A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

  His response was another shrug that told him nothing.

  “Where?” he asked, holding out the coin, waiting for the answer.

  “Office,” the boy replied, offering his hand. “Watch yourself, Rogue, I’ve ‘eard it’s dodgy.”

  Gabe snorted and dropped the coin into the waiting palm. “My entire life is dodgy. Might as well tell me it’s Tuesday.”

  “It’s Thursday,” the lad quipped.

  Gabe frowned at him but found the sharp wit amusing all the same. “Back to your station and be quick about it.”

  The boy dashed off, whistled sharply, and vanished around a corner.

  Gabe exhaled slowly, unwittingly curious about this rather determined customer who sought him. It could be anything, and he would need to proceed with caution. His mind whirled with possibilities. There were people who would love to find him and thrash him, but those individuals did not know him as the Rogue. It was highly unlikely that anyone would be able to connect him as Lord Wharton, sketch or no sketch. Whoever had drawn it was not that talented, and certainly not as accurate as Hal would have been. But Hal was unusual with her eye for detail, which was why she was an asset to the League.

  No one in high Society would have looked at the drawing of him and been able to identify Lord Wharton in it, thanks in part to his reclusive nature, so it was not likely to come from that corner of his life.

  Which could make this infinitely more dangerous.

  As bewildering as it sounded, the danger he had once known in his life was nothing compared with what the London League had brought him. Joining the conglomeration between the Home and Foreign Offices had seemed like a prudent idea at the time. They could be outside of any pure jurisdiction and somewhat beyond the law. Yet the challenges had been harrowing at times and cost them quite a bit. Not that anybody in England would have any idea, as most of their work had prevented disastrous events that could have set the country on its ear. But the Shopkeepers, England’s highest political powers and most influential men, knew all, and had extended their gratitude.

  Even if the London League had done something truly outrageous, he suspected they would still keep them on. It was proving valuable to have a spy network centralized in their largest and most popular city.

  The thought gave Gabe some comfort as he made his way towards the quiet section of London where their offices sat. He could act with his own limited conscience and instinct and probably maintain his position. Or, at least, not be shot for his actions.

  He was rather averse to being shot. Having experienced it once or twice, he was not inclined to repeat the experience.

  Now, being shot at was something he could not avoid, and was happening with alarming frequency now, but that was neither here nor there.

  Gabe shook his head as he turned into the familiar, narrow cobblestone alley. He needed to focus if he were to deal with a customer who wanted him so badly they got rid of a lying informant to get to him. Who knows what other extremes they had gone to for the same?

  Oddly enough, he found that flattering.

  Unless, of course, they wanted to kill him. Then again…

  He pushed open the door to the office and didn’t even blink at the sight of Callie arguing with the new clerk. The two did not get on at all, and the clerk, who was as nameless as his counterpart for the time being, did not approve of Callie’s dabbling in their employers’ work.

  Of course, neither of the clerks knew the full extent of what the London League did, and that Callie was invaluable to them, least of all because of her ability to keep house and order for them. She’d make a damned fine addition to the Tailor’s arsenal of spies if they could manage to get her into the Convent. What all of England saw as the prominent Miss Masters finishing school, which had turned out several well-educated and well-finished misses, was also the finest training ground for female spies that had ever existed. In fact, it was officially the only one built for that exact purpose.

  Gabe nodded at the silent clerk, looking just as wiry as ever, and patted Callie on the shoulder as he passed her.

  “Client in the waiting area, Rogue,” the clerk said, adjusting his spectacles.

  Gabe nodded. Then he nodded at the others. “Shut them up, will you, Matthews? Before Callie kills Thomas.”

  “That is not my name!” the other clerk cried in dismay. “Matthews isn’t his name, either.”

  “I do not care,” Gabe told him, only briefly glancing at him as he moved into the area between offices. It had recently been designated for their customers to wait for one of them to take up their case.

  Sitting on the bench within was a woman, plainly dressed, but not cheaply, and she gave no indication that the argument in the next room had been overheard. Her boots were worn and dirty, her hem uneven, and her gloves bore a dark stain near the left thumb. She was slight in frame, and her bonnet hid her hair and face, but Gabe didn’t care about any of that. There was no way this was the person who had been hunting him.

  Which meant it was just another boring case like all the rest.

  Gabe barely restrained a groan and leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “What can I do for you?” he asked, not bothering for the politeness his colleagues had mastered.

  The woman looked up at him, revealing vibrant, wide-set, blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a willful demeanor that belied her delicate stature. “Are you the Rogue?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I am.”

  She rose with surprising grace and clasped her hands in front of her. “Then yes, there is something you can do.”

  He was really not in the mood for being toyed with and gestured impatiently for her to continue.

  She raised a brow, her mouth tightening. “Shouldn’t we discuss this privately?”

  “Tell me what you want, and I’ll decide where we discuss it,” he snapped.

  “I don’t see how you can dictate so much when I will be the one paying you,” she replied in a sharp tone.

  Gabe rolled his eyes and gave her the most withering glare he could muster, which happened to be rather impressive. “Might I remind you that you are here because you need me, and not the other way around?”

  Something in her eyes flashed, and she tilted her chin down ever so slightly, which, oddly enough, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “I do need you, Rogue, and I have gone to extraordinary lengths to find you. I will pay you two hundred pounds simply for taking on my case. I expect, under such conditions, that when I suggest that we speak in private, you accommodate me by providing that privacy.”

  Gabe blinked at her, half-startled, half-impressed. It was rare that people were not intimidated by him, and even rarer that said person be a woman. In fact, he had never met a woman under the age of fifty who could stand in the face of his harshness and not become teary or begin trembling. Not only was this chit not put off by it, but she was giving as good as she received.

  Now that he looked at her again, perhaps she was capable of making a man disappear.

  He pushed off the wall with a grunt, glowering still. “You’d better step in my office then, Miss…?”

  She lifted her chin once more, no trace of embarrassment, modesty, or nerves. “Amelia Berger. And before we get into the details, you should know that I will be fully involved in this investigation, so you may want to tell the clerks out front to let me in without question next time.”

  Gabe did not try to hide his look of derision, suspicion unfurling in his stomach as she swept proudly past him towards his office. She thought she would control him, did she? Well, she could think again, and he would be only too glad to inform her so.

  Chapter Two

  Amelia took in the shabby, but surprisingly organized office as she entered, praying she could keep her face composed.

  He was not at all what she expected.

  For one, she expected a handsome man. Anyone named Rogue certainly ought to be fine-looking. She had prepared to deal with a handsome man, one who might view
her with sympathy and interest.

  The scowling, brooding man with little manners and no respect was a bit of a shock, and while not altogether unattractive, she certainly would not have called him handsome. He had the sort of manners that made one wonder if his mother was disappointed in him, and when he had lashed out, she had reacted in kind.

  Her mother had warned her about her temper, and her tendency to strike first and beg apologies later. If ever.

  Now, it seemed, she would have to see the truth of it.

  But Rogue had not sent her from the building and was apparently willing to listen, despite his obvious apathy, so perhaps her prickly side would come in handy. She’d come too far and suffered too much to go back, and she would put up with a good deal to see her goal achieved.

  For another thing, Rogue had all the warmth of a blizzard in Northumberland. She had expected sternness based on the description of him she’d received, but never in her life had she dealt with someone so utterly unapproachable. It didn’t make any difference to her. She was long past being intimidated by anyone, but she could not deny that it was off-putting.

  She’d heard the way he’d spoken to the others in the front, and the brusque tone suggested authority and low tolerance. This was a man who would not be moved by emotional stories or pitiful circumstances. She doubted he had emotions that extended beyond disapproval and irritation, but one could never tell on first impressions. After all, she was a sharp-tongued shrew more often than not, but she had cried herself to sleep more times than she cared to recall.

  Not recently, but she had done. Tears had long become a thing of the past.

  Amelia turned as she heard the door close behind her, waiting to see what Rogue would do. He was a puzzle, speaking in proper tones without an accent, yet dressing as though he were a dock worker on a good day. He was clean-shaven, though his jaw was dotted with dark stubble, and his eyes were an almost eerie pale shade. And when they fixed on a person, as they did now, they had a tendency to steal one’s breath. And not in a fluttery sense.

  Rather as if one were frozen.

  Rogue sat down in the chair behind the desk and gave her an appraising look. “Well,” he said after a moment, “you have your blessed privacy, so tell me what you want.”

  Amelia blinked in surprise, taken aback by the rudeness of this stranger, and she sank down into a chair near her. But Amelia Tribbett, not Berger, was most certainly not the sort of woman to take that in stride, and her brows snapped down. “If you’re going to speak to me like that, we are going to have quite a hard time of it.”

  Rogue snorted and leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair. “I don’t particularly care what kind of time we have with this, Miss Berger, as I have not agreed to do anything yet. You have said that you will pay me at least two hundred pounds for doing whatever it is that you have come for, yet I would be willing to wager that two hundred pounds that you have less than five in your tatty reticule at this moment.”

  Amelia’s jaw dropped, and she clutched the aforementioned reticule tightly.

  Rogue lifted a dark eyebrow, one corner of his mouth pulling as if he would smile but did not. “Am I wrong?” he taunted.

  Amelia slammed her mouth shut, grinding her teeth. “If you want to discuss payment,” she forced out, “I can assure you, I have all that…”

  “I don’t care about the bloody payment,” Rogue interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Money is money, and I’ll take it.”

  She was not surprised in the least. Her opinion of him was rapidly forming, and it was not exactly favorable. “A gentleman would never accept as much as I’m offering.”

  That could not have had less of an effect on him. “If you’re looking for Gent, he’ll be back in a week or so. Until then, you’ve got me. I am not a gentleman, and I have never claimed to be.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I will take your money because I will earn it, and if the number is exorbitant, that is your problem, not mine.”

  Amelia chewed her lip a little, nodding slowly. “Well, then. I appreciate your candor.”

  “Brutal honesty is what I can promise you, Miss Berger.”

  She tilted her head a little. “Not success?”

  Rogue snorted. “Until you tell me what the hell I am doing, I cannot bloody well promise anything.”

  That was true, but there was no need to say it like that. Not that his vulgarity offended her, but really, it wasn’t called for. Apparently, he really was no gentleman.

  It made no difference to her. She’d not dealt with gentlemen often in her life, so she could undoubtedly manage this situation. Rogue might be rough and disapproving and irascible, but he would have to do far worse to get to her.

  “Fine,” she said simply, untying her bonnet and removing it, setting it down beside her, and patting her hair.

  She delayed as long as she possibly could, enjoying the tension emanating from the man across from her. The longer she took, the more his tension grew. If she played her cards right, he would snap at her for wasting time, and then she could have the cool upper hand. But when she was starting to irritate herself without more than a tightening of his fist as a response, she gave in.

  “I need you to help me find my father,” she admitted, sitting up as tall as she could without stretching.

  There was a faint exhale that ought to have come with a dramatic eye roll but did not. “Is he missing?” he asked in the most patronizing tone she had ever heard in her life.

  Amelia gave him a hard look. “In a manner of speaking. I don’t know him. I never have.”

  Rogue rested his head on his hand, leaning more fully into the chair. “Trying to collect an inheritance, are we? Gain a title? Will you be paying me out of the proceeds from your newly-devoted father?”

  She smiled bitterly at him. “My reasons are my own. And what I intend to do with the information is as well. Your job is to find my father, not judge me.”

  “I judge everyone,” Rogue replied, straightening. “No one is excluded.”

  “All the more reason to keep it to myself,” Amelia returned. “No sense in giving you additional fodder for poorly conceived impressions and incorrect assumptions.”

  Rogue’s brow furrowed, and he now gripped both armrests, though not tightly. “Who says I would be incorrect?”

  Amelia only smiled.

  Rogue drummed his fingers against the chair, once, twice, staring at her in the silence. Then he exhaled sharply. “I am going to need more information than that to determine if finding your father is even feasible, Miss Berger.”

  Amelia shrugged and allowed herself to relax a little. If he was not going to press her motives, she really did not have much to hide. Her own identity, admittedly, but this wasn’t about her. It was about her father. “I will tell you what I know.”

  “Everything?” he asked sharply.

  “As you said,” she replied with a nod. “Brutal honesty. If you do not have a care for my feelings, I will not have a care for yours. Sentiment is wasted on the emotionally inept.”

  Rogue scoffed. “Steady on, you might truly damage my feelings. All three of them.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes and scratched her forehead where her bonnet had rubbed. They had never felt comfortable on her, and she would undoubtedly never adjust. “Where would you like me to start, oh sensitive one?”

  “The part where you get to the point.”

  Amelia shook her head with a snort. “It’s a miracle your colleagues haven’t killed you.”

  “They try.” He shrugged again. “No one has succeeded yet.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Rogue’s exasperation was growing louder with every breath. “I will start charging you for wasting my time if you don’t get on with it.”

  Amelia glared at him, which earned her a warning raise of one eyebrow, and then she sat back and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I never knew my father. My mother never spoke of him, so I presumed I never had one. Not in the way that matters, that is. W
e lived in circumstances decent enough until I was eight, and then suddenly there was no money. We were forced out of our home and into a village nearby, sharing a home with another family. Mother was never in high spirits, but that seemed to weigh her down further. I never saw her smile again.”

  Her tone had been even, unaffected, and calm, but suddenly memories were flashing through her mind, and her throat constricted. She would never forget the horror of watching her mother waste away before her eyes; how she had gone from being a vibrant, beautiful, although somewhat cold woman, to a lifeless imitation of one; the sunken, hollow look that never left her and the almost confused expression etched on her face; watching her shrink into a tiny, feeble frame that could barely sustain her own weight.

  No child should have to witness that.

  No child should have to raise her mother.

  Amelia would never have made it but for her child-like determination to make her mother smile again. And after that naïveté passed, all that was left was sheer determination and willpower, and that had sustained them for a few years, but no more.

  “And then?” the impossible man across from her prodded.

  “And then,” she snapped, “she died.”

  He held up his hands in a sort of apology or surrender, but his expression had not changed from the bored and displeased countenance he had borne so well before.

  “When I was ten,” she went on, “she became ill. Everything became a trial for her. She was always weak and exhausted, and I went to work in her stead. This lasted perhaps two years. When she could no longer rise from her bed, I stayed to nurse her. She was rambling nonsense, trapped somewhere between asleep and awake, and it was rare that I could get her to recognize me. The family we lived with became irritated that we were so burdensome without funds to aid them, so we were sent to the poorhouse, even with Mother in her condition.” Her throat tightened, and the taste of bile filled her mouth. She glanced up at the man watching her. “Have you ever seen a poorhouse, Rogue?”