Breathless by Anne Stuart Page A

get back to the house. Let’s get out of here.”
    Miranda cast one last look behind her, but Lucien de Malheur had disappeared. She turned back to her friend with deep foreboding. Jane was looking just as she ought to look—happy and excited and in love.
    And Miranda knew that something was very wrong.

7
    â€œY ou did what? ” Miranda demanded, staring at her friend in astonishment.
    They were back in Miranda’s cozy little house, the dominos discarded, the dancing slippers gone as well, sitting by a fire in the small salon where Cousin Louisa usually held court. That stout lady had retired to bed, and they were entirely alone.
    â€œI didn’t do it! He’s the one who kissed me.” She blushed. “And I have to say it was quite delightful. You never told me men use their tongues when they kiss.”
    â€œThey do?” Miranda said doubtfully. “I don’t remember St. John doing anything like that, but he was fairly abrupt and practical about the whole horrid business. So you’re telling me you were thoroughly kissed by a jewel thief and you didn’t scream for help?”
    â€œI promised I wouldn’t,” she said with a weak smile. “He definitely wasn’t a gentleman—I could tell that by his voice. But he was very tall, and very strong, and yet quite gentle when he kissed me.” She had a faraway look in her eyes, and Miranda’s heart sank.
    â€œLove, I don’t want you to marry a stiff, prosing borelike Bothwell, but you simply can’t fall in love with a member of the criminal class. You know that, don’t you?”
    For a moment Jane looked deflated, and she nodded. “But you managed to change your life by running away.”
    â€œNot necessarily for the better. I enjoy my life tremendously, but I wouldn’t wish it on you. And did this ruffian ask you to run away with him?”
    â€œOf course not,” she said, sounding disappointed. “And if he had, I certainly wouldn’t have gone. It was just so…so…”
    â€œExciting?” Miranda suggested, but Jane shook her head. “Frightening? Distracting? Entertaining? Tempting?”
    â€œDelicious,” she said with a shy smile, brushing her hair away from her face.
    Miranda froze. “What the bloody hell is that? ”
    â€œ What? ” Jane said, confused.
    â€œOn your finger. That’s not Bothwell’s tiny little ring.”
    Jane looked at her hand, and jumped, uttering a distressed squeak. A very large, very handsome diamond now rested on the ring finger of her left hand, and she yanked at it, trying to pull it off. It wouldn’t budge.
    â€œOh, no,” she moaned.
    â€œWhere’s Bothwell’s ring?”
    She held out both hands, but the plain, cheap little ring was nowhere in sight. “Oh, God, what am I going to do, Miranda? How will I ever explain this to him?”
    â€œTry your pockets.”
    She did, hurriedly reaching into the pockets sewninto her dress, and breathed an audible sigh of relief. “It’s here.”
    â€œNow all you have to worry about is getting the other one off.”
    â€œAnd returning it to its rightful owner,” she said, yanking at it.
    â€œDon’t do that—you’ll make your finger swell and it’ll be even worse. We’ll use warm water and soap and it will slip right off. I presume it belongs to the duchess of Carrimore?”
    â€œOf course it does. What else would draw a jewel thief in the middle of a party? We have to get it back to her!” Jane looked as if she wanted to cry.
    â€œThat’ll teach you to go kissing jewel thieves in the middle of the night,” Miranda said cheerfully.
    â€œDon’t laugh! This is a serious problem.”
    â€œYou meet a quixotic jewel thief who kisses you and slips a diamond ring on your finger. Next thing we know he’ll be asking you to marry him.”
    â€œDon’t be