Page 34 of Stolen By the Rogue
“I’m not being testy about what I have done. I just find it uncomfortable to discuss such things with you.” A clearly annoyed George raked his fingers through the short strands of his hair. “And yes, I can fully understand how asinine that makes me seem, but it’s the truth. I want to move on from that life, and this—with you, is the best opportunity I have ever had to do just that.”
A surprising sense of guilt over having called his morals into question crept up on Jane. It was foolish, because despite all his protests, Georgehadbeen a master thief.
What would have happened if he had succeeded in stealing Baldwin’s crown and tried to sell it?
She smiled slyly at the thought. One day she might just tell him. But that was not today.
“I’m sorry, George. It’s hard to look at you and not see a wicked rogue. In time hopefully my view will change.”
He gave one last look at the sheet of paper on the table, then turned on his heel. His voice drifted back to her from farther down the hallway. “I plan on it.”
The rest of the day was spent looking in all the obvious places for the treasure trove: cupboards, behind doors, even inside the filthy mattress they discovered in the attic. By the time they were ready to use the clean water they had gotten earlier from the nearby public water pump at the end of the street, and washed the dust from themselves, Jane and George were both exhausted.
“Tomorrow, I think we should focus on the floorboards,” she said.
He nodded. “Loose ones first then, room by room, the rest of them. I will go and buy some chalk first thing so we can mark our progress as we go.”
If the floors yielded nothing, next would be the roof, the chimneys, and the fireplaces. Then the outside. Jane did not look forward to digging up the yard, especially not near the privy. From the crusty ground around it, she could tell that over the long years, the cesspit underneath had been left to regularly overflow. It was probably still full now. The idea of stepping on something wet in the dark on her way to the toilet made her gag.
Which reminds me, I need to pay a coin to the nightsoil man and make sure he keeps it clear while we are living here.
For all its grand reputation, London was a filthy city. The great network of aqueducts which distributed fresh water throughout Constantinople put the English capital to shame.
“I tell you what—how about I give my face and hands a quick clean, then I will head out to buy us some supper? That will allow you a moment of privacy to have a wash,” he said.
George might well be a career criminal, but he was still a gentleman. The idea of having a little time to herself held a certain appeal. George Hawkins was a man who took up a great deal of space.
And not just physically. I am always thinking of him.
“That would be lovely. Thank you, George. It’s a kind and sweet gesture.”
When he scowled at her words, Jane laughed.
“Oh, come now. You are not entirely a blackguard. I am beginning to suspect that underneath all your villainy you are actually a decent man.”
George muttered something inaudible, but Jane caught the hint of a smile on his face. He headed out of the kitchen and toward the front door. “I won’t be long. Hopefully the bakery on the corner of Brownlow Street has some apple tarts left for us.”
With George gone and the house all to herself, Jane stripped off her clothes and indulged in the joy of a soap and bucket wash. As her hands worked over her naked body, she did her best not to think of him. Of how his fingers and lips would feel on her heated flesh. Of the pleasure of him filling her deeply with his manhood and bringing her to completion.
It’s been far too long without a man’s touch. I know he is wicked, but I want him.
The temptation to ask if George wished for her to share his soft new bed was there, but Jane worried what he would make of such a sexually forward offer. This was England, and from what she understood, women here treated the act of lovemaking as something to be ashamed of and kept purely for the marital bed.
Their connection had thus far only reached the point of kissing and hugging, though some of those kisses had been more than just tender explorations. That last one on the day they’d looked at the house had been a clear statement of claim.
Should I let him make the first move? Or is he holding back because he thinks I am inexperienced, that I am a virgin?
“Yes, well, that’s not exactly the sort of thing you discuss while searching a house for lost treasure, is it? I say, George, did you happen to find the jewels? No, but I think I discovered your lost virginity.” She chuckled at her own naughty jest.
But what if she could let him know that she was not some prim and proper miss? That a sexual relationship between them could be more than just a possibility?
A loud rap at the front door stirred Jane from her musings. Grabbing a towel, she quickly dried her body and slipped on the clean gown she had left hanging over the back of a chair.
“Coming, just a minute,” she called.
She was still finger-combing her damp hair when she opened the door. “Did you forget your key, George . . .”
The figure at the door wasn’t George. It was the lascivious and altogether creepy former owner of the house.
