trouble to get in here," he purred. "And now you're anxious to leave?"
Julienne sidestepped, but he didn't release her. "My need was especially dire. I apologize for any trouble I-"
"You don't sound very sorry."
"I'll leave immediately," she offered.
"You'll leave in the morning. The hour is late. The streets aren't safe."
"My aunt will worry," she argued.
"I'll send Lady Whitfield a note. She'll know you're well."
She stilled, her eyes narrowing. "How do you know about my aunt?"
"I know everything about every one of the members of my club. Especially those who enjoy lines of credit." Remington's thumb began an absentminded caress of the hollow of her elbow. Julienne felt the warmth of his touch all the way to her bones.
"I know your parents died when you were very young and your Aunt Eugenia's been your guardian for years. You and Montrose are always running roughshod over her. Your brother is brash, hotheaded, and still too young for the responsibilities of his title. You're always bailing him out of one mess or another. And now I know how seriously you take that responsibility."
She looked away, flustered that he knew such intimate details. "Do you also know how sick to death I am of that chore?" she said finally, surprising herself with the admission.
His voice turned soft and sympathetic. "I'm certain you must be. But you've done an admirable job. There's not been even a breath of scandal attached to the La Coeur name."
Julienne looked up at him, overwhelmed by his nearness. She felt slightly tipsy, but she couldn't blame it on the brandy. Lord Ridgely was presently wearing most of it.
Remington led her across the room and pulled the bell. "I'll have one of the courtesans give you a night rail. You'll be comfortable. My hospitality is legendary."
She scowled. "That's not all that's legendary."
Pride and Pleasure
Now, enjoy the first chapter of Sylvia Day's
Pride and Pleasure
(Historical Romance)
* * * * *
Chapter 1
London, England 1818
As a thief-taker, Jasper Bond had been consulted in a number of unusual locations, but today was the first in a church. Some of his clients were at home in the rookeries his crew haunted. Others were most comfortable in the palace. This particular prospective client appeared to be one of strong faith since he'd designated St. George's as the location of their assignation. Jasper suspected it was considered a "safe" place, which told him this person was ill at ease with retaining an individual of dubious morality. That suited him fine. He would probably be paid well and kept at a distance: his favorite sort of commission.
Alighting from his carriage, Jasper paused to better appreciate the impressive portico and Corinthian columns of the church's fa?ade. Muted singing flowed outward from the building, a lovely contrast to the frustrated shouts of coachmen and the clatter of horse's hooves behind him. His cane hit the street with a thud, his gloved palm wrapped loosely around the eagle's head top. With hat in hand, he waved his driver away.
Today's appointment had been arranged by Mr. Thomas Lynd, a man who shared Jasper's trade and confidence for many reasons, not the least of which was his mentorship of Jasper in the profession. Jasper would never presume to call himself a moral man, but he did function under the code of ethics Lynd had taught him--help those in actual need of it. He did not extort protection money as other thief-takers did. He did not steal goods with one hand in order to charge for their return. He simply found what was lost and protected those who wanted security, which begged the question of why Lynd was passing on this post. With such similar principles, either of them should have been as good as the other.
Because Jasper had an inordinate fondness for puzzles and mysteries, he was too intrigued by Lynd's motives to do anything besides follow through. This, despite the location being one that necessitated his handling the inquiry personally, which was something he rarely did. He preferred to work through trusted employees to retain the anonymity necessary to his greater personal plans.
Mounting the steps, he entered St. George's and paused to absorb the wave of music that rolled over him. Near the front on the right side was the raised canopied pulpit; on the left, the bi-level reading desk. The many box pews were empty of the faithful. Only the choir occupied the space, their voices raised in musical praise.
Jasper withdrew his pocket watch and checked the time. It was directly on the