His Fifth Avenue Thief

Cathlene watched the two women as they bustled about the large kitchen, waiting for her opportunity to sneak inside unnoticed. Her mouth watered at the array of aromas wafting from the cook stove. Her stomach growled with hunger. It had been days since she’d last eaten a hot meal. And years since she’d lived a life of opulence; servants and luxury being a thing of her past.

She stuck close to the outer wall, hidden by the kitchen door leading out to the courtyard and her black maid’s cloak and gown.

She’d arrived at lower Fifth Avenue and this house by omnibus. Designed in the Greek style, it was as fine as any other mansion on the tree-lined red brick street. She’d hidden her fancy gown behind the hedge near the outer courtyard wall. She’d don it once she’d gotten what she’d come for…jewels and treasures she could pawn to put food in her belly, a roof over her head, and decent clothes on her back.

To obscure her features, she pulled down the brim of her maid’s cap. The housekeeper hefted the large tray and headed off to another part of the mansion. Once the cook’s back was turned, Cathlene tiptoed inside. The scents of bacon and eggs and pastries attacked her empty stomach. She swallowed the bile that clawed its way up her throat as she hustled through the kitchen.

Practice and necessity made her light and quick on her feet. Her other senses alerted to any sounds, she peered with a hawk’s precision for any staff who might discover her presence. All looked clear.

She headed up the main staircase to the second floor, where the master bedroom was usually located in grand houses such as this. Poised on the landing, she peered over the balustrade at the housekeeper heading into what could only be the study, where the master of the house must be.

With ease, she located the deserted master’s quarters. She made swift work of finding the safe and jimmying its lock with a hairpin she’d hidden in the bodice of her high-necked gown.

With a quick, keen eye, she deduced she’d struck a gold mine. Although not filled to the brim with feminine frippery such as lockets, bracelets, necklaces, and brooches, the pickings weren’t slim. Before her life of thievery, she’d received her fair share of jewels. She had no trouble discerning the better pieces from the lesser valuable ones.

She’d only take what she needed. Mainly, those items of the most value, as they would fetch her the highest price.

Cathlene stuffed two bejeweled timepieces, a trio of rings and half a dozen studded cravat pins into a pouch sewn into the front of her gown. The timepieces, especially were worth a steep price. If she were careful, she could make enough to disappear.

She’d gotten what she’d come for; now she needed to be quick, sure-footed, and careful – leaving without being detected. She refastened her gown, her loot hidden beneath her breasts. She shut the safe, re-secured the lock, and backed away.

And then the air whooshed from her lungs as she collided with a hard, broad male chest.

She kicked and struggled, but he was too strong and quick for her. No lazy gentleman was he.

Muscular arms wrapped around her, pushing her forward, until she found herself trapped between the unyielding resiliency of his body and the safe.

An utterly masculine, rich, spicy scent sluiced through her. Crushed from chest to thigh against her back, she had no choice but to feel every plane and contour of his body. Her capturer stood more than a head taller than her. He reached for her cap. She tilted her head away.

“No you don’t,” he growled in a deep musical brogue. “I hire you to work for me, and in return for my kindness, you steal from me. I’ll see the face of the thief who dares rob me blind.”

Momentary shock froze her where she stood. He took full advantage of her stillness and pinned her hands to the safe with one of his large palms.

Surely her ears were deceiving her. It had been two years since she’d heard the rough sensual drawl that, from the very first, managed to melt her insides.

Aaron was dead. He’d fallen overboard during their love struck sojourn to America , right after taking every coin and jewel she possessed. They’d stowed away, only to be discovered and married by the clergyman aboard ship. Aaron, her husband who’d drowned, leaving her to fend for herself on the unforgiving unfamiliar streets of New York City . A widowed lady alone without a kind soul to turn to.

She pushed hard against him, but she might as well try moving stone for how much good it did her. “Let me go,” she whispered through gritted teeth.

She tried kicking him again. He turned her roughly before forcing her back against the safe. “No, I don’t think so. You aren’t going anywhere until I’m satisfied.”

Only Aaron had that calm authoritativeness, that lethality to his voice that could send an enemy running. Trouble was, she was trapped.

To be sure her capturer was he, Cathlene risked a quick glance from under the brim of her cap to study his face. Dark unruly hair. Deep-set black eyes with equally dark brows. Eyes that when aroused, would burn into her, melting her limbs into submission. A crooked scarred nose. Her stomach flip-flopped as her gaze traveled to the full sensual lips that, when stretched into a smile, gave him an almost angelic appearance. No smile graced them now.

He stood over six foot, no trace of the shabby, poor country Irish boy visible in the refined man before her. Dressed in gentleman’s garb of fine linen pullover shirt with full sleeves and deep button cuffs. The wide collar emphasized the cravat knotted at his throat, his shirt tails tucked into long trousers.

Her shock rose to anger. It was Aaron after all. He was alive and well.

While she’d fought to survive, he’d thrived. “I only meant to borrow those items from you,” she lied carefully, keeping her voice soft so he wouldn’t recognize her.

She’d be damned if she’d reveal herself to him. He hadn’t drowned after all, but deserted her without a care for her well-being. She wagered he would again. Cathlene wasn’t concerned, she’d survived this long without his interference.

He held her hands extended above her head, and ripped her gown open from chin to chest. She gave an indignant huff which he ignored. “Sure you did. I don’t share with thieves. What’s mine is mine.”

“That so? Are you as possessive with your mistresses as you are your bobbles?”

“Aye, I am,” he said, in that low timbre that had always succeeded in seducing her. “I cannot be rid of them once they taste my many charms.”

Arrogant pig.

It was too, that arrogance that had drawn her to him in their homeland, where she’d been the lady and he the serf. He was so rough around the edges, the salt of the Earth – so different from the refined men who’d paraded themselves like peacocks before her. He cared naught for her dowry or for pretending to be someone he was not.

She’d once been one of those women who’d fallen under his sensual spell.

Cathlene gasped as his hand explored her curves. “Don’t pretend you have any sense of modesty. I have no designs on your person.” His hand left the underside of her breast, where beneath her thin chemise, her nipple peaked. He caressed a path over her ribs to her stomach. “You’re too thin for my tastes, and too dishonest to ever be my mistress.” He removed the items she’d stolen. “Though if you were, you’d never have cause to steal. That I promise you.”