"What is this?"

Macleane barely glanced at the pearl pendant Plunkett was clutching in his hand as his partner showed him his evening's haul. "Took that off a pretty little thing two carriages behind Rebecca's."

There were thousands of pearl pendants in the world. There was no reason to assume that this was Belle's necklace, yet somehow Plunkett knew it was. "Did she ask to keep it?"

Macleane looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "They always ask to keep it. She was a tasty morsel. Pretty hair, not quite ginger but close."

The next time his idiot partner caught a case of the pox, Plunkett was going to let his plonker rot off. The stupid son of a bitch stole Belle's necklace. Pocketing it, he abandoned the rest of the baubles and his partner, ignoring the demand to know where he was going. He had amends to make.

Finding Belle's house again was easy. Part of his mind had memorized the route the moment he realized it was her house he was in, and Plunkett was certain he could find the building if he was blindfolded. He had more time to look around this time since he wasn't being chased, and he found himself facing a number of darkened windows, the entire household apparently abed, as was only proper for four in the morning.

He could hardly pay a call on Lady Isabelle before tea like he was a proper gentleman, so four in the morning would have to do instead. Plunkett made his way around the house, assuming that as the Earl's daughter Belle would have a bedroom sheltered from the noise of the street and probably overlooking the gardens. She would be safer in the back of the house, protected from ruffians like him.

One of the back windows was open, and Plunkett hoped for the best as he started to climb. From their adventure in the library, he already knew that Belle liked fresh air. The ivy provided solid handholds, and he took his time making his way up the house, careful not to attract attention.

When he reached the open window he hesitated. The room was dimly lit, but he caught the overall impression of lace. He stuck his head into the room and inhaled deeply, the aroma of lavender sweeping over him. This was indeed Belle's room.

Moving silently, he slipped inside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The only light in the room was the dying fire, and it provided just enough of a glow to let him see the massive bed shrouded by damask curtains. Plunkett moved closer and gingerly eased back the curtain on the left side of the bed. Somehow he knew Belle must sleep on the left if only because he preferred the right.

The moon came from behind the clouds at the exact moment he drew the curtain, bathing Belle's face in a silvery glow. She looked delicate and ethereal and far too good for a scoundrel like him. He should leave the necklace and be gone, but Plunkett wasn't used to denying himself anything he wanted.

Crouching beside the bed, he carefully placed his hand over Belle's mouth, afraid she'd scream the house down before she realized who her visitor was. It was presumptuous as hell to think she wouldn't scream if she knew it was him in her bedroom, yet somehow he knew she wouldn't.

Her body stiffened as she awoke, and she flailed, trying to get away from him and biting at his hand to force him to release her mouth. Proud of her spirit, Plunkett joined her on the bed, using his own body weight to hold her down and stop her thrashing as he hissed in her ear. "It's me! Belle, It's me. It's Will."

She went still, her body relaxing at once. He lifted his hand off of her mouth, hoping she wasn't gulling him. "Will! You scared me to death! What are you doing here?"

Her voice was sharp but quiet, and Plunkett noticed she'd made no effort to tell him to get off of her. If Belle didn't mind having him blanketing her, he wasn't about to move of his own accord. "I brought you a present."

He slipped his hand into the same pocket where he kept his lock of her hair and came up with the pendent, dangling it just above her pert little nose. Belle squinted at it until a stray moonbeam showed her what he was offering her, and her eyes went warm and soft. "My necklace! How did you-?"

Belle had tolerated plenty already, but Plunkett wasn't about to tell her that his erstwhile partner had robbed her. That might be the final straw in their association. "I stole it from a thief."

"Thank you," she whispered as he fastened the thin chain around her delicate throat. "I never thought I'd see it again."

He wanted to promise to keep it always safe for her, but it wouldn't be honorable to make a promise he couldn't keep. All he knew was that if she lost it again, he'd do everything in his power to put it back where it belonged.

"Thank you," she murmured again, then her fingers dove into his hair, pulling him down to her lips. Plunkett obeyed her wordless command, his mouth finding hers in the dark as his hands set to work busily exploring her sides through the bed linens. Beneath the bedclothes, Belle was clad only in a thin chemise. She was essentially naked in comparison to the layers and layers that comprised her normal wardrobe. He could feel every bit of her plastered against him.

Grunting, he forced himself to roll off of her, realizing that meant she could feel every bit of him too, including the bit that was currently straining impatiently for her touch, uncomfortably constricted by his breeches.

That was the theory anyway. In reality, he had barely managed to lift himself off of her when Belle's arms went around his neck, pulling him right back down and holding him there. "Will..." she whimpered against his lips, and he subsided with a soft groan. He'd tried being a gentleman. It hadn't worked. Being a gentleman could go fuck itself. Belle wanted him, and the sound of his name on her tongue was driving him mad.

Her sweet little body was moving beneath him, squirming artlessly, and his mouth went dry as he reached down to grab her hip. If she kept grinding herself against his cock like that, he was going to disgrace himself. "Will..." she moaned, her voice breathy, and Plunkett wondered if she had any idea what she was begging him for.

Her eyes were glazed, her breathing ragged, and they'd barely begun. His Belle was an innocent; he'd gamble everything he owned on it. He couldn't deflower a noble lady; they'd shoot him at sunrise. One look into Belle's wide eyes told him that it would almost certainly be worth it. Still, it would be theft, and certain things couldn't be stolen.

Pleasure, however, could be given, and that was what he set out to do. Keeping his mouth locked with hers to muffle her soft cries, he let his hands explore the outside of her chemise, feeling her heat and softness. When he tentatively cupped her breast, Belle jerked her hips into his, and he barely kept the presence of mind not to bite her lip as he fought to hold back. The little minx would be the death of him.

She arched into him as he squeezed her breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple until it hardened into a tight little bud. Plunkett would have given anything he had to be able to lavish that bud with his lips and tongue, but if he took his mouth off of hers, he didn't trust her to stay quiet. Belle's frantic noises of pleasure were a balm to his pride, but they made things damnably complicated considering they weren't alone in this house.

Instead he pinched and teased her nipple until it was Belle's turn to bite, drawing blood from his bottom lip. She pulled back with a hiss of dismay, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Grinning, he captured her mouth and did it again before turning his attention to her other breast. He'd wear her marks with pride, wear any mark she wanted to grace him with since she couldn't wear his. Beneath him she shifted impatiently, rubbing herself against him, and he could deny her nothing. He wasn't stealing; he was giving. This was for his Belle.

He pressed his knee between hers, and she parted her legs for him at once, letting him settle his leg between hers, too many layers still between them, but fewer now than ever before. He could feel every soft curve, feel the heat of her even through her chemise and the bedclothes as he pressed his knee harder into the feather mattress so his thigh was tight against the place he knew was deliciously ready for him.

Her nails dug into his shoulders through his coat. He'd been a fool not to take it off, not to disrobe as much as he could before waking her. He wouldn't make the same mistake again, assuming she didn't station an armed guard in her room after this. Plunkett bit her whimpers and cries from her lips as he fondled her breasts, feeling her curvy little body moving instinctively against him, riding his thigh.

He tried to hold himself away, but Belle was having none of it, wrapping her arms around him so tightly that they were plastered together, his cock rubbing against her belly with every move she made. He didn't move a muscle, the effort of staying still tearing at his sanity as he let Belle take what she wanted from him.

Instead he devoted his full attention to plundering her mouth, stealing all of her secrets. No matter how long he kissed her there was always more to discover, and at some point he realized there always would be. No matter how much of Belle he got, he would always want more.

Beneath him she tensed, and he lost the battle, rubbing his thigh against her until she quivered and screamed into his mouth, and he swallowed every precious noise. Afterward she blinked up at him, flushed and dazed and damp with perspiration, and her smile all but lit the room. "Oh, Will..."

His cock surged, the mere sound of his name in that happy, sated voice driving him over the edge. He muffled his groan against her shoulder as he spent himself, and Belle stroked his hair, her nails scratching lovingly against his scalp, and Plunkett never wanted to be anywhere else, sticky breeches or no.

He stole another kiss, Belle sighing against his mouth until she eased him away from her. "The sun's coming up," she whispered, and he could hear the regret in her voice. "The maid will be in soon."

They could draw the bed curtains, and she could plead a headache, and they could spend the day in bed. He could teach her everything he knew about this art, and his Belle would be an eager student. It would be glorious. Until he was caught. And shot.

With a groan he dragged himself off of her, stealing one last kiss from the disheveled beauty he was leaving in bed. "One of these days," he vowed against her lips, "I'm going to steal you."

Belle watched him as he once again approached the open window. Just as he swung one leg out, she called softly after him, "I'll be waiting."