Anne Gracie - An Honourable Thief

Her hands twisted the damp handkerchief into a rope. “He used to be a beau of hers, you understand, before she married Papa, and I think she still has a tendre for him.” She bit her lip. “I think…Mama thinks he is paying me so much attention for her sake…”

“Ahh,” said Kit, understanding her dilemma at last. “Well, then, you must get rid of the fellow yourself.”

Miss Lutens stared at her with large brown eyes. “Get rid of him? But how?”

“Be firm, be bold,” said Kit decisively. “Tell him to keep his hands to himself.”

Miss Lutens’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh! I am not sure I could…And what if he does not?”

“Then slap him! Good and hard.”

“Oh, I could not possibly slap him!” gasped Miss Lutens. “It would make a scandal, me slapping a man of his rank and years. I truly could not!”

Kit frowned. Miss Lutens had a point. “Well, try being firm and speaking to him about it, and if that does not work, let me know. I shall think of something. We women have to put up with enough in life without having to endure furtive caresses from a slug!”

“Oh, yes! Thank you!” Miss Lutens beamed. “Oh, I am so pleased to have met you. I was not looking forward to this ball, you know, with Sir Bartlemy escorting Mama and me, but now I have made a friend and I am so happy!” She clasped Kit’s hand in an eager grip.

Kit smiled, her heart sinking. It was not part of her plans to make friends. If she allowed people to get too close to her, they would see through her deception. Already with Miss Lutens she had not behaved as an unworldly innocent would—she had dropped her role to rescue an innocent child from a nasty groping octopus.

It was a foolish move. But Kit could not help herself. She had learned very young to protect herself from unwanted attentions—she’d had to with the life she’d lived.

Kit hesitated. She’d been watching the other young girls with envy in her heart, envying them their doting parents and protective chaperones and wondering wistfully what her life might have been like if Papa had doted on her like these parents did on their daughters.

But now she realised that their very protectiveness had made these girls quite vulnerable to the unscrupulous attentions of persons like Sir Bartlemy Bowles. Without her mother’s support, Miss Lutens was like an oyster without a shell; soft, exposed and utterly unable to protect herself.

But Kit did not have had the benefit of a protected up-bringing; she had more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She resolved to help Miss Lutens.

“You need not simply put up with things, you know. You can take action on your own behalf.”

“How?” said Miss Lutens, eagerly.

“You must do something to give Sir Bartlemy a disgust of you.”

“But what? And what would my mama say?”

“It will be too late for your mama to prevent it. And if you are clever and subtle enough, then you won’t have to be in her bad books for long.” She gave Miss Lutens a significant look and added with a faint smile, “Much can be forgiven of a young girl who is nervous about making her come-out.”

Miss Lutens looked at her blankly. Kit winked. “Do not worry about it. Do I understand that Sir Bartlemy has already had two dances?”

Miss Lutens nodded.

“Good, then you shall not have to dance with him again tonight. Shall you be at Almack’s on Wednesday?”

Miss Lutens nodded. “Yes, Mama has procured the vouchers.”

“I shall also be there and no doubt we shall see Sir Bartlemy too.”

“Yes,” said Miss Lutens dolefully. “He is very fond of Almack’s.”

“Then I shall show you what I mean on Wednesday,” said Kit. “And when you come, bring your sharpest hatpin, just in case.”

Miss Lutens’s eyes widened. “My…my hatpin? But, but I shall not be wearing a hat at Almack’s, you know.”

Kit wondered what it would be like to be so innocent, so sheltered, so trusting of the world. Vulnerable, she told herself firmly.

“Yes, it is not for a hat. You must keep it in your reticule, but poke the end into a cork, so it does not prick you. And then, if you are bothered by such nasty creatures as, let us say, octopuses, you may take it out and…” She mimed the thrusting of a pin and winked. “Very useful things, hatpins.”

Miss Lutens gasped, put a hand over her mouth and giggled.

“That’s right,” said Kit cheerily, “and even if you do not use it, it will make you feel much more confident, knowing you have your hatpin on hand. In the meantime, take heart. There are plenty of nice, handsome young men who will take one look at you and fall instantly in love. Your mama will soon be so busy keeping track of all your suitors, she will have no time for clammy old horrors like Sir Bartlemy.”

Miss Lutens blushed and giggled again.

“That’s better,” said Kit bracingly. “Now, let us return to the ballroom,” she said. “Our partners will be awaiting us.”

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Singleton,” said Lord Norwood stiffly as he escorted Kit back to where her aunt was seated. He was a little annoyed from having been treated with cool lack of interest all through the country dance.

“You are welcome, sir,” responded Kit coolly. “I do enjoy country dances, though they can sometimes leave one a trifle breathless.”

Lord Norwood frowned. There was not the faintest hint of breathlessness about Miss Kit Singleton. Lord Norwood, on the other hand, was hot and still puffing slightly.

“Hmm, yes,” said Thomas with determined civility. “Ah, here is my—er, Mr Devenish awaiting you. I believe he is next on your card.” He nodded brusquely at Mr Devenish, bowed very correctly to Kit and left.

Mr Devenish had clearly heard Kit’s last comment. “Perhaps you do not wish to dance, Miss Singleton.” He bowed politely and suggested in a bored voice, “No doubt you are a trifle weary and would prefer to sit the next dance out.”

“Oh, yeth, of course, if you wish it,” Kit agreed instantly, then added sympathetically, “I forgot how it was with elder—um, mature gentlemen. My poor old papa used to find dancing very tiring, too—ethpecially the waltz—such a long dance, ith it not, and tho energetic.”

The strains of a Viennese waltz filled the air. She smiled sunnily up at him and looked brightly around the room. “Now, where shall we find a comfortable chair tho you may retht your poor feet?”

Mr Devenish’s lips thinned. An arctic look came into his eyes but he did not reply. Taking her waist in a firm, not to say ferocious grip, he whirled her across the room in a dazzling display of virtuosity and youthful masculine energy, twirling her and twirling her until she was quite dizzy with pleasure and delight.

Kit had danced the waltz several times before, but now, suddenly, she realised why it had been regarded as so scandalous and had taken such a long time to be accepted in polite society.

When danced like this, caught up hard in the grip of a strong, masterful man, twirling in his arms until you lost all awareness of anything except the music and the man, the experience was utterly intoxicating.

Kit simply gave herself up to the magic of the dance. And the man. The world blurred around her in a glittering rainbow, the music spun through her brain in a melody of magic, and all that anchored her to the ground was the hard, strong body of a tall dark man.

After a few moments he looked down at her as if surprised. His grip tightened, his cold grey eyes seemed to bore into her soul and Kit felt herself staring up at him like a mouse mesmerised by a cobra. They danced on, staring into each other’s eyes.

Kit felt suddenly breathless; a breathlessness that had nothing to do with the movement of the dance. She longed to simply let herself go, to float wherever he wished to take her, to dance off into a new dawn. The temptation was irresistible.