Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle: Pickpocket Countess / Grayson Prentiss's Seduction / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady / Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss / The Viscount Claims His Bride

He waltzed impeccably, which didn’t surprise Nora. The man was all about flawlessness, from his perfectly combed hair to the toes of his spotless boots. However, he also waltzed with a passion that astonished her. His precision was not an empty effort.

A surreptitious ferocity lurked beneath his well-polished surface, practically undetectable except to another kindred soul who shared the same love for dance. Nora sensed it in the turns he took a shade too quickly at the top of the ballroom and in the press of his hand against her back as he signalled his instructions.

Nora looked into the sharp blue eyes that peered out from behind his dark demi-mask. They were daring her, but what the dare was, she could not immediately place.

Stockport leaned close to her ear, his voice low and melodious. ‘Can’t you do better than this? I would have thought The Cat was capable of more,’ he taunted.

Now she understood. He was daring her to match his passion. She smiled back. If she took his challenge, she would have the distraction she needed. ‘I was just making sure you were up for it,’ she countered. She leaned close to his ear, taking in his clean scent of soap and spices. ‘You want to fly, I can feel it.’

Stockport laughed, drawing a few stares. ‘This is dancing, not sex.’

‘Is there a difference? That’s why the waltz is so scandalous, isn’t it?’ Nora sparred wickedly.

Stockport inclined his head, eyes glinted mischievously. ‘Then by all means, shall we?’ Without waiting for reply, his hand on her back made a small adjustment and drew her up close to him until she could feel the flex and give of his muscled thighs against the fabric of her gown.

‘You do talk scandalously,’ Nora flirted for good measure, enjoying entirely too much the feel of his body as he whirled them through the turn at the bottom of the ballroom.

‘I do more than talk.’

‘We’re attracting attention. Can you afford the gossip?’

‘I’m the Earl. I’ll simply say it is how we do it in London.’ His eyes left hers for a moment to stare down a passing couple with wide eyes. To emphasise his point, he increased his speed and turned her sharply, leaving her gloriously breathless.

Their bodies blended perfectly. Nora met him step for step, giving herself over to the exhilaration of the moment and the man. It had been ages since she’d danced like that and even then it had only been in a small country-town assembly hall. But never had she danced with such a master.

Stockport unleashed was a sight to behold.

It struck her there might be a third reason he’d earned his dubious moniker. The Cock of the North was an energetic Scottish reel. She could only imagine how invigorating it would be to dance it with him.

When the dance ended, she was smiling ridiculously. She could feel the grin across her face. She was suddenly aware that Stockport was smiling too—a real smile, not like the political ones he’d bandied about at the tea. This one altered his face entirely.

For an instant the adversarial nature of their relationship was suspended. He was smiling at her as if he enjoyed her company, as if the two of them shared some secret knowledge the rest of the world did not. Without warning, the smile was gone and he remembered where he was, who he was and who she was. The spell was broken. Others milled about them, making their way to the supper room and the unmasking.

He gripped her gloved wrist and Nora tensed. She did not want him to ask her to go into supper with him. Surely he knew how impossible the request was? Everyone would unmask. She could not afford that with Stockport, although she could probably fool the rest of the village.

She intuitively knew Stockport would know immediately that The Cat and Eleanor Habersham were one and the same. His gaze had been too piercing the day of the tea, as if he could see in one short visit what the villagers had not ascertained in the four months she’d lived among them in her spinsterly guise. Of course, she had to give the villagers their due; enemies and friends of The Cat alike were all looking for a man. Only Stockport knew he was looking for a woman. That made him doubly dangerous.

‘I am not going into supper with you,’ she said with a supercilious air that brooked no contradiction. The amicable atmosphere of the dance floor was gone.

‘I am not asking you to. I prefer not to eat with common thieves,’ Stockport replied with equal coldness. Was it possible she’d imagined the man he’d been on the dance floor?

‘Then you will starve tonight, since this room is full of them,’ Nora retorted angrily, her temper rising. How dare the hypocrite refuse to acknowledge that there were other ways to steal? She only stole objects and material goods, all of which could be replaced. Others in this very room stole livelihoods. His textile mill would put him in the same category as the rest. The thought disturbed her. She didn’t want him to be like the others. The realisation that she wanted him to be different was more disturbing.

Furious with herself for letting her thoughts run in such a direction, Nora abruptly shoved them to the back of her mind. She would do best to remember that dealing with Stockport was nothing more than a game, one she played well and had played often enough in the past without entertaining such notions in her head.

She gestured toward a set of doors leading out to the verandah and he acquiesced. The cold night air provided an antidote for the heat of the ballroom. The contrast provoked a shiver.

‘Would you like my jacket?’ Stockport offered, shrugging out of it in a perfunctory manner that suggested his offer was more reactionary from years of training than a heartfelt gesture.

‘I’m a thief, remember?’ Nora snapped, irrationally disappointed that the magic on the dance floor had been replaced by an iciness that matched the weather.

‘And I am a gentleman,’ Stockport rejoined, draping the jacket about her shoulders in spite of her resistance. He reached up to untie his mask and tuck it into a pocket. ‘That’s better. I can’t stand these dratted things.’

Stockport moved closer, turning his head to see her better. Nora met his unnerving stare, locking her eyes to his blue-eyed scrutiny. She felt the heat building between them as it had on the dance floor, but she didn’t dare back down.

Stockport whispered with husky cynicism, ‘How much of your purported proceeds for the poor went to the purchase of this gown? Do you think they’d feel this was worth it while their bellies go hungry?’

‘How dare you impugn my honour. I got this dress from a brothel, a prostitute’s cast off that she was willing to donate. I scrounged up the trimmings too. I think it turned out quite nicely.’

‘You’re a regular Cinderella,’ he said, unconvinced.

She changed the subject with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Enough talk. You didn’t bring me outside to discuss fashion. We have business to attend to.’

‘I want my ring. You indicated you’d be prepared to deliver it to me tonight.’

‘In exchange for three hundred pounds.’ Nora tapped a gloved finger against her chin, playing the coquette who had her beau dangling. ‘But that was two weeks ago. I’ve decided the conditions for the ring’s return have changed.’

That got a reaction out of him. ‘This is extortion! We had an agreement. You cannot simply alter the rules and expect to get away with it.’

‘Why not? You did. The four men stationed around the ballroom are yours, are they not? I presume they are awaiting a signal that you planned to give when you handed over the money.’

‘I may still summon them,’ he said darkly.

‘To do what? Watch you court Adelaide Cooper on the balcony? The Squire’s son will vouch for my identity and I will drop the ring over the railing before your men can arrive. There will be neither an exchange of money nor any incriminating evidence for them to seize. That assumes, of course, that they have located you since your departure from the ballroom. For all you know, they may have gone into supper, concluding that you wished some privacy in which to woo your pretty dance partner.’

Nora watched his stoic features fight for mastery against the emotions roiling within him at her deductions. Was he disappointed this meeting had come down to nothing more than extortion? Had he hoped for a nobler conclusion? He didn’t believe she actually used the funds for the poor. In his study, he’d accused her of having a Robin Hood complex. And tonight he’d implied she used the money for her own needs. Well, that much at least she could disprove.

She outlined her offer, thinking quickly. ‘These are my conditions—meet me where Stockport and Hyde Roads meet tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. You will come alone and on horseback. No fancy carriages or outriders shall be with you. You shall accompany me into Manchester and make the rounds with me, after which you will return to the crossroads and go your own way. You will make no attempt to follow me or discover my identity. The following day, I will have the ring delivered to you.’

Stockport looked at her, scepticism narrowing his gaze. ‘What guarantees do I have that you’ll do as you say? Who’s to say you won’t lure me into an alley where you’ve prearranged to have some thugs kill me or beat me senseless? These conditions sound suspicious to me. Perhaps the ring isn’t worth such a risk.’

Nora feigned nonchalance. She hadn’t expected Stockport to give up without a fight. ‘It is of no difference to me. I can sell the ring back to you for the price of a visit to Manchester or I can sell it for cash to someone else. Either way, I get something I want.’

‘What do you get from the visit that is as profitable to you as cash?’ Stockport queried suspiciously.

He was wavering, Nora noted with satisfaction. She stepped away from the railing, inching back towards the doors leading to the now-empty ballroom. ‘My lord Earl, I get to take your measure—a look into your soul, and you get a look into mine if you’re willing to peek. Now, I bid you goodnight. I’ll expect you in the morning.’ She felt the smooth brass of the door handle beneath her hand and turned it a fraction. She raised her other hand to her lips, blowing Stockport a kiss as she vanished into the ballroom.

Damn, that woman had a way of disappearing and this time she’d disappeared with his good coat in tow. He had others, but that one was his favorite. The coat! Deuce take it, the three hundred pounds were still in the breast pocket. That made three things he’d lost to The Cat tonight: his coat, his money and his ring. Arguably, by agreeing to her counter-offer, he’d lost a fourth—his sanity.

The evening had taken an unbelievable twist. He’d gone from the security of retrieving his ring to the insecurity of a dubious trip to Manchester with The Cat. By nature, he didn’t like cat-and-mouse games, especially when he was the mouse, and he was definitely the mouse here. The Cat had him dangling.

To be honest, not all of him minded. Not because she’d been alluring in that gown she’d worn or because she flirted audaciously, but because she challenged him with her wit, her insights and sense of daring. He had no doubt that tomorrow would be full of such tests as well and not all of them would be hers. His would not be the only measure taken.

Chapter Six

Morning arrived stark and cold. Standing on the wood planks of the bedroom floor in her nightshift, Nora drew back the curtains to view the dreary day spreading before her.

Christmas morning ought to look different. It ought to look special. It didn’t. It looked like every other morning in the long English winter. Bare trees raised dark silhouettes to the grey sky. Everywhere she looked, the earth was devoid of colour beneath the frost. The heart of winter carried with it a sense of desperation.