A/N: Yeah I'm finally updating! Sorry I took long, but I hope you enjoy it

Disclaimer: I don't own CCS, CLAMP does, and this is my version of "Prince of Swords" by Anne Stuart.

Now on with the story!

· ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ ·

The Wolf had two different ways of thievery, and Syaoran could never decide which he preferred. The sheer effrontery of simply strolling into one of his host's private rooms and helping himself to jewelry had a certain charm, just as his adeptness at relieving unpleasant women of their bauble amused him. That occasionally led to an error in judgment, one he found himself forced to correct. His code of honor, in sense of morality, was elastic indeed, nonexistent to most observers. But to him it was clear:

One didn't rob those who couldn't afford it and didn't deserve it. He was interested in relieving only some of the wealthier, less pleasant members of society of their extraneous gewgaws. The same sort of people who'd had no qualms about helping his brother Ryan in his downward spiral of drink and ruinous gaming.

Not that anything so noble as revenge lay behind Syaoran's little journey into a life of crime. He preferred to think it was caused by nothing more than a combination of financial necessity and boredom.

That, however, precluded, robbing innocent, pleasant women of their jewelry. He'd been forced to go to great lengths to return the young Duchess of Denver's pink pearl necklace.

It was far from her most valuable piece, and her older husband could afford to replace it by the gross, but he discovered it had been given to her by her now-deceased mother, and the loss of it had sent the pretty young duchess into absolute despair. He'd found the return even more challenging than the actual taking, and for a brief while he'd considered returning all the baubles he'd stolen. Practicality had soon taken hold though.

Most of the stuff had already been converted into cash and spent. And besides, most of them didn't deserve to have it returned.

Miss Beauchamp had been a different matter. The gaudy Beauchamp diamonds were well known, and her father, Sir Reginald, had been one of Syaoran's brother's chief cronies.

Together they'd gone through their various fortunes, with Sir Reginald following Ryan in death at a discreet interval. Syaoran had considered the diamonds fair game and only fitting recompense, until he discovered that they were simply all Miss Beauchamp and her mother had left of the once-notable Beauchamp fortune. And she had no idea that the agnificent things were a glass-and-paste substitute.

Syaoran's amusement at having been gulled into stealing . worthless baubles had paled when it came to the Beauchamps' despair. Returning them had been simple enough, done with the help of Wein's expert assistance. Replacing

the false gems with real ones had proven more difficult, but Syaoran had been up to the challenge. And the Beauchamps had never realized their recovered jewels had once been totally worthless.

It was during that incident that Syaoran had discovered his alternative form of thievery. The Beauchamps could not a:fford to entertain, and there was simply no way Syaoran could casually find his way to the upper floors of the house, short of seducing Miss Beauchamp. And while that notion was far from repugnant, she was in love with a young lordling who adored her, and Syaoran allowed himself enough sentiment to keep from

putting a rub in the way of their upcoming nuptials.

Wein and his associates had been, more than helpful.

Close-fitting black clothes, a moonless night, and a certain agility in scaling fences, buildings, and windows were all that it took.

He nearly broke his blasted neck the first time he tried it. By the third time, he achieved the fastness of Miss Beauchamp's virgin bedroom, tucked the refurbished diamonds into a spot where they'd be likely to be discovered with just the right amount of difficulty, and made his escape, feeling well pleased with himself. Like a black cat, he'd scaled the London rooftops, the moonless night overhead, and felt cool and free with ties to no one and nothing. It was by far the way he preferred his thieving.

There were times he simply took to the rooftops with no aim in mind.

Tonight, however, he knew exactly where he was going. First to the Renfields' town house. The servants would be in bed, the large and graceful rubies would be in Lady Barbara's jewelry box. If by any chance she'd decided to wear her ornate rubies to the less formal party he knew they were attending, then he would have to console himself with her diamonds and pearls.

And then he would wander farther terrain.

To Tomoeda, where he would blend into the shadows. He had no intention of break into the Kinomoto's stronghold. He merely wanted to observe both Sakura and whoever else happened to be watching the place. That other shadow still haunted him, and he wasn't a man who liked unanswered questions.

He didn't pay much attention to Wein's warnings about the infamous Josiah Clegg. Wein had a tendency to worry excessively, and he still couldn't quite believe that a member of the gentry was proving to be as adept a thief as ever he'd known Syaoran had little doubt he could outwit a dozen Cleggs, just as he outwitted everyone else.

With the possible exception of Sakura Kinomoto. It might have been a trick of her strange eyes, but she seemed to see through him with no difficulty at all. He doubted she knew he was the Wolf. If, as Wein assured him, she was actually assisting Clegg, then she should have no hesitation in informing on him to her cohort and collecting the prize money:

It could make a start in getting them out of that dark hovel in Tomoeda.

Yet she'd done no such thing. If the cards had told her he was the Wolf, she was keeping it to herself.

He didn't think it had gone that far yet. She might suspect he wasn't the lazy, rutting fop he carefully presented to society.

When he looked at her he felt neither lazy nor foppish. The strong desire to rut was a different matter entirely.

He should keep his distance, let her be. Put a temporary halt to his larcenous activities. But he had no intention of doing either of those boring things.

Lady Barbara had sensibly left her rubies behind. They didn't become her rather florid complexion, and he could only hope she replaced them with something a little more tasteful.

He seldom ventured into the more dangerous parts of the city during his nightly prowls, and the rooftops of Tomoeda were a far cry from those of Mayfair. Tiles were loose, chimney pots were smoking, and the sky seemed somehow darker. The roof to Miss Kinomoto's house was in equally bad shape. It must have leaked in several spots whenever London was blessed with a soaking rain, he thought. The scent of dampness clung to the place, mixing with soot and ancient odors even less pleasant.

He could hear their voices drifting upward, the soft murmur of well-bred British women, and he wondered what they found to talk about. Did she tell them she'd been thoroughly kissed for what had undoubtedly been the first time in her life? Did she tell them about her fortune-telling cards?

The houses in Tomoeda were plain and unadorned, and there was nothing he could use to climb down and peer inside one of the windows, much as he would have sold his soul to do so. But then, he'd lost his soul long ago - it could hardly have been worth bartering over.

He stretched out flat on the rooftop, pressing his face against the broken tiles. He shut his eyes, letting the cool night air press down around him.

And he listened for her voice

.¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .

Tomoyo Daidouji loved her sister Sakura more than anyone else in the world. She loved her sister, and she hated lies. And yet, for some reason she hadn't told Sakura of the man she'd-met.

The man who teased her impossible dreams.

It had been only a few short weeks earlier and yet 'she couldn't remember what life had been like before she'd seen him. She didn't even know his full name. Perhaps it was better that way.

. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .Flashback. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .

It had been a fine autumn afternoon with a warm sun beating down, giving lie to the approaching winter. Tomoyo sat back and stared at the watercolor she'd just labored over. It was not one of her best efforts, due, no doubt, to the excess haste she'd used in painting it. Her mother had been prostrate, as she was far too often, Sakura was off somewhere, and Tomoyo had been unable to resist the clear afternoon light. She'd taken her paints and escaped the house, walking, down to the canals to capture the late colors of autumn against the gray backdrop of Tomoeda, but she'd been ever mindful of her circumstances.

She'd had to grow used to being alone. The first fifteen years of her life had been spent cosseted and protected, with scarcely a minute left to her own devices, but since the Disaster, as she'd come to think of it, there'd been no maids, no footmen, not even much of a mother to look out for her. She went to the market stalls alone, she took solitary walks when need be.

Surely she would be safe enough in broad daylight?

Someone was watching her. It wasn't an uncommon experience; she was used to having eyes follow her wherever she went. She found her pleasing appearance to be a mixed blessing. Ever since she could remember, young men had importuned her; old women had doted on her, the world seemed eager to please her for no more reward than her smile. It had always seemed a bit unfair to Tomoyo, and she tried not to use it, but that sense of being watched had become a second nature to her.

The colors she'd used were dark and drab, too suggestive of her troubled state of mind. She stared at her picture in dismay, so intent on it that she didn't realize someone had approached until a shadow crossed the canvas.

"Very nice, miss," he said in a voice that was broad and somewhat country but that of a gentleman. She looked up, blinded by the sun for a moment, aware only of immense height. She put up her hand and squinted, knowing she should ignore him, but somehow the broad Yorkshire voice brought her lost home back to her so forcefully that she couldn't help but turn to him.

He looked safe enough. He was dressed rather untidily in sober clothes, and, his dark bluish hair was long and in need of a trim.

But the untidiness seemed the result of having more important things on his mind rather than actual carelessness. He had a strong face - broad features, sapphire eyes, an over strong jaw, and a generous mouth. He looked down at her quite kindly, and for one brief, dangerous moment she wanted to smile back at him.

"It's a hopeless daub," she said uncertainly, taking it from the easel and preparing to rip it up.

He caught it from her hand quite easily.

"Don't do that, lass. It's far too pretty."

She'd never been called lass in her entire life. During her childhood no one would have dared, and in the big, filthy city of London, people were more likely to call her "ducks." There was something about his voice, the gentleness when he said "lass" that warmed her even on a cool autumn day.

And then suddenly she realized what she was doing, having a conversation with a strange man. She glanced around her, but the area around them was empty. She was alone, and he could be a dangerous madman, an abductor of helpless females, a rake and an unprincipled. . .

"Nay, lass, don't look so frightened. I'm not going to harm you. Do1 look like an evildoer?"

"My sister told me I couldn't judge people by their looks."

"Your sister's very wise," he said gently. "Just as you're wise not to trust a stranger just because he seems harmless enough. But I promise you, you have nothing to fear. I'm one of Sir Tom's men."

Tomoyo looked up at him blankly. "I don't understand."

""I'm a member of the police. A Bow Street runner and a detective. I'm what passes for law around here."

"Oh," Tomoyo murmured, vastly relieved. "I was afraid, that is, 1 thought. . ." She could feel the blush mounting to her cheeks.

"I won't harm you, lass. But there are others who aren't what they should be. You shouldn't be here alone, so caught up in your painting. You didn't eyen realize I'd come up on you."

"I do get rather lost in my 'work," she said breathlessly. He was so very big, he should have been frightening. But she wasn't frightened. For the first time since the Disaster, she felt safe.

"I'll keep a watch out for you," he said, "but I can't always be there. You need to watch out for yourself as well, lass."

For a moment she, didn't say anything. He was standing very close, and for a moment she felt as if they were alone in this vast, crowded, noisy city. The people and the filth faded away, and it was green all around, and she was home, in a place she'd never known.

"Miss?" he questioned, staring at her oddly, and the spell was broken. Bringing her back to the present from her daydream

"I have to go," she said, catching up her paints.

She half expected him to stop her, but he made no effort to do so, simply stepping back politely. "Take care, Miss Daidouji of Kinomoto," he said in his deep, country voice.

It wasn't until she reached the safety of her home that she realized he'd known her name. And he still possessed her watercolor of the nearby canals. She'd seen him again during the next few weeks, mostly from a distance, watching over her as she went about her errands. He wouldn't come close enough to speak, and the first time she smiled at him from across the crowded square, he pretended not to notice.

But she persisted, to be rewarded with a faint, acknowledging smile in return.

Tomoyo kept the memory of his smile in her heart, and said not a word to no one.

. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ End of .Flashback. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ .

"What do you do when you go out?" Tomoyo asked in a deliberately casual voice.

Sakura looked up from her mending, startled. The light was growing too dim to work by, and the open window, while it let in comparatively fresh night air, also let in a chill draft.

"Why would you ask such a question?" she countered, setting the tom sheet down and peering at her sister.

"Just curious. There's little enough to occupy my thoughts during the day when you're gone. Mama stays in her bedroom, bemoaning her fate, and we can't afford the amount of paints and paper it would require to keep me busy the entire time."

Sakura looked stricken. "I'm sorry, Tomoyo. Soon we'll be able to afford all the art supplies you could possibly want, but in the meantime. . ."

"In the meantime I could do something as well to help out. You know my watercolors are much admired."

"They always have been, " Sakura agreed warily.

"Our frierids always said so, but you can't trust their kindness. They're hardly likely to tell me I'm a talentless waster of good paint.

But the people around here who watch me when I'm working have assured me I could make a small amount of money if I chose to sell my artwork. Enough to pay for my supplies and a bit left over to go toward the household expenses.

There's no reason you should take on the entire burden of keeping us afloat, and if what I take such pleasure in could bring us some much-needed money then I see no reason why I couldn't do it. I could set up a stall near Covent Garden and -"

"No!" Sakura cried in horror. In a moment she'd modulated her voice. "You'cannot possibly do such a thing. Not in Covent Garden, where'd you be mistaken for a high-class doxy if you aren't carried off by procurers. If anyone should see you, or realize you sold your paintings, your chances of a proper marriage would be flown away."

"By proper you mean wealthy," Tomoyo said carefully.

"Isn't that what you want as well? A kind, caring man who'll take care of you? A man who won't waste his money, leaving his wife and daughters penniless? Wouldn't it be utterly splendid never to have to worry about where our next meal is coming from? Whether we'll be tossed out of even this awful hovel and left to beg on the streets?" Her voice was tight with strain. "Surely nothing would be too great a sacrifice to be spared that. "

"Has it really been that bad, Sakura?" Tomoyo asked quietly. She had never worried where the food had come from. Sakura had always provided, and told her not to concern herself.

She watched with amazement as Sakura gave herself a little shake, seeming to toss off the anxiety that had settled around her. She smiled at her Onee-chan (1)

"I'm being melodramatic, silly goose," she said in a lighter voice. "I won't pretend things haven't been difficult since Father died, but we've made it this far, and things are definitely looking better.

I've just got a case of the megrims. I won't be seeing him again. I'm certain I can manage to avoid him, and if I can't, I shall simply have to give up my society readings."

"Which reminds me. What is the difference between my selling my paintings and your accepting money for reading the fards? Surely it puts you beyond the pale as well?"

"Ah, but I have no intention of marrying well, or at all I don't possess the natural attributes you do, dearest."

"You're ridiculous, Sakura!" Tomoyo exclaimed

Sakura shrugged her narrow shoulders. "One takes the path given one, Tomoyo. Just rest assured that you won't have to marry anyone you don't want to. I have trust in your good sense. I know you'll manage to fall in love with a very wealthy man," she said cheerfully.

"Oh, I'm most sensible, Onee-chan," Tomoyo replied evenly. "I still want to know where you go when you leave here for the day."

"I don't walk the streets looking for customers, sis," she said lightly. "I do card readings."

"But that's fairly recent, isn't it? Lady Akisuki heard of your existence only a few weeks ago."

Sakura hesitated. "I . . . I've been doing readings for others as well," she said finally.

Tomoyo simply waited.

"For the Bow Street runners," Sakura admitted. She really wasn't a good liar especially to Tomoyo, she just couldn't hide something from her even if she tried. Tomoyo would always know when she's lying or keeping something from her.

"The Bow Street runners?" she echoed in a hollow voice, Sakura was too guilty to notice her sister's reaction. "I know it's not done Tomoyo" she said hurriedly. "And that's why I haven't; told you or Mama. It has helped support us, and it's been a force for good in society. At least, sometimes," sh'e added with a trace of bitterness.

"I'm certain the police are quite estimable," Tomoyo said faintly.

"Not the ones I've met." Her voice was dark. "You keep away from' the runners, Tomoyo. They're a bad lot, not much better than the criminals they arrest."

"I keep away from everyone, Sakura."

Sakura stared at her, suddenly troubled. "You haven't been bothered, have you? No one has accosted you, asked you qustions, taken liberties?"

"You're the one who was kissed, Sakura-chan. Not me. Though I expect I'm bored enough that I would have enjoyed it more than you did," she added with a forced smile.

"You'd be wrong," Sakura said firmly. "Now, off to bed, or Mama will hear us talking."

"Yes, sister dear. I promise to dream chaste dreams. I wonder if the same could be said of you. What was your wicked seducer's name, by the way?"

"He didn't seduce me," Sakura said sternly. "And I don't know his name."

"And you taught me never to lie!" Tomoyo said with a hollow laugh. "Promise me one thing. It wasn't your Bow Street runner, was it?"

Sakura shuddered. "It wasn't, Tomoyo. And it never will be."

. ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸ . . ¸

Syaoran rolled over onto his back, staring up into the inky blue velvet of the London night. He'd grown used to the smells that surrounded him.In truth, the country was full of less than flowery scents as well, and yet, if he'd had his choice, he'd be far away, without a doubt in Xian Lang, China; far better than this damnable city that ate its children whole.

He'd heard almost every word with gratifying clarity. He counted excellept hearing among his many gifts, and the two Kinomoto members had made little effort to keep their voices down.

After all, no one could hear them unless a cat happened to be prowling on the rooftops and stopped just above an open window.

Unnerving. Bless the girl. He'd managed to shake her equilibrium as soundly as she'd shaken his. Of course, in her case it wasn't much of a challenge. An untouched virgin would be easy prey for an experienced scoundrel. He frowned, remembering her words. What other men had she kissed? Whoever they were, they were far too polite and respectful. They probably had nothing but the most honorable of intentions toward her. Whereas his were nothing short of lascivious.

She couldn't get him out of her mind. He would have to do his best to remind her, should she have more success at dismissing his memory. She and her impoverished little family were obviously quite desperately in need of money, and he had little doubt the right offer from a respectable source could lure her into society once more. An evening performance, perhaps.

She could read the cards for a few select couples, and he would stay well out of sight so as not to alarm her. And then he would be the perfect gentleman and escort her back to this dreary little hovel.

The thought of that long carriage ride cheered him immensly, and he started back across the rooftops, silent as a cat, moving between the closely packed buildings with his usual dexterity.

Down below, the streets were deceptively quiet too much so. At that time of night even areas like Tomoeda should see some signs of life. A whore or two, perhaps a costermonger, or at least a stray four-footed cat.

On impulse he scrambled down a roof, then dropped to the ground on silent feet. It was a back alleyway, not two streets over from the Kinomoto's abode, and it was a simple enough matter to blend with the shadows in his dark clothes. He hadn't bothered to blacken his face, but the night was a cape to cover him as he moved through the streets like his feline counterpart.

The lights were out in the Kinomoto's house. He stood there, looking up, wondering if the haphazard windows would provide enough of a foothold for him to climb up to Sakura's bedroom, when he sensed the presence of someone nearby.

"Nice night for a walk, isn't it?" said a man's voice, thick, plummy, with an unmistakable London accent.

Syaoran turned around slowly to meet Josiah Clegg's soulless eyes.

· ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ · . ¸ . · ´ ·

A/N: Well that's it for this time, hope you don't mind...that much, this little cliffy. I can be pretty evil sometimes huh? hahaha -

Now, I wonder, who thought I would continue on with Sakura & Syaoran's little scene? hehe -. be patient my friends, there are still lots to come before that, hehehe

Ohh...but gave it little twist there with Tomoyo & Eriol, told you I would have them included

Sorry I kept you all waiting for a looong time, i hope this chapter is long enough for you guys.

(1) Onee-chan is a way to refer to an older sister in japenese, but like i said before Sakura and Tomoyo are really cousins and best friends since childhood. Tomoyo is older and her mother is Sonomi Daidouji of Kinomoto, they're a branch from the great Kinomoto clan okay? (kinda like the Hyuuga clan, Hinata is heir to the main family, like Sakura, while Neji is just from another branch of the family like Tomoyo. For those who know about Naruto)

Now, for those who reviewed ARIGATOU GOZAIMASU!! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!! MUCHISIMAS GRACIAS!! MERCI!!

Blueducky511: Gracias, for reviewing

MizUnapprochable Arigatou for reviewing, sorry about my evilness. The tardiness and 'seducing' part hehe, but I hope you liked this chapter

ladyblossem Merci for your review, nice to know I have some fans hehe, sorry about the lemons i don't think they'll be there any time soon, but definately there, I promise.

MewMewPower Arigatou for reading the story & reviewing, and that you enjoy it. About that 'speed' hehe I'm not quite that good at it, I'm very slow, gomen

Black Wolf Chic 2: Thanks for reviewing twice, forgive me for taking so long, arigatou for that little push don't hestitate to do it again if you see I'm way slow okay?

pure-lilly Gracias for reviewing my friend, thanks for being with me from the beginning

Snpdgg09 Merci for your review, I hope you're still reading it and patient with me hehe

Alpha2Omega Thank you for reviewing, don't let your patience and eagerness die

I'll leave you guys with a little quote here:

"Experience is a hard teacher because she gives the test first, then the lesson afterwards."

Well that's it (finally finished with this chapter), now if you don't mind I'll have my goodnight sleep.

yaa-ne