Page 22 of Stolen By the Rogue
He might not think too much of the embassy’s attempts at security, but he was pleased they had already gift-wrapped the crown. All he had to do was pick up the box and make his way out the front door to where the Thames River boatman he had bribed was waiting.
In a matter of minutes, both he and the crown would be gone—sailing down the river and well away from here.
Stepping up to the box, he ran his fingers over its gilt covering. If his luck held, he might be able to get a good price for the melted-down silver in some distant market in France.
“Come on, my beauty. It’s time to leave.”
CLICK.
George’s blood turned to ice at the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.
“Hands up, then slowly turn around. No false moves or I will scream the place down.”
The gun was bad enough but knowing who was holding it tore a hole through George’s heart. He had betrayed her. The consequences of his shameful deed were now to be faced. There was no doubt he would pay a hefty price.
Bloody. Bollocks. Buggery. Oh!
He knew better than to argue with anyone holding a loaded and set pistol. With hands raised, George spun unhurriedly on the heel of his boot and faced Jane.
Their gazes met, and he offered up a sultry smile.
“Why would you scream if you are holding a weapon?” George silently cursed the tremble in his voice.
All the times he’d imagined being caught stealing; he had pictured himself as being braver.
“Because if I did, every person in this place would come running. And you would be flat out of luck. As it is, you only have me to deal with, but I assure you I am a crack shot,” she replied.
He took a step toward her, half-confident that if she had wanted to shoot him, she would have done so by now.
I bloody well hope so, otherwise this could end very badly for me.
Jane having him arrested might well be the least of George’s problems.
His hands dropped, and Jane tsked. “Don’t do that, George. Put your hands right up in the air please.”
Another of his steps was followed by a third. There was little more than a yard between them now. Three or so feet before he could get his hands on the pistol. “You won’t shoot me. Let’s not be foolish about this.”
She waved the pistol in the air, then aimed it at his chest. “What makes you think I won’t pull the trigger?”
He risked another step, then stopped. George might well have a gambler’s heart, but he wasn’t completely stupid. Loaded pistols had a nasty tendency of going off, and he didn’t want to be in the firing line if this one did. “I don’t think you will shoot, because this is me. You like me.” George swallowed deeply, doing his best to ignore his racing heart.
Jane let out a ragged breath and lowered the pistol. “I am well past the point of just liking you, George. But I think you might already know that you deceitful blackguard. I wish to God I didn’t have feelings for you. I sensed you were trouble from the outset. Last night, you pretended to be falling ill, but I wasn’t fooled. When you didn’t show earlier this evening, I knew you were going to finally make a move.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I wish you could believe that, because it is the truth. I never wanted you mixed up in my terrible life.
“I know I am a rogue, but you love me, and isn’t that all that matters? Tell me the truth of your heart, Jane, and we can sort this out. We can be together.”
He moved closer.
Jane took a step back and raised the weapon once more. There were tears glistening in her eyes, but her hand was steady. “The truth is you are a liar and a thief.”
She was going to turn him in to the authorities. The hangman’s noose beckoned. There was nothing else for it, but to take the risk.
Forgive me.
With one hand, George reached for Jane—the other went for the pistol.
