She had no doubt of that. For all that he spoke and acted like just another East Ender, she suspected Bran was a very rich man. Just the cost of her clothes alone should have beggared him, and yet when he’d received the note (the amount of which had made her knees wobble) he hadn’t so much as batted an eye.
If they were to marry and have children she would ask that he give up his life of crime. But their relationship, while wonderful, was only temporary. There would be no wedding. There would be no children. There would be no future.
There couldn’t be.
Not with a rake.
Not even with a rake she’d fallen helplessly in love with.
“I have one more errand to run tonight.” He rested his hand on her thigh, his thumb absently smoothing out a wrinkle in her skirt. “Then I’ll be flush for a while. I thought we might get out of town for a bit. Spend some time in the country.”
“I do miss it,” Lilly said wistfully. “The rolling fields. The woods as far as the eye can see. The quiet. I’ve come to like London, but it does have a certain…”
“Smell?” Bran suggested.
Her lips quirked. “I was going to say distinctive flavor.”
“Have ye ever been to the Mayfair Gardens?”
“No.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know if I’ve even heard of them.”
“Not many people ‘ave. Everyone and their mother has been to the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, but if it’s the country ye want then it’s Mayfair ye need to visit. Let’s go.”
“Now?” she asked in surprise when he stood up and offered his hand.
He canted his head. “Do ye have something better to do?”
“I was planning on spending a quiet afternoon reading.” Retrieving her book, she settled it on her lap and flicked to a random page. Bran snorted.
“Why not sit yerself in front of the wall and watch paint peel?”
“I’ve always enjoyed reading. Haven’t you?”
“Dunno,” he said with an absent shrug. “Never tried it.”
Lilly blinked. “You’ve – you’ve never read before?”
“And who would have taught me to do somethin’ fancy like that? Yeti?” A note of defensiveness crept into his tone. “It doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I just learned different things. A book isn’t going to put food on the table or a roof over yer head now, is it?”
Her heart went out to the little orphaned boy who had been taught to steal but had never learned what treasures could be found between the pages of a book. “I could teach you,” she said tentatively. “To read. And to write.”
He gave her an odd look. “Haven’t ye ever heard ye can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”
“No one is too old for an education.”
“I…guess it can’t hurt anything,” he said after a long pause. Lilly smiled.
“No, it certainly can’t.”
“A common born thief, learnin’ how to read and write. Next thing ye know I’ll be asking for a seat at parliament.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t ye dare tell Jules a word of this. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“I won’t say a word,” she said solemnly.
“Good. Then ye will come with me to the Mayfair Gardens?”
She looked pointedly down at her book. “Or we could begin our first lesson.”
“Did I mention there’s a secret gazebo?” Blue eyes darkening to slate he leaned over the bench, bracketing her between his arms as he whispered in her ear, “It’s hidden behind a grove of trees. Ye wouldn’t even know it was there unless ye knew where to look. Lover’s Lookout, they call it. There’s even a bench in the middle. Just the right size for f–”
Lilly sprang up so quickly the book went tumbling from her lap. “Let’s go.”
His husky laugh echoing in the sweet morning air, Bran swept an arm around her waist and nuzzled her cheek. “That’s my girl.”
Chapter Twelve
Later that evening…
Bran loved being a thief. It wasn’t just the money (although that certainly didn’t hurt). It was the anticipation. The thrill of the chase. The satisfaction of holding all that glittered in the palm of his hand and knowing he’d been the one to take it.
Truth be told, stealing a priceless jewel wasn’t that much different from wooing a woman. Both involved skill, a little luck, and a lot of charm. As he waited impatiently for the Countess of Littleton to climb into her carriage, Bran’s thoughts veered – as they always seemed to do these days – back to Lilly. And he wondered what gem she most embodied.
Not a diamond. Diamonds may have been stunningly beautiful, but they were also cold and common. Neither of which described the delicate blonde who had captured his heart and heated his blood like no other female before her. Neither was she an emerald, or a pearl, or a glittering blue topaz.
Amethyst was the obvious choice, as the violet jewel matched her eyes. But his Lilly was no shy wilting violet. A lady, to be sure (in manner if not blood), but one with a bright, inquisitive mind, strong will, and the most delectable little mouth he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting.
Despite their arduous lovemaking in the gazebo – and in the carriage on the ride home, and in the parlor, and against the wall in the upstairs hallway – just the thought of those rosebud lips had his cock swelling in his trousers.
Down boy, he thought with a rueful grin as he adjusted his stance. If there was one place he could ill afford a distraction, it was here. Which was why he’d done his best to keep his life with Lilly and his criminal activities completely separate. The world of darkness and shadows was too dangerous for her. Better she not know anything at all than know too much.
He’d shared his…errands with other lovers in the past. Mostly because, as callous as it seemed, they hadn’t meant anything to him. Just as he’d meant nothing to them. But Lilly was different. In a world filled with diamonds, Lilly was a ruby.
A rare gem that could burn both hot and cold, the ruby was the queen of stones and the stone of kings. Nobility had favored the captivating red jewel for thousands of years, believing it brought them courage, protection, and - if one believed in such things - true love.
Suddenly a flash of movement at the front of the house caught his eye.
“About bloody time,” he muttered under his breath when the countess finally emerged and stepped into the carriage that had been waiting on the side of the street for the better part of an hour. A slash of the whip and she was off, leaving her home - and the sapphire brooch she’d recently acquired at auction - unguarded save for two maids, a footman, and a butler who had the bad habit of indulging in too much whiskey.
It was because of the butler (and his loose tongue) that Bran had learned of the brooch in the first place. He’d overheard the poor sot talking about it at a local pub. After tracking his movements for the better part of two weeks he had finally approached the butler and, after plying him with an entire bottle of fifty-year-old whiskey, learned everything he needed to know, including where the countess kept her jewelry and when she’d next be away.
Like Juliet, Bran had been planning on laying low until Bow Street’s interest shifted elsewhere, but the brooch was too tempting a prize to resist. A wedding present commissioned by the late Duchess of Kensington by her husband, it was worth a small fortune and he’d already lined up a buyer through Yeti. Everything was set. The only thing left to do was to steal the damn thing.
Darkness had long since descended over the city, allowing him to move as stealthily as a shadow across the lawn to the servant’s entrance at the rear of the house. The narrow wooden door was unlocked - they always were - and he made his way up to the countess’ dressing chamber without incident.
His mouth curving in a triumphant grin when he found the brooch precisely where the butler told him he would, he plucked the jewelry from its velvet box and held it up. Moonlight reflected off the brooch, turning the blue sapphire to liquid cobalt. That had been bloody easy. Too easy, he thought ev
en before the hairs on the nape of his neck prickled and the creak of a step cut through the silence like a gunshot.
Bran slipped the brooch into his pocket and drew his pistol just as the door flew open and a lean, rangy man with dark-hair and eerily black eyes. Side whiskers extended down past his jaw and his hair was long and unkempt. If Bran didn’t know any better he’d think another thief was trying to filch his take, but the bloke standing before him, while disheveled in appearance, was no common criminal.
“If it isn’t Tobias Kent,” he drawled. “Out for a midnight stroll, are we?”
“It’s a nice night.” Irish by birth and a Runner by trade, Kent was a quiet, unpredictable sort. This wasn’t the first time the two men had crossed paths. They’d had a run-in six months ago in Fleet Ditch that had nearly ended with Bran in shackles. He’d managed a narrow escape and Kent, the rutter, had been dogging his heels ever since.
“Aye, that it is.” Bran’s eyes narrowed. “I take it the butler was in your pocket the entire time. Good play, that.”
“Thank you.” Kent’s mouth stretched in a humorless smile. “It worked well enough with Spencer.”
“Looking for another Runner, are ye?” Not too long ago, Felix Spencer had been the best thief in St. Giles. Until he’d been lured into a trap similar to the one Kent had just set for Bran. But instead of swinging by his neck at dawn, the new captain of the Runners, a commoner by the name of Owen Steel, had made Felix a deal he couldn’t refuse: work for Bow Street and all charges would be dropped.
“No,” Kent said simply. “We’re not. Hands above your head and face the wall, Sullivan. It’s over.”
“And what is it ye would like me to do with this pistol here? Aye, that’s right,” he said when Kent’s gaze dropped to the weapon. “I may ‘ave been stupid enough to fall for the old drunken butler routine, but I wasn’t stupid enough to come unarmed.”
“Are you stupid enough to kill a Runner?” Kent’s eyes were as dark and fathomless as the night sky as they bored into Bran’s. “You’re a reasonable man, Sullivan. You know what will happen.”
Yes, Bran did know. Which was why he had absolutely no intention of actually shooting Kent. Stealing jewelry was one thing. But the cold-blooded murder of a Runner? All of Bow Street would be on him like fleas on a bloody cat. They’d tear the East End apart and everyone he cared about would be put at risk.
Including Lilly.
Just the thought of her quaking in terror as Runners burst into the house turned his stomach. The sweet lass had never so much as stolen a button, but that wouldn’t prevent her from being arrested and dragged down to Bow Street. The bastards would keep her locked up until he turned himself in...and then what would happen to her? He’d be rotting in a prison cell - or worse - and she’d be all alone. Jules would look after her for a while, but he couldn’t expect his sister to care for Lilly indefinitely. Soon enough she’d be back out on the street, her situation even more dire than when he’d found her.
Bran’s jaw tightened. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. No matter what, he’d ensure Lilly was protected. It was a promise he had made her when they’d first met, and it was one he had no intention of breaking.
“Yer right,” he said flatly. “I am a reasonable man. As are ye. Let’s come to an understanding, Kent.”
The Irishman’s smile was as cold and flat as a copper penny. “The only understanding we’re going to come to is that you belong in Newgate. You’ve had a longer run than most, Sullivan. I’ll give you that. But it’s over.”
“The hell it is.” Knowing he would only have the element of surprise for a split second, Bran pointed the pistol at the ceiling and fired off a single shot.
Thick black smoke filled the air as Bran launched himself at Kent. He managed a quick uppercut to the Runner’s jaw and a hard blow to his kidney before Kent fought back with two hard punches to the ribs.
Grunting and cursing, the two men slammed into an armoire and the combined weight of their bodies sent it toppling over onto its side. One of the doors sprang open and dresses spilled out in a colorful waterfall of muslin and silk. Kent’s heel caught on the edge of a pink skirt and he slipped, nearly falling to his knees. A gentleman would have allowed him to get back to his feet, or at the very least raise his arms to defend himself.
Unfortunately for Kent, Bran was no gentleman.
“Sorry about this mate,” he said grimly as he slammed the butt of his pistol against the side of Kent’s head.
The Irishman crumpled to the floor with nary a sound.
Knowing the bastard was too stubborn to remain unconscious for very long, Bran slipped out the door – after taking another piece of jewelry for his trouble – and made his way back to St. Giles, using a longer route than necessary to ensure he wasn’t followed.
He tended to his wounds in the kitchen, dabbing at a cut above his right eye with a slab of butter and slicing an empty flour bag into strips to bind his ribs, one of which he was fairly certain was broken. Kent may have been a wiry bloke, but he hit like a bloody ox.
Bran’s feet felt heavy as rocks as he climbed the stairs to his room where Lilly laid sleeping, blissfully unaware of the events that had just transpired. His heart felt heavy as well, and not just from the blue and purple bruises that were rapidly spreading across his chest.
He knew what he needed to do. What he had to do. There was no other choice. Not if he wanted to keep his promise.
But damned if it wasn’t going to kill him when he did it.
“I – I don’t understand.” Lilly stared at Bran in bewilderment, her brow creasing as she tried to comprehend what he was telling her. Outside the bedroom window a colorful songbird heralded in another blue sky morning, but the only thing she could hear was the frantic thud of her own heart as it plummeted towards her stomach. “You – you want to end things? Right – right now?”
“Aye. That’s the gist of it.” Bran turned from the wall to face her, his expression unreadable. “It’s been fun, lass. But we both knew it was never going to last forever.”
Her gaze flicked to the cut above his right eye. When she’d asked him about it he had told her he’d gotten in a little scuffle, but she knew it was something more. It had to be something more. Something that had turned him from the kind, gentle Bran she knew into a contemptuous stranger that had just coldly informed her their affair was over.
“Did I do something?” Feeling small and powerless, she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, fingers digging into the soft folds of her nightdress. “Or say something?”
Bran sighed. “I thought we agreed there would be no hard feelings.”
“We did, but–”
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said tonelessly. “If it’s money ye’re worried about–”
“I don’t care about money!” Lilly burst out. Throwing off the blankets, she jumped out of bed and went to him, flatting her hands against his chest as if she could somehow reach through the hard, callous shell of the man he was pretending to be to the man she knew he was beneath. “Our affair was never about money, or dresses, or – or material possessions. Surely you must know that.”
She waited for him to take her in his arms. To brush his lips across her hair and tell her he was playing some cruel, awful joke. To tell her that she wasn’t just another mistress. That she was something more. That they were something more.
But he did none of those things.
“I knew this would happen. It always does.” Where there had once been compassion in his eyes she saw only pity. “Ye fell in love with me, lass. It’s all right. There’s no shame in it. I wish I could say the same, but I’ve always found that particular emotion to be a little dull for my tastes.” Taking her by the wrists, he gently pushed her back one step, then two. “Let’s not ruin what we had, aye? I’ll see that you’re taken care of, just as I promised. Ye’ll want for nothing. There’s a nice flat in Berkley Square–”
“I do
n’t want anything from you,” Lilly spat as anger began to grow between the cracks of her despair. She’d allowed Doyle to take all of her pride when he’d left. She’d be damned if she let Bran do the same. “I’ll be just fine on my own.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Don’t be foolish, lass. Ye need someone to look after ye.”
“Then I’ll find someone. But it won’t be you.” She lifted her chin. “I always knew our affair would end, Bran. But it didn’t have to end like this. Although what did I expect?” Her laugh tasted bitter on her tongue. “You’re a rake, after all.”
“Lilly–” He reached for her arm when she moved towards the door, but she slapped his hand away, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction at the sharp sound of flesh striking flesh.
“I’m no longer your mistress, which means you have no right to touch me.” She stopped in the doorway to look back at him over her shoulder. Tears glistened on her lashes, but her voice was strong and for once she didn’t stutter. “I’ll see that you’re paid back every shilling for what you spent on me, and then I’ll be leaving London for good. Good bye, Bran.”
Bran waited until Lilly had closed the door before he staggered over to the nearest chair and sank down into it, burying his head in his heads.
That had been even worse than he imagined. A thousand times worse. But it had been for the best. If he’d tried to let her down gently…if he’d told her how he really felt…
He never would have been able to let her go.
That knowledge, coupled with the fact that this was the only way to truly protect her, allowed him to eventually pick up his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose until black dots danced behind his eyelids, he drew a deep, shuddering sigh. The look on her face…God, he was a bastard. But at least he was a bastard who knew the woman he loved was safe.
If Kent ever managed to find him, Lilly would be far away. There would be nothing to link the two of them. Nothing to send the Runners sniffing after her. Now the only thing left to do was get her the hell out of London and back to Blooming Glen where she belonged.
A Dangerous Passion (Bow Street Brides Book 4) Page 9
