Page 39 of Rogue of My Heart

A Marriage Most Convenient

ROBYN DEHART

One

London, 1893

* * *

It was beginning to bore him.

Stealing, that is. For the past fourteen months, he’d been disguising himself as the infamous Jack of Hearts, to steal from the rich and privileged of London society. At first it had been enthralling, a challenge, and a rather daring one at that. But now he had become a novelty.

If the Jack of Hearts made an appearance at your party, it was considered a smashing success. So here he was—his bag full of useless bobbles, half of them not even authentic stones—crouched in the shadows outside of Maybrook Hall, having completed his most recent caper, but wondering why he continued to even do this.

Sometimes he wondered why he’d begun doing it in the first place. Yes, there had the dire financial straits of his family and the jewels, and disguising himself as Jack had allowed him to lay claim to the jewels and family heirlooms his mother had lost or given away over the years. At first, he’d relished being a thief, doing things so daring and bold that no one who knew the real him could have imagined him capable. But he had long ago accomplished the goal he set for himself when he first took up the mantel of Jack.

The jewels his mother had given or gambled away over the years in fits of near-manic generosity had been restored to the family. Personally, he’d made some rather smart investments allowing the family coffers to flourish. He no longer needed to be Jack.

Furthermore, being Jack, tricking all of the ton, was no longer exciting. In fact, it had become quite tedious.

So why was he still doing this? Why did he even still bother dressing up as Jack of Hearts to steal from the rich and the bored?

Jack sighed and turned to leave. There would be no more thieving tonight. He would simply creep out the back garden door outside Maybrook Hall and disappear into the shadows. Perhaps for the last time. However, before he walked more than a few steps, a female voice rang out from the terrace above him.

“Lord Winthrop,” the woman said. “Your attentions are most unexpected.”

Jack stopped and listened intently to the exchange on the balcony above him, though the next exchange of words was too soft for him to hear it clearly. Without even seeing the people, he knew who they were. He’d know her voice anywhere.

The man, obviously, was the Earl of Winthrop, a useless, dandy of a man whose most prominent characteristics were his weak chin and his domineering mother. The woman, whose voice Jack knew all too well, was Charlotte Reed, a close friend of his own sister. Charlotte was known for her beauty, her charm, and the dozens of hearts she’d both won and then demolished since her come out.

Charlotte Reed was a vain, silly, frivolous creature, and he wasn’t the least bit interested in her affairs.

He turned to leave, almost feeling sorry for Winthrop—the poor sap—when he heard her say, this time her voice ringing firmly, “I said, no thank you, Lord Winthrop. I don’t take kindly to unwanted attention.”

Jack froze at her words. Unwanted attention?

Damnation.

Jack peered between the bushes to see Frederick Cowell, the Earl of Winthrop grip Charlotte’s arm. Pink marred her skin above the man’s tight grip. Anger surged through Jack and he fisted his hands. He could tolerate plenty of questionable behaviors—he was, after all, a thief—but mistreating a woman was not one of them.

“Don’t be so demure, Charlotte. I was only wanting a kiss.”

The man’s words were not even slurred. He couldn’t very well blame alcohol for his abhorrent actions.

“I have not given you leave to speak to me with such familiarity,” she snapped.

Charlotte may be a renowned flirt and he may be a thief, but he wasn’t about to stand by while any woman was manhandled.

Jack stepped forward, primed to make a move, but before he could, Charlotte shoved against Winthrop’s chest. Clearly taken off guard, the man stumbled and fell onto his arse.

“I do not desire you to kiss me. Should I change my mind, I shall endeavor to inform you posthaste. Now go back inside before I find your Ma-ma and tell her about your outrageous behavior.”

Winthrop scrambled to his feet and dusted off his backside. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Reed, I was simply so overcome with your beauty, I lost my head. I do hope you’ll consider me if you go riding in the park.” Then the man skulked back into the ballroom, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Jack nearly laughed. It seemed Charlotte Reed could take care of herself. He might be impressed if he had it in him to care about her one way or the other. Jack waited a moment to ensure she remained alone and safe. She was clearly visible where she stood in the light cast from the ballroom windows behind her. He was hidden in the shadows, unseen. This was nothing new. Charlotte never saw him. Had never seen him. Not really.

Swallowing the unexpected rise of annoyance, he turned to leave.