Page 2 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Thorne stuffed the jewelry into his bag. Every diamond necklace, every ear bob, every sapphire encrusted hair comb, every bracelet. Even fenced at a fraction of its worth, this was more money than he’d ever seen in his good for nothing life.
Wait.
Out of the corner of his eye, the shadows shifted. Thorne paused and slowly turned his head.
George Grey, The Earl of Kent, sat in the shadowed recesses of the room. He sipped from a glass of port and watched as his mistress’s jewelry disappeared into the cloth bag of a thief.
Thorne lunged for the door, but the earl’s voice rang out behind him. “I’ve got the authorities waiting outside for my command, so you might as well stay a while.”
Thorne clenched his jaw, not turning to look at the man. “How did you know I’d come?”
“You’ve stolen from friends of mine. So I had my mistress wear something expensive enough to tempt you.”
“Tell the coppers, then,” Thorne said, wheeling around. “Have me arrested.”
The other man’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “And if I had them sent away? Told them you never showed?”
Thorne’s laugh was dry. This man wasn’t about to let Thorne walk away with a sack full of his woman’s jewels out of charity. No, this toff wanted something. Theyalwayswanted something.
“What’s your favor?” Thorne asked.
“Addington’s widow mentioned that when you stole her diamonds, she thought you were a nobleman. But you’re Irish?”
“Yes,” Thorne said, enunciating the word slowly using the earl’s posh fucking accent. “And I can mimic any accent I’d like, even yours.”
The earl laughed. “You’re perfect.”
Thorne had a decent understanding of toffs, but the vicious delight in Kent’s expression surprised him. “For what?”
“What if I let you keep those jewels, and more besides?”
Thorne narrowed his eyes. “I’ve a mate who’ll let you stick your cock in ‘im for a hell of a lot less than that.”
“For god’s sake, man, I’m not asking about buggery. This is a business proposal.”
“Don’t make deals with toffs,” Thorne said, reaching for the door.
“Not even for one-hundred thousand pounds?”
Thorne froze, his hand on the door knob. His heart stuttered in his chest.
Surely he’d heard wrong.
But no, that devil in the darkness smiled and repeated the impossible sum. “That’s right. One-hundred thousand pounds. I’ll even include the jewelry. All you have to do is pretend to be a nobleman.”
Experience had taught Thorne to be suspicious of all aristos. They were a selfish lot—willing to throw the nearest child under a carriage wheel if it benefited them. Their charity did not come without a price, especially not for men like Thorne.
But for that amount of blunt, he’d consider the game.
“For how long?”
The earl lifted a shoulder and sipped his port. “However long it takes. Three months, let’s say.”
Thorne made an amused noise. “I beg your pardon,” he said in his perfect imitation of the earl’s accent. “I may sound like a lord, but the facade is not meant to last longer than the length of time it takes to abscond with a woman’s jewels.” At the earl’s stunned silence, Thorne added, “You like that, aye? I ain’t from St. James’s. You lot have rules I haven’t been taught.”
“Rules?” Kent tilted his head. “Etiquette, you mean?”
“Sure, start there.”
