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Excerpt from "To Love a Thief"
A Warner Forever Release
April 2005
ISBN: 0-446-61482-3
©2005 by Julie Anne Long
Lily was of two minds about portly men: they often made good quarry, because they tended to move more slowly. However, sometimes they strained their clothing, and tight clothing allowed pickpockets scant room to maneuver.
But the particular portly man Lily had her eye on looked prosperous; the walking stick he clutched in his huge fist sported what appeared to be a genuine gold top, and his clothing, at least his coat and trousers, was beautifully made and generously cut. Most importantly, a chain dangled tantalizingly from his coat pocket. A watch. Splendid! Successfully retrieving this particular watch would make up for yesterday's spectacular failure.
Her dress had long ago faded to somewhere between gray and brown, and this was a great help when it came to blending into masses of people and disappearing into shadows. She sidled through the crowd, her head lowered, until she was flush with the man and within reaching distance of his pocket. Heart racing, she stretched out her hand. It vanished into his pocket and closed over the delicious smooth metal of the watch; her touch was expert, almost indiscernible; if it was detected at all, it was usually mistaken for a breeze.
And then…
Well, it happened so quickly.
Someone in the crowd stumbled and swore, jostling her quarry, who stumbled and swore in turn, and then took an awkward step to right himself, his head turning to watch his feet—
Just as Lily was extracting her hand from his pocket.
His hand clamped around Lily's arm. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" He squeezed until she cried out in pain; her fingers splayed open and the lovely watch fell and skittered, winking in the sunlight, across the ground. The man bent forward to sweep it up, dragging her down with him; his grip didn't slacken. She twisted and kicked out, but it was becoming horribly clear he did not intend to release her.
Terror sucked the air from her lungs.
God help me, she prayed. And then, absurdly, Mrs Smythe, shall I sweep the floor today?
*****
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