Rogue in My Arms: The Runaway Brides

by Celeste Bradley

  Colin didn’t mind. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries at the moment.

  “See,” Gaffin began, “it’s like this, mate. Chantal’s been workin’ for me for near a year now. Always out of money, that’s my Chantal. Shoppin’, gamblin’, she’s a right menace when it comes to a bloke’s wallet.” Gaffin favored him with a chilling ghost of a smile. “I’ll bet she made a dent in yours, eh?”

  Colin made no response. He had no interest in masculine bonding with Gaffin and he certainly had nothing to say in defense of his own idiocy. For Chantal, he had been one of many, a fact that he’d known but chosen to ignore. He’d seen what she was and had chosen to believe the illusion instead. It was a very beautiful illusion, magnificent in every detail, but somehow he’d known all along she was a daydream.

  It wasn’t just a folly of his youth, either. He’d continued the fantasy all this time in his mind, using the memory of Chantal to push away any possibility of another love.

  He’d even brought along his child to chase her down—to use her to plead his case, for God’s sake! Now Melody was in danger, as were Pru and Evan, all because he’d allowed himself to be guided by his cock rather than his mind!

  Remembering the romantic drivel he’d written to Chantal, dozens of letters, made him cringe inside. He hoped she’d thrown them out, or used them to line her shoes or light her coals.

  Now here he sat, the prisoner of yet another of Chantal’s follies.

  Gaffin ticked a fingernail against his tankard. In seconds, Pru slipped up beside him to refill it. She didn’t look at Colin and Colin tried very hard not to look at her—only a glance, to make sure she was well. She was pale and nervous, but any barmaid would be in this situation. Utterly convincing.

  Gaffin went on. “She used her position at the theater to find me buyers, y’see. Lots of coin loiterin’ about theaters. Toffs are bored, lookin’ for excitement, slummin’ with the cast, pickin’ out mistresses like they pick out a new ’orse. No one thinks nothin’ of the toffs visiting the beau’iful actress after the show. She’d pass the goods on to the marks and then she’d pass the coin on to me.”

  From the corner of his eye, Colin watched Pru pouring ale nearby. She poured slowly and moved around the table at a snail’s pace. Listening. Be careful, my valiant treasure!

  “Opium. Good business.” Gaffin pointed a finger at Colin. “Ain’t even illegal, though there’s some that are pushin’ for a law. Still, the toffs don’t like it gettin’ public that they’re stuck on the stuff. Fear of scandal makes for good profits, especially w’ a bit o’ blackmail thrown in.”

  Gaffin leaned back in his chair, his eyes colder than ever. “But she started skimmin’ off the top, she did. Silly bitch. Like I wouldn’t know—like I couldn’t count! At first it was just a bit of the goods. Samples, she told me, just to get the marks started. But she was using it ’erself, she was. Got ’er-self right stuck on it.”

  He paused to take another long gulp of his ale. He swirled the remaining liquid in the tankard as he watched Colin for reaction. “I didn’t mind that so much. Opium made her easy to control. She ain’t quite the she-devil between the sheets that she used to be, but no more is she like to throw things at a bloke anymore.”

  Sadness grew in Colin. Chantal was an addict? How terrible and, yet, how like Chantal. She was always looking toward the next thrill, the new excitement. Self-restraint had never been part of her makeup, not even in his fantasy version of her. That had been part of the appeal, as Gaffin had so crudely pointed out.

  Colin, you are such an idiot. What the hell were you thinking?

  I wasn’t, obviously.

  “Like I said, usin’ a bit o’ the goods wasn’t so bad. But then she started skimmin’ the profits!” Gaffin seemed honestly offended.

  Colin didn’t bother pointing out the irony in that. He was sitting there with half a dozen pistols primed and pointed in his general direction, after all. If Gaffin wanted to think of himself as a simple businessman cheated by a dishonest employee, well, who was Colin to poke holes in someone else’s fantasy?

  “She got stupid,” Gaffin said with cold anger. “She took too much. She knew I couldn’t ignore that, not even for her!” Gaffin’s voice climbed, tinged in pain. It was no longer a betrayed employer talking. It was a betrayed lover!

  Colin felt his brows climb. Dear God, Gaffin was madly in love with Chantal!

  Poor bastard. Even armed and backed by half a dozen ruffians, even violent and murderous, even remorselessly criminal, Gaffin at that moment was the most pitiful creature on earth—a man in love with a heartless woman.

  “I’m sorry,” Colin said softly.

  Pru nearly dropped her pitcher. Colin was continually surprising her, but to offer sympathy to his brutal, opium-running captor? She waited for Gaffin to shoot him or beat him or something equally violent, but to her stunned surprise, the gang leader simply nodded a sort of assent, acknowledging the sympathy without answering it.

  As she dashed back to the casks to fill her pitcher, then poured another round and dodged increasingly groping hands, she thought furiously.

  If Chantal was an addict, it explained a great deal. She’d missed so many performances, even leaving them unfinished for her understudy to stumble through in an ill-fitting costume. Pru had put it down to laziness or sheer spite. Yet now that she thought about it, Chantal had been growing thinner for months. Of course, Pru had noticed it. She had had to take the costumes in, after all. Still, she’d put it down to foolish vanity on Chantal’s part, a shallow conviction that being thinner made her more attractive.

  Pru had even attributed Chantal’s pallor and weariness to that slimming regimen and had urged her to eat on several occasions—advice which went ignored, of course.

  Stupid indeed. Unfortunately, the revelation did nothing to help them in their current situation.

  Gaffin was speaking again. Pru tried to aim her pitcher and move closer.

  “I told ’er she had to pay me back, every farthing, or I was goin’ to ’ave to make an example of ’er. I gave her two weeks to talk the coin out o’ one o’ ’er lovers. When I come back, she’d gone off, run away from me w’ someone called ‘Bertie.’ ”

  Gaffin leaned forward and gazed menacingly at Colin. “I think ye know who Bertie is and where I can find ’im.”

  Colin shrugged easily. “Of course I can, but it won’t help. She left him behind days ago.”

  Gaffin blinked in surprise. Evidently he’d expected to have to beat it out of Colin. Then his brows rose as another thought apparently struck him.

  “She didn’t love ’im, then?”

  His relief was so evident that it was all Pru could do not to roll her eyes. The fool actually wanted her back!

  Colin, Bertie, Gaffin. What was it about Chantal? How could one woman turn so many men into slavering fools?

  Pru would have given anything to have one of those men slavering after her. Really, what did it take? She had two eyes, two hands, two breasts, same as Chantal! She felt a hand on her backside and slipped away, reminded of her surroundings. Now was not the time to rant against Chantal!

  Some of Gaffin’s men had been listening in. There was a grumble.

  “We ain’t here to find yer woman, Gaffin.”

  Gaffin turned his cold gaze toward the men closest to him. “You’ll be doin’ as yer told!”

  One bearded giant gazed back without fear. “There’s no profit in chasin’ birds. I’m for ransomin’ this posh bastard and gettin’ paid in actual coin!”

  There was a deep and dangerous mumble of agreement. Pru couldn’t decide if it was a good thing that there was dissension within the ranks or if it only made matters more dangerous.

  “I have coin,” Colin said clearly into the rising dissent. “Enough for the ransom and Chantal’s debt as well.”

  Pru could have sworn that the bearded giant’s ears actually perked. He shoved her aside to get a better look at Colin. “Now yer talkin’, mate.”
/>
  “You stay out o’ this, Manx.” Gaffin eyed Colin narrowly. “Hundred pounds.”

  “Done.”

  Pru flinched. He’d answered too quickly, making Gaffin look weak in front of his men. Bargain! Make him feel powerful and in control! Don’t pick now to be the haughty toff!

  Gaffin narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased. “Each. Hundred for you. Hundred for Chantal.”

  Colin leaned back. “Done.”

  Gaffin tilted his head, really looking at Colin for the first time. “Ye’d pay a hundred pounds for ’er, even knowin’ what ye know now?”

  Colin leaned forward and planted both elbows on the table. He gazed directly into Gaffin’s eyes. “Yes.”

  There was a small spate of derisive laughter among the ruffians, until Gaffin silenced them with a glance.

  He turned back to Colin, matching his pose. Nose to nose, eye to eye, they silently challenged each other to back down. Neither did.

  God, they were like two dogs sniffing around a steak!

  Gaffin examined Colin with icy eyes. “Yer a toff.”

  Colin didn’t blink. “Not really. Not a blue-blood. Simply wealthy.”

  “Wealthy, ’e says,” Gaffin murmured as if to himself. “What’s a wealthy, not-blue-blood bloke like you goin’ to do with a woman like Chantal, anyway? Marry ’er? Put ’er up in your big posh ’ouse like a lady?”

  More laughter broke out in the ranks. Gaffin raised one finger. Quiet descended instantly.

  Colin gazed evenly back at Gaffin. “Yes, that’s precisely what I’m going to do.”

  Ale sloshed over the edge of the pitcher as Pru’s heart cracked right down the center. He still meant to wed Chantal? Even now? Even after all this? Even now when there was no doubt she was bad? Even now when there wasn’t a shred of anything good left to believe in?

  “Oy!” The bearded man, Manx, leaped out of his seat. Pru stumbled backward.

  Horrified, Pru realized that she’d sloshed ale over the man’s shoulder and down his front. Every eye in the room turned toward her once more. Furthermore, her disguising cap had become dislodged when Manx had collided with her. Her red hair slipped its pins and fell as well, drawing attention like a beacon.

  Terrified, she tried to duck her head, hiding her face away. “Sorry, sir! I’ll get ye a bit o’ towelin’—” Her attempt to rush off to the kitchen was halted by a single word from Gaffin.

  “You!”

  Pru froze. Through the pounding of her heart, Pru heard a sound of protest from Colin.

  “Gaffin, we’re in the middle of a deal here!”

  Then Pru felt hard hands on her shoulders, spinning her about. Gaffin gazed down at her from his great height, his predator’s gaze ice-cold, trapping her like a rabbit in a snare.

  “You,” he said again. Pru’s heart thudded as his sharp gaze went over her, down and then back up. She could almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he tried to place her in his memory.

  “You. I know you.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Gaffin held Pru tightly. Her shoulders ached in the grip of his large hands. He peered into her face as if she held some secret he could divine merely by studying her.

  “I know you,” he said slowly. “How do I know you?”

  Pru looked down, trying to hide behind her hair. “Couldn’t say, sir.”

  He gave her a little shake, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes narrowed. “You.” He smiled, a nasty stretch of grin across his handsome face. “You’re the little sewing girl from the theater. You’re the one Chantal’s always complainin’ about, the stuck-up one who can’t sew a lick.”

  Since the game was up, Pru tossed back her hair and glared up into Gaffin’s face. “And you’re the bloke she was always complainin’ about, the one who couldn’t raise the mast.”

  Gaffin gave her another shake, this one harsh.

  Colin growled. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Since most of her weight was being held by Gaffin, Pru felt that now was a good time to use her feet. She did so, kicking out with all her might, striking the ruffian’s shins and knees again and again.

  “Ow!” Gaffin flung her away from him, grimacing in pain.

  Colin laughed, a low bitter sound. “Never underestimate a woman in pointy little boots, my friend.”

  Gaffin howled in rage and moved to where Pru had fallen. He wrenched her to her feet by one arm. “I’ll set you straight, you little vixen!” He raised his arm and backhanded her hard across the face. Pru dropped without a sound to fall limply to the floor. Limp was wise, in these situations. It also helped with the graying wooziness Gaffin’s blow had brought on.

  “You blackguard!” Colin threw off his captors with a roar and made for Gaffin.

  It took four men to bring him down this time.

  “Keep ’im quiet!” ordered Gaffin. “I got things to see to here.”

  Dragging Pru upright once more, Gaffin peered into her face. “You ain’t a-cryin’.”

  Pru was light-headed and her face felt as though fireworks had gone off in her cheekbone, but she was much too furious to cry. Snarling suited the moment much more nicely. “I wouldn’t dream of giving you the satisfaction.”

  “Ooh. Fancy lady now, puttin’ on airs.” He grinned. “Just like Chantal, guttersnipe though she be.” He let his eyes travel up and down Pru’s body and his grin widened.

  “Yer not so pretty but ye got a figure to make up for it. Is that what Himself sees in ye, then? Feels the same when the lights are doused, eh?” He snorted derisively. “Don’t tell me, yer just like Chantal. Ye think a man like that means to wed ye in the end. Ye see yerself living in the toff’s house, whelpin’ the toff’s pups, orderin’ the toff’s servants around, and spendin’ the toff’s coin, am I right?”

  He spun her around and forced her to face where Colin lay beneath several sprawled men. “Did ye think that was his dream, too, then? Him . . . and you? And all the time he was dreamin’ o’ Chantal!”

  He threw back his head and laughed. The rough truth of his mockery hit Pru in the raw, secret part of herself, the one she’d hidden even from her own awareness. Ever since that first blasted kiss onstage, some small spring of just such a hope had welled up unbidden. Just a wisp of a fancy, not even a fully realized dream, yet still humiliation stole her breath away.

  She waited for Gaffin to spot it, to mock her further. To her surprise, he released her, tossing her aside like a rag he was done with. Instead, he strode into the fray, pulling men off Colin, shouting in rage.

  “What ye done ’ere?” He dug into one man’s hand and held up a clod of what looked like sticky brown soil. “Ye stuffed ’im with opium?”

  Pru gasped. Opium was dangerous! Too much could kill. Rumors abounded in the theater of actors who had drowned their failure in the stuff, only to die from overuse!

  Gaffin’s men protested. “What? You said to keep him quiet. He’s quiet, ain’t he?”

  “I said, quiet him, don’t kill him! The law doesn’t look aside when a toff gets killed, you idiot! Besides, I want this one to tell me where Chantal is!”

  The other men grumbled at this. Manx spat in disdain. “Yer too worried about that ’ore and not about business. Gold can be split seven ways. Yer woman can’t.”

  Gaffin advanced on the man slowly. “Ye challengin’ me, Manx? ’Cause I’ll take you on right here, right now. What you think? Knives?”

  Pru heard Olive moan. “Oh, me floors.”

  Pru took advantage of the ruffians’ distraction to rush to Colin’s side. He was trying to sit up, his hand pressed to his ribs, already growing groggy.

  “Spit it out,” Pru whispered urgently. “Spit out as much as you can!”

  He tried, clearing his mouth and throat again and again. “I swallowed . . . quite a bit . . . I fear . . .”

  Pru looked at him closely. Even as she watched, his pupils grew huge, his irises only a thin line of green around the black. He grinned crookedly at her. �
�At least my ribs . . . don’t hurt anymore . . .”

  Taking hold of his face with both hands, Pru fought to stay in his wavering line of vision. “We must get out before it takes full effect,” she urged him. “We can slip out while they’re fighting.”

  Abruptly, a hand came down to drag her up by her collar.

  “Ah, but we’ll not be fightin’ just now.” Gaffin grinned at her where she hung from Manx’s thick fist, as helpless as a kitten in his grip. “Me and Manx worked ourselves out a right nice compromise. We take the ransom and the debt, and I get to keep Chantal as my profit in the bargain. I always say, compromise is the art of a gentleman.”

  On the floor, Colin snickered. “A gentleman!”

  Gaffin’s eyes narrowed. “Yer slippin’ into an opium fog, so I’ll be forgivin’ that remark. Furthermore, I’ll prove it to ye.”

  He gestured to his men, then pointed at Colin. “Bring him.”

  Then he strode behind the bar and into the kitchen. At the back of the kitchen was a low door, just as there was in nearly every kitchen in the land.

  The cellar, Pru thought with hope. A cellar might have a way out.

  Then she saw Olive’s worried face as they were dragged past her. Suddenly the cellar didn’t seem like a hopeful destination.

  Opening the door with a flourish, Gaffin indicated Colin’s fate with a tilt of his head. The three men dragging Colin hefted him into the darkness beyond the door with a combined grunt. Pru winced as she heard his body hit hard somewhere in the dark.

  Then Gaffin smiled at Pru. Stepping close, he stroked a strand of hair out of her face. Then he bent his head and kissed her, using considerable skill on her frozen lips.

  When he pulled away, he laughed aloud at the revolted expression on her face. “Now, little sewin’ girl, a true brigand would let ’is men take ye for a bit o’ play.” His smile widened when she paled further. “But ye see, I ain’t like that. A businessman, I am. A gent, like. Don’t you want to ’elp me find Chantal?”