Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss. Bronwyn Scott
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that smile, Mr. Burke,â his light- footed angel said bluntly. âYou cannot seduce me. I will not be another of your conquests.â
âAre you certain?â Julian saw no reason to apologize or to lie, although he was stunned sheâd found him to be so transparent in his thoughts. His partner was clearly up to the task of managing him, which in itself was a novelty. He pulled her even closer, until her body was flush with his, and whispered in her ear, âWhy donât you let me try and weâll see if youâre right?â
An English debutante would have slapped him across the face and stalked off the dance floor, but the woman in his arms merely laughed as if heâd said something humorous.
âHow, precisely, would you go about it then, Mr. Burke?â
The cheeky vixen! It was all Julian could do not to throw back his head and laugh in the most conspicuous way. Julian could not remember when heâd been so utterly enchanted with a woman. He wanted to flirt with her simply to see what sheâd do next. And she wanted him to. In spite of her claims to the contrary, she was intrigued by him.
Julian still held her close. He took advantage of that proximity now. âI would start with strawberries and champagne beneath a spring moon on a clear night,â he whispered huskily. âI would slide this gown of yours off your arms and down to your waist. I would lay you on a blanket of softest wool and let you revel in the sensation of the wool at your back and the light spring breeze playing across your naked breasts before taking them in my warm palms, in my mouth.â
When he paused, waiting to gauge her reaction to his boldness, part of him expected her to be scandalized at such talk. No part of him had expected her to simply look up at him and say, âAnd? Surely there is more than that to your seduction, Mr. Burke.â
Julian gave her a dark look. âMy dear, this is but a sample. Anticipation, not expectation, is the essence of any sensual encounter. To tell you everything would give you nothing to look forward to.â
She was about to respond when the dance came to an end and with it, the end to the magic theyâd woven between them. It was time to go to work, but Julian pushed aside thoughts of the task. The diamonds were in a safe. They could wait a few more minutes. Perhaps he could at least steal a kiss for pleasure and for purpose. His minx needed a quick lesson in playing with fire. âWould you like a glass of champagne?â Julian solicited, moving them toward the veranda and the privacy of the night.
She looked up at him with her green eyes, her whole face shining with enjoyment. âChampagne would be perfect. Shall I wait for you outside?â
Julian grinned. He couldnât have planned it better himself. He found a footman with a tray and grabbed two glasses, congratulating himself on a quick mission. Heâd feared the time it would take to wend his way to the refreshment room. Those congratulations were short-lived, however. When he returned to the veranda, it was empty. There was no sign of his lovely partner. Sheâd given him the slip. It was then that Julian realized she hadnât given him her name.
Omens didnât get any clearer than that. Julian swallowed his champagne in a single draft. His mysterious dance partner had played the role he needed. Heâd been noticed on the floor. Apparently that was all he was going to get from her. Now it was time to get to work.
Chapter 2
Sophie DuPlessy watched Julian disappear into the crowd on his quest for champagne. She had to act quickly. Dancing with Viennaâs 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, sheâd 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 womanâs body, and could with a simple touch bring that body pleasure. Then heâd started with that sinful litany of feats heâd perform, and sheâd 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. Heâd 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 hadnât 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, sheâd have the jewels in her possession. In the morning, sheâd present them to the Italian count whoâd hired her and claim her reward. Then her life could begin, her real life, the life sheâd dreamed of for the past seven years.
Sophie navigated the ballroom and made her way upstairs, ostensibly in search of the ladiesâ 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 familyâs 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. Sheâd 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 couldnât see it well as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, but it didnât appear to be disturbed. No, it wasnât 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 âlater.â 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.
âExcuse me, is anyone there?â Sophie called out in guileless tones. No one hearing her would guess she concealed a weapon in her gauzy pink skirts or that sheâd entered the room intent on committing an act of a dubious nature. Truly, it wasnât 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 heâd taken refuge. âA thousand pardons, mademoiselle. It seems this room is indeed occupied.â
Recognition