A Dangerous Affair Read online

  A Dangerous

  Affair

  - Bow Street Brides, Book 3 -

  Jillian Eaton

  A THIEF WITH NOTHING TO LOSE…

  Juliet is beautiful, intelligent…and one of the best thieves in all of London. Raised in the cutthroat streets of St Giles, she’s learned to survive by whatever means necessary. Even if those means include pretending to be a highborn lady to avoid capture by The Wolf, one of Bow Street’s most cunning runners…and the only man to ever set her blood on fire.

  A RUNNER WITH A SCORE TO SETTLE…

  Grant is charismatic, titled...and second-in-command of the Bow Street Runners. When his captain orders him to find and arrest the lad who has been stealing jewelry from the ton’s elite, he thinks it’s just another job. Until the lad turns out to be a five foot, four inch red-haired hellion with a penchant for knives…and the softest lips he’s ever kissed.

  A DANGEROUS AFFAIR…

  Juliet and Grant’s daring game of cat and mouse will take them from the glittering ballrooms of Grosvenor Square to the dangerous alleys of the East End as they try to outwit one another…and fight their growing passion. But when an enemy from Juliet’s past threatens her future, she has no other option except to trust the runner she has sworn to hate. Forced to choose between duty and desire, will Grant listen to his head…or risk everything to follow his heart?

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2018 by Jillian Eaton

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  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Bow Street Brides

  The Spring Duchess – Coming Soon!

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  The Bow Street Brides

  A Dangerous Seduction

  A Dangerous Proposal

  A Dangerous Affair

  A Dangerous Thief – May 2018!

  Chapter One

  St Giles Rookery was no place for a woman after dark. Or during the day for that matter, but Juliet had never let that stop her before and she had no intention of letting it stop her tonight.

  She flitted through the darkness with the fluidity of a shadow, the worn leather soles of her boots scarcely touching the ground. The black cloak she had draped over her shoulders fluttered as she turned right and then left, navigating the twisted alleys with the ease and confidence of someone who had been born into them.

  Jumping over a pool of foul smelling stagnant water and piss, she stopped in front of a narrow wooden door tucked away inside of an alcove. Raising her fist, she rapped her knuckles against the door three times. Waited for the length of a heartbeat. Knocked again. Creaking on its rusted hinges, the door swung open.

  “Do ye have it?” The man who spoke was old and smelled of gin. Yet despite the map of wrinkles across his weathered face – or perhaps because of them – his watery blue gaze was cunningly sharp. “Do ye have the necklace?”

  “Here.” She reached between her breasts and pulled out a small velvet reticule. But when the man made a quick grab for it she shook her head and took a step back, eyes narrowing to annoyed slits of green. “How long have we been doing business, Yeti? You know I require payment first.”

  The old man growled under his breath, but after a moment’s pause he slapped a leather pouch into her extended palm. “There,” he said. “Now give me the bloody necklace.”

  Juliet’s fingers tightened around the pouch as she tested its weight. One delicately arched brow lifted. “The rest, Yeti.”

  He made a scoffing sound. “I don’t know what ye are–”

  “The rest,” she said evenly.

  “Ye drive a hard bargain, Jules.”

  “A fair bargain,” she corrected as he dug into the pocket of his sagging trousers. “And more than you deserve for the shite you tried to pull last time. Did you think I wouldn’t realize those shillings were nothing more than painted copper? I should charge you twice as much for the trouble. It’s a good thing we’re friends, Yeti.”

  “Friends,” he grumbled under his breath as he gave her a handful of coins. “If I’m your friend I’d hate to see how ye treat your enemies.”

  “Yes. You would.” After quickly counting the coins to ensure she’d been paid in full, Juliet slid them into the leather pouch and tucked the pouch into her boot before she gave Yeti what he’d paid twenty gold pounds for.

  Not a bad take for a night’s work, she thought silently. It would see her comfortably through to her next job, a townhouse on the edge of Grosvenor Square where another one of her buyers had his eye on a diamond bracelet.

  Sliding the necklace out of its velvet pouch, Yeti held it up towards the lantern hanging above his door and whistled under his breath when the stones gleamed a deep, vibrant red. “She’s a beaut, ain’t she?”

  Juliet’s narrow shoulders lifted and fell in a careless shrug. “I suppose. I’ve never particularly cared for rubies.”

  “A jewel thief who doesn’t like jewels,” Yeti muttered under his breath. “What’s the bloody world coming to?” Quick as a wink the necklace disappeared into the folds of his coat. In his day he’d been the best pickpocket this side of the Thames. Time and too much gin had dulled his reflexes, but his fingers were still nimble.

  “Don’t fancy what you take, Yeti. You taught me that.” Juliet’s neck abruptly swiveled when she heard the distinctive click of a stone being turned over. Frowning, she stared intently into the inky darkness, her hand inching down towards the knife she always carried on her waist. There was a pistol on her opposite hip. A dagger strapped to the inside of her thigh. And, just for good measure, a tiny pair of sewing shears tied to her wrist.

  She’d never killed a man, but she’d spilled blood. Plenty of it. And for the past two nights she had been plagued by the uneasy feeling of being watched. But just as her hand began to curl around the smooth handle of her knife a yellow tabby darted across the alley and disappeared into a pile of wooden crates. Exhaling slowly, she turned her attention back to Yeti who lifted a scruffy white brow.

  “Trouble?” he asked, scratching underneath his chin.

  “Nothing I cannot handle.”

  “Ye could always quit, ye know. Hang it up and walk away for good. I know ye have enough blunt.”

  “No one ever has enough blunt.” Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his rough cheek. The grizzled old man was as close as she’d ever come to
having a grandfather. Or a father, for that matter. “You taught me that as well. Sleep tight, Yeti.”

  “Aye.” He patted his coat pocket. “With this pretty under my pillow I’ll do just that. Watch yerself, Jules.” A line of irritation creased his weathered brow. “The runners are getting closer. Hans said he saw one of the bastards all the way down on Finley Street. It’s that damn Spencer. Never thought he’d be the one to go turncoat on us.”

  “Would you rather he have ended up in Newgate? Or worse?” Not too long ago Felix Spencer had been the greatest thief in all of London. There wasn’t a painting he couldn’t pinch. A necklace he couldn’t swipe. He’d been the best…until he’d been caught. But instead of stretching him up by his neck or throwing him in prison, the new captain of the runners had given him a choice: spend the rest of his life rotting away in a cell or put his considerable talents to good use on Bow Street.

  Felix had been a runner for nearly two years now, but it still gave her a jolt every time she saw him walking down the street in broad daylight. She could only imagine what it was like for Yeti. She knew the old man felt betrayed, especially since he’d been the one to teach Felix everything he knew, but what had he expected? She knew if she’d been in Felix’s shoes she would have made the same decision. Anything to avoid the hell on earth that was Newgate Prison.

  “He’s not giving them names.” She squeezed Yeti’s hand. “If he were, we’d both be locked up already.”

  “Aye,” Yeti grumbled after a pause. “I suppose ye are right about that. Still…”

  “I know. It does not sit well with me either. One of our own, working for them.” The corners of her mouth tightened. “I’d be happy if I never saw another runner for as long as I lived. Cock sucking bastards.” Turning her head, she spat on the ground in disgust and Yeti chuckled.

  “Easy, lass. Don’t go losing that Irish temper of yours over something ye can’t control.”

  “For the hundredth time, I’m not bloody Irish.” And it annoyed her to no end every time he said otherwise. The truth of the matter was that she had no idea where – or who – she’d come from. Her parents very well could have been from Ireland. She had no way of knowing. They’d both perished in a fire when she was no more than a babe. To this day, she did not even know their names.

  “Ye’ve the hair of one, don’t ye? Redder than the rubies ye just pinched. Never seen the likes of it in my whole life. Fine ladies would pay a pretty penny to have that color. As would fine men,” Yeti said meaningfully.

  She took a step back and folded her arms. “I’m a thief, not a whore.”

  “And I never said ye were, did I? But ye could be a rich man’s mistress. Ye have the look of one. Clean the soot off of ye face and trade those pants ye insist on wearin’ for a fancy dress and ye would blend right in with all the pretty ladies in Hyde Park. Ye could live in a big house in Grosvenor Square. Have yer own servants. Go to tea parties and balls and the like. Ye could get out, lass. Start a new life for yerself.”

  “A mistress is just a fancy word for whore and I would rather die than belong to any man.” It was not an exaggeration. The life Yeti described held little appeal to Juliet. She may not have had dresses or servants, but she was free. Free to make her own decisions. Free to do what she wanted when she wanted it. Free to live her own life as she saw fit. Could those women in their fancy dresses and big houses say the same? She answered to no one, and there was no man on God’s green earth worth giving all of that up for.

  “Ye say that now. Just wait until ye meet the right one. All right, all right.” Yeti waved his hand in surrender when her green eyes flashed. “Don’t get riled up on my account. Be safe out there, lass. Are ye done for the night?”

  “I’ve one stop yet.”

  “Well best be moving on then.”

  Drawing the hood of her cloak up and over her head, Juliet stepped down off the doorstep and into the shadows. Skirting the pile of crates where the cat had disappeared, she walked quickly to the end of the alley. But instead of turning left as she should have done, she turned right instead and immediately flattened herself against the crumbling brick wall of an abandoned factory.

  Someone was following her. She could feel it in her bones. In the whisper of awareness at the nape of her neck. In the accelerated pounding of her heart.

  And it wasn’t a bloody cat.

  Silver moonlight reflected off her dagger as she silently unstrapped it from her thigh. A gift from Yeti, it was surprisingly light for its size with a handle made from whalebone and a thin blade that was sharp enough to carve a man’s throat from ear to ear without spilling a single drop of blood.

  She heard the muffled beat of approaching footsteps. A quiet exhale of breath. The rustle of fabric.

  And the distinctive click of a pistol being cocked.

  “You can come out from behind there.” The voice was deeply masculine, the vernacular clear and crisp and threaded with a hint of aristocracy. “With your arms raised, if you please.”

  Gritting her teeth in silent frustration, Juliet lifted both arms and carefully stepped out from behind the wall. Several paces away stood a man holding a pistol. A pistol he had pointed straight at her chest. It was too dark to make out his features clearly, but his silhouette was all sharp angles and lean muscle.

  She could tell he was tall. Taller than she by at least a head, if not more. His hair was as black as the shadows that crept along the walls. And his clothes were impeccably cut to fit his lanky frame, indicating that despite his current surroundings he was a man of wealth and substance.

  “Come closer,” he said, gesturing her forward with a jab of his weapon.

  Left with little choice in the matter, she edged forward a few inches, purposefully keeping her head tilted down. With her hair pulled back and her feminine curves hidden beneath the folds of her cloak, she passed easily for a boy. A young one given how smooth her porcelain skin was, but a boy nevertheless.

  While being a female came with its own distinct advantages, there were none to be found at night in the middle of the East End. She still distinctly remembered the day Yeti had pulled her aside and asked what she wanted to do with her life. Confused, she’d blinked up at him, all wide green eyes and freckles and teeth that were still a bit too big for her mouth.

  “What do ye mean?” It wasn’t until later that she had taken the time to rid herself of her cockney accent, and she’d spoken with the vernacular of a common guttersnipe.

  “What do I mean…” he had muttered, pulling off his cap and skimming his hand through his hair. It hadn’t been gray then, but rather a thick, nondescript brown that he’d kept shorn close to his skull. “I mean ye’re getting older. Taller. Ye’re…filling out.” His gaze had dipped down to her chest and his cheeks had reddened before he’d abruptly looked away. “Ye are turning into a woman, lass. And a pretty one at that.”

  “I am not!” she had cried indignantly.

  “Aye.” He’d crushed his hat between his hands. “Ye are. The truth is ye would have done a sight better to have been born a boy, but I guess we don’t have much choice in those matters, do we? Ye are what ye are. And ye have a decision to make.”

  “What sort of decision?” she’d asked suspiciously before her eyes widened in distress. “Ye aren’t going to send me away like you did Sam, are ye? Please don’t. Please. I’ll do better. I promise. I – I’ll start pinching twice as many purses. And I’m ready to start on the safes. I know I am. Please don’t–”

  “Sam wasn’t sent away, lass. She left of ‘er own accord after I sat her down jest like I’m doing with ye.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No,” Yeti had sighed. “I can see that ye don’t.” The floorboards had creaked beneath his heavy boots as he’d walked from one side of the small, windowless flat to the other, careful not to step on the lumpy gray cot Juliet shared with Eddy and Bran, two pickpockets of a similar age. Not that any of them knew what their exact age was. They were all or
phans, brought under Yeti’s wing when they were still small enough to squeeze through carriage windows and take what was inside.

  Sometimes, when she was very tired, Juliet closed her eyes and dreamed of a woman with soft blonde hair and a kind smile. She liked to think it was her mother, but there was no way to know for certain. Yeti and his collection of orphans was the only family she’d ever known.

  “Do ye know why I always have ye wear a hat and trousers, lass?”

  Juliet had nodded slowly. “So my hair doesn’t get in my eyes and I can run away.” Her little chest had swelled with no small amount of pride. “I’m the quickest, ye know. No one can beat me. Not even Felix.”

  “Aye, that ye are. But the hat and trousers serve another purpose. They make ye look like a boy,” Yeti had explained when Juliet’s head tilted in confusion. “Because no one bothers with boys. They’re a dime a dozen around here, and no one thinks twice about them. But girls…especially girls who look like ye do…well, that’s a different story. Do ye know what a lady of the night is, lass?”

  “Yes,” Juliet had said solemnly. “Bran told me. They let men touch their tits for money.”

  Yeti had snorted. “That’s the gist of it, I suppose.” He’d looked closely at her. “Is that something ye want to do? Let men touch yer lady parts for money? Ye would have a fine room all to yerself with a real bed. All the food ye could ever hope to eat. Silk dresses and pretty fans and fancy shoes.”

  “That sounds nice, I suppose.” She didn’t care much about dresses and fans and shoes, but she did like to eat.

  “Ye will have to sleep with men.”

  “I sleep next to Bran and Eddy every night.”

  “Aye, but that’s different. These men…they won’t always be kind to ye, lass. And they’ll be strangers. Strangers who use ye for yer body. It won’t be pleasant work. Ye won’t have a say in who comes to yer room or what ye have to do once they’re in there. Do ye understand what I’m tellin’ ye?”