A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

  And beyond all that, it would be a terrible display of emotion, which she simply refused to succumb to.

  Not in front of him.

  Then again, if he were never around, she could do whatever she pleased and pay no consideration to him whatsoever. He would never know how she carried on when he was not present.

  One day, she wore trousers she’d nicked from the boarding house laundry, and while One and Two nearly burst with anxiety, no one else even noticed.

  What was the point in being shocking if the person you wished to shock did not notice?

  After a full week of this, Amelia decided she’d had enough. No more avoiding Rogue’s office for fear he would lash out at her, no more going to Gent to circumvent him, and no more being biddable. What had that ever done for her? She was Amelia Eloise Tribbett, and she was a force to be reckoned with.

  Now, she was in charge.

  She rose from the desk she’d been sharing with Two, brushed off her faded calico and took a deep breath.

  “What are you doing?” Two asked hesitantly.

  She gave him a hard look. “What I should have done days ago.”

  “That sounds ominous,” One said, shifting his spectacles.

  She turned to scowl at the slight man. “Are you as bored as I am?”

  He shrugged. “Probably. But I, at least, have other things to work on. You’re not the only client, you know.”

  Amelia frowned a little at him. “I realize that. But we had been making progress, and now nothing? What else am I supposed to do? Wait for him to decide to work my case again?”

  One shrugged again, as he tended to do. “You’ve got brains. Find a way to make him.”

  “That sounds like a horrible idea,” Two protested, shaking his head vigorously.

  “I like it,” Callie announced, sticking her head into the room.

  Two scowled at her. “No one asked you.”

  The blonde woman snorted. “Like that matters.”

  “It ought to,” he muttered under his breath.

  Amelia looked at Callie a little speculatively, her mind whirling.

  Callie met her eyes, then narrowed her own. “What’s in your head, Amelia?”

  “Ideas…” she said slowly, gesturing for Callie to come fully into the room.

  Callie did so, looking at the clerks in confusion.

  Amelia tapped her chin with a finger, circling Callie carefully. They were of a size, and had similar features, aside from Callie’s eyes being green. Why, if Amelia had the blonde hair she’d worn the other night, the two could quite easily pass as sisters. Provided they both cleaned up a little and dressed properly.

  It was a thought.

  “Well?” Callie asked, putting her hands on her hips.

  Amelia beamed at the maid. “Nothing, for now. But I might have need of you for a special project in a few days.”

  Callie returned her smile. “That sounds promising. Why not today?”

  Why not indeed.

  Amelia had tossed the idea of seeking out her supposed aunt, Dottie Chapman, ever since she’d learned of her existence. But there was a vast difference between talking of one’s relations and talking to one’s relations. This was her mother’s sister, and she did not think she dared to face her yet.

  As frantic as she was for answers, perhaps she was not prepared enough to cope with the consequences of them.

  She only meant to find her father, not dredge up painful memories of her mother, and with all of that, she’d just found more questions, more confusion, and more heartache. She could not venture further into that while she still ached herself.

  She’d always pitied her mother for loving someone so violently as to die from it, and when she’d found her diaries and read them, she’d wondered why in the world she would continue to write to someone who was obviously never going to return to her. What use was there in pining in such a way? Why cling to such agony?

  That was before she had experienced those intense feelings herself, the closest to love she had ever come, and perhaps had found, as fanciful as it sounded. And she understood her mother in a small way, now. Why, she’d even begun her own diaries to him, never addressing him directly for the sake of privacy and propriety, but as her mother had done.

  Dearest love.

  It helped to pass the days, to not hurt so much, imagining someone else reading the passages of her day and her feelings. Eventually, the tears would fade, and the ache would lessen, but she did not want to forget.

  She couldn’t.

  Her eyes suddenly burning, Amelia sniffed loudly and avoided eye contact with the others. “I’ll just go have a word with Rogue, then,” she said, her voice rough. “Surely he has something for me to do by now.”

  “Watch out for the flames,” Two called. “He’s been right foul all morning.”

  Amelia stopped and glared at the young man. “So have I.”

  Without checking for a reaction, she marched out of the room, desperate to control her breathing and force the impending tears away.

  She refused to cry in front of Rogue.

  He would only snap at her, and in this state, she might cry more because of it.

  On the other hand…

  She shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. That was a ridiculous idea, and it might not even work. Rogue did not act according to the pattern of other men. He might not care that she was crying.

  The Rogue who took her to Surrey would have. The Rogue in this office would not even blink.

  She straightened her shoulders, exhaled slowly, and then barged into the room without knocking, as she always did.

  Such a grand entrance ought to have received an equally grand reaction. Alas, in this instance, it failed.

  Rogue was asleep.

  On his desk.

  Such a chance did not come every day. Amelia smiled with all the impish delight she could conjure and tiptoed around to get a better look at him, and to assess just what sort of trouble she could cause.

  She frowned as she approached, Rogue’s features becoming clearer.

  There were dark circles under his eyes that were an almost ghastly purple. He was slightly pale and very drawn, lines on his face making creases that ought not to be there. His shirt was wrinkled and limp, and he had not shaved in days. His hair, while usually wild, was utterly disheveled.

  He looked somehow very young and very old at the same time.

  But there was not anything amusing in this.

  Amelia bit her lip and reached out to shake his arm. “Rogue.”

  He mumbled something unintelligible, groaned a little, and squeezed his eyes more tightly shut.

  She looked heavenward with a sigh. If she were ever to have any saintly acts to her name, ignoring the perfect opportunity to do something childish and quite rude to Rogue would be chief among them. She shook him harder. “Rogue!”

  He jerked awake with a cry and sent a few papers flying in his agitation, looking around the room wildly. “What? What is it?”

  Amelia backed up hastily, raising her hands. “Nothing, Rogue. It’s all right.”

  His chest heaved as he stared at her, his eyes still slightly wild. Then, at her nod, he inhaled sharply and sat back in his chair. “Thank you,” he said roughly, looking away. “I hadn’t realized I’d drifted off.”

  Somehow, he looked even worse awake than he had asleep, and Amelia found herself quite concerned. Perhaps it was the contrast between the pale color of his eyes and the darkness of the circles. Perhaps it was the lack of vibrancy in his countenance. Perhaps it was the strain that had returned to his features. Whatever it was, she was not immune to the sight, and no amount of anger towards him could displace her sympathy.

  Her silence must have been suspicious, for he turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He rubbed at his eyes and looked around carefully. “You came into my office and found me asleep. I would hardly expect to surv
ive the experience or come out unscathed. Is there a guillotine about to fall upon me?”

  Amelia managed a faint smile but could not find the humor. “Rogue…”

  “Or perhaps a bucket of ashes?” he suggested, looking towards his door as if the bucket would rest upon it.

  “It is a thought,” she murmured, not following his gaze.

  He craned his neck, then grabbed the back of it with a wince. “Or perhaps you are just going to let me live in a sort of suspended terror for a few days by admitting nothing.”

  “That would be more my fashion.”

  Rogue sighed, then looked over at her, eyes clear at last. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “You look terrible,” she said bluntly, forgoing sympathy in favor of honesty.

  He blinked at her slowly, then his brow furrowed. “You woke me up to insult me? That’s low, even for you.”

  She scoffed quietly. “It’s no worse than your treatment of me the last few days. I could say far worse without any twinge of guilt.”

  “That’s because you don’t feel guilt.”

  Recognizing his tactics as diversionary, Amelia folded her arms and leaned against the bookshelf behind her. “Rogue. How long as it been since you’ve slept?”

  “Three minutes or so.”

  Now she had to smile, but she kept her gaze fixed on him. “You know what I mean.”

  He shook his head, sitting up and turning back to his desk. “It’s nothing,” he said too quickly, rifling through papers aimlessly.

  “For pity’s sake, Rogue,” Amelia snapped, “you look like someone has wrung you out and hung you out to dry. You’re the worst version of yourself that I have ever seen, and I did not think that was possible after these weeks. I am not in the mood to be sparred out of genuine concern just because you don’t feel like admitting something is wrong. Stop being so damned proud and stubborn and tell me what is going on!”

  He stared at her in surprise, and she could see his mind whirling as he tried to find some way out of doing precisely what she asked. Then he exhaled, and she could see the weariness more clearly. “It’s been a few days,” he told her with a sort of rawness that spoke volumes, “since I’ve slept.”

  Somehow Amelia managed to keep her relief in check and only nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “A case?” she prodded, watching him closely, waiting for some sign she could adequately interpret one way or the other.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “A case.”

  She didn’t believe him for a second, but she would never claim to know everything that Rogue did, and she freely admitted that it was possible she was wrong. But he was hiding something, and she would figure it out.

  “Like mine?” she suggested.

  Rogue exhaled roughly and rubbed his hands over his face. “No. Not at all like yours.”

  She chewed her lip, fearing that he was nearing the end of his patience, and not knowing quite how to proceed.

  “Someone is missing,” he went on, which surprised her, “and it is important that I find them.”

  “Someone you know,” Amelia added, sensing there was much more to the story. “This isn’t just business; it’s personal.”

  He nodded, his throat working. “Yes.”

  Something in her heart, and she wasn’t sure exactly what, started to hurt a little. Rogue seemed far more tormented than he would ever admit, and for someone like him, that was astonishing. “Trouble?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about that.” He shook his head quickly. “There’s no reason to think that, I just can’t seem to…”

  “To find them,” she finished, sighing a little. “All the extremes are going through your mind, even if they are not logical.”

  He nodded to himself. “I know how the process goes, and I have all the connections. I have told clients time and time again not to think the worst and to let me do my job, but…”

  “But there’s no one to tell you that. No one to be you. Very well, let me try.” She cleared her throat. “Stop worrying like a ninny. You don’t know anything. They will be found, they will be safe, and this will be nothing. Stop interfering in the investigation and let me do my job, or you can find someone else with fewer skills, less contact, and a higher price to make a hash of the whole thing.” She cocked her head and lifted a brow. “Fair enough?”

  He laughed a little. “That almost sounded like me. You forgot to curse, though.”

  Amelia shrugged without concern. “It was implied.” She quirked a grin and then let it fade almost at once. “Did it work?”

  Rogue exhaled loudly. “Maybe. I don’t know. We will see, I suppose.”

  She did not care for his defeated tone and decided another tactic might work better. “So, you’ve been working yourself into the ground trying to do your job, and worrying yourself halfway to the grave, and snapping the heads off of everyone around you, because it isn’t working.”

  He looked up at her with an inscrutable expression. “True,” he finally said.

  “And because it’s personal, you can’t talk about it.”

  “Also true.”

  “Because anything personal makes you break out into hives.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” he protested with a hint of a smile.

  “And this means you can’t work on my case because yours comes before mine.”

  He scowled now. “Amelia.”

  She shrugged, a little pleased that she’d managed to goad him out of his mood even a little. “It makes perfect sense. So, while you go on your merry chase, I will take matters into my own hands.”

  Now Rogue shook his head fiercely. “No, that is a terrible idea, and I refuse.”

  “Refuse.” She snorted. “Weren’t you the one who told me it was my case and reminded me that I hired you? You’re so tied up in knots and half asleep, I could take control and solve the whole thing before you realized you were clueless.”

  He lifted a thick brow at her. “Clueless? Really?”

  “You’ve been at a stalemate all week,” she reminded him. “What else can I presume?”

  “I have been a trifle busy!” he protested, his eyes starting to flash a little.

  “I would like to have been busy,” Amelia retorted while flinging her arms out. “I’ve done nothing but sit around here waiting for you to tell me what we were doing next and having the very great pleasure of you bellowing at me like I took whomever you’re looking for, and neither of those things was a particularly pleasant experience.”

  Rogue pushed up from his seat and leaned across the desk. “You are not the only priority here!” he barked. “You have no idea!”

  “Then give me something to do so I can move us in one direction or another, because right now you are stuck in the middle and going nowhere at a breakneck pace.” She folded her arms again, trying not to smile.

  It was odd, but Rogue in a rage was the most encouraging thing she had seen all week. There was a fire in him now, which had been gone for too long. His behavior of late had been a different sort of temper, darker than before and more heartless. There was nothing he cared about and an odd mania about everything he did. But without life or heart.

  This anger was much more like it.

  Rogue’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might lash out again. But then he turned and went to the chest that remained in his office. The diaries she had, but everything else in the chest had remained.

  He returned with a sheet of paper and thrust it at her. “There. You can go to these places.”

  She read over the names quickly, then looked up at him. “These are shops on the east side.”

  He almost rolled his eyes, she could tell. “Very good, your royal genius.”

  Amelia clamped down on her lip as she scanned it again. “Dressmaker, mercantile, milliner…” She jerked her head up to loo
k at him. “Why here?”

  “Because I thought you might want a hat,” Rogue snapped. “I analyzed the diaries and did some digging in the chest, and I believe your mother spent more time in London than we thought. But not in Cheapside. She might have worked as a seamstress for some of these shops.”

  “How did you think of that?” she asked, folding up the paper and clenching it in her hand.

  He gave her a patient look. “Because the lists in her chest were not shopping lists, but tasks. And the mending was skilled, so I made a logical leap. Pity her daughter did not inherit those skills,” he added, pulling at a stray thread near her shoulder.

  Amelia slapped his hand away with a playful scowl. “You’re letting me go out into London alone?” He had been so adamantly opposed before, it seemed odd now.

  “Did you want an escort?” he asked with his customary snide smirk. “I’ll see if Two is free, but it’s not the Seven Dials or the docks. Even you should be able to keep out of trouble there.”

  Biting back a squeal of excitement, Amelia whirled from the room. “Thank you, Rogue!”

  “For getting you out of my hair? Any time.”

  She ignored him as she skipped out of the office and grabbed her bonnet, smirking at the astonished clerks on her way out. Once outside, she inhaled deeply and sighed, then looked at the little girl with wide, dark eyes near the front step.

  “Come along, Daisy,” she said with a smile. “You’ll want to be able to give a full report after this, and if you keep up, I may give you sweets.”

  Daisy grinned and fell into place beside her, chattering away about the sorts of sweets she liked best, and Amelia was content to hear all about it.

  Freedom and progress were excellent distractions, and hope began to burn once more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "I'm good at this. I am. I’m a spy, dammit. I’m the best bloody investigator in England.”