A Rake's Midnight Kiss. Anna Campbell

the distance someone started to whistle. A jaunty old tune. “Over the Hills and Far Away.” Apt for an absconding thief, she supposed. Not that he’d betrayed any panic. Again, his confidence struck her as puzzling. The music faded as the whistler wandered into the night.

      With shaking hands, Genevieve scooped up the key and balanced it on her palm. One completely unimportant fact threw every other consideration to the wind. She’d finally identified the smell that had tantalized her when he’d held her.

       Lemon verbena.

Chapter Two

      Richard drained his brandy and rested his head against the back of the leather armchair in Leighton Court’s library. Housebreaking left a man in dire need of a drink. The black mask draped disregarded from a bookshelf. He’d felt like a confounded mountebank wearing it, but as things turned out, it had been a wise decision. After six months of detective work, he’d found his treasure.

      “She’s got the jewel, all right, after playing coy with my agents about whether Great Aunt Amelia left it to her. When I climbed through the only open window I could find, it sat on the desk, plain as that big beak on your face.”

      “No need to get personal.” Camden Rothermere, Duke of Sedgemoor, rose from the matching chair across the hearth to refill Richard’s glass. The duke’s green eyes below his ruler-straight black hair lightened with the humor that only his friends saw.

      Right now, Richard knew he took advantage of that friendship. Only a good friend would rusticate on this obscure estate to support a pal when he could be enjoying the delights of his principal seat in Derbyshire. Cam’s house in Little Derrick gave Richard a base in the neighborhood. Cam’s name would provide an introduction to the locals.

      Cam hissed with impatience. “Why the devil didn’t you steal it then and there if the damned thing was ripe for the taking? Nice quick job. You can slink back to the fleshpots and I can go north to supervise the harvest at Fentonwyck.”

      “Bad form to steal it, old man, bad form.” A faint smile tilted Richard’s lips as his free hand dangled to toy with his dog’s ears. Sirius, a hound of indeterminate breed, snoozed on the floor beside the chair, his long nose resting on his front paws. He hadn’t appreciated missing out on tonight’s excitement. “I’ll give the chit a chance to sell it to me first. If I steal it, I can’t brandish the bauble to demonstrate that I’m the title’s incumbent and society had better bloody well respect that.”

      Richard spoke more casually than circumstances warranted. Until tonight, he’d only seen the jewel in watercolor sketches in the family papers. The urge to pocket the gold and enamel trinket had been deuced strong, but tonight’s burglary had always only been a reconnaissance mission.

      His agents had approached Miss Barrett several times to purchase the jewel and none of them could get the damned woman to admit that she had the troublesome artifact. She’d neither denied nor confirmed, although every trail ended at Little Derrick’s vicarage. Tonight’s burglary had been a last-ditch attempt to discover whether to proceed with the plan that even he admitted sounded outlandish.

      The rage that had gripped him in Lord Packham’s ballroom still soured his days. Laying his hands on the jewel had become a quest to assert his worthiness to a world too eager to discount him as a sham.

      “I’m glad I don’t have to add theft to your list of misdemeanors.” Cam eyed Richard without favor.

      “I’ll try persuasion first.” He sipped his friend’s excellent brandy, his pleasure in recalling the vicar’s fiery daughter vying with the anger that had simmered for six months. Longer. His whole life. “Anyway, Miss Barrett had a gun.”

      A surprised gust of laughter escaped Cam. “Did she, by Jove? Good for her. I wondered if you’d encounter the mysterious Miss Barrett when her father and aunt turned up to dinner without her, but it was too late to warn you that the vicarage wasn’t empty. I swear the reverend gentleman could talk the leg off an iron pot. Even if you’d caught a bullet, I had the worst of the evening.”

      “I owe you.” Richard stretched his long legs across the blue and red Turkey carpet. Pleasant weariness weighted his limbs.

      “You do indeed. Although I have to say Leighton Court is dashed appealing. I should have been quicker to check out Uncle Henry’s bequest after he turned up his toes last year.” Cam subsided into his chair. “So was the scholarly spinster what you imagined? Bad skin? Round shoulders? No bosom? A squint from poring over all those dusty tomes?”

      A surge of purely male appreciation warmed Richard’s blood. The body he’d held had definitely sported a bosom. Quite an impressive one if he was any judge of women. Which of course he was.

      “The lady is … interesting,” he said musingly, fingers stilling on Sirius’s shaggy head. The dog grumbled softly at the cessation of attention.

      “If she countered your nonsense with a pistol, she certainly is. I take it you’re proceeding with this ramshackle scheme.”

      Richard smiled, recalling the girl facing him down as cool as you please. Instead of a dried-up old maid, he’d encountered a glorious Amazon. Tall. Blond. Flashing silver eyes to make mincemeat of his unflattering expectations.

      “Richard?” Cam prompted when the silence extended.

      “Hmm?”

      “Stop mooning over the damned filly. I gather she was something of a beauty. Answer me.”

      “Of course I’m going on.” Richard rose and without invitation refilled his glass. He waved the decanter at Cam, but his famously abstemious friend shook his head. “I can’t see I’ve got much choice. I could go through the courts and prove Aunt Amelia had no legal right to bequeath the jewel to Miss Barrett, but chancery cases take forever and you never know how those blasted judges will rule. Miss Barrett won’t deal with my representatives, even after they said I’d give ten thousand guineas for the jewel.”

      “Money clearly doesn’t move her.”

      “Something will, and I’ll discover what that is. Luckily for me, her father takes in paying students. It’s a matter of infiltrating the household and keeping an eye for the main chance. Everybody has a price—I’m sure I’ll learn the female prodigy’s.”

      Cam still looked unconvinced. “She’ll know what you want the minute she hears your name.”

      Richard’s lips curled in a sly smile as he lounged against the mantel. “Meet Christopher Evans, rich dilettante from Shropshire.”

      Cam’s voice flattened. “You mean seduction.”

      For one blazing instant, the prospect of plundering Genevieve Barrett’s Viking charms dazzled Richard, until reluctantly he shook his head. “No need to sound so disapproving, old chum. I’ll soften her up with a bit of flirtation, but I won’t ruin her. I don’t mean the girl any harm, whatever dance she’s led me over the jewel’s whereabouts. I’ll give her a few weeks of masculine attention and a nice fat purse, then leave her with a smile and the jewel in my pocket.”

      “A female who holds you off at gunpoint mightn’t be an easy conquest.”

      Richard shrugged. “I know enough to get round an innocent country miss. She’ll be eating out of my hand in no time.”

      “If tonight’s any indication, she’s more likely to bite your fingers off. You’re sounding like such a coxcomb, I’d almost like to see that.”

      Richard’s laugh held an acid note. “I can act the charmer when I have to. Good God, I learned that lesson long ago. My amiable ignorance in response to insult saved me a parcel of beatings from our dear schoolfellows.”

      He