The Lady and the Gent (London League, Book 1)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “It’s my own fault,” he sighed, shrugging one shoulder. “I know they’re talking to or about me, so why bother correcting? Until I earn a street name, whatever they call me is fine.”

  “You don’t have one?” she asked sympathetically.

  “He has to earn it,” Gent informed her, folding his arms and giving the younger man a look.

  Margaret slid her glance to him. “Working with you, I am surprised he has not already done so.”

  Gent put a hand to his chest, staggering backwards as if wounded, while the other man laughed loudly. “My lady doth wound me,” Gent moaned, gripping the wall.

  “I doubt it,” Margaret quipped, rolling her eyes. She turned to face the other man with a polite smile. “What shall I call you, then, if politeness is ignored and you have no street name?”

  He looked embarrassed and scratched at the back of his head, the freckles across his nose scrunching up. “Well, you might as well call me Sharp, miss. It’s what Rogue’s been calling me all day.”

  “Rogue?” She looked at Gent questioningly. “Is he another man here?”

  Gent had stopped his dramatics and looked serious. “Yes,” he said slowly, his eyes on Sharp. “I didn’t know he would be here, I thought he was…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking to Margaret uneasily.

  “If it is trouble for me to be here,” she said, twisting her fingers, “I can wait outside. I don’t mind.”

  “No,” Gent and Sharp said at the same time, very firmly.

  She clamped down on her lips hard, feeling awkward and conspicuous and in the way.

  Gent sighed and came over to her, taking a hand. “We’re just unused to having anybody here that isn’t one of us. You are no trouble.”

  “Sure of that, are you?” drawled a cool voice in dangerous tones that Margaret did not care for.

  They all turned to face two men entering the room from further in the building, one with icy blue eyes and dark curls, whose scowl told her he had spoken. The other was taller, older, fair haired, and very serious.

  Neither looked pleased to see her.

  Oh dear.

  Gent, however, didn’t seem perturbed in the least. “Lovely. Margaret, might I introduce Cap and Rogue?” He gestured to the tall one respectfully, the other with only a wave.

  She dipped a brief curtsey that seemed to amuse Cap. Rogue only scowled more. She restrained the urge to duck behind Gent and forced herself to smile. “Good day, gentlemen,” she murmured politely. “I am sorry to intrude.”

  Cap shook his head. “It’s not an intrusion if Gent brought you.” His look turned severe as he turned to his comrade. “A word, Gent?”

  Gent shrugged. “If you like. I only came to get a few things, we’ll be off soon.” He gestured for Cap to precede him from the room, then turned to look at Margaret, giving her a wink. “I’ll be right back, Margaret. Don’t run off with Rogue.”

  She glanced at the obviously irritated man who was now skewering Gent with his eyes. “I don’t think that will be an issue,” she murmured. “He’s going to follow you out of the room anyway, and probably eviscerate you. I’ll just wait here to clear the mess away.”

  Rogue looked back at her in surprise, and Gent looked ready to laugh.

  “I don’t make messes,” Rogue muttered reluctantly. “Too much work.”

  Margaret could have crumpled in relief. She covered it with a prim nod, taking the chair that Sharp had pulled out for her. “Best to be efficient and capitalize on effort. You are very wise, Mr. Rogue. Perhaps I will run off with you after all.”

  Gent did laugh now, a rough barking sound that made her smile. Rogue eyed her carefully, his eyes not quite so frosty anymore. “If I thought you would do for me, Miss Margaret, you wouldn’t have much say in the matter,” Rogue told her, his tone vastly different than before.

  She sighed heavily and sat back without manners, surprising them. “Yes, that is what they all say, I’m afraid. Go on with your work, Rogue, I’ll wait here for no one else to want me either.”

  Impossibly, he smiled, just a little. “All I said was if you would do for me. Nothing about wanting, especially the lack of it, was mentioned.”

  Margaret gave him a sly smile of her own. “Why, Rogue, I do believe I see where your name came from.”

  He sobered, but his eyes no longer chilled her. “No, Miss Margaret, you don’t. Not yet.”

  Gent rolled his eyes and turned from the room. “Come on, Rogue! Cap’s got a lot of yelling to do, and you never miss those moments.”

  Rogue followed without looking back at her, and Margaret let her smile fade. She glanced over at Sharp, who was back working at his desk, paying her no mind. She took in the plain room, the offices beyond, and the complete lack of anything resembling décor or personalization. There was no indication of what anybody did for work here, and nothing that signified they did whatever it was often. Aside from a collection of coats and hats on the wall behind her, there was nothing but the desks and the books and papers upon them.

  And she couldn’t see anything beyond this room from her present spot.

  So, she would sit here and wait, with no answers and no indication of how long they would be.

  She let the silence of the room fill her for a moment, then shook her head. “Mr. Sharp, have you all a maid here? The room is in shocking need of a good cleaning.”

  Chapter Ten

  "Are you out of your mind?” Rogue snapped once they were ensconced in Rafe’s office with the door closed.

  Rafe scoffed as he looked through his things, collecting what he could take along with him while gadding about London with Margaret in tow. Nothing of critical importance, obviously, but a few things to make whatever he did accomplish worthwhile, if possible.

  “Not lately, no,” he replied calmly, scanning the latest reports that had come in.

  “He’s completely gone ‘round the bend,” Rogue said to Cap, who leaned against the wall, watching Rafe without a word.

  “Have not.”

  “You brought that woman here!”

  Rafe paused in his perusal and gave his friend a very calm look. “That woman being Miss Easton, with whom you were just flirting?”

  Rogue sputtered and turned redder with rage. “I was doing no such thing!” he finally managed.

  That was a ridiculous assertion. “Please. She took the wind right out of your sails,” Rafe told him, smiling with understanding and pity. “You were your usual caustic self, and she melted you down with a smile.”

  Rogue opened his mouth, then closed it again. “She took me by surprise,” he grumbled. “I expected a shy, retreating miss, not an impudent…”

  “Careful,” Cap said softly, speaking for the first time.

  Rafe looked at him in gratitude, then went back to his papers.

  “She’s very pleasant and very quick-witted, I’ll grant you that,” Rogue went on, his tone reluctant to say anything nice if he could help it. “But that does not explain why you are with her and why she is here.”

  “That is what I would like to know as well,” Cap added in his usual calm. “It is obvious that you trust her enough to bring her here, but we don’t. So, if you would, explain please.”

  It sounded polite, but Rafe knew full well that the underlying steel of Cap’s tone meant he was not particularly pleased either. He just possessed an unnerving reserve of composure and strength and he usually employed it in his emotions when they were not engaged in something tending towards the dangerous.

  And there was no request in his tone, despite its apparent politeness.

  It was a command.

  He probably spoke to his four children that way, and they implicitly obeyed.

  Rafe sighed to himself and quickly related what he could about the day’s adventures thus far, watching with satisfaction as his colleagues’ features hardened with the telling of Margaret’s state and situation. They had no other expression, except for a snort of derision when Suds was mentioned, but he real
ly didn’t expect anything.

  Stories were wasted on these two.

  “You and your damned hero complex,” Rogue muttered with a shake of his head, folding his arms.

  Rafe frowned at him. “If you had seen her as I did then, even you would have found some small untarnished portion of your soul that had some honor, Rogue.”

  He glowered, but made no response except to grind his teeth.

  Rafe took that as an unspoken agreement. Rogue would never admit it, but Rafe knew that he possessed some honor still, despite what he portrayed and claimed. He would have helped her too, and taken the responsibility of her safety on himself. He might not have been as pleased about it as Rafe was, but there was no accounting for taste.

  “Why bring her here?” Cap asked as if Rogue had made no complaint.

  “You object?” Rafe’s tone was too defensive, but he did not check it.

  Cap gave him a sardonic look. “Of course I do not object to your actions, and if you have a good reason for her being here, I do not object to that either. I am not particularly pleased about you feeling the need to bring the object of your desires into our highly secretive place of work, but if it was necessary, so be it.”

  Rafe fought a heavy sigh and stopped fidgeting with whatever he could find on his desk. “I don’t know that it was necessary,” he admitted, “but I wasn’t quite sure what else to do. Once I saw to her health and care, knowing she would not be safe if returned home, I was so tossed about that I couldn’t think straight. So, I brought her here to find something to do with myself, some way to do my job with her and not compromise her or me or any of this.”

  “Then she doesn’t know…?” Cap trailed off with a questioning tilt of his head.

  Rafe shook his head. “She doesn’t know anything. Hasn’t even asked.” He shrugged and gripped the back of his neck. “I was going to tell her the cover, if that’s all right by you.”

  Cap nodded once, but Rogue looked unconvinced.

  “What?” Rafe all but barked, tired of his friend’s irascible behavior.

  Rogue looked at him for a long moment, clear blue eyes almost eerie in their solemnity. “Should Margaret really be going around London with you?”

  He chuckled a little. “Are you concerned for her virtue, Rogue?”

  Rogue did not smile. “I might be.”

  Rafe straightened up fully, all traces of humor gone. “I don’t think you are accusing me of lacking in morals,” he said slowly, anger seeping through his tone. “I don’t think you’re suggesting that I would compromise her, now that she is finally at my fingertips…”

  “Stand down, Rafe!” Cap barked, forgoing their absolute directive of only using code names.

  Rafe and Rogue stared at Cap in horror, then at each other, unable to believe the most controlled of them had breached that particular barrier.

  “Get over that, too,” Cap muttered, his tone returning to normal. “And to be perfectly honest, Gent, I have the same concerns. Not that you would ruin her, but considering your feelings for her, is it really in her best interest to be with you?”

  Rafe did not take offense this time, for some reason. He understood their concerns, and had had the same himself. But he knew himself, and he knew what he was doing. “I care about her,” he admitted, surprising no one. “More than even I thought, and that is only growing the more I get to know her. But more than that, I want to protect her. She will not go home, and I very much fear she would run away again if I tried, and what if I cannot save her then?”

  “You can’t be with her all the time,” Rogue reminded him. “Eventually, she will have to return home.”

  “I know.” He was already dreading that. “But until she is ready, would she not be best suited to be with someone who would protect her above all others?”

  “Even from yourself?”

  He nodded once. “Especially from myself.”

  Cap was looking at him strangely, his mouth almost forming a smile. “Perhaps she ought to go with Rogue, since he is so very concerned about her and has no such ties to her.”

  Rogue laughed once, a bit roughly. “No, thank you. She’s already won me over, three more minutes in her company and I’ll be on one knee or headed for Gretna.”

  Rafe glowered at him, which only made him laugh more. “That’s not funny,” he muttered.

  Rogue grinned, which was rare. “No, and neither is it true. But I can see your reasons for wanting her, and she’ll be under my care as well, should she ever need it.”

  “And mine,” Cap murmured, glancing towards the front of the building as if he could see through the walls. “With all she has been through today, she ought to be terrified, and yet she is teasing Rogue, of all people, and smiling.” He shook his head. “A rare woman, Gent. Mind her well.”

  Rafe looked between the two of them, torn between elation and amusement. “For heaven’s sake, I haven’t married her,” he said with a laugh at last. “I haven’t promised anything at all but her safety. I’ve only taken her under my wing for the day, perhaps for a few of them. There is no… I haven’t…”

  Both of them looked at him steadily, and his words simply faltered off.

  They knew what he knew.

  Margaret was his.

  Promises or no promises.

  No matter what happened today, tomorrow, or beyond.

  “Weaver likes her, for whatever that’s worth,” Cap said with a curious smile.

  Rafe stared at Cap in a mixture of horror and amazement. “What? How does Weaver…?”

  Cap almost grinned. “He’s met her on several occasions on the Continent. Says he approves.”

  Rogue barked a laugh while Rafe glared at his superior. “I don’t need his approval!”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

  “Careful, Gent,” Rogue told him, still chuckling, “you may get reassigned to Parliament note-taking if you disparage Weaver.”

  “I’d risk it for Margaret,” Rafe heard himself say. All of the breath fled his lungs and he shook his head. “What am I to do?” he murmured, almost to himself.

  “Visit the gypsies,” Cap suggested, pushing off of the wall. “You’re due to check in with them anyway.”

  There was a thought. Away from the city, among people who respected him and would treat her well, so long as she was with him… And there was a warmth and energy to the Rom that he thought she would find most appealing.

  Yes, that would work rather well.

  He glanced at Rogue. “You’ll mind my traitors?”

  Rogue snorted. “They’ve been silent for weeks, you think they’ll exact a coup while you are distracted?”

  “With my luck, probably.” Rafe sighed and shook his head. “You know, there is one bright spot in all of this.”

  “Yes, we know, and she is sitting in the front office with Jones,” Cap said with a faint smile.

  Rogue snorted with derision as he picked up some of Rafe’s reports to examine.

  “Besides that,” Rafe corrected, rolling his eyes.

  “Oh?”

  He nodded once. “She hasn’t met Rook. You two are fairly immune to her, but Rook?”

  The other two nodded with smiles. “And she would know Rook, more than likely,” Rogue pointed out. “He moves in her circles.”

  Rafe shuddered at the thought.

  They heard footsteps approaching and a knock at the door. Cap opened it and stepped back as their unnamed young associate entered. “Sorry to interrupt, but we may have a… situation.”

  All three men were instantly on alert. “What is it?” Rogue demanded.

  “Where’s Margaret?” Rafe barked.

  The man looked at him first. “She’s out front cataloguing things a maid could help with here. Don’t ask.” He looked at the others. “And… Rook just got here.”

  They all looked at each other, swore in various colors, then headed for the front.

  Margaret was staring at Rook in bewilderment and Rook, to his credit, was s
till the peacock of Society.

  “What,” she asked with pointed curiosity, “is he doing here? I saw him last evening, and he was speaking with my cousin, what is he doing here?”

  Rafe didn’t even know how to respond. “I…”

  “Miss Easton,” Rook simpered with what was probably his trademark smile, “I am only just arrived, the poor chaps won’t have any idea why I am here.”

  She folded her arms, crushing the paper in her hand as she did so. “Mr. Pratt, you are wandering in parts of London that no one of your reputation and character would.”

  “As are you, Miss Easton.”

  She frowned, but Rafe could see amusement in her features. And worry.

  Rook sighed dramatically. “Very well, I shall confess, but only because I cannot bear your poor opinion. I require the services of these fellows in a matter of some delicacy. Nothing nefarious, I can assure you, but I cannot go to Bow Street for it. The rumor is that there are those in coarser circles that are just as efficient, but less official and less conspicuous.” He gestured flippantly to Gent and the rest. “So I have come to see if they will take up my case and keep it quiet.”

  Margaret glanced at Rafe. “Is that what you all do here?”

  He shrugged. “More or less.”

  “Sometimes less,” Rogue muttered, looking very much like he wanted to murder Rook on the spot.

  Rook ignored him and was looking rather imploringly at Margaret. “Do say you will keep my secret, Miss Easton,” he pleaded, somehow sounding like a desperate man without being pathetic.

  She cocked her head. “Will you keep mine, Mr. Pratt?”

  He placed a hand over his heart. “I swear on my honor, I never saw you today.”

  Margaret’s full lips quirked and she held out a hand. “You keep my secret, I will keep yours.”

  Rook grinned a surprisingly devilish grin and took her hand, kissing it gently, without any of the gallantry a peacock would have done. “I like that sentiment,” he mused quietly. “Perhaps we might discuss where else it might apply?”

  Rafe almost growled but Rogue pushed him aside. “Mr. Pratt, is it?” he intoned with the barest hint of politeness. “Come with me to discuss your… situation.”