The Art of Stealing a Duke’s Heart by Ellie St. Clair
Chapter 1
Sussex ~ 1813
Xander danced around the outskirts of the ballroom, only his feet weren’t in time with the music.
He caught Damien’s eye from across the room. They nodded at one another, acknowledging both the role they were playing as well as their true purpose for being here.
A woman nudged against Xander’s side, and he murmured an apology, aware that it was not his place to be knocking over guests. Only when she looked up at him from beneath fluttering lashes, Xander realized that it had not been an accident whatsoever. He flashed her an appreciate smile, but he had no time for flirting.
Not tonight, at least.
He lifted his tray as one of the guests placed his drink upon it, and then continued on through the room, remembering all his eldest brother, Arie, had taught him about the nobility and the role he would play as a footman in one of their houses.
The house was owned by a man who was by no means ultimately one of the highest-ranking men of England, but one of the richest. He had, apparently, done an excellent job over the years of gathering the debts of more than one poor bloke who’d lost far too much at the gambling table. Now the baron owned half of London, most of whom were here tonight despite their lack of goodwill towards him.
“How is the evening?” Damien asked as they passed one another, and Xander merely shrugged. He could think of other ways his night could be better spent, but there were far worse things one could be doing to make a living.
Such as actually working as a footman, spending his life doing another man’s bidding for minimal compensation.
No, thank you.
If all worked out here — and he was sure it would for every one of Arie’s plans was carefully cultivated, particularly after that one disastrous night five years ago — he and his family would be even richer than they already were.
Xander couldn’t stop his eyes from straying to the necklines of women who passed. He wasn’t focused on the ample decolletage spilling from the tops of their nearly translucent gowns, however.
No, he was far more focused on all that sparkled above them — earrings, necklaces, and brooches, with the odd ring that flashed as a hand raised a drink to lips.
It was a shame, really, that the style of the day was for minimal jewels, for far too many were tucked away, not available for others to appreciate.
And yet, that was also one of the reasons he had the opportunity to find all of the baron’s collection — together, at once — and add to his riches.
Fingers trailed along the back of his neck, and Xander involuntarily shivered as he turned to find an older woman eyeing him with obvious interest. Perhaps the role of a footman wouldn’t be so bad after all, he pondered, for there seemed to be plenty of opportunity to avail himself to what these women had to offer — although he wasn’t speaking of their affections but rather what they wore. Xander had always had an eye for the finery.
But not tonight.
Tonight he had to maintain his head, to keep his attention on all before him, for there was a much bigger prize available to him. It would require a great deal more time and would not be nearly as fun in achieving, but it would be worth it in the end.
He was told that Harold Raymond, Baron of Wilington, was going to be married soon, that he was courting a woman years younger than himself, one with little prospects but a beauty like no other. Whether she would truly become his wife or instead his mistress, the baron apparently didn’t entirely care. Wilington had no shame, nor any reason to worry about making a misstep. He was too old to care, and besides, he already had the rest of them in his palm.
Xander would have admired him had he not treated his staff like dirt and considered himself a gift to all of humanity.
“John, over here!”
Xander turned, remembering he was John. Truth be told, all the footmen in the house were John, as the baron had no care to actually remember any of their names. Which was just fine with him, for it meant that when he was gone with what he came for, no one would remember him or Damien or just what they had been doing in the house.
“Champagne!” Wilington called as Xander neared him. The baron stood close to the side of the dance floor, although Xander doubted the man ever wandered onto it himself anymore. Beside him was a man near Xander’s age, black hair slicked back over his head as his stare wandered appreciatively over the woman who stood across from the baron, her back to Xander. The length of her neck was long and pale, the slim curve of her shoulders covered just at the top where they delicately arched beneath the cream fabric of her dress. Despite Xander’s lack of attraction to his other propositions tonight, he had to fight the urge to reach out and trail his fingers along the woman’s soft skin. Xander spotted what he was sure would be two long jewels hanging from her ears, framing her honey brown hair that was loosely tied in a chignon above her neck. That color of hair… it was one he would always be drawn to, that he could never forget. Not after her.
He shook his head to clear it as he stepped forward, lowering the tray between the baron and the woman. He knew he should keep his gaze demure, lowered, but he couldn’t help but lift his head to see what this woman might look like from the front. Would she be anything like the woman who insisted on haunting his dreams night after night?
As her fingers curled around the glass and she lifted it to her lips, he looked up, meeting her eyes — and stilled in shock when their gazes collided, as the glass tumbled from her fingers, shattering all over the floor.
* * *
Juliet froze.She felt the smooth glass slipping out of her hand, heard it shatter across the marble at her feet, allowed the drops of liquid to splash across her dress, likely ruining it.
But she couldn’t look away as she gazed into the eyes of the man she’d never thought she would see again.
No, make that the man she vowed to never see again. The man who had taken everything from her. The man who had abandoned her. The man who had broken her heart.
She likely would have remained there, a statue, had Lord Wilington not started bellowing at her.
“Juliet! Look what you’ve done. And you,” he rounded his red, sputtering gaze onto Xander, who was the first to recover as he tore his eyes away from her, “what were you thinking?”
“My apologies, my lord,” Xander said, dipping his head in a manner very un-like the Xander that Juliet had known. Or the man she had thought she had known. “I should have caught it.”
“Yes, you should have. Now, clean this up.”
“Of course, my lord.”
He turned around and began walking away, as Juliet finally looked down at herself. She needed to clean up, yes, but more importantly, she needed a moment to compose herself, to recover from the shock of seeing him. Here.
“Excuse me, my lord, but I should retire for a moment.”
She turned before the baron could say anything, practically running from the ballroom despite the many eyes that turned to look at her. Eyes that she was already used to. She knew how uncommon it was for a woman without title or noble blood besides the distant relatives she claimed to be considered as a potential bride of a man like the baron. But her story was that her father was a wealthy merchant, which Lord Wilington seemed fine with. He cared much more for money than title. His wife had died years ago and he had no care for propriety. He liked to have a woman — a much younger woman — on his arm, to keep up appearances and to show off his vast collection of jewels, if nothing else. He enjoyed being envied, being feared.
Which was exactly what Juliet was hoping for. She needed more time here. More time to finish her task, to find what she was looking for. The last thing she needed was complications.
Complications like Xander Murphy.
She hurried down the hall, around the corner to the stairway, where one of the maids eyed her with contempt. She understood. She was living the life of a woman of loose morals — even if she hadn’t actually taken part in the acts that granted one such a title.
Not only that, but she was here — for tonight at least — in the house of a baron, being paraded around as his woman. He didn’t care much of what anyone thought, but told her that he preferred to have her close by.
Even if it was only for her to show off his collection of jewels and take care of him, like a nanny would a young child.
Just as Juliet rounded the corner and opened up the door to her room, a strong hand grabbed her arm, and she whirled around, ready to fight or to scream, she wasn’t sure which.
But instead, she found her heart beating wildly for an altogether different reason as she was trapped within arms that were both familiar and all too welcome when she should have been cursing them.
“Xander,” she practically whispered, unable to say his name in fill volume. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” he hissed, and it was then she saw the storm in his eyes, those eyes that were such a unique shade of blue they were near to purple and far too beautiful for a man. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Not thinking about her actions, she took his hand in hers and tugged him into her bedroom, looking furtively up and down the hall before she closed the door behind him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning up my glass?” she asked, cloaking her distress and placing her hands on her hips as she turned to look at him. He was dressed in the baron’s livery, although she most certainly would have remembered had she seen him around the house before.
“Damien’s taking care of it,” he muttered.
“Damien’s here too?” Juliet asked in surprise before she narrowed her eyes at Xander. “What are you two up to?”
“What are we up to?” he asked incredulously. “Don’t tell me that you are actually here because you’re sleeping with that awful, decrepit old man.”
Juliet placed her hands on her hips, shuddering at the thought of it. “If I was — which I’m not — but even if I was, what business is it of yours?”
“I—” Xander opened his mouth to answer her, but shut it firmly, turning around as he ran a hand through his dark hair — which was far too long and was now beginning to curl around the ends — as he sighed. “I suppose it is none of my business. And yet,” he turned to face her now, his mouth twisted, “I hate to think of you resorting to such a thing, Juliet.”
“Oh, do you?” she asked, the familiar ache of pain turned anger beginning to coil in her belly. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you left me. Alone. Told that you wanted nothing more to do with me. That I should find my own way in life. Left, without anyone to care for me or see after me, recovering from a wound that was inflicted during one of your schemes.”
And with a heart that was so broken she had thought that she would never recover.
“Exactly,” Xander said, holding out a hand as if that was to explain everything, “you were hurt. And I didn’t want you ever to be so hurt again.”
“Very well,” Juliet said, her shoulders dropping as the fight left her, and suddenly she was just tired. Tired and ready to move on from this. Ready to never see him again. She could only pray that he had been hired for this one night alone, for she didn’t think she could continue to see him day in and day out. “You left. I’ve moved on. Our lives have gone their separate ways. I just need to know something, Xander.”
“Of course.”
“Are you just here for this party?”
Xander scratched his head in that way of his that she had always found most endearing, and she steeled her resolve against him.
“I’m here for… awhile. Until we find what we are here for.”
“Which is?”
“Ah… I’m not sure I can say.”
“Of course you can’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to shield herself from him as dread began to grow deep in her belly. “I must change and return to the party,” she said, even as she wondered where Annabelle was. “You should go. You might be missed.”
“Juliet,” he said in supplication, and she lifted her brows, inviting him to say something, anything. To apologize for the past, to tell her that he had made the biggest mistake of his life. To plead for her forgiveness and explain that he was here because he had to find her again and make everything right. Because he still loved her.
And when he said all of that, she would laugh. Because she would never forgive him. Never. He had hurt her far too greatly.
Her imaginings were just that, however — imaginings. It was as she thought. He had nothing to say. No explanation. No excuse. She walked across the room and wrenched the door open, holding it for him in a sign that it was time for him to leave. He lowered his head in resignation as he walked toward it, pausing in the frame, inches away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said, and then continued down the hall.
Juliet shut the door behind him, leaning her head against it.
She was sorry too. For she knew that as much as she told herself otherwise, she had never gotten over him. And she knew that, despite her best intentions, she never would.
* * *
A Jewel for the Taking is now available on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited.