Kate Moore Read Online Free PDF Page B

he stayed her in the hall some steps behind their host.
    “Would you believe I did it to protect you?” he asked softly, as if he had read her discomfort and embarrassment. She refused to answer. “No one must ever know Margaret Somerley was here; no one must ever connect you with me.”
    The smiling proprietor had stopped and with a flourish indicated a door near the end of the hall. When he moved to open it, the thief stopped him, offering a coin. The man’s hand closed over the gold, and he bowed and left them.
    In another of his swift, unexpected moves the thief encircled Margaret’s waist with one arm and pulled her against his side. He tilted her chin up, compelling her to look at him. “Now, Meg Summers,” he whispered, giving her the name he had invented. “Croisset must never guess who you are, so keep silent and lean against me, and I warn you, lie if you must, for he is a dangerous man.” His gaze held hers, and she knew he waited for her to acknowledge that she understood. Harsh laughter burst from the taproom behind them, followed by the scrape of chairs against the floor, shouts, and jeers. In these surroundings who could she trust but her thief? Reluctantly she nodded her compliance, and they entered the parlor.
    At a long table lit by a great branch of candles sat an enormous man before whom were several platters, empty except for streaks of sauce and piles of bones. Margaret’s first thought was of the prince, for the man’s girth was as great or greater than the regent’s, and the room was uncomfortably warm, like all the rooms in Carlton House. Yet this man had none of the prince’s amiability about him. His complexion was mottled, and the skin appeared like a sausage casing stretched taut over the folds of flesh. It was not a skin in which a man could be comfortable. His unblinking gaze suggested a snake’s readiness to strike. Croisset’s look told her he would never forget her face, and under that gaze she could not resent the thief’s arm about her waist.
    “So we meet at last. You are more than prompt, my lord,” the enormous man said to her companion in a thin nasal voice which was at odds with his size. “It is well—” He paused. “—but you bring a woman.”
    “A necessary convenience, merely,” the thief replied in a voice Margaret hardly recognized as his. She wondered at the title with which he had been addressed, but the pressure of his hand at her side warned her to show no surprise.
    “Perhaps she could wait for you elsewhere while we talk,” suggested the other with a careless wave of his hand.
    “In this neighborhood there is no suitable location where a prize of her delicacy might be left alone, Croisset. I do not share what is mine.” He led Margaret to a bench built into an alcove. Then he removed their cloaks and settled Margaret next to him as if he were making the most ordinary of visits.
    “You are not as I imagined, my lord,” said Croisset when they were seated. Again Margaret wondered at the title. Who was the man at her side? Was he lying to her or to Croisset?
    “I did not think you fanciful, Croisset,” he replied.
    “You are more handsome, more the ladies’ man than you are reported to be, I think,” continued the other, looking pointedly at Margaret.
    “As I said, a necessary convenience.”
    “But such an innocent one.” Margaret could not look away from the man’s stare until she felt her thief’s hand once more under her chin, tilting her face toward his.
    “Innocence is a charming quality, don’t you think, Croisset?” he said, looking at Margaret. “Usually overpriced, but with this one, no.” He stroked Margaret’s cheek with his thumb. Her skin tingled and she felt the heat of the blush his touch evoked. “Did you wish to discuss her charms—I assure you she has many—or must we turn at once to the more pressing business of the evening?” He shifted his gaze back to Croisset, and there was a pause. Margaret willed her