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

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The Lady and the Gent (London League, Book 1) Page 18

by Rebecca Connolly


  His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut, a muscle ticking ominously in his jaw. “No,” he said in a dark tone. He shook his head furiously. “No, no, no!” he bellowed, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Absolutely not!”

  “I don’t want to!” Margaret cried, the tears making their way down her cheeks. “Don’t yell at me!”

  “I’m not yelling at you, I’m just yelling!”

  A voice from one of the vardos yelled something back in Romani, and Rafe responded with something rather harsh and snarling, then looked back at Margaret, his eyes wild and unhinged.

  She clamped down on a hiccup, swiping at her face. “I don’t want to,” she managed.

  Rafe sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair, then set them on his hips. “You can’t marry him,” he growled.

  Margaret looked up at him, her heart breaking as she did so. “Can you stop it?” she asked mournfully. “He is the only one making any offers. If I don’t marry him, my parents will have me promised to some European and I’ll never live in England again.”

  He looked as if he’d been struck. “They’d take you away?”

  She nodded, brushing another tear from her cheek. “My parents are not fond of England, and unless I give them a reason to stay…” She looked at him for a long moment, her words simply fading away.

  “What?” he said softly, looking back at her with longing that her heart echoed.

  A soft sob escaped her. “I don’t think I could bear not seeing you anymore,” she whispered, as a tear ran down her cheek.

  He came to her with a soft groan, kneeling on the blankets and brushing away her tear with his thumb.

  “All the people I know, every person I see, and you are the only one I thought could really see me. And after yesterday…” She sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He swallowed with difficulty, taking her hand in his. “I don’t want you to leave,” he rasped. “I love seeing you so often. I did that on purpose. I knew your usual patterns and I’d wait for you to come.” Some days I’d follow, just to keep seeing you. It sounds ridiculous, even to me, but I couldn’t…” He shook his head, then reached out a hand to cup her cheek, stroking it softly. “I couldn’t imagine not seeing your face. It killed me when you didn’t look for me anymore. I could see the change in you, but you stopped looking. And now, after all we’ve been through?” He exhaled harshly. “Now it would be impossible to go a day without you, Margaret.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly.

  Margaret leaned into his caress, whimpering at his words, at his lips, and she brought her hands to his face. He kissed her slowly, reverently, tender and gentle, with none of the frantic energy nor the searing passion of the night before. This was a kiss that said so much more.

  Rafe pulled away, leaving Margaret weak and somehow more wanting. “Stay with me,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. “Stay here and stay with me. We could do it, we could live here, and let the rest of the world go to hell. We could go anywhere, be anyone we want. Stay with me.”

  Do what?

  Margaret reared back, staring at him, breathless with anticipation. And shockingly enough, considering it.

  Could she? Could she leave everything she knew and be with him? Where would they live? Who would they be? Did it matter as long as she was with him?

  She wanted to say yes. She wanted to go with him and forget the rest of it. She wanted everything with him.

  Yet something held her back, prevented her from jumping into his arms forever.

  Rafe ran a hand over her hair slowly. “You can’t,” he said after a long moment, sounding sad, but understanding.

  She swallowed and shook her head.

  He sighed and gave her a kind smile. “Your parents?”

  She nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I couldn’t bear not seeing them either. I love them, in spite of everything.”

  “As you should, pet,” he murmured, smoothing away her tear. “As you should.”

  “It’s not their fault I’m in this mess,” she reminded him with a sniff. “It’s my fault. I am the one who cannot manage to secure a husband.”

  He gave her a look. “Did I or did I not just ask you to stay with me? What exactly did you think I meant by that?”

  Margaret’s breath caught in her throat and she laid a hand on his face. “You know what I mean,” she whispered, the words hurting.

  He looked at her for a long moment, and she could see that he did know. “I would if I could,” he told her in a voice so soft she almost missed it.

  She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his softly, then wrapped her arms around him, snuggling close.

  Rafe enveloped her, holding her tightly and running his hands over her. He ran his fingers slowly through her loose hair, and then sighed again. “All right, we’ll figure something out. Let’s get you out of here.”

  She nodded against him, mostly because she couldn’t do anything else.

  The man she loved… loved?… more than she could express had asked her to stay with him, and she had said no.

  What sort of fool was she?

  Rafe held her so long she wondered if he’d forgotten he wanted to get her out of the camp. But then he kissed her hair and helped her up, going to speak softly with Kem and Lela.

  Lela came over to Margaret then, wrapping the shawl more securely around her, then smiling. “A gift for you, chavi,” she murmured, indicating the shawl.

  “Oh, I couldn’t!” Margaret protested, trying to take it off.

  Lela seized her arms. “Yes, you can.” She smiled as if that settled matters. She looked into Margaret’s eyes and seemed to see far more than Margaret wanted her to. “Ov ilo isi?” she murmured.

  Margaret shook her head. “I don’t know what that means.”

  Lela smiled. “I know, but sometimes the meaning comes through. It means ‘is there heart here.’ To translate, it means ‘Are you well?’ or ‘is all well?’”

  Margaret bit her lip hard, and shook her head once more. “No,” she whispered. “No, it isn’t.”

  Lela wrapped her arms around her with a soft tutting noise, then murmured in Romani, the words somehow comforting her despite not knowing their meaning.

  Eventually, Margaret pulled back and smiled. “Tell Emanaia and Drina thank you.”

  Lela nodded, tapping her on the chin.

  Kem and Rafe approached and Kem smiled fondly at Margaret. “So you will not stay, Margaret?”

  She laughed, the sound seeming strange, given how she ached. “I didn’t know I had been invited.”

  Kem inclined his head politely. “Always, Margaret. We are never here for long, but you are always welcome at our fire.”

  Margaret was touched and clamped down on her lips to keep from crying again. She was never so teary! She managed to smile. “I had a lovely time, Kem.”

  He smiled. “O manusha khelevan tut,” he replied, bowing this time.

  Margaret raised a brow and looked at Rafe, who grinned at her. “He said ‘The people make you dance.’ It means yes, this place is nice.” He shrugged a little. “More or less. I think he’s complimenting England, actually.”

  Kem glowered at him. “Something like that. Now you had better leave, Gent, before Camlo wants a rematch.”

  Rafe held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, sir, you won’t hear argument from me.” He offered his arm to Margaret, which she took, waving at Kem and Lela as they headed for the edge of the camp.

  They fetched Rafe’s horse from a rather sleepy looking lad, then rode back to London in silence, Margaret taking the opportunity to lean more fully against Rafe as they rode.

  He did not speak, and she did not feel the need to make him.

  They were going back to London. Who knew what could happen there?

  She ought to have accepted his offer to remain, to run away.

  Even as she thought it, she knew it was wrong. They needed to find another way.

  The
y arrived at the mews without having said a word. Rafe helped Margaret down from the horse, kissing her brow and dusting his lips across her face.

  She arched up to him, a sudden sense of foreboding surrounding her now that they were in London.

  He captured her lips in a fierce kiss, tilting her head back a little and tangling his fingers within her loose hair. Margaret gripped the back of his neck, clinging as if for her very life.

  “Rafe, I’m afraid,” she whispered against his lips.

  He groaned and kissed her softly once more. “We will figure something out, Margaret. Trust me.”

  She nodded, lowering herself back to the ground, gnawing at her lip.

  Rafe smiled and ran his thumb along her lower lip slowly. “That mouth,” he murmured, shaking his head.

  Margaret managed to snort, despite the tingling of her lips. “I know, it will get me into trouble one of these days.”

  His eyes flashed and his smile turned devious. “Yes, and you have no idea how much.”

  Oh my.

  Margaret swallowed and put a hand to her chest, wondering where her breath had gone.

  Rafe chuckled and pulled her along behind him as they started their path through London again.

  People were not yet milling about, but some of the poorer citizens were setting up their wares, or begging for coin, and some called out to Gent by name, waving and smiling at him.

  “Do you know everybody?” Margaret asked with a half-smile.

  Rafe looked a bit embarrassed. “No… but I do know quite a number of people.”

  She shook her head, grinning to herself.

  Rafe suddenly stiffened and Margaret instinctively did the same. But then the tension was gone and Rafe pulled her into a clean and well-lit alley, a far cry from their forays into the city yesterday.

  He cupped her cheek and peered into her eyes with the sort of intensity that robbed her of thought. “I need to see to something,” he murmured seriously. “Nothing dangerous, nothing out of sorts, but something important. I won’t be more than a few minutes. Can you wait here for me?”

  Margaret nodded, but her heart seized up. He was leaving her? Alone and in the city? She was away from anything she knew, anything she was familiar with, and he was abandoning her?

  “Margaret.”

  She focused on him again, realizing that her breathing had become erratic. “Wh-what?”

  “You are in no danger here,” he told her firmly. “I have a contact whose shop is right across the way. He can see us right now. He will keep an eye on you until I return.”

  “Why can I not wait in there?” she asked in a small voice. “Or come with you?”

  He smiled a little. “Because, pet, it is not a shop that you should enter, and he cannot vouch for his clientele, nor his employees. Trust me, you are safer here. And as for me…” He stroked her cheek gently. “This is something that I cannot have you tangled up in. Understand?”

  She didn’t, not really. But if he was comfortable with this, knowing how uncomfortable she was, and with his protective instincts, she would trust him in this.

  She really had no other option.

  Margaret nodded slowly, feeling a resigned sigh escape her.

  Rafe touched his forehead to hers, nuzzling his nose against her. “Thank you.” He kissed her softly, and she could feel him smile as he did so. Then he pulled away and winked. “I’ll jus’ be takin’ a walk, pet. You wait ‘ere, and I’ll bring you somefink nice.”

  Margaret laughed and waved him on, then leaned against the wall once he’d left, closing her eyes. London smelled far worse on this side of town, but there was none of the presumption of Mayfair, no false airs, nothing but honesty and earnestness. Criminals and depravity as well, she supposed, but one could clearly see those in this area. In the finer circles, they simply hid better.

  She heard some bawdy singing from the street, whistling from the windows above her, and the laughter and indignant screeches of children. It was a busy, bustling day, and the city was alive with it.

  Would this be the sort of world she would have to live in if she married Rafe? She had a fortune, it was true, but he had nothing of consequence. He worked in a shabby office and had no prospects. How could they live? What would they do?

  Surely, he could be trained in propriety. He was a talented mimic, and a very quick mind. He would be able to pass himself off as anything.

  They could do this.

  Couldn’t they?

  Margaret’s arm was suddenly seized and she was hauled out of the alley, pulled towards a dark hack. She looked up at the man holding her, a stone-faced, clean-shaven man with no sympathy in his demeanor, much taller than her, and clenching her arm tightly.

  “Let go of me!” she yelled, struggling and flailing.

  It had no effect on him. “Stop that,” he barked, pulling her more. “I’ve told you trollops again and again, you are not to set up in these parts.”

  “I am not…” she started protest.

  His grip tightened and he gave her a look. “That is not my concern. Take it up with the office. Now shut up and get in the hack.”

  Without waiting for her to do anything, he wrenched open the door and shoved her in, bellowing at the driver, who snapped the reins and had the hack barreling off before Margaret could say anything else.

  In the dark, windowless hack, Margaret covered her face with a whimper.

  How was Rafe going to save her now?

  Chapter Fifteen

  The moment Rafe left Margaret’s side, he knew it was a bad idea.

  He didn’t have a choice, but he felt uneasy no matter which way he went.

  It was an easy decision to make. The moment he’d caught glimpse of Sir Vincent Castleton strolling down this east side of London early in the morning, without any of the finery of his class, all of Rafe’s senses had gone on the alert. He could not let him see Margaret, and he could not let Margaret see him.

  And he could not let Castleton go about his business without any action on his part.

  The conflict between protecting Margaret and loyalty to his mission combatted fiercely within him for a few heartbeats, and then his decision was made.

  She would be well looked after if she remained in view of Cooke’s store. He was used to Rafe’s comings and goings, and when Rafe had given him the signal, he’d nodded in response. He knew what to do, and Margaret would be as safe as if she had been with him the entire time.

  So why did he feel so uneasy as he shadowed Castleton down these narrow and crooked alleys?

  He shook his head at himself, forcing himself to focus. This was a rare opportunity and could make up for the months of no information.

  His mind worked quickly, tracking where they were and what businesses were nearby, any contacts he had, and the likelihood of any connection he might have to whatever it was Castleton had planned. None of the prospects were encouraging, but he had been in his position long enough to have cultivated many useful associates, and if none of his were unsavory enough for Castleton’s plans, Rogue would certainly be able to fill in for him. His connections were always rather dark and varied.

  Rafe traced Castleton for several streets, wondering where exactly the devil was taking him, knowing there was no chance he’d been discovered, but also clueless now as to the end goal.

  A sudden twist of his stomach pulled him up short, and he looked behind him, feeling as though something was now shadowing him… or that danger lurked. He’d always had a sense about that as well, which had saved him at school and in his work more than once, and he was never wrong.

  But there was nothing in the streets or area around him that posed any sort of threat.

  An uneasy feeling rose and he felt his neck begin to perspire. He needed to get out of here and get back to Margaret. But he couldn’t let Castleton go, not when so much could rest on his task.

  To his relief, he saw one of his men coming down a nearby alley towards him. He signaled for him to take over,
which was received with a curt nod, and then Rafe turned and bolted back the way he had come, grateful that he knew London well enough to take three shortcuts to get back to Cooke’s.

  Each step felt slow and sluggish, despite his haste, and his sense of foreboding only grew more and more intense the closer he got. He needed to get Margaret somewhere safe, somewhere he knew she would be protected and away from danger or strife.

  He could take her to his home and let Davis and Callie mind her. They wouldn’t like it, but Margaret would win them over the way she did everyone. Perhaps they could write to her parents and convince them of the horrors of her Miss Ritson, tell them the truth, and encourage their return.

  Perhaps Margaret ought to leave England, despite her feelings.

  Pain slashed through him at the thought and he forced it back. He couldn’t give her up.

  But what sort of life would she have with him?

  He was getting ahead of himself. He quickened his step and made his way through the last few streets.

  His heart was in his throat and he turned to the alley where he’d left Margaret, an apology on his tongue.

  It died before passing his lips.

  The alley was empty.

  Rafe stared for a couple of heartbeats, then whirled around, glancing up and down the main street, no sign of a woman in a blue dress with a gold shawl, no cries of distress, no sign that anything was out of the ordinary at all.

  His vision began to spot before him and he shook away the panic gripping him. He was a spy, for pity’s sake, he had been in far more harrowing spots than this on a regular basis.

  But this was different.

  This was Margaret.

  He snarled a low sound and went around to the back door of Cooke’s shop, forcing his way in.

  Cooke was already headed back towards him, hands up. “I swear on my life, Gent, I had my eyes on her.”

  Rafe gripped his friend by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. “Where is she, then?”

  Cooke’s large hands encircled his wrists, trying to pull him off. “I couldn’t get to her, Gent. And even if I could, I can’t fight Bow Street.”

 

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