Indeed, he was neither Richard the Third nor Caliban. He was a dark prince under an enchantment, and she was …

Out of her bloody mind. She laughed out loud. She’d had too much of his wonderful wine, even though her family had taught her how to hold her liquor. She’d had too much of his wonderful voice, his attention, his intelligence and sly humor, the faint, bewitching malice that was irresistible. She was drunk on Lucien de Malheur.

Indeed, it was a safe enough attraction. No one would ever guess she’d become enamored of the Scorpion, certainly not the man himself. It seemed as if it had been forever since she’d indulged in daydreams and fantasies, and now she had a perfectly safe subject for them. She could dream of rescuing him from his darkness, taking away his bitterness. She could dream of happy endings. For him, if not for her.

* * *

Lucien de Malheur moved through the halls of his townhouse, well-pleased with his night’s work. He had her. She’d been ridiculously easy, falling into his hands with only the most delicate of lures. She’d been so isolated she had become enamored of the first man who knew how to play her, even a damaged creature such as himself.

Caliban. He laughed beneath his breath. She certainly was fearless, mocking his melodramatic airs. He’d thought playing the wounded spirit would draw her sympathy. Instead she’d laughed at him, seeing right through him, and he found himself unwittingly caught by her, as well.

It was going to make the whole endeavor so much more interesting. Miranda Rohan looked at him directly and felt no pity or fear. By midnight he’d felt her first stirrings of attraction. By the time he saw her to his carriage it was after three, and she was already trapped in his web, caught in his snare.

It should have bored him. He thought she’d be silly and emotional and missish and he’d have to patiently work through her childish fussing. Instead she’d been direct and challenging.

She would make an excellent wife for the short period he planned.

The house wasn’t yet devoid of guests. He was known for his openness to misbehavior, and couples had found hidden places to indulge in more than flirtation. He could hear the occasional sounds of passion filter through as he moved down the corridor, and he felt a faint stirring in his own body. Miranda Rohan had skin like cream touched with honey. He was going to enjoy discovering all of it.

He went straight to his study, his real study, the one he used for business and nothing else. As he expected, his guest was waiting, sitting by the fire, his booted feet propped on the brass fender, a glass of French brandy in his hand.

Lucien could hardly begrudge him the brandy—Jacob Donnelly was in full control of the trade that brought smuggled brandy into London, and he kept the house well-supplied.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Lucien drawled, pouring himself a glass. His servants knew better than to come anywhere near this room, and he was used to waiting on himself.

Jacob glanced up at him from beneath his shaggy hair. He was an extraordinarily handsome man. He was tall and long-limbed, with the kind of face that won scullery maids and whores and countesses. The two of them couldn’t have been more different—the maimed aristocrat and the handsome king of London thieves. It was little wonder they worked so well together.

Donnelly leaned back, casting a look up at him. “I heard some things on the street,” he said, his deep voice a strange mishmash of Irish, street slang and the aristocratic phrasings he’d picked up. The man was a born mimic, who’d made his life on his own since he’d run away from wealthy male planters who used him as a slave. Donnelly had been eight years old, and Lucien had no illusions about what the boy had done to survive. One could see it in his dark, dark eyes.

“I expect you hear a great many things on the street,” Lucien said, moving to stand by the fire. It was a cold night, and his bad leg ached. “Is it anything that would interest me?”

“It may. Apparently the Duke of Carrimore and his pretty young wife are coming to town. Complete with the diamonds she drapes herself with. I think she needs to be relieved of some of them … They … distract from her natural beauty.”

Lucien laughed. “The idea has merit. The old man is so besotted he’d simply buy her more, and she’d enjoy the chance to shop. Eugenia is easily bored, as I know only too well, and she’s probably tired of her jewelry by now. Were you interested in all of them or just a measured selection?”

“Oh, I think we should take them all,” Jacob said idly. “Why go to all that trouble for half measures?”

“Indeed. If things follow as they usually do then they’ll hold a ball to celebrate their return to London. Who did you want to play my servant for the night? I know that Billy Banks is your best cracksman, and he’s excellent at playing the bored footman, but I think we may have used him too much. Have you got someone else who could handle it?”

“I was thinking of doing it myself.”

He’d managed to surprise Lucien. “Yourself? Do you think that’s wise? A general doesn’t join the ranks of the soldiers—he gives the orders. Surely you have an army of able thieves who can come in as my footman, make their way upstairs and relieve Lady Carrimore of her excess diamonds.”

“Of course I do. Perhaps I just want to see if I my skills are still sharp. They can grow stale from lack of use, and I want to make certain I can still support myself if the whole organization goes belly up. Besides, I’ve got my share of enemies, men who want to take over my part of London, and I suspect it wouldn’t do me harm to show everyone I can still handle a simple job. Though who knows, I may even retire. I’ve been feeling the urge to travel of late.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re barely in your thirties—how could you possibly have grown stale? I say it’s much too great a risk. If you get caught your entire empire is ruined and I lose a very nice bit of my income. Not that I need it, but as you know, I rather like the game.”

“I know you do. We’ve shared many schemes since we first met, and we both enjoy the challenge. In truth, neither of us really need those diamonds, and Carrimore is damned protective of them. Last I heard he had a servant dedicated to keeping guard over them night and day.”

“A challenge you’d have no trouble dealing with, old friend, but why risk it?” Lucien said. And then he laughed. “What an absurd question—you’ll risk it for the same reasons I would.” He laughed again. “You’re a little tall for a footman.”

“I can stoop.”

Lucien took the seat opposite him, stretching out his bad leg gingerly. “I don’t know that I have anyone in my service who’s quite your strapping size, and I’m certainly not about to let someone who works for me dress in an ill-fitting coat.”

“I’ve got people who can see to it faster and won’t ask any questions.”

“Dear boy, are you suggesting that people dare ask me questions?” Lucien said, affronted.

“No, but they’ll talk behind your back. My people wouldn’t even dare do that.”

“Clearly you have better control over your employees.” He eyed him lazily. “If you’re willing to run the risk, then I suppose I am, as well. After all, I can pretend I’ve never seen you in my life if they catch you.”

“If they snabble me I’m not going to wait around to answer questions, and I’m not letting them send me away. I have an aversion to cramped quarters.”

“And who can blame you? Then it’s settled. I’ll send word to you as soon as I receive an invitation.” Lucien paused. “Was there something else?”

Donnelly brought his booted feet down to the floor. They were brown leather, scuffed, a far cry from the shiny black Hessians preferred by the ton. “I heard you might be getting married.”

Lucien raised one eyebrow. He shouldn’t be surprised at the speed of Donnelly’s information. He hadn’t said a word to anyone, but he’d made a few inquiries, and the King of Thieves had informers everywhere. He was more than adept at putting two and two together. If Jacob had been born a gentleman there would have been nothing he couldn’t do. As it was, even with his hazy forebears, he’d risen high enough that there was little out of his reach.

“How prescient of you. I suppose you wish to congratulate me?” he said in a lazy tone. “There’s no hurry: I’m afraid the lady has no idea what’s in store for her.”

Jacob’s laugh was mirthless. “I don’t think it’s a wise idea. I know who you’re after, and why, and you should let it alone. Revenge is the enemy of good business sense, and I’m your business partner. I don’t like it. Haven’t you done enough? Forget about her.”

“As my business partner it’s none of your damned business what I do with my life,” Lucien said in a silky voice. “I’ve decided it’s time I married and produced an heir, and Lady Miranda Rohan will suit me very well.”

“Marriage has never been part of your plans before. Why now?”

“Dear boy,” he said in his haughtiest voice. “Do you really think I would discuss my nuptial issues with the likes of you?”

Donnelly simply laughed. “Yes, you would. I’m the only man you trust. Slightly.”

“I trust you as much as you trust me.”

Donnelly grinned. “As I said. Slightly. Though in truth I trust you as much as I trust anyone. It’s just that I’m not by nature a trusting man.”

“Which is why we’re so well-suited. Don’t worry about Lady Miranda. She’ll have no regrets. At least, not in the beginning. And who can say that her life would be any better with another choice?”

“Thanks to you she doesn’t have many choices, now does she?”

“So now I’m making up for it,” Lucien said with a sweet smile. “She’ll get to be a countess.”

Donnelly shook his head, rising. “She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d care about such things. I’d think twice about it if I were you.”