Teresa Medeiros by Thief of Hearts

father to dismiss her, to treat her with the same casual disregard as he did his subordinates. Dreading his bullying almost as much as she craved his affection, she had learned to render herself so invisible that sometimes she feared she might disappear altogether.
    Mr. Claremont’s mocking indifference had the opposite effect. She could feel her spirit sputter to life in her breast, winking, flickering, then igniting in a furious blaze.
    She ignored the handkerchief. If the rascal thought he could goad her into a response, he’d be a long time waiting.
    The handkerchief disappeared. The next smoke ring floated straight at her, neatly hooping her nose.
    “Mr. Claremont!” His name shot from her lips in an explosion of pure wrath. She scrambled to her feet, slapping her gloves against her thigh. “It has been obvious from the first that our association is a fool’s endeavor. We are utterly incompatible in both temperament and moral character.”
    He lounged back on one elbow, the very image of a rumpled reprobate. That infuriating quirk had reappearedat the corner of his mouth. “Then it’s fortunate the Admiral hired me to guard you, not marry you.”
    Lucy sucked in a furious breath. It seemed the wretch was stealing all the air from outdoors as well. A very unladylike trickle of sweat eased between her breasts. “It is the Admiral who made an enemy of Captain Doom, sir, not I, and there is no reason I should continue to be punished for his folly.” She snapped on her gloves. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself and I shall endeavor to convince my father of that at the nearest opportunity.”
    She marched up the slope toward the carriage, spoiling her dignified exit by stumbling over the hem of her gown.
    Gerard rose to his feet, flicking the cheroot into the grass. So little Miss Mouse thought she would have him dismissed, did she? Thought she could look after herself without the bumbling assistance of an ill-mannered commoner?
    His eyes narrowed as he ground out the cheroot’s flame with his boot heel. He wasn’t about to let the Admiral’s brat spoil all of his carefully laid plans by having him dismissed. She’d left him no choice. To keep his position, he would have to show the haughty miss just how badly she needed a man like him.



C HAPTER S EVEN
    S MYTHE’S ATTACK ON THE GATEHOUSE door the following morning at 0600 was executed with far less discretion and far more volume. The pounding continued until Gerard was forced to stumble blindly out of bed. Tripping over the quilt he’d anchored around his naked form, he threw open the door and glared at the butler through tufts of disheveled hair.
    Smythe blinked at him with such maddening serenity that Gerard would have sworn the man knew about the trip he’d made into London the previous night after Lucy’s lamp had been extinguished, the four ales he’d consumed at a Whitechapel tavern, and the fact that he’d stumbled into bed shortly before dawn with the grim satisfaction of knowing Miss Snow would soon be begging him to stay on in his position to protect her.
    “Admiral Snow extends his invitation to breakfast with him and Miss Lucy this morning.”
    Invitation, hell! Gerard thought. He knew a royal summons when he heard one. He suspected it wassimply the Admiral’s sly way of nudging him out of bed before ten o’clock.
    “It will be my bloody pleasure,” he growled before slamming the door in the butler’s unruffled face.

    Lucy and her father sat at opposite ends of the dining room table, separated by a lustrous sea of oak. The Admiral was surrounded by scattered newspapers, his only concession to untidiness in the immaculate room. The only thing visible of him over the
Times
was his lush pompadour of white hair. His hair was the Admiral’s keenest vanity. Even when wigs had been fashionable, he’d refused to wear one.
    Lucy cleared her throat and added a dollop of fresh cream to her tea. Her father looked positively regal