Page 13 of Stolen By the Rogue
“How long did you and your family live in Byblos?”
He wanted to know as much as he could about Miss Jane Scott, but he was going to tread carefully—showing only the right amount of interest without raising any suspicions.
During their time as agents of the British crown, Stephen and Harry had taught George the subtle art of interrogation only too well. One never pressed hard for information. Rather, one set the most innocuous questions before a subject and then sat back and let them find a way to reveal everything about themselves.
Jane’s gaze settled on her half-empty cup of tea, and she fell silent for a time. George could almost imagine her searching through her memories, sifting and sorting, before finally selecting the ones she felt comfortable enough to share with him. “We left England when I was eight. Mama, Papa, my brother, Michael, and myself. The first year we spent in Constantinople, and that was where my sister, Salma, was born. After that we moved to Byblos, and my father began to work on unearthing parts of the crusader castle. I was twenty-two by the time we finally left and set sail to come home to England.”
“Which would explain your interesting and captivating accent,” he replied.
She picked up her cup and took a slow sip. After placing it back on the saucer, Jane proceeded to pick nervously at the crumbs on her bread plate.
Don’t push her. Let it go. She is already at the limit of what she wants to share.
“And what about you, George? Have you and your family always lived in London?”
Touché. That was a clever piece of diversion.
“Yes. I come from a family with a long history in the legal profession. Many of my forebears have been London-based judges. My father, of course, is disappointed that I didn’t follow in his footsteps. Fortunately, my older brother, Richard, did, and that has kept the peace somewhat at home.”
Jane wiped her face with her napkin. She lifted her gaze and met his once more.
“So, what exactly do you do for a living, George Hawkins?”
Oh, just the usual. I am a master thief with a penchant for jewels. In fact, I am currently working on finding a way to steal Baldwin’s crown right from under your nose.
He cleared his throat. “I am an investor in a coaching business. My friends, including Lord Harry, started a company a year or so ago. We have three coaches now, with the view to further expansion in the near future.”
The standard, boring company spiel that Monsale had taught them rolled easily off his tongue. It gave all the information someone would need, without inviting them to ask anything further.
“Coaches, you say. I would love to travel somewhere in England. Who knows? Now that I am back home, I may even become a customer of your business. I have always wanted to see Scotland.” Again, she made no mention of her father, mother, or siblings, her words only being in regard to herself.
He was sorely tempted to ask her outright about the rest of the Scott family, but his deeply ingrained training held him back.
She sat upright in her seat and a forced, painted smile appeared on her lips. “Do you know where else I would like to go? Vauxhall. The pleasure gardens. I have heard so much about them. Tell me, are you a regular visitor?”
George hated Vauxhall with a passion. It was a din of pickpockets and larceny. If the thieves didn’t get their hands on your wallet, their accomplices stole your precious coins at the card and dice games, which were always rigged.
Aside from the obvious downsides of the place, he was also not particularly keen to take Jane anywhere near that part of London. Vauxhall and Lambeth were where all his handlers of stolen goods just so happened to reside. If he set foot in the pleasure gardens with her, there was a good chance that one of his professional acquaintances would pop up and bid him a cheery hello.
And then what would I say? Miss Scott, may I introduce you to Mister Smith? He is what is known in the thieving trade as a fence. I am hoping he will get me a good price for Baldwin’s crown which, if I haven’t already mentioned, I am planning to steal.
“Vauxhall is dirty, crowded, and not much fun. And by the time the exhibition at the embassy is closed in the evening, all the special entertainments will be over,” he lied.
Her face fell, and a hint of red appeared on her cheeks. “Oh, that’s unfortunate.”
Well done. Now you have made her sad.
He shouldn’t care that she was disappointed. Jane Scott was supposed to be the means to an end. But even as she lifted her cup and downed the last of her tea, he couldn’t just leave things as they were. “How about I take you for a late-evening stroll along the River Thames once you are finished tonight? We could get a bite of supper and perhaps a glass of wine somewhere,” he said.
She set her empty cup down. “You don’t have to do that, George. It was nice that you took me out this afternoon. I would hate for you to feel any sort of obligation toward me.”
If he were an honorable man, a decent one, he would have regretted not offering to take her to Vauxhall. But George was a thief—the crown his goal.
Time to move in and work your charm, Georgie boy.
He reached across the table and touched his fingers softly to her right hand. “You have it all wrong, Jane. I was not being nice today because I felt obligated toward you. I am genuinely interested in getting to know you better. I like you.” His gaze remained fixed on where their two hands were joined, on his thumb as it rolled gently across her knuckles.
When he touched the gold ring, with its honey-colored stone, which sat on her middle finger, she quickly pulled her arm back. “I . . . I like you too, George. But I think we should take this getting-to-know-one-another thing slowly and see where it leads.”
