Lucy Ashford - The Major and the Pickpocket

‘My dear,’ she said softly, ‘you should not have got out of bed! You should still be resting.’ She turned to the maid, who had put the tray down on a small satinwood table. ‘That will be all, thank you, Emilia. You may go.’

The maid gave Tassie a far from friendly look, which Tassie duly registered. Then she left, and Tassie waited, tense, silent. ‘You looked so ill, my dear,’ the woman was continuing, ‘when Hal and Major Forrester—Marcus—brought you here last night. You need to rest. And you need plenty of good, nourishing food.’

Major Forrester. An army officer. Tassie shut her eyes and opened them, both frightened and perplexed. If Hal and Marcus had brought her here, why hadn’t they told this kind woman—who clearly had authority—that Tassie was a common thief and a cheat to boot?

‘We thought you might enjoy a light meal after your rest.’ The woman pointed encouragingly at the tray. ‘What is your name, pray?’

Tassie took a deep breath. ‘Tassie. That’s all—ma’ am.’

‘Then welcome to this house, Tassie. Hal has instructed me to look after you until you get your strength back.’

Tassie muttered, ‘Saints and fiddlesticks, I don’t believe—’ She corrected herself rapidly. ‘I mean— why, ma’am?’

‘Oh, you poor thing, of course, you’ll hardly remember! You’re here because Hal and Marcus found you, hungry and near-frozen with cold, out on the streets last night. You fainted; they couldn’t just leave you there.’

Tassie blinked. So the two men hadn’t told this lady anything like the truth, and the omission did nothing to reassure her. She glanced quickly at the door, wondering whether to make a run for it right now. ‘They have acted very—nobly,’ she breathed.

Her irony was completely lost on the other woman. ‘Well, naturally!’ She smiled. ‘Hal is sometimes rash and impetuous, but he has a most generous heart. And so, of course, has Marcus. Gracious me, here I am, rattling on, and your food is growing cold! I’ll leave you to eat in peace—but first, can I let anyone know you are here? Friends, or family?’

‘No one, ma’am,’ said Tassie in a small voice. No one at all—she should be used to it by now, but even so she was caught unawares by the sudden ache in her throat. ‘But you are kind to think of it. My—my thanks.’

The lady in black frowned, her head a little on one side. ‘Strange,’ she murmured. ‘Hal and Marcus said you were from one of the poorest quarters of the city, but your voice, your manner of speaking, give that the lie. Surely you have not always lived in poverty?’

‘I was brought up in the country,’ said Tassie quickly. ‘I am an orphan.’

‘Ah, one hears such sad stories about orphans…Were you treated kindly?’

Tassie shrugged. ‘I was fed, and given a roof over my head, ma’am.’

‘I see. Tassie. Tassie. What an interesting name. Well, enough of my questions. Enjoy your food. I will visit you later; no doubt Marcus will also.’

The lady left the room, closing the door behind her. Tassie, bracing herself anew at the sound of Marcus’s name, heard her footsteps retreating softly down the corridor, and drew a deep, deep breath to steady herself. For the kind lady had helped her more than she would ever know, in that she had forgotten to lock the door…

Marcus, who had been restlessly pacing the first-floor drawing room as the afternoon sun sank low in the sky, turned questioningly towards the black-gowned Caro Blakesley as she came to join him. Hal’s sister was one of the kindest, sweetest people he knew, and the death of her husband in a riding accident a year ago was a tragedy she had borne with dignity. Now he asked her, quickly, ‘Is she awake, Caro? She’s not ill, is she?’

‘She seems well, Marcus. I think the girl slept for so long simply because she was totally exhausted, and weak with hunger, poor thing. I took her a hot meal and told her to rest. She was most grateful.’

Marcus’s grey eyes narrowed. ‘Grateful? Are you sure of that?’

‘Yes! Contrary to what you said, she seems to me to have a shy but sweet nature. Her name is Tassie. I was quite enchanted by—’

Marcus broke in. ‘Caro. You did lock the door to her room again, didn’t you?’

Caro hesitated. ‘Why, no, I did not. It seems so hard to keep her a prisoner, when she is such a meek, gentle thing! She was an orphan, you know, brought up in the country…’

But Marcus was no longer listening, because he was already heading for the hallway.

He caught Tassie at the top of the stairs. She turned to run, but he was on her in seconds, grasping her firmly as her arms and legs flailed amidst the loose folds of her voluminous nightdress. Breathing hard, a little too conscious of her strikingly feminine form beneath the enveloping garment, Marcus carted her back down the corridor and threw her on to the four-poster bed, then very firmly shut the door. Outside, the February dusk was gathering into chilly darkness; he quickly closed the curtains, and lit a candle from the low-burning fire, while Tassie lay there glaring at him.

He went to stand over her, his hands on his hips, and said in a voice calculated to frighten her far more than any ranting or raving, ‘I was informed that you were resting.’

‘Yes. Yes, I was!’

‘Caro—like her brother, Hal—is good, and kind, and far too trusting.’

Tassie heaved herself up. ‘Caro—that lady—she is Hal’s sister?’

‘Of course. Why, what else could she be?’

Tassie muttered, ‘I thought she was p’raps the housekeeper here.’

‘Housekeeper!’

‘Well, how was I supposed to know different? Nobody said!’ She felt her heart thumping rather hard again, but tossed back her loose hair defiantly. ‘Any rate, one thing’s for sure: Caro is kinder than you!’

‘Certainly I’m not so easily taken in by a cunning trickster.’ He smiled dangerously. ‘Trying to escape, were you? Decided to do a runner?’

Tassie bit her lip. She certainly wasn’t going to try to run past him, even if he did have a limp. She was nearly as tall as Lemuel, but this man towered over her, six foot of hardened muscle, shoulders forbiddingly broad beneath his riding coat, strong booted legs set firmly apart. Major Marcus Forrester. All ready for action, she thought rather faintly. His long dark hair was tied loosely back from his face in a way that only emphasised the implacable set of his jaw, the iron glint in his grey eyes. And she couldn’t help but remember his kiss…One way or another, she really was in trouble. Time for desperate measures.

Slowly she pulled herself up off the bed. She let a couple of tears pool in her eyes, then, as soon as she guessed he’d noticed them, she looked away and swallowed. ‘It’s a bit difficult to explain. You see, I—I was just going to look for the serving maid who brought me my food. I was hoping she would help me. It is my monthly time, sir, and—and…’

Instantly Marcus’s face was all concern. He said, ‘Dear God, how stupid of me. You mean Emilia: I shall fetch her to you straight away, with all that you require.’

Tassie blushed shyly and glanced up at him from beneath demurely lowered lashes. ‘My thanks.’

But then, suddenly, his eyes flashed with anger and he sprang towards her. ‘By God, you impudent wench,’ he roared, ‘is there no end to your trickery?’

He’d grabbed her by the arm, and with his free hand was grasping at the deep pockets of her nightdress. And Tassie realised with horror that he had seen, outlined against the fine lawn fabric, the little silver mirror and the gilt scent phial that she’d hidden there. She grabbed for them at the same time he did, but she was too late, and as he scooped the precious objects into his hands, Tassie dived instinctively for the door.

A futile attempt. Thrusting the objects on to a nearby table, he hauled her back, and she was overpowered by the sheer masculine force of him. He was breathing hard as he fought her into submission: every plane and angle of his lean face seemed carved in granite, and there was a dangerous light in his eyes. ‘You little thief!’ he exploded. ‘How could you steal from Caro, who has made you a welcome guest in her house?’

She cursed her survivor’s instinct to take what she could, born of years of hardship. Trying vainly to still the wild beating of her heart, Tassie gazed up at him with despairing defiance. ‘I didn’t know this was her house, did I?’

‘Even so, this goes beyond all bounds.’

‘And so do you, you’re a bully and a— a prig!’ she declared, taking refuge in attack. ‘You’ve no right to keep me here against my will, no right at all, and you will let me go, this minute!’

He shrugged, and to Tassie’s surprise, a slow smile started to soften his features as he gazed down at her. He spread his hands wide. ‘Playing the street minx again? I’m not stopping you.’ A positively wicked grin curved his mouth. ‘But you’d not be wise to go out on the streets looking like that, I assure you.’

Bewildered by his sudden change of heart, still breathless from her outburst, Tassie followed the raking line of his hard grey eyes and looked down at herself. To her utter dismay, she realised that in the struggle for the trinkets, the laces that fastened the neck of her nightgown had come undone, leaving her bosom completely exposed. He was watching her with cynical amusement, and she gave a horrified gasp and tried to pull the fabric back across her throat. But her fingers fumbled with the unaccustomed laces, giving him time to lazily reach out his hand and brush his palm across her pink-tipped breasts; and as her nipples pulled and tightened to his touch, Tassie felt a sensation flood through her so strongly that she could scarcely stand. Like his kiss, only—only…Her breasts ached almost unbearably, and her stomach churned with dark longing. She tried to back away, but her legs were weak; she was struggling for control, yet felt quite helpless as his long fingers toyed with those incredibly sensitive crests.

And Marcus, too, was shaken. God, but she was beautiful, this girl! Common thief she might be, but she was also a young woman, and all that any man could desire; that was why the heat seared his flesh and pounded between his thighs. Watch yourself, Marcus, he warned himself. Douse that flame at your loins, man, she knows exactly what she’s doing. Aloud he drawled, ‘A tempting doxy, indeed, in spite of that hot temper! Well played, my resourceful vagabond. You certainly know how to distract your opponent when caught in the wrong, don’t you? But you should take care, you know. Not every man would react to your teasing with such restraint.’

Tassie almost groaned with shame. He thought she’d revealed herself to him deliberately! Desperately she tried to push him away, but he knocked her hands aside, then reached with almost dismissive casualness to catch at the laces of her nightgown and proceeded, with those same long, sensitive fingers that had just tormented her so wickedly, to tie the laces into perfect bows across her throat. Tassie slapped at him blindly, overwhelmed by his nearness. ‘Get your hands off me,’ she faltered. ‘Or I’ll—I’ll…’

Marcus was in control again. An iron self-control he’d learned in battle. Obediently he took a step backwards and admired his handiwork. ‘You’ll what, minx? Call for the constables?’

Tassie, white-faced, let her gaze swing towards the door; Marcus quickly moved to block her path. ‘Oh, no. No escape that way, my dear. At least—not before I’ve informed you of a proposition I’ve got in mind for you.’