If You Give a Rake a Ruby

by Shana Galen

  Why had she come?

  He wasn’t worth this. No man was worth it. She knew that to be true. Why did she keep breaking her rules for this man? She was never going to marry. She was never going to fall in love.

  Except she had fallen in love, and it was perfectly inconvenient. He was all wrong for her. He was an aristocrat. He was a spy. He knew all her secrets.

  And he was walking away from her.

  Good. She should let him go. She should go home, sleep for three days, then make a grand appearance back into Society. She should meet with Lily, and the two of them could plan a triumphant return.

  Except, when she thought of Lily now, she thought of Warrick. Lily had more secrets than Fallon could have guessed, and she didn’t think she could go back to sitting in Lily’s drawing room, sipping tea, and pretending everything was as it had been. Pretending they were both celebrated courtesans, when privately neither of them resembled that in the least.

  And the truth was, Fallon did not want that life anymore. She did not want a life where she didn’t see Warrick every day. She did not want a life without him in it.

  And that was why she had come here tonight. That was why she had left her safe, warm home in the middle of the night, traveled halfway across London to Threadneedle Street, and knelt in a dirty alley to pick the lock of the Bank of London.

  If she were caught, she would most certainly be hanged. And yet, here she was—and she’d do it all again, too. She was that much of an addlepate.

  Her heart thumped hard, and she could hardly manage a breath. But she had to go after him. She couldn’t lose him. It was never going to work. She was going to end up alone and miserable when, in the end, he threw her over for a woman of his own station. But she would have him until then. Until that last moment, she would sleep in his arms, hear his voice whisper her name, feel his lips on her skin.

  She shot up, bumped her head loudly on the underside of the desk, and winced. “Warrick!” she shouted then grimaced. She was going to get them both caught, and that was hardly the romantic scene she wanted.

  She rubbed her head and crawled out from under the desk. He was no longer on the staircase, and she rushed up the stairs after him. Her cloak swirled behind her, and she lifted her skirts almost to her knees as she raced up the steps. It seemed to take days to reach him. Who would have thought a bank would have so many stairs? Finally she reached the top and was greeted with dark silence. “Warrick,” she hissed.

  Nothing.

  “Warrick!”

  She stared down the corridor. Had he gone right or left? Why had she not thought to bring some sort of light? Very well, she would go right and see where that led her. Hands out in front of her, she started down the dark corridor. “Warrick? Where are you?”

  How could he not hear her? Was he still here? What if he had left? What if she was alone in the empty bank? She shivered. Of course he hadn’t left her. How would he have exited from the second floor?

  “Warrick?”

  “Are you trying to alert the whole of London?”

  She jumped and, hand on heart, flattened herself against the wall. She still couldn’t see him. “Warrick?” she whispered.

  “I told you to go home.”

  “I can’t. I… Where are you?”

  She didn’t hear him move, but suddenly he was before her. How did he manage feats like that? She could just make out his dark eyes in the gloom. She reached out to touch him, and he stepped back. “Do you need an escort home? Wait downstairs, and—”

  “No, that’s not it. I—it’s you. I need you.”

  He sighed. “Fallon, we’ve been through this.”

  Oh, dear God. She had waited too long to tell him. He really didn’t want her anymore. She had driven him away. Her heart clenched, and she fought a wave of dizziness. “No. I came to say…” Her throat constricted. Why was this so difficult? “I mean, what I want to say is that…” She took a deep breath. “I love you.”

  He didn’t speak, didn’t respond. She waited. Wasn’t he supposed to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her too? Wasn’t he supposed to kiss her or embrace her or… well, something other than simply stand there?

  “Did you hear me?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She could feel her cheeks flame with heat. That was it? That was his response? She was such a fool. The last time she had said those words, she’d been fifteen and the man she’d said them to had betrayed her days later. Now she’d said them again, and the man to whom she was giving her heart didn’t want her either.

  She almost laughed. Perhaps she was cursed. Perhaps this was God’s way of punishing her for all her sins. And she deserved punishment. There had been many sins and few for which she was sincerely contrite.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally whispered more to herself than to him. She was sorry she had not been braver sooner. She was sorry she had allowed that tiny flicker of hope he’d sparked to flame into something more. “I’ll not waste another moment of your time.” Fallon moved past him and started for the staircase. It appeared quite blurry for some odd reason. She reached the banister, placed her hand on it, and took a shaky step.

  “Wait.”

  She almost toppled down the steps at the sound of his voice.

  “Why? Why do you tell me this now?”

  She clenched the banister, feeling the ridge of the smooth wood under her fingertips. “I don’t know.”

  “Not good enough.” His hand gripped her waist, and he turned her to face him. “Why did you come here tonight?”

  “Because I missed you,” she whispered. “Because I…” Her throat constricted again, and she tried to swallow the enormous lump.

  “You missed me. Go on.”

  “Because I didn’t want to be without you.” She looked down, and he notched her chin back up with a finger. “I couldn’t stand the thought of not being with you.” She put her hands on his chest, felt the warmth of him through the wool greatcoat. Suddenly the words she’d fought for rushed forward like a river whose dam has broken. “I know this will never work. I know you can’t possibly marry me, but I don’t care. I want you anyway.”

  He shook his head. “And you think that’s love?”

  She took a shaky breath. “Yes.”

  “Fallon, you don’t know anything.” But instead of releasing her, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She was too shocked to react at first, but then his warm mouth coaxed hers open, and she was kissing him back with everything she had. She didn’t understand what had happened or what he had meant when he’d said she knew nothing. And she didn’t care. Warrick was kissing her. Warrick was holding her.

  His hands fisted in her hair, tugging her head back gently so he could kiss her neck, her earlobe, her collarbone. She shivered, a languid, liquid heat poured through her, warming her and making her tingle.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he murmured when he reached the prim neckline of her gown.

  “So are you.” She wanted to divest him of his coat and shirt. She wanted to run her hands over his firm chest and that flat abdomen. She wanted to nip his broad shoulders and wrap her legs around the dent of his waist.

  With a growl, Warrick pulled away from her. “This isn’t the time or the place,” he said. Fallon stared at him. His breath came in rapid huffs, and his eyes were dark with passion.

  “You do want me,” she whispered.

  He laughed. “Of course I want you. I told you, I’m in love with you.”

  “But I thought—I mean, when you told me to go—”

  He cupped her face with his hands. “I am going to tell you this one more time, Fallon. I have no expectation you will comprehend this time, but I’m ever hopeful. I love you. I will always love you. I know you don’t believe me. I know you don’t trust me, but it’s true.”

  She smiled. S
he did believe him, and she wanted to think his always meant forever. “I love you too.”

  He kissed her again, gently and almost sweetly. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you say so. And now, if we’re to have any future together, we had better discover the identity of the man who wants me and the other Diamonds in the Rough dead.”

  “The man with the rubies?”

  “Exactly. I found the records room, and if you will hold the candle for me, I’ll pick the lock and we can search the insurance policies.”

  Fallon raised her brows. “That sounds tedious.”

  He took her hand and led her down the corridor. “One can’t be abducted or involved in a carriage chase every night.” He retrieved his tinderbox, lit the candle, and handed it to her. Then she watched as he opened a small leather case and took out what appeared to be professional lock-picking tools. This was why she loved him. How could she love a man who didn’t have some useful skills?

  “Those are very nice,” she said, peering over his shoulder.

  “Thank you.” He glanced up at her. “Could you hold the candle so I might see the lock?”

  “Oh, of course.” She watched as he selected an instrument with a long, thin, metal protrusion and inserted it into the lock. He twisted and turned the instrument, and she leaned closer to get a better look.

  “Fallon.” He sounded as though his teeth were clenched. “This is hard enough without you leaning over my shoulder.”

  He went back to work, and she glanced at the other tools in the case. There was one with a bent end she thought might work better on a lock of this sort.

  He swore, removed the pick, and then inserted it again. “Lift the candle, please.”

  The candle was lifted, but she recognized frustration when she heard it.

  “Why don’t you try—”

  His hands stilled, and she closed her mouth, realizing her mistake. If she’d learned anything masquerading as a courtesan, it was never to give a man advice. They did not appreciate it and rarely took it, even when it was perfectly logical and obviously the best possible solution to their problem.

  He swore again and ran a hand though his hair. Fallon pressed her lips together.

  “What?” he said, without looking at her.

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  “You were going to say something earlier.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  He rose. “I’m going to have to kick it down.”

  She winced. “That’s rather loud, and tomorrow the bank manager will know a thief was here.”

  “Do you have another suggestion?”

  A suggestion was similar to advice, in her experience. Fallon hesitated. “Perhaps I could try picking the lock.”

  Warrick moved aside. “By all means.” He gestured to the door. “Have a go.”

  She was wary of his solicitousness, but she didn’t relish waiting all night for him to pick the lock or having the Watch discover them when he made a racket by kicking the door down. She handed him the candle, and he held the pick out to her. She took it, knelt, and replaced it in his case.

  “You’re not going to use the pick?” he asked.

  “Not that one, no.” She extracted the curved pick, studied the lock, and inserted the instrument.

  “That one is not going to work,” he said from behind her.

  She jiggled the pick gently then turned it to the left.

  “The lock is such that you need a straight pick.”

  She turned the pick to the right.

  “That kind will damage the mechanism if—”

  Snick. Fallon pulled the handle and opened the door. Without a word, she replaced the curved pick in the case and handed it to him. “Lovely tools,” she said. He stared at the tools, then at her. She thought, for a moment, he might say something, but he merely pocketed the tools and gestured for her to enter the records room.

  The room was spartan and consisted of a long table, several chairs, and rows and rows and rows of files. It did not have a window, so Warrick lit a lamp and directed her to search the row of files on the far wall. He began with those on the wall near the door. Fallon took one look at the boxes of files and sighed. This, she supposed, was why she would not make a good spy. There was far too much drudgery involved. But she began sorting through files, glancing at page after page of dull documents, looking for any mention of rubies. Several times she thought she found something interesting, but the rubies were part of a set of jewelry, and she knew the rubies she wanted were not in a setting.

  “That was impressive,” Warrick said.

  Fallon started. She’d become so accustomed to the silence that his voice startled her. “Pardon?” She glanced at him. He was standing by a stack of files, thumbing through them. The warm glow from the lamp made his skin look burnished and glinted off what appeared to be auburn pieces in his chestnut hair.

  “The way you picked the lock,” he said, without looking at her. “It was impressive.”

  “Oh.” She went back to her files. “I have plenty of experience picking locks. It’s not something I’m proud of.”

  “There are some who would envy your skills.”

  She gave a bitter laugh. “Thieves and cutthroats.”

  “And spies.”

  She glanced up at him. “You would have succeeded with the lock. Eventually. You simply selected the wrong tool.”

  “In my business, every second matters. Selecting the wrong tool can mean death.”

  “Then I’m happy you are retired.” She didn’t like to think of him risking his life. She didn’t like to think of him injured or dead. With renewed vigor, she began sorting through files. But she looked up when his shadow fell over the parchment before her.

  “I’m trying, in my clumsy way, to say thank you.”

  She looked back down. “There’s no need.”

  He kissed her cheek. “There’s every need. You’re an extraordinary woman, Fallon. One day you’re going to believe that.”

  They studied files until Fallon’s back ached, her shoulders felt taut as the wire of a pianoforte, and the words swam before her eyes. Finally, Warrick said, “It’s not here. Or, if it is, we’ve not time to find it. I’ve seen dozens of large insurance policies. The rubies might not be insured, or they could be insured elsewhere.”

  Fallon stretched her back. “Where?”

  “Perhaps Child’s Bank on Fleet Street.”

  Fallon frowned. She had no desire to stray that close to the Temple Bar.

  “Perhaps Hoare’s.”

  Another Fleet Street bank. “Surely we can’t break into every bank in London.”

  “No. I’ll have to take a different direction.” He shoved a box of files back on the shelf. “Right now I want to go to bed.” His gaze met hers. “But not alone.”

  She smiled. It seemed she’d been waiting for years to be in his arms again.

  Once they were in the alley again with the Bank of England locked securely behind them, he asked, “How did you come here?”

  “Hack. I had him leave me a few streets away.” She could see the sky lightening to a pewter gray. Dawn was coming.

  “I did the same. We’ll not find one at this wee hour.”

  Fallon sighed. “I suppose that means we walk.”

  He offered her his arm. She took it and they headed for Threadneedle Street. They had not gone far when a voice called from the darkness, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Nineteen

  Warrick reached for his pistol but froze when he heard the sound of a pistol being cocked.

  “Put yer hands where I can see them.”

  Warrick lifted his hands and glanced at Fallon. Whatever happened, he couldn’t allow any harm to come to her. Most likely this was nothing more than a simple robbery. He would toss the thief a
few coins and they would all walk away. Fallon looked back at him, drops of water in her hair. The night air was damp and heavy. A slate-gray fog curled about his ankles like a hungry cat. He could hear the distant sounds of farmers’ wagons hauling their goods into town. London was opening a groggy eye. In a few more moments, someone would happen by.

  “You were in the bank for quite a spell,” the thief said.

  Fallon’s eyes widened, and Warrick knew what she was thinking. How had the man known they’d been in the bank?

  “What’s it to you?” Warrick asked. He itched to turn his head, to see the man properly.

  “Just you keep facing as you are,” the man said. “My face ain’t nothing to see. You almost got me caught, ye did. The Watch are suspicious in these parts. Can’t be bribed either.”

  “If all you want is the few coins I have on me, take them and be gone,” Warrick said. “It’s late, and I want my bed.”

  The man laughed. “Pretty girl like that at yer side, I bet you do. But that’s not all I want.”

  A shiver of unease skittered up Warrick’s spine. “What else could you want?” He moved closer to Fallon, shielding her with his body.

  The man laughed. “Not yer ladybird. I want you, Mr. Fitzhugh. You have a price on yer head, and I intend to claim it.”

  Bloody hell. Exactly how many men did the traitor with the rubies have after him?

  Warrick turned, and the man stepped hastily into the shadows. Warrick couldn’t see him at any rate. He had the collar of his coat up and his tricorn hat pulled low over his forehead. “Turn back around.” The man’s voice shook slightly.

  Good. He wasn’t a professional. “What exactly do you intend? Will you shoot me dead on the street? I imagine that will attract some attention.” Warrick took a step forward.

  “Don’t come no closer.”

  “Or else you will shoot me? You’ve already told me that is your intention. What do I have to lose now?” He stepped closer again, and the man stepped back.