The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

The questions erupted in his mind, along with another, more compelling one.

How would she look in slumber? Would she sleep curled on her side, her hair primly braided, her body ensconced in a chaste white nightgown buttoned to the neck? Or would she be unreserved, her hair unbound, her nightgown sheer and deeply cut?

After yesterday, he had to know.

Before he could rethink the foolhardiness of his actions, the bandit veered away from his original mark, and headed toward her chamber. There was no excuse for his behavior, and he k

new it. He should be rifling the marquis’s chambers, leaving his symbolic gem, and taking his leave. To divert from his customary methods was risky, insane. Unprecedented.

Until now.

Finding the door unlocked, the bandit eased inside, keeping his taper close and low so as not to awaken her.

She was breathtaking.

The dim glow of the candle flickered across her face, giving her an ethereal beauty unrivaled in its impact. Sprawled on her back, with her hair fanned over the pillow like a tawny waterfall, she was a golden angel, all captivatingly innocent and excruciatingly seductive.

And far from prim.

The tangle of sheets was caught about her waist, giving the bandit an unimpeded view of her body. Transfixed, he watched her breasts rise and fall softly above the low cut of her bodice, her bare throat and shoulders exposed, inviting his touch.

Sweat broke out beneath his mask, desire exploding in his loins like cannon fire, as startling as it was fierce. He wanted her. It was that simple. Only years of self-discipline kept him from acting on his impulse and taking her where she lay.

He was a bloody thief, for God’s sake, and he’d come to Tragmore to divest the marquis of his possessions.

Instead, all he wanted to divest the marquis of, was his daughter.

Silently, the bandit fought the hunger raging inside him, a hunger rooted in too many emotions to explore, and utterly unthinkable to indulge. He had to leave Tragmore—now.

He made no sound, of that he was certain.

Yet all at once her lashes lifted, fluttered, then lifted again.

“Oh!” She sat bolt upright, all semblance of sleep vanishing in a heartbeat.

Lightning quick, the bandit reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the handle of his pistol. Cursing himself for his careless stupidity, he withdrew it slowly, praying she wouldn’t force him to use it.

“Don’t scream. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

The raspy command elicited a bone-melting smile. “You’re he, aren’t you?” Daphne whispered, climbing from her bed. “You’re the Tin Cup Bandit!”

His gaze swept her scantily clad body, then, with the greatest of efforts, returned to her face. “Did you hear me?”

“I was wondering why you hadn’t come to Tragmore before now. I racked my brain trying to think of how I might send you a message, suggesting that you visit us.”

He started, desire checked by disbelief. “Do you understand who I am? Why I’ve come?”

“Of course.” Daphne shrugged into a robe, seemingly oblivious to her state of undress. “You can put your gun away. You won’t be needing it.” Tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear, she crossed the room, gathering up the strand of pearls and exquisitely crafted cameo from her dressing table, and thrusting them at the bandit. “Here. Unfortunately, they’re all I have. But Mama has a jewel case filled with lovely gems. I’m sure she’d want you to have them. She’s a fairly deep sleeper, so I wouldn’t worry about disturbing her. Father, on the other hand—” Daphne broke off, frowning. “Before we resolve that problem, did you retrieve the cash box from the library? I’m certain Father keeps additional funds hidden away elsewhere in that room, but I’m not sure precisely where. I do know that he keeps absolutely nothing of value in his bedchamber.” A wry grin. “Fear of burglary, you see. In any case, don’t waste your time searching there. Also, I understand you always restrict yourself to jewelry—and money and silver, of course—but we do have a few paintings that would yield a decent sum, as well as some fine fabrics that were terribly expensive. Do you think your contact would be interested in them? If so, I’d be happy to—”

“Stop!” the bandit exclaimed. Dazedly, he shoved his pistol back into his pocket and took the jewelry from her hand. “One of us is mad. I’m just not certain which.”

Daphne inclined her head quizzically. “Why?”

“Why?” He had scarcely enough presence of mind to keep his voice in that unrecognizable rasp. “Because you’re not only unruffled by my presence, you’re aiding me to rob your home—despite the fact that you obviously know who I am.

“It’s because I know who you are that I’m helping you. It’s also the reason I’m unafraid.” Adoration shone in her eyes. “A man who sustains hundreds of needy children wouldn’t harm one innocent woman. No, sir, I feel no fear in your presence.”

Surprisingly, her praise evoked irritation, rather than pleasure. With brutal candor, he threw her description back at her.