by Shana Galen
“You’re Bess Castle’s bantling?” Gideon asked Jemma, keeping his gaze on the people they passed.
“Yes,” the little girl said, her voice quiet.
“How did Dagger Dan get you?”
“Is that his name?” Susanna asked, forgetting to walk for a moment. “His parents named him Dagger?”
Gideon snorted with laughter, and even Jemma smiled shyly.
“His cronies named him Dagger. His real name is Daniel Gilfroy—at least that’s the one he tells everyone.” Gideon craned his neck to peer at Jemma. “Did your mum sell you?”
“No!” Jemma’s voice was loud and clear. “He took me.”
“As payment for what?”
Jemma didn’t answer. They turned into a dark alley where dilapidated tenements rose above them.
“She probably doesn’t know,” Susanna said. “Does that happen often?”
“Every day, but I wouldn’t expect it from Bess.”
Horrid, Susanna thought. It was all absolutely horrid. The conditions the people lived in, the lows to which they stooped to survive. Dingy clothing hung from clotheslines, flapping like forlorn kites in the summer breeze. Women sat on stoops with crying babes in their arms, and men loitered on corners, dark looks of desperation on their faces. At the end of the street, a group of children crouched in a circle, and Susanna realized they were probably gambling.
She looked down at Jemma. What kind of life did the little girl have to look forward to? How long before Dagger Dan came for her again, and this time Susanna would not be there to stop him?
Jemma pointed at a building.
“Right. This is it,” Gideon said.
Susanna looked up. It appeared indistinguishable from the other buildings, but she supposed the child knew her own home.
“Beauty, stay here,” she commanded, pointing to the stoop outside the entrance. The dog sat, head high, looking like an Egyptian depiction of Anubis.
Gideon led them into a dark entryway that smelled of urine. Something—please God let it be a cat—scampered away, claws clicking on the floor.
“This way.” Gideon led them up a flight of creaking stairs with no rail. Susanna tried hard not to touch the wall, but she kept close to it in case one of the steps should give way. The place was dark and dank. Water from the recent rains dripped, echoing through the building.
Jemma pushed past both of them on the third landing. She knew her way, even in the dark. She scampered down the corridor and pounded on a door at the end.
Susanna followed quickly, her sleeve against her nose to mask the smell of rotting fish and boiled cabbage. Inside one of the flats they passed, a man and woman argued loudly, their angry voices carrying through the thin walls.
“What do ye want?” a voice called through the door Jemma had pounded on.
“Mamma.”
Susanna reached the door. The woman who’d called out hadn’t spoken again. Then the door flung open, and a young girl knelt down with arms wide open. Jemma rushed into her mother’s arms and burst into tears. The mother whispered words of comfort, lifting her child and cradling her close. She looked up, one hand on the back of the child’s dark hair, her eyes wide with amazement.
Susanna gasped in shock. Jemma’s mother was nothing more than a girl. She was nineteen at most, barely old enough to be out. And yet she had a child?
Bess’s gaze lingered on Susanna and then darted to Gideon. When she saw him, her body slumped. “You brought her back. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. It was all her.” He jerked his head in Susanna’s direction.
Bess gave her a curious glance again. “Please, come in.” She stepped back, and Gideon gestured for Susanna to precede him. Uneasily, she entered the room, trying not to gawk but vastly interested in where Bess and Jemma lived.
And not a little bit afraid to find out.
The flat was worse than she’d anticipated. It was tiny, barely large enough to fit the four of them. A pallet lay on the floor, and Susanna assumed from the thin blanket on top it was the bed. A chipped cup and a kettle sat on a wooden crate that served as a table. There was no stove to speak of, and not even a hearth to keep them warm in the winter. In the corner hung a dress. Beside it was a similar gown in a child’s size.
“It’s not much,” Bess said. Her gaze was on Susanna’s silk gown.
Susanna gave a quick curtsy. “I apologize. I should have introduced myself.” She threw Gideon a look. He should have introduced her. “I’m Susanna Derring. Mr. Harrow is a friend.”
Gideon quirked his lips in obvious amusement at that statement.
“Thank you for bringing Jemma back. I told him I’d pay as soon as I could, but he didn’t want to wait.”
“Dagger Dan owns the flat?” Gideon asked.
Bess nodded. “He owns most of them on this floor. I’ve always paid him promptly before, but I lost my position.”
“What position?” Susanna asked.
Bess rubbed her daughter’s thin back. “I was a seamstress at a shop on St. Martin’s Lane. I worked hard, I did. I was never late, but the owner’s niece needed money. Mrs. Gordon couldn’t pay all three of us, so she let me go.”
“When was that?” Gideon asked.
“A fortnight ago. I haven’t found another position yet.”
“Dagger Dan will be back,” Gideon said. “You can’t stay here.”
Tears shown in Bess’s eyes. “I know.”
Gideon nodded at Jemma. “Take care of her.” He took Susanna’s elbow and moved toward the door. Susanna shook him off. How could she leave without trying to help this woman?
“Is there somewhere else you can go?” she asked Bess. “A friend or relative?”
Bess shook her head. “There’s no one.”
“Where will you live?”
Bess didn’t answer, just clutched her child tighter.
Gideon nudged her arm. “Strawberry, let’s go before Dan returns.”
When she didn’t move, he took her elbow and tugged. She took two steps and dug in her heels.
“No. I’m not leaving.”
* * *
Gideon groaned aloud. He’d known this was a mistake. Everything with Strawberry was a mistake. They should be safe in the building where they’d spent last night, not in Seven Dials at Bess Castle’s flat, where Dagger Dan—Gideon’s newest enemy—was likely to make an appearance at any moment.
Beezle might very well be on his way too, if he’d gotten word of Gideon’s activities this morning. And Beezle always knew everyone’s comings and goings. Gideon didn’t have time for Strawberry’s tender heart—not if he wanted to save his own arse.
“Yes, you are,” Gideon said, grabbing her arm again and pulling her.
“No!” She turned her big brown eyes on him.
Oh no. Not the eyes. Gideon bit the inside of his cheek until it hurt. He would not fall prey to that pleading look in her eyes again.
“We can’t leave Jemma and Bess here for Dagger Dan. And we certainly cannot force them out on the streets.”
Gideon pointed at Bess, whose eyes were as wide as Strawberry’s now. Even the brat was watching them with surprise and shock. “You heard her. She owes Dan blunt. You got any blunt?”
“No.” Strawberry looked down.
“And even if you did, Dan will want revenge now. The only way she’ll survive is on the streets.” It was a ludicrous statement. No one survived long on the streets.
“We have to do something!”
“You do something. I’m leaving before Dan or someone worse shows up.”
“Beezle,” Bess murmured. “I heard he was after you.”
He reached for the door, but Strawberry skirted around him and closed it. “Who is this Beezle everyone keeps talking about? Why does he want you?”
Gideon star
ted to reply and found he had nothing to say. “You don’t want to know, and if we don’t leave now, you’re apt to find out.”
“Fine,” she agreed. The bloody woman did not have any sense!
“But I’m not leaving until I give her a letter of introduction.”
“A letter of—what the hell are you talking about?” he yelled. Gideon knew he was yelling, and he knew that was a mistake. He’d lost his temper, which was a bad sign. He never lost his temper, but the woman was talking about letters. Letters, for God’s sake!
“This is not the time for fucking correspondence.”
She pointed a finger at him. “Watch your mouth. There’s a child present.”
Gideon couldn’t even form words. He tried to speak, but his mouth would not work. Finally, he covered his eyes with his hands and banged his head against the wall. “We’re doomed. This is it. Done in by letter writing.”
“I’ll be quick,” she said.
She’d be quick. She’d better hope Beezle killed her quickly, because death was the only thing coming to them quickly.
“Do you have a pen and paper?” she asked.
Gideon let out a weak laugh.
“No, miss. Well, actually, I do have this old pamphlet.”
Gideon opened his eyes. Bess had set the brat back on her feet and rushed to a cupboard. She opened it and drew out a paper advertising a play. “I sewed some of the costumes for the production,” she said proudly.
Strawberry turned it over. “This will work. I need something to write with. Do you have anything that will leave a mark?”
The brat tugged her mother’s sleeve. “Mamma, your sewing kit.”
Bess’s brow creased, and then her face lit up. “Yes! My marking pencil. You could use that.” She rushed to the pallet, pushed it forward, and pulled out her sewing kit. She’d obviously kept this one thing of value hidden. She set it on the bed, knelt before it, and took out a marking pencil.
“Perfect.” Susanna set her blasted glim-stick on the floor, took the pencil, and flattened the pamphlet on the crate. She spoke as she wrote. “You are to take this to the Derring town house in Mayfair.” She gave the address. “Ask to see the dowager countess, and tell her you come with a message from me.”
“A countess?” Bess shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
Seeing his chance at escape, Gideon waved a hand. “Yes, you can. This is her daughter. She’ll welcome news of her.”
Bess’s eyes grew even larger as she looked at Susanna from head to toe. Strawberry continued to write. “Tell her I asked her to give you a position in the household. I’m writing it all here.” She lifted her hand and indicated the pamphlet. “You’ll be safe there, and we can always use a good seamstress.”
“I-I don’t know what to say,” Bess stammered.
Gideon yanked Strawberry to his side as soon as she lowered the pencil and snatched the glim-stick.
“Say good-bye. We’re leaving.” She stumbled as he pulled her into the corridor.
Gideon hadn’t survived in the rookeries this long without knowing how to keep his head down when a Bow Street Runner or the arch rogue of another gang was looking for him. Beezle knew most of his hidey-holes, but he had one or two he’d kept to himself. He needed to go underground until nightfall, when he and Strawberry would be less conspicuous. They’d hide for a few hours, allow the trail to go cold, and when it grew dark, make their way to Vauxhall Gardens. He’d have his necklace back tonight and be gone by dawn tomorrow.
Gideon led Strawberry and Beauty through every rabbit hole, back alley, and cut-through he knew. No one could have tracked him, not even one of his fellow rooks. The problem was that Strawberry stood out like a diamond or, considering her hair, a ruby, glinting in the dirt.
Men stopped to ogle her. Women whispered about her. Children swarmed her, trying to touch her gown or her hair. Beauty gently dissuaded the most curious. Gideon never thought he’d be grateful for the dog. But even the dog brought them more attention. He heaved a sigh of relief when he tapped on the back door of a fencing ken in Field Lane.
Strawberry leaned against the wall beside the door. The fact that she didn’t ask any questions demonstrated how exhausted she must have been. They’d traveled from Mayfair to St. Giles to north of Holborn Hill. They’d had almost nothing to eat and very little sleep.
Gideon would have expected Strawberry to complain and whine by now, but she’d not said a word.
He also would have expected her to look like a well-used mop. Instead, she was more beautiful than when he’d first seen her all clean and tidy in the town house library. Her beauty was dangerous in that way. He’d accustom himself to her large brown eyes or her thick red-blond hair, and then the next time he caught a glimpse of her, it was like seeing her for the first time again.
She stole his breath away, even with a torn dress and her hair a mass of tangled curls down her back.
She seemed to have no idea of her allure. She leaned against the building with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. For the moment, Gideon had his fill of her. The shadow of lashes on a marble cheek, marred with a streak of ash. The long, graceful sweep of her neck. The swell of her breasts rising from the vee at the bodice of the gown. He imagined hooking one finger into that neckline and ripping it away, exposing her flesh to his eyes and his hands and his mouth…
Beauty yipped at him, and Gideon focused on the warped wood of the door. He rapped again, harder this time. Fencing was a profession largely conducted under cover of darkness, and he would be surprised if Des was out of bed before noon.
The dog knew what she was about, protecting her adopted mistress. Gideon wanted her, and the realization of it hit him hard enough that he slammed his fist into the door again. When had he begun to crave tasting her, touching her? He couldn’t pinpoint one exact time, but there were a thousand little slips on the slope of desire.
He’d kissed her hand last night, and the sweet taste of her flesh had been intoxicating.
She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, and rather than shove her off, he’d wrapped an arm about her to keep her warm, and listened to her quiet breathing for hours.
He’d watched her march to confront Dagger Dan with absolutely no trace of fear. That had been sheer ignorance. She wouldn’t have been so foolish if she’d known what the man could do. The way she’d stood, the way her face had colored, the way she’d tossed her hair in anger—just remembering it made his cock harden with need.
“Des!” Gideon yelled. “Open the fucking door!”
Beauty barked several times in support, reaching up to scratch the door with her front paws. The rains had revealed white fur underneath all the dirt, and with a good bath, the mongrel would actually be a handsome beast. She had a slim snout and bright eyes and a way of prancing that said she was too good for the other dogs huddled under carts or scavenging in rubbish.
“Perhaps he’s not at home,” Strawberry said. She stood straight now, her eyes on the upper windows of the fencing ken.
“He’s home, and he’ll let me in. He owes me.”
“What does he owe you?”
Gideon heard heavy footsteps behind the door. “A favor.”
The door cracked open, and Gideon pushed it wider, causing Des to stumble back. The man looked like he’d been up all night. He probably had. His blond hair stood out at all angles, and the stubble on his chin glinted gold in the sunlight. His eyes were shot through with red, making the blue color even brighter.
“Wot the fuck do you want?” he growled.
“Watch your language,” Gideon said with a grin. He jerked a thumb at Strawberry. “There’s a lady present.”
“What lady?”
The door opened wider to reveal a buxom brunette in a shift that hid absolutely nothing of her lush curves. In fact, she might have looked more respectable naked.
Strawberry didn’t move, her gaze riveted on Brenna, so Gideon prodded her forward. When Beauty tried to follow, Des held up a hand.
“The dog stays outside.”
Strawberry’s chin notched up two inches, and Gideon wanted to weep. They’d been so close. So close.
“If Beauty stays outside, so do I,” she said, her tone haughty.
Des’s blue eyes all but popped out of his head. He looked at Gideon, the unspoken question so loud, Gideon almost winced.
“Miss Susanna Derring, meet Des…what the hell is your surname anyway?”
Brenna pushed Des out of the way. “Where are your manners? Let’s make the introductions inside. You can bring the dog, love.” The hint of an Irish accent hung about Brenna’s words. The London accent hadn’t quite overtaken it.
Inside, Brenna lit a lamp and bid everyone to sit on the mismatched chairs scattered about the tiny living quarters behind the shop. The shop was shuttered at the moment, but Des would open it later, displaying the silk wipes prominently and exchanging blunt for goods quick as lightning.
While Brenna bustled about making tea, Gideon tried the introductions again.
“Desmond Stewart, but everyone calls me Des,” he interrupted. “This is Brenna, and you, Miss Susanna Derring, are new to Field Lane.”
“She is, and we’re in a bit of trouble.”
Des laughed. “When are you not in trouble? I suppose you want to hole up here for the day. Well, I don’t need your trouble coming in here—”
“Des!” Brenna slammed a cup on the table with enough force that Gideon worried it would shatter. “Of course they’re welcome. We can’t put this girl out on the streets.”
“Ye’re certainly free with the invitations, considering this isn’t even yer home.”
Susanna’s eyes widened, and Gideon figured she’d just then realized Des and Brenna weren’t married.
Gideon leaned back in his chair, his tired muscles glad for the respite. “I didn’t want to have to mention this, but you do owe me a favor.”
