Lady Thief by Kay Hooper Page B

reminded him.
    “So I did—until I gave you reason to shoot me.”
    “Very well. I give you my word that I will not shoot you.” But the duke was no longer attending. He was staring at her, and something in his eyes gave his thoughts away.
    Jenny felt the first stirring of panic. “Your Grace, you wouldn’t—” She began to struggle, fighting desperately to free herself from him.
    Spencer controlled her struggles easily. He looked down at her, a flame burning deep in his eyes. “There is more than one way to discover if there is a real, warm-blooded woman beneath that mask.
    “Let me go, damn you!”
    He pulled her against him suddenly, pinning her arms between their bodies. “I’m afraid that I can’t do that. I must know, you see . . .”
    Jenny stared up at him as his head slowly lowered to hers. Her fear left her the moment his lips touched hers. Suddenly, there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.
    Jenny had never been kissed before, but she was a woman and her response was instinctive. Her arms slipped around his neck, and she returned his kiss with an ardor she didn’t know she possessed. For her, the world vanished. No thoughts of danger entered her head; she didn’t worry about her identity being discovered. All that mattered were his arms around her and his lips moving possessively over her own.
    Spencer had wondered if there was a real woman beneath the mask; he had asked himself if any woman could do the things that this one did. He had his answer now. No matter what had driven her to her strange career, she was quite definitely a woman.
    He fought to keep a tight rein on his passion; he had no desire to frighten her away before he could learn her identity.
    With obvious reluctance, he slowly drew away from her and gazed down at her upturned face. Her face was bemused, her eyes dazed with passion. His voice husky, Spencer murmured, “So—you are a woman, after all.”
    Jenny stared up at him, the dazed look slowly fading from her eyes. Her arms slid from around his neck and she stepped back, shaking her head in an unbelieving manner. “You—you don’t play fair, Your Grace. I didn’t realize how ruthless you could be.” Her voice was low and haunted.
    “I didn’t mean to—”
    “Oh, yes, you did. How did it feel, Your Grace, kissing the Cat?” There was as much hurt as anger in her voice—though she was unaware of it.
    “It wasn’t like that.” He stepped toward her, his eyes grave.
    “Wasn’t it? Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. I hope you’re satisfied, Your Grace. When they lead me to the gallows, you can tell all of your friends that you kissed the Cat.” Her laughter rang out harshly in the still room.
    “No.” His voice was low and taut, his face strained. “I kissed you because I couldn’t help myself—because I am attracted to you. It had nothing to do with your being the Cat.”
    “Didn’t it?” She moved quickly to the window, and then gazed back at him, cold mockery in her eyes. “A woman in a mask quite piques the curiosity, Your Grace. It was nothing more than that.” She slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.
    Spencer stood and stared after her. “You’re wrong,” he murmured. “It was much more than that.”

Chapter Seven
    Jenny wearily pulled herself out of bed early the next morning. She had slept very little during the few hours she had been in bed, her mind filled with her visit to the duke’s house. Over and over, she had considered his actions, finally coming to the conclusion that he never would have kissed her had she not been the Cat.
    It was useless to remind herself that she never would have met him either if she had not been the Cat. She was interested only in his reason for kissing her. He had kissed her because she was the Cat; because his curiosity had been piqued by a strange woman in a black mask. It was a lowering reflection.
    Jenny sighed and, fighting off her depression, began to dress for the day. She was