Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss

Bronwyn Scott is a communications instructor in the Puget Sound area of the USA, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages.

Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss

Bronwyn Scott

MILLS & BOON

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For Scott, my agent at Greyhaus, who so politely asked me if I could squeak in just one more writing project this summer, and the people at Mills & Boon® (Joanne et al) who have graciously included me in this exciting new endeavour. Thanks for thinking of me! I appreciate the honour.

Chapter 1

Vienna, 1823

Julian Burke surveyed the glittering ballroom with a predator’s eye. “Who shall it be tonight?” the Viscount St. Just murmured quietly beside him. The other two gentlemen with him laughed knowingly.

In the months Julian had been in Vienna, the routine of seeking out a lively partner had become a weekly, sometimes nightly ritual. His reputation as a libertine was firmly established and the women didn’t seem to mind. Vienna was a city bursting with energy, drawing people from all over Europe to its ballrooms and palaces. Exciting places drew exciting people. Wallflowers and virtuous debutantes did not populate this crowd with any great regularity.

Julian rather liked these continental women. They were mature. They understood the rules of the game. They accepted the fact that affairs ran their course, and expected nothing more.

Julian’s gaze passed over the ballroom again, lighting on the figure he’d been visually pursuing all evening. Time and again, he’d come back to her; his eyes were drawn to her movements on the dance floor, the saucy tilt of her head and her easy smile. “That one, St. Just.” He nodded in the woman’s direction.

“Ah,” Valerian Inglemoore, Viscount St. Just offered approvingly. “She’s very beautiful, very vivacious it seems. I have noticed her too. She is also younger than your usual sort, Burke.”

The other two gentlemen, Truesdale and Mathison, eyed her appreciatively. “Good choice, Burke,” Truesdale said, lifting his preposterous quizzing glass. “She’s quite lovely. I don’t see how I missed her.”

Mathison elbowed him. “You were too busy looking at the brunette on the other side of the room.”

Julian clapped St. Just on the back. “I am off to conquer the fair maid’s heart. I’d ask you to wish me luck but I won’t need it. I will be on the dance floor with her in ten minutes.”

St. Just raised an eyebrow at his friend’s cocky farewell. “You don’t have a place on her dance card.”

“A minor technicality.” Julian shrugged. “I will give you gentlemen good-night. I doubt I’ll be seeing you again this evening.”

“Be careful, Burke,” St. Just replied as Julian melted into the crowd.

Julian squared his shoulders and began to work his way to the woman’s side. He would be careful tonight. He’d been right when he’d said he wouldn’t need any luck. Tonight was all about acting on the planning he’d done during the last several weeks. St. Just knew, as the others didn’t, that his true purpose in Vienna was to reclaim for England a diamond jewel set currently in the hands of the evening’s host, a French comte. The jewels were upstairs in a safe. But he couldn’t go haring upstairs without making his presence known downstairs first. That’s why he’d picked the lively young woman.

Everyone, except Truesdale obviously, had noticed her. Her smile alone would have drawn people to her. Her entire being radiated a certain magnetic joie de vivre. The fact that she was positively beautiful was simply an added benefit. There was no question in Julian’s mind that this lovely creature broke hearts on a nightly basis wherever she went. Of course, his heart was in no danger. She was welcome to work her wiles if she liked, but in the end, all he wanted from her was one dance, enough to get him noticed so that when and if the hue and cry went up about the missing jewels, people would only remember he’d spent the evening dancing if they connected him to the incident at all.

Julian approached the little group she was with as the orchestra struck up a waltz. “Mademoiselle, I believe this dance is mine.” Up close, her beauty was breathtaking, Julian noted objectively. Her hair, the color of pale gold, and the smooth ivory sheen of her skin gave her the look of a fairy princess straight from a child’s book of tales.

A look of confusion flitted briefly across her heart-shaped face. She scanned her dance card. “I believe you’re mistaken, monsieur. I have elected to sit this one out.” Her tone was gracious, but something in her eyes did not match the politeness of her rejection. Those sharp green eyes were not the eyes of a delicate princess. They were a hoyden’s eyes, and right now they were dancing with mischief, challenging him. He would answer that challenge with one of his own.

“Perhaps you were just waiting for the right partner. Please, the music awaits.” How fortuitous. This dance was empty, the only dance not spoken for, although it struck him as odd that she would sit out the waltz. Julian offered her his arm, reissuing his challenge. This time, she took it.

Julian swung them on the floor, marveling at the way she felt in his arms. His hand fit smoothly at the small of her back and she let him draw her to him as if they weren’t strangers. He liked the Viennese style of waltzing better than the version danced in England. Holding a woman so close, feeling her reactions as they moved from contrachecks to fleckerls, he could tell if she was worth bedding. This one definitely would be, Julian reflected, guiding them through a passing change at high speeds.

She laughed up at him, enjoying the moment. “You dance very well, Julian Burke.”

Ah, so she knew him. “My reputation precedes me. I fear you have me at a grave disadvantage, miss.”

She laughed again; if sunlight had a sound, it would be this. “Of course I have you at a disadvantage. A woman’s reputation should never precede her.”

Julian smiled at her sharp rejoinder. She was beautiful and witty. It was definitely too bad he didn’t have time to seduce her. His body wanted to argue that point. His eyes kept straying to the sweep of her décolletage and the high, firm breasts it put on display to their best advantage. In the dance, those breasts were just two tempting inches from his chest. In his mind, he could imagine the weight of them in his palms with alarming accuracy. His hand at her waist could feel the feminine indentation and the soft flare of her hip beneath her layers of clothing. The beginnings of an arousal were starting to stir, and he knew from long years of experience they would be magnificent together.

“You can put aside whatever lascivious thoughts you may be entertaining behind that smile, Mr. Burke,” his light- footed angel said bluntly. “You cannot seduce me. I will not be another of your conquests.”

“Are you certain?” Julian saw no reason to apologize or to lie, although he was stunned she’d found him to be so transparent in his thoughts. His partner was clearly up to the task of managing him, which in itself was a novelty. He pulled her even closer, until her body was flush with his, and whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you let me try and we’ll see if you’re right?”

An English debutante would have slapped him across the face and stalked off the dance floor, but the woman in his arms merely laughed as if he’d said something humorous.

“How, precisely, would you go about it then, Mr. Burke?”

The cheeky vixen! It was all Julian could do not to throw back his head and laugh in the most conspicuous way. Julian could not remember when he’d been so utterly enchanted with a woman. He wanted to flirt with her simply to see what she’d do next. And she wanted him to. In spite of her claims to the contrary, she was intrigued by him.

Julian still held her close. He took advantage of that proximity now. “I would start with strawberries and champagne beneath a spring moon on a clear night,” he whispered huskily. “I would slide this gown of yours off your arms and down to your waist. I would lay you on a blanket of softest wool and let you revel in the sensation of the wool at your back and the light spring breeze playing across your naked breasts before taking them in my warm palms, in my mouth.”

When he paused, waiting to gauge her reaction to his boldness, part of him expected her to be scandalized at such talk. No part of him had expected her to simply look up at him and say, “And? Surely there is more than that to your seduction, Mr. Burke.”

Julian gave her a dark look. “My dear, this is but a sample. Anticipation, not expectation, is the essence of any sensual encounter. To tell you everything would give you nothing to look forward to.”

She was about to respond when the dance came to an end and with it, the end to the magic they’d woven between them. It was time to go to work, but Julian pushed aside thoughts of the task. The diamonds were in a safe. They could wait a few more minutes. Perhaps he could at least steal a kiss for pleasure and for purpose. His minx needed a quick lesson in playing with fire. “Would you like a glass of champagne?” Julian solicited, moving them toward the veranda and the privacy of the night.

She looked up at him with her green eyes, her whole face shining with enjoyment. “Champagne would be perfect. Shall I wait for you outside?”

Julian grinned. He couldn’t have planned it better himself. He found a footman with a tray and grabbed two glasses, congratulating himself on a quick mission. He’d feared the time it would take to wend his way to the refreshment room. Those congratulations were short-lived, however. When he returned to the veranda, it was empty. There was no sign of his lovely partner. She’d given him the slip. It was then that Julian realized she hadn’t given him her name.

Omens didn’t get any clearer than that. Julian swallowed his champagne in a single draft. His mysterious dance partner had played the role he needed. He’d been noticed on the floor. Apparently that was all he was going to get from her. Now it was time to get to work.

Chapter 2

Sophie DuPlessy watched Julian disappear into the crowd on his quest for champagne. She had to act quickly. Dancing with Vienna’s premier lover had been an unlooked- for complication but not necessarily an unenjoyable one. He was as handsome in person as he was reputed to be, and just as rakish.

In spite of her intentions to remain aloof, she’d found it impossible to ignore the seductive maleness of Julian Burke. His hot, dark eyes, his grace on the dance floor and the intimate feel of his hand at her back had been a powerful elixir. But he had not left well enough alone.

His hand had not stayed strictly at her back. Rather, it had strayed from her back to her waist, his thumb lying discreetly at her hip bone, conveying a secret message of its own; that the owner of that hand knew a woman’s body, and could with a simple touch bring that body pleasure. Then he’d started with that sinful litany of feats he’d perform, and she’d thought she would melt right there on the dance floor. Surely if a girl was going to be seduced, Julian Burke was the man to do it. And he had the arrogance to know it. He’d known exactly what he was doing with her. He probably knew what he was doing to her as well, and she would have indulged in his temptations to a certain degree if she hadn’t had other plans tonight.

Sophie looked around her once more and slid back into the crowded ballroom. Julian Burke would have to wait. Tonight, she was nearly at the end of her quest. By midnight, she’d have the jewels in her possession. In the morning, she’d present them to the Italian count who’d hired her and claim her reward. Then her life could begin, her real life, the life she’d dreamed of for the past seven years.

Sophie navigated the ballroom and made her way upstairs, ostensibly in search of the ladies’ retiring room. At the last moment, she changed direction, making her way cautiously down the hall toward the west wing of the house and the family’s private chambers. Her luck held. She encountered no one. The hall was darker toward this end of the house, no doubt to discourage anyone from wandering far from the party.

The dimly lit hall posed no barriers to Sophie. She’d memorized the upstairs floor plan days ago in preparation for this evening; down the hall, a left turn at the first corridor and then three doors on the right. The third room was the private office where the safe was located behind a portrait of a relative; a great-uncle from whom the house was inherited, to be precise, and Sophie DuPlessy was always precise. It was the trait that had made her so very successful in her line of work.

Sophie turned the handle of the door and stepped inside. As expected, the room was dark, lit only by a small lamp on the desk. Sophie shut the door softly behind her, expecting to savor the moment of peace before taking the final steps in her mission. She inhaled deeply and stopped. Something was wrong.

Her eyes went immediately to the portrait of the great-uncle across the room. She couldn’t see it well as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, but it didn’t appear to be disturbed. No, it wasn’t the portrait. The room was alive with energy, with a presence.

With great deliberation, Sophie reached into the hidden pocket of her gown for the small gun she carried there. She withdrew it, reassured by the smooth feel of steel in her palm. She kept the weapon concealed in the folds of her skirts, thankful for the fuller fashions.

She debated the wisdom of simply backing out of the room and trying again later. But her mental debate was purely academic. There was no “later.” How would she gain legal entry into this home again? It was unlikely this family would host another party soon enough for her needs. No, backing out of the room was not an option. She would have to brave it out.

“Excuse me, is anyone there?” Sophie called out in guileless tones. No one hearing her would guess she concealed a weapon in her gauzy pink skirts or that she’d entered the room intent on committing an act of a dubious nature. Truly, it wasn’t stealing. She was merely returning the items in the safe to their rightful owner.

Should he make himself known? Julian Burke cursed his bad luck. There were twenty-five rooms upstairs for a lost young lady to wander into, and yet the young lady had picked his, as unlikely as it was, since the room was so far from the main corridor. Well, maybe not so unlikely if she was meeting someone, a young beau perhaps, for a private assignation. The thought of being a party to such an untutored interlude galvanized Julian into action. His decision was made. He would make his presence known and gently guide the intruder back to the main venue. Then he could return to his rendezvous with the portrait and what lay behind it.

Julian raised his dark head over the back of the sofa where he’d taken refuge. “A thousand pardons, mademoiselle. It seems this room is indeed occupied.”

Recognition hit him as soon as the glib words were out of his mouth. What was she doing here? She couldn’t possibly have followed him. She’d been gone when he’d returned to the veranda. In fact, if this was her destination, he was lucky to have gotten here beforehand. She must have gone through the ballroom, which would have slowed her down quite a bit. Still, such conjecture didn’t explain what she was doing here to start with. This wasn’t exactly a room one deliberately sought out.

Her eyes followed the sound of his voice until they found him rising from the sofa. She masked her own surprise quite well. “Is this where they’re keeping the champagne these days?”

“I brought the champagne. You were gone,” Julian replied tersely. He stepped around the sofa and moved closer. “Have you gotten lost? I’d be glad to escort you back to the ball.”

“Oh no, I’m not ready to go back to the ball,” she demurred politely, moving to take a chair near the sofa he’d just vacated. “In truth, Mr. Burke, I am hiding from someone. It’s why I had to slip off and leave you, much to my regret.” She shook her head most convincingly. “When I saw this dreadful person, I couldn’t bear the thought of being discovered by him. He’s quite odious in his attentions. I think I shall rest here a bit. You don’t need to wait for me if you wish to return downstairs. I doubt anyone will find me here.”

Julian crossed his arms. “True enough. It’s amazing you found your way here, so far from the ballroom.” Her answer was not conducive to his plans. He needed her out of this room. He’d spent months planning this. He would not be subdued at the end by a pretty, nameless chit. But she showed no signs of moving from the chair.

“It could be compromising for the two of us to be found in this room alone together,” Julian pressed, finding his patience quickly waning. She had deserted him on the veranda and now she had suddenly appeared again with no intentions of leaving in the near future.

“As you said, this room is not on the common path. It’s doubtful anyone will come across us,” she said confidently, then added coyly, “If you’re worried for your reputation or mine, you could always leave.”

The pretty minx was getting on his nerves. Julian decided to be blunt. “On principle, you should leave. I was here first.”

“On principle, you, as the gentleman in this scenario, should leave and accede to a lady’s wishes,” she said sweetly before adding, “But principles and reputations are moot issues really after our earlier discussion. Unless I misunderstood you in the ballroom? Was all that talk of strawberries and wool blankets just a gentleman’s daydream?” She dropped her eyes to a place a lady was never supposed to look on a man while managing to give the impression of demureness. “I thought you were going to try to seduce me and I was going to try to resist.”

Julian’s jaw clenched. It was time to test this dichotomous angel’s mettle. Was she as innocent as she looked, or was she the adventuress her dancing eyes and wicked challenges suggested? He stepped toward the chair she occupied and bent forward, a hand resting on each arm of the chair, effectively trapping her. She caught her breath.

“You are a master flirt, my pretty vixen. I would be happy to seduce you if you think you’re up to it.” He expected her to push at him. It was what he wanted. He’d let her succeed and race toward the door. No self-respecting society miss would countenance such a naked invitation. It might be one thing to tease a man so avidly on a dance floor surrounded by hundreds of others. It was a far riskier proposition to flaunt those wiles in private with no one to interfere. Here in the dark, the proverbial safety net was gone.

Instead, she propelled herself into his arms with three little words he’d have loved to hear if circumstances had been different: “The sofa, quickly.”

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