I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs)

by Shana Galen

  “Sir Brook, I trust you had ample time to make the inquiries we discussed earlier.”

  “I did.” He kept his response brief, following the duke’s example. It didn’t escape Brook’s notice that no refreshment had been offered, not that he would have taken it, but he did not appreciate being treated as though he were in the duke’s employ. He had completed the task he and the duke had agreed upon. As far as Brook was concerned, this call was purely a courtesy.

  “Unfortunately, it appears the worries Lord Granbury expressed this afternoon are warranted.”

  “And what worries are those?” Lady Lila asked, unwilling to be left out of the conversation.

  “Lord Granbury mentioned one of the MPs had been found this morning near Covent Garden. His throat had been cut,” Brook answered before the duke could give her some nonsense. She deserved to know she was in danger.

  Her hand rose to cover her mouth.

  “Bow Street thinks it more than likely that Mr. Fitzsimmons is the man you saw murdered last night. They would like to send a man to ask you a few questions.” Now Brook glanced at the duke. “That is, if you approve, Duke.” Brook was not strictly one of Lennox’s familiars. Lennox would have probably preferred Brook called him Your Grace. All the more reason Brook would call the man whatever the hell he pleased.

  “I do not. No Runner will come to my house and question my daughter.”

  “Helpful as always,” Brook muttered.

  “Furthermore, what sort of training do these Runners receive? It’s purely ridiculous to think that a man of Mr. Fitzsimmon’s rank and standing would be milling about in Seven Dials and associating with…ruffians.”

  Lila’s eyes skipped from her father to Brook and back again. She’d uncovered her mouth, but now her knuckles pressed white against her lips.

  “That was my initial question as well. However, upon speaking with Mr. Easterday, the head of the Bow Street Runners, who is a very good friend of mine, I discovered the Runners have been troubled by Mr. Fitzsimmons’s activities for several weeks now.”

  “But this is preposterous!” the duke said, rising. “Are honest citizens now to be investigated by the Bow Street Runners? It is revolutionary France all over again!”

  “What reason do the Runners have for making inquiries about Mr. Fitzsimmons?” Lila asked, smoothing over her father’s outburst.

  “The Runners were hired by a man whose identity they did not wish to reveal to look into a spate of burglaries in the homes and offices of the enemies of Mr. Fitzsimmons. It seems in the last six months or so, anyone politically opposed to Fitzsimmons has become a target for burglary. Key papers and private correspondence are taken along with valuables. I must admit, I find it strange that a common rook would want papers and correspondence. Most of them cannot read.”

  “Surely you do not think a member of the House of Parliament has been breaking into homes and pilfering them.” The duke leaned on his palms.

  “Of course not. He wouldn’t have the skills or knowledge.”

  “But the men who abducted me would,” Lila said quietly.

  “Yes. The Runners are investigating possible connections between Mr. Fitzsimmons and several gangs in the Covent Garden area, including the gang I think responsible for Lady Lila’s abduction.”

  “Good. The Runners should earn their pay for once,” the duke announced. “If that is all, then—”

  “Forgive me, sir, but that is not all. In all likelihood, Lady Lila witnessed the murder of a prominent member of Parliament. Let us assume for a moment, Mr. Fitzsimmons paid Beezle, the leader of the Covent Garden Cubs, to crack the houses and offices of his enemies. Last night, their agreement went terribly wrong, and Beezle or another member of the gang murdered Fitzsimmons. That’s a capital crime. The gang members involved will surely hang.”

  “I imagine they might hang for any number of their offenses,” Lila added.

  “Yes, but they haven’t been hanged because they haven’t been caught. You, Lady Lila, witnessed the murder. That puts you in danger because Beezle—if it was Beezle—knows you saw him. He’ll want no witnesses because, mark my word, Beezle does not intend to hang.”

  “Then we send Lila to the country after Rose’s wedding.”

  “And what makes you think Lady Lila will be safe in the country? Moreover, what’s to stop Beezle from attempting to kill her while she is in London?”

  “No thief would be so bold,” the duke declared as though he had any knowledge whatsoever concerning the matter.

  “These men are bold and growing bolder still.” Much of that could be attributed to the reluctance of men like the Duke of Lennox to sanction a metropolitan police force in London. There weren’t enough Charlies and Runners to catch the criminals, much less prevent or deter crime. Assaults, rapes, thefts, and now abductions were on the rise and had reached new heights.

  “But that is not my only concern,” Brook said.

  “You are certainly full of them tonight.”

  “Yes, Duke. My other concern is that perhaps Mr. Fitzsimmons was not working alone. Yes, he has standing and power as a member of the Commons, but there are many other men with much more clout than he.”

  “Bosh!” the duke said. “This is pure conjecture.”

  “Even so, I’d like to hear what Sir Brook has to say,” Lila added, her voice quiet.

  Brook inclined his head toward her. “My question is why would Beezle—or whoever was behind the murder and abduction—kill Fitzsimmons? After all, with Fitzsimmons dead, the source of revenue dries up.”

  “And you think someone else, someone with more power than Fitzsimmons, ordered him killed?” This came from Lila, who sat forward as she spoke.

  “I think it highly likely Fitzsimmons either discovered something he was not supposed to or outlived his usefulness, and Beezle was paid to dispatch him. Only the promise of more blunt than the gang made cracking houses would entice Beezle to cut off his revenue source. Whoever paid Beezle to do it must have been wealthy.”

  “Which means I am still in danger,” Lila said, twisting her hands together.

  “You saw the murder, and that means Beezle was sloppy. He’ll want to eradicate any proof of his mistake before the man paying him realizes he might be vulnerable. It’s true what they say.” Brook looked from Lila to her father. “There’s no honor among thieves. Beezle will snitch on the man who hired him—not because it will save him, but because he’ll want that man to go down too.”

  The fire crackled in the hearth, and the duke’s chair creaked as he sat down. “Then I need you to protect my daughter.”

  Brook shook his head. “That’s not what I do.”

  “I’ll pay you whatever you ask.”

  Brook stood. “It’s not about compensation. I’m not a guard dog. There are men who—”

  “I don’t want some hulking brute of a man in my home or near my daughter. Not only that, but I have no intention of announcing to Society we’ve hired a protector for my daughter. The Season will be upon us soon, and God knows her prospects are slim as it is.”

  Lila made a small sound of offense.

  “Have you thought of the ramifications of having me as her constant companion?” Brook asked. “You think tongues won’t wag?”

  The duke clearly had not thought of that. He sat back and seemed to consider. Brook imagined he was weighing the benefits and disadvantages of such gossip.

  Brook suddenly felt as though he were on the auction block. “As you made quite clear years ago, I am not a suitable match for your daughter. I seem to recall something being said about my lowly status.”

  “Oh, now, I don’t think I ever said that.”

  Brook paced in front of the desk. He remembered every single word of the brief interview, and the duke had said far worse. “In any case, I understand your desire to have a gentleman in charge of your daughter’s protection. I am not that gentleman, however. I fear circumstances could occur whereby our association might be misconstrued.
At which time, I would be forced to marry Lady Lila, and I have no intention of ever marrying Lady Lila.” Brook glanced at her, sitting tight-lipped. “No offense, my lady.”

  “I see.” The duke stood now.

  “I do beg your pardon for bringing you such deplorable news.” Brook gathered his hat. “I must insist, however, that this be the end of our association.”

  “You insist?” the duke said, his tone one Brook had not heard before. The hair on the back of his neck stood up in warning.

  “No need to call the butler. I will see myself out.”

  Without waiting for the duke’s leave, he opened the door and stepped out, heading straight for the vestibule. The house was quiet and dark. Brook supposed the brooding Franklin was about somewhere, waiting to be summoned, but Brook imagined the man could wait just as well in his quarters as in the vestibule.

  He reached the door when he heard the slippered steps on the marble. He resisted the instinct to turn and closed his eyes instead. “Go back to bed, Lady Lila. You and I have nothing to discuss.”

  “I just need a moment, Sir Brook.”

  A moment he did not want to grant. He did not want to look at her again, with all that lovely black hair flowing down her back, and those large, honey-brown eyes pleading for him to save her.

  She was not his to save.

  Because he did not turn, she stopped behind him and placed her hand on his coat. He could not feel the heat of her skin, but the pressure of her touch burned him just the same. He turned abruptly, making her hand fall away.

  “Am I really in danger?” she asked.

  “In my opinion.”

  Her head tilted up slightly so she might look him in the eye, and he could imagine cupping the back of her neck, feeling the slip of her hair against his bare hands, and lowering his lips to hers.

  “What shall I do?”

  “If I were you, I’d disappear.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until this is resolved and you are safe again. If you’d like, I can send word to your father when it’s safe for you to return. The fewer people who know where you are, the better.”

  But she was shaking her head. “My father won’t send me away. I’ll miss the Season.”

  “Forgive me, but you’ll also miss the Season if you are dead.”

  She gave no indication of being shocked at his words except a small intake of breath. “I understand,” she said. “I couldn’t care less if I miss the Season.”

  “That’s not true.” He stepped forward, inadvertently inhaling her sweet scent. He remembered that she’d smelled of lily of the valley all those years ago. At one time, the fragrance had all but obsessed him. Little had he known then that the woman was much like the flower—poisonous.

  “No, it’s not. I’m five and twenty. This might be my last chance to make a good match, and you know as well as I that I am nothing but a burden if I don’t marry.” Her eyes implored him, but his heart was immune. “Couldn’t you—” she began.

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”

  “You want me to guard you in the guise of courting you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Yes. You can attend all the events of the Season without anyone questioning your presence.”

  “And I can act the lovesick puppy and follow you about. I’ve done that once before. I won’t be your lapdog again.”

  She waved a hand. “Sir Brook, that’s not what I’m asking.”

  He grasped her wrist before she could wave a finger in front of his face again. “Isn’t it? You think only of yourself—how you can attend the Season. But you don’t consider how it will look for me to shadow you. Not to mention, I have no desire to attend the events of the Season.”

  She opened her mouth.

  “And if, by God, you mention that your father will pay me”—he pushed her back against the door—“I will make you very, very sorry.”

  She looked up at him, her breath coming quickly, and her breasts rising and falling in the V of the robe that had parted slightly. “I do not think anyone would mistake you for a lapdog.” Her voice trembled.

  “Good.”

  “But I do need your help.”

  The words cut him. He’d thought he’d won, and his guard had slipped. Leave it to Lila to expose the chink in his armor. He steeled himself, released her arm, and pushed her away from the door.

  “Sorry. I’m all out of favors.”

  * * *

  Back in her room, Lila stood by the fire to warm herself.

  She hated him. Amazing how one might exist for years and never think of a person, and then less than a day after becoming reacquainted, she absolutely despised him. She would not have thought Brook Derring interesting enough to warrant hatred. He’d certainly not made an impression on her seven years before. She’d practically forgotten about him.

  He had not forgotten about her. She’d wronged him in the past. She knew that now. She knew it then, but the difference was she cared now. Her mother’s death had changed her, made her appreciate the value of kindness and generosity. Before she’d been a spoiled, selfish child. The more beaux the better, in her opinion. Brook had been a casualty of her vanity.

  But she wasn’t trying to be selfish now. She honestly needed his help. She had to find a husband, and the best way to do that was to attend the Season. She would not even be very picky. She would take the first man her parents approved.

  If she didn’t find a husband…

  She looked up the stairs and thought of her stepmother. Her father’s new wife was but a few years older than Lila and as spoiled and selfish as Lila had been at eighteen. She’d never liked Lila, but she was friendly enough when the duke had courted her. After she’d become his wife, she’d done everything she could to distance Lila from her father and from her home. Valencia would think of reasons Lila must stay in the country when the duke and duchess were in Town. Or she would send Lila to stay with one relative after another when the duke and duchess retired to Blakesford for the winter. Lila had not spent a Christmas at her home in four years.

  The only reason she was in London with the duchess was because of her cousin’s wedding. Lila’s absence would have been noted and remarked upon, and the duchess had not been able to convince Lennox to leave Lila at Blakesford. And so Lila had come, suffering the cold looks of her stepmother in the coach and being told to stay away from Ginny.

  Lila could not see how she was any sort of threat to the little girl. She was four and the only sister Lila had ever had. When the baby had been born, she’d been excited at the prospect of holding her, rocking her, singing to her. She’d been lonely without her mother, and Colin was never at home either. But Valencia had screeched the first time Lila had taken the baby in her arms, and Lila had been kept away after that.

  She couldn’t go on like this. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life being passed from one distant relative to another. She didn’t want to be the object of pity. She didn’t want to become a spinster. She wanted a child of her own, a home of her own, and, if not love, affection. The recent events meant she would be sent away again, ostensibly to keep her safe but also to keep her away from Valencia.

  Lila didn’t doubt her father loved her, in his way, but he loved peace and harmony more. If sending Lila away meant his wife was happy, Lila would be gone within the hour.

  She’d better have her maid pack her valise in the morning. She would not be there much longer.

  Her father and Colin rose when she entered the dining room the next morning. Valencia, as a married woman, could breakfast in bed and never missed the opportunity. Lila took her seat and accepted a cup of tea. She glanced at her father, expecting to see exile written in his eyes, but she could not read his expression.

  Colin winked at her before going back to shoveling food in his mouth. She was not hungry, though she’d barely eaten anything the last few days.

  “Your mother and I have been talking,” the duke said afte
r Lila had a sip of her tea.

  She made herself swallow, though a lump had risen in her throat. “She is not my mother.”

  “You know what I mean,” the duke said, waving a hand.

  “No, I don’t.” She was being obstinate, but it stalled her dismissal for a few extra moments. “Valencia was still in the nursery when I was born. It’s impossible for her to be my mother. She was younger than Ginny when Colin was born.”

  Her brother glared at her from across the table. Valencia and Colin had an amicable relationship, and, like his father, Colin preferred peace and had no wish to be drawn into Lila’s disagreements. Lila wondered if the cordial relationship between stepmother and stepson might change if Valencia ever produced a son. After all, then Colin would stand in the way of her son becoming a duke.

  But Colin hadn’t thought of that, had he?

  “Very well. Valencia and I have been talking.”

  Lila set her teacup down with deliberate care. “I have already asked Lizzy to pack my things.”

  The duke raised his brows. “I did not say you were leaving—not yet anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I agree with Valencia that you should go. If Derring is correct and there is some danger, your presence here threatens all of us.”

  “Most of all me,” Lila pointed out, though she knew Ginny was the one Valencia cared about.

  “Exactly, which is why we cannot simply send you to Aunt Millicent’s or your cousins in Wales. I think it unlikely, but you could be followed. We would put our family in danger, and you could be killed. You need protection.”

  “Sir Brook said he is not a guard dog.”

  “Sir Brook does not know who he is dealing with.”

  Now Lila felt the tea in her belly churn and boil. She could only imagine what her father planned.

  “What will you do?” Colin asked the question she was too afraid to voice.

  “I have an audience with His Majesty.”

  The king? Lila failed to see what the king had to do with any of this.