throat as she untied the leather strings that kept it closed and saw his familiar scrawl across the papers inside. “This is it. I knew his notes were here.”

Stephen touched her shoulder. It was light, just a brush of his fingers, but it was comforting. “Even if this is the most reckless thing I can remember doing since you talked me into trying to fly by jumping out of the top of one the tallest trees on your father’s estate, I’m glad we came. However, in the interest of prudence, I think we shouldn’t linger. An undetected escape would make me feel much better than the broken leg I suffered after the misbegotten flying attempt.”

Sabrina gave a muffled laugh. “I felt awful. If you remember, I was most contrite and came over every day with sweets I wheedled from our cook while you recovered. I’m surprised you didn’t emerge from that injury as fat as a piglet.”

“Yes, well, let’s reminisce over our childhood escapades later, shall we? I think we should just go out the window. Either way, His Lordship is going to know he’s been robbed. Going back through the house carries more risk.”

He was undoubtedly right. Stephen was always right. It was infuriating at times, actually. She was the impulsive one; he was the steady logical antithesis of her personality. Where she had dreams … Stephen had plans.

She followed him to the window. He unfastened and lifted it, a tall, lean form in the dim light. He looked outside and then eased over the sill to drop into the dying autumn garden below. As she sat and swung her legs over, he turned to catch her, the leather case clutched in her arms. Stephen quickly lowered her to the ground. Her hand firmly grasped in his, he practically dragged her across the lawn of the park to the edge of the wooded area where they’d left their horses. In a swift motion he lifted her into the saddle of her mare, swung on to his own horse, and they walked at first back towards the road, where they urged their mounts to a trot. It was a clear evening, but cool, a hint of chimney smoke in the air and a scattering of stars above in the velvet sky.

“There’s an inn a few miles on.” Stephen glanced over, his face chiselled to planes and hollows in the indistinct illumination. “Bloomfield is in London and so it isn’t as if we have to avoid heated pursuit. At a guess, no one will know anything is amiss until his return. Even then he can’t really raise a hue and cry over what he supposedly never had in the first place.”

For a man who had been firmly opposed to her plan and had to be coerced into helping, he certainly sounded smug now that the deed was done and the mission successful. Sabrina arched a brow. “True. It’s rather a perfect crime in my opinion.”

“Humph. No such thing,” Stephen argued, all smugness fading from his voice. “We have the advantage of his lack of desire to make a scandal over this, but on the other hand, he is going to know for certain who invaded his house to take those notes and letters, Sabrina. There still could be retaliation, as this will ruin his career. He’s already proven himself to be underhanded. Let’s not underestimate him.”

She didn’t. There was no question her father’s former partner was greedy, manipulative and wily.

But she’d won, she thought in elation as they spotted the lights of the inn down the darkened road. She’d won.

He was a blackguard. A knave. A lustful fool.

Stephen Hammond opened the door to the small room at the top of the stairs and motioned his companion inside.

If you seduce her, you’ll forever know you got what you wanted through coercion. Shouldn’t it be fairly won? The annoyingly chivalrous voice in his head, one he’d heard too many time before, spoke in strident tones.

Damn that voice.

Sabrina walked in a few steps, her cheeks looking suspiciously flushed, her eyes holding an accusing look. “You told the innkeeper we were married.”

So he had. Step one in his diabolical plan. Except really he hadn’t had a plan at all until she’d come to his office in London a few days ago and asked him to help her on tonight’s ridiculous quest, so maybe that excused him at least a little bit. He’d even argued before capitulating and agreeing to take her to Surrey on their nefarious mission. It wasn’t really a surprise he’d given in, because by his recollection he’d never been able to deny her anything his whole life.

And now they were here. Alone.

“I had to,” he said smoothly, “if we are going to share a room.”

A single lamp was lit and shone on her pale, blonde hair. Her face, the features delicate and feminine, drew into a frown. “Good heavens, Stephen, I would be fine by myself. There’s no need for you to watch over me like a mother hen. I’m two and twenty, not some schoolroom miss. This way, there’s only one bed.”