Page 17 of Stolen By the Rogue
And since the ambassador’s wife had kindly provided Jane with a maid, she was obliged to wear the gown while she sat and had her hair brushed each night.
She flicked open the top button, following quickly with the other two. It did little to reveal any skin, but she enjoyed these moments of private rebellion. With arms crossed in front, she grasped the sides of the garment and lifted it over her head. With a deft flick of her wrists, it joined the dressing gown on the floor.
“How do the women of this country ever get their men to touch them if they go to bed dressed like this?” she scoffed.
In the chill of winter, she could understand the need for something practical to keep her warm. Without the heat of a man’s naked body, a girl could freeze. But it was early autumn, and the blankets on her bed were enough to keep out the chill of the night.
Much better.
In the privacy of her room, Jane could get away with being naked. She liked sleeping in the nude; the tactile sensation of the cool sheets against her skin heated her blood. She pulled back the covers, then climbed into bed.
Tonight, had been a challenge, then, to her a relief, a pleasant surprise. George had at first gently prodded Jane about her background, but he had retreated when she didn’t give him any more than she was prepared to impart.
And I’m grateful he did.
If their relationship did move to another stage, then perhaps she would tell him of her life in Malta. Of her former lover.
The bedside candle was quickly snuffed out and she settled onto her back on the mattress. Her fingers brushed over her already peaked nipples, and she whispered, “George” as her hand slipped between her legs.
* * *
George peered up at the windows of the embassy from his hiding spot in the garden. After saying good night to Jane, and stealing another kiss, he’d walked away toward the Strand. A few minutes later, he’d returned and slipped in through the gate.
The light in an upper room went out. He shivered at the memory of the art gallery. Never again would he risk creeping into a building so soon after the last candle had been extinguished.
Breaking into the embassy was not going to be an easy task. Unlike many other mansions and official residences in London, the Ottoman embassy faced straight onto the river. The front of the building had little in the way of gardens in which he could hide. There wasn’t even a way to get around to the back, since the Adelphi buildings were all joined.
“Damn,” he muttered.
The only way he was going to be able to break in was if he was already in the building when the doors were locked. The mere notion of a dangerous inside job made him nauseous.
Not a good idea allowing yourself to be hiding behind locked doors, George Hawkins. The hangman’s noose is always waiting for fools who get too cocky.
If only Jane wasn’t so honorable and respectable—he would be tempted to bring her into his plans. But he had already corrupted enough people during his life; he couldn’t do that to a woman whose trust he was only just beginning to win.
Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that Jane Scott wasn’t the sort of woman easily swayed, especially not when it came to Baldwin’s crown. The way she spoke with such reverence and respect for Sultan Mahmud, George was certain he would be a fool to suggest such a thing. She would be more than offended.
He turned on his heel and headed out onto the waterfront. A small boat was pulling up as he closed the gate silently behind him. The boatman jumped out of the vessel, rope in hand, and quickly tied it to a nearby iron cleat. He gave George a friendly nod as he passed by and moved toward a nearby tavern.
George looked back at the embassy. The answer to his monetary problems lay within. If he could get his hands on Baldwin’s crown; and either sell it as is or melt it down, he would have enough money to buy that fourth coach for the RR Coaching Company. Another coach that could bring enough real coin into the business, that he might finally be able to step back from his dangerous vocation.
He wouldn’t have to steal any longer.
His fingers scratched the stubble on his chin as he pondered his dilemma. Stealing the crown would be a double-edged sword. He would have the money, but he doubted he would be able to keep Jane. The second the crown went missing, all hell would break loose.
And I so want her.
Jane and the whole staff of the Ottoman embassy would be searching everywhere trying to find whoever had stolen the crown. He couldn’t risk being around when that happened. Couldn’t risk getting caught.
George was torn between Jane and the priceless crown.
That had always been your plan. You were just stupid enough to start to feel something for the chit. When did you ever mix business with pleasure?
Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets, he began the slow walk home to Argyle Street. There was nothing else he could do tonight. A hard choice would have to be made. If he wanted the money, which the treasured jewel could bring, he was going to have to betray Jane.
Chapter Eleven
Jane ran her hands over the front of her gown once more. There wasn’t a crease or mark on it, but she was nervous. It was the first time she had been to a private dinner at a home since her return to London. A dinner where a duke and other nobles would be present.
