REGENCY: Loved by the Duke (Historical Billionaire Military Romance) (19th Century Victorian Short Stories) (4 page)

Chapter 1

“Will that be all for you, miss?”

Hope jumped in her seat, startled, as she quickly looked up at the flight attending politely staring down at her.

“What? Oh, yes. Yeah, I’m fine.”

The red haired woman nodded once, and moved on the next aisle in front of her. Meanwhile, Hope tried to still her racing heart. It wasn’t like her to be so jumpy after a job, but this one had been different. Dangerously different. She thought back over the past few months as she stared out of the open hatch window, a small pane of glass the only thing separating her from a ten thousand foot fall onto the spires of Moscow.

The city looked like it was made out of brightly colored toys below her. She could just make out the colorful buildings through the grey, smoke-like clouds as they continued to ascend. She sighed in relief as they flew farther away, putting ever more distance between her and the real reason she was wound so tight she felt she might fly apart into a million pieces any second. Valentine Kamorov.

Hope pulled the worn, brown leather satchel closer to her chest, wrapping her arms defensively around it. She could just feel the outline of a hard rectangular shape pressing into her forearms and it gave her a small measure of comfort, and at the same time, sent a familiar thrill rushing through her.

Inside the bag was a very old manuscript enclosed in a hard, protective plastic case to keep it safe until she returned to America, and could hand it over to her seller. She closed her eyes for moment, the image of the beautiful book indelibly seared into her memory.

The leather of its binding was almost bronze with age and use. When she thought of all the hands that touched it, eyes that had read the same words over the vast centuries, the weight of its age made it feel like it was so much heavier than it really was as it sat cradled safely in her lap.

The fragile parchment pages were edged in gold, as were several of the illustrations through the book itself. Expensive dyes made out of lapis and cerulean, amethyst and rubies, covered the pages as well, marking this as a work of exquisite workmanship, and also incredibly valuable.

Of course, Hope couldn’t read a word of it.

It was in a Russian dialect so old that she couldn’t make out any of it except the odd symbol here or there. But she could see its beauty, could understand the poetry of the words, if not the meaning.

The cover of the book alone would be worth a small fortune. The leather was barely discernable under the heavy encrusting of various gemstones and even dotted with diamonds. It was an incredibly rare artifact and Hope still felt the same awe and wonder she had the first time she saw it, almost three months ago.

Unbidden, her memories of that day swirled, unfolding before her still closed eyes. Hope had been walking past the University, her coat wrapped tight around her body to battle the cold. The dark mocha shade of her skin was deepened to scarlet as the wind whipped a flush into her cheeks.

The cold breeze grabbed a lock of her long, curly brown hair and threw it up in front of her eyes, momentarily blinding her as she scrambled to untangle herself. Still unable to see, she had run into a bench sitting empty and alone in the courtyard, and before she could catch herself had fallen face first into the frozen snow.

She had just started to push herself up when sudden hands, strong hands, incredibly masculine hand, were on her shoulders, helping her to her feet. She looked up intending to thank the kind stranger, but the words stalled in her throat. His icy blue eyes, as cold as the snow just starting to make icy trails down the inside of her coat, stared at her, demanding she meet his gaze and refusing to let her look away.

He was taller than her, by at least eight inches if not an entire foot, and everything about him from his height to his broad shoulders and sculpted abs had her feeling incredibly feminine. The differences between them were beautiful in their extreme contrasts. He was all light, to her dark.

His blond hair and pale skin set off her dark brown hair and the coffee shade of her own skin. It made her wonder what they would look like together, their bodies twined around one another. Hope shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

He had smiled then, an aggressively charming, lopsided smile that her insides doing all sorts of acrobatics in her chest. There was something about him that screamed play boy, but she had ignored it. Instead focusing on the unfamiliar spark of fire that had ignited between them.

Even though she had dated occasionally, with her line of work, she rarely had time to keep a steady relationship, let alone the fact that she almost never found anyone she was really attracted to. There just was never any chemistry.

Suddenly, he reached down and grabbed her hand, and Hope almost jumped at the contact, even more tiny sparks erupted along her skin like an electrical current shot from his body to hers. Yep, there was plenty of chemistry there.

That simple, chaste touch had left her standing in the snow, breathless again.

“I’m Valentine.” His deep voice was rough, gravelly, and thick with a Russian accent proclaiming him native born to the country. The sound of his softly spoken words had her melting a little as she responded in kind.

“I’m Hope, Hope McAllister.” She wondered if he was going to shake her hand or not, but instead he just held it, looking at the entrancing sight of her much smaller, more delicate, dark fingers that were encased by his much larger ones.

A sudden jolt of turbulence startled Hope out of her reverie and back to reality. She grabbed the bag out of reflex, but it was fine, still nestled safely on her lap. She took a deep breath and then exhaled, relaxing slightly as they continued to fly straight and smooth through the cloudy grey sky, any signs of Moscow lost beneath the thick, pillowy barrier of clouds.

She thought again of that auspicious moment three months ago. That had been the first time she had seen him. Certainly not the last. She could just imagine him now, and it sent a jolt of trepidation and guilt running through her. He would be angry; he would probably be hurt. After sleeping together for the past few months, Hope had just up and disappeared, and something else had disappeared with her.

She glanced down at the satchel that contained one of the most valuable items she’d ever had in her possession, and over the years, she’d had a lot of very valuable items in her grasp.

But she never kept them. That wasn’t her job. Her job was just to find them, and steal them. And now Valentine would know the truth about her, the one she had never been able tell him. She was a thief.

Chapter 2

The sound of the violent bass pounded through Valentine’s chest, in perfect time with the anger bubbling just under his skin. Outwardly, he looked nonchalant, bored even, under the multicolor fluorescent lights of
Chernn Kot.
It meant ‘black cat’ in Russian, and it was one of the most elite nightclubs in Moscow.

Only the wealthiest citizens, celebrities, and top social dignitaries partied there. It was one of Valentines regular spots.  He tried to let himself get lost in the tribal electronic music that was blaring through the speakers from the DJ table where he stood in headphones and leather, a crowd of inebriated dancers grinding against each other on the intimate dance floor in front of him.

Almost against his will, he found himself watching a couple dancing together in the middle of the crowd. The man was tall, heavily muscled, and his skin looked almost pure white against the stunning ebony of the woman in his arms. Her dark skin shone like black velvet underneath the colored lights, her long brown hair fell in curly waves, swaying as she moved, and her curves called to him.

Not because Valentine wanted her, but because the stranger reminded him of Hope, that clever minx. Respect, disbelief, and anger warred together inside him. He had billions of dollars at his disposal, the best security team, the best systems. And yet, she had outwitted him with a smile, and her intelligence. He still wasn’t sure how she had gotten into the vault, let alone steal the ancient book and get out with it without setting off the myriad of alarms and automatic locks that should have been triggered.

A high pitched, vapid voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, Valentine, you want to dance?” The words were heavily accented with Russian, but the heiress hanging on his arm didn’t interest him in the least. She was dull, dumb, had the wit of a twelve year old, and zero personality. Not to mention he could feel every rib bone that she had pressed against him in a sad attempt to tempt him with her malnourished looking body.

Basically, the exact opposite of Hope.

But he had to keep up appearances, forcing an avaricious look on his chiseled features, he turned to the blond beauty hanging on his other arm.

“Why don’t you two go dance together for me. I’ll watch,” His words matched the lecherous grin he sent them perfectly. They both giggled, and it took every ounce of effort not to roll his eyes, instead maintaining the same slightly bored expression he’d been wearing all night. With identical heated looks in his direction, they headed for the dance floor.

The truth was, Valentine really was bored. Bored with the same empty conversations, the vapid women who continued to remind him that they weren’t Hope, trying to attract him because of his reputation, or more likely, his fortune. He was tired of the endless parties.

His cell phone vibrated in the pocket of his tight-fitting black denim jeans, and he was thankful for the distraction. Normally, he would have more than willing bring one of those women home, or both of them. Now it just seemed so meaningless.

He tried to shake off the morose thoughts as he answered.

“Valentine.”

“Hey, Valentine, we’re bringing you in.”  Instantly, he was on alert. This was the call he’d been waiting for.

“I’m on the case?”

“Yeah, Captain decided you’re the best man for the job, so, congratulations. You’re going to America.”

“When am I leaving?” Valentine tried to speak as quietly as he could and still be heard over the loud music.

“Be here in one hour for debriefing. Your flight is scheduled for five am.”

Valentine glanced at his watch, it was just after midnight now. It looked like he wasn’t getting any sleep that night. But the sudden adrenaline pumping through his veins at the phone call made him feel like going without sleep wouldn’t be a problem.

“Got it. See you in an hour.”

“See ya.”

The other end of the line went dead, and Valentine disconnected, replacing the phone in his pocket. Without another glance at the two women still moving seductively on the dance floor, he headed out of the club and out into the cold night air, walking towards a silver Lamborghini.

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, tinging the sky a dark, muted grey as night began to give way. Valentine strode towards the terminal he would soon be departing from. He was cutting it close. The meeting had gone later than expected and his flight was scheduled to take off in less than twenty minutes.

Carrying nothing but a briefcase and a small duffel bag, he had made it through security in record time. Briefly, he thought of the classified documents hidden in the briefcase, but pushed them out of his mind. Of course, if he had been flying his own personal jet, he wouldn’t have been so rushed.

The idea had been shot down immediately by the captain when he brought it up. Too conspicuous, he said. Valentine snorted derisively to himself. What was the point of having billions of dollars if you couldn’t use it to make life a little easier?

At least they had sprung for first class, he thought at he boarded, taking a seat, and the glass of champagne the stewardess offered him. Again, the documents popped back into his mind unbidden.

He had memorized it all by heart during the meeting, and the message played again and again in his mind. Valentine knew the stolen manuscript was valuable, which was why it had been hidden away in his personal vault for the last year.

But he’d had no idea the type of men who were after it. Thinking it was just a novel antiquity, he hadn’t tried to keep the acquisition a secret. He couldn’t read a word of it, so never looked that deeply into the relics history, but apparently it was a long and bloody one.

There was a vicious group of men after it, for its value or for its secrets he wasn’t sure, and neither was the captain. He thought of the solid, dark haired middle aged man who had recruited him eight months ago.

Valentine had been floundering, lost. Squandering his money, and his brain, and his talents, although he had little enough of those, he freely admitted. Unless it came to partying or women.

Captain Rettleson had dug him out of the alcohol induced stupor of the last fifteen years, and had offered him a chance. An opportunity to earn something for himself, rather than be content to continue his life of disillusion, living off his family’s money.

At first, he had been wary, unsure of what was going to be asked of him. With the help of his charm, and connections, they had caught a man who had been in charge of running a sex slave ring in western Russia. That moment had changed Valentines life.

For the first time he could ever remember in all of his twenty-nine years, he had done something useful, worthwhile. And of course he couldn’t tell anyone about it. And he was still stuck pretending to be the bored playboy to keep up his cover. But not this time, Valentine thought ruefully.
I’m just going to be a…tourist
.

He glanced down at the briefcase in his lap, once more reminded of the dangerous situation he would be in if the other men looking for that old book caught up with him. He felt a shiver of worry for the other person inadvertently caught in the cross fire.

Hope.

She was in real danger. Fear coursed through him at the thought of her in trouble, hurt or captured, possibly tortured. He had the dossier on these men. He knew what they had done in the past to get what they wanted, who they had hurt. Who they had killed.

They were not nice people.

His hand tensed on the expensive leather handle until his knuckles were white. He would find her, protect her, keep her safe, and then yell at her until his voice was hoarse for stealing from him and disappearing without a word.

With his plan laid out before him, he felt a little better, and allowed himself to relax as the flight attendant brought him another glass of champagne.

Two terminals down from Valentine, another man boarded a plane. He was nondescript, with big, horn-rimmed glasses and no facial hair. He was wearing brown pants and a dark blue polo, and he had a generic rolling suitcase that probably half of the other travelers had as well.

He was completely forgettable, and that’s exactly how he liked it. He walked onto the plane, took his seat, and immediately closed his eyes, already picturing the sweet screams of the beautiful girl whose picture was wedged like a bookmark in the travel guide he had with him.

She had dark brown skin that looked so soft, long curly hair that was almost black, but with hints of caramel shot through it, and the biggest, deep amber colored eyes. He couldn’t wait to see the light go out of those beautiful eyes. After he got the manuscript from her of course. He had been hired to retrieve the ancient book, and then get rid of the evidence.

No one would miss a thief. He would dump her body and be out of the country before anyone even knew she was gone. He almost chuckled at the thought, but didn’t, being careful to keep his features straight, even. Forgettable. That’s just the way he liked it.