The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs)

by Shana Galen

  “Then don’t mention it,” Des snapped.

  “Now what’s this?” Brenna crossed her arms over her chest, causing the shift to dip even lower.

  “A trifle,” Des answered. “You can stay until nightfall, and we’re even. There’s room in the cellar.”

  “The cellar!” Brenna sloshed the tea she’d been pouring on the table, and Gideon had to yank his hand away to prevent it from being burned. “Look at these poor folk. We’ll give them the bedroom.”

  She set the kettle down, but before she could reach for the bread she’d set out, Des pulled her into his lap. “I thought we were using the bedroom.”

  She giggled and waved a hand at him. “Time enough for that later.”

  “There’d better be.” Des gave her a playful kiss and tugged her bodice down, revealing one bulbous breast. He tweaked it, then set her on her feet and lightly swatted her bottom. Brenna laughed, adjusted her shift, and set out bread and jam.

  Gideon reached for the bread, but Strawberry didn’t so much as breathe. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  Her face was as red as her hair, and her mouth shaped into a small O. No doubt she was shocked by the display of affection she’d just witnessed.

  Gideon rather liked the idea of shocking her further.

  When they’d eaten, Beauty curled up by the stove to stretch her full belly, and Brenna led Strawberry upstairs to wash and change. Gideon recounted the events of the past night and morning to Des, and by the time he was done, Brenna tiptoed down the stairs, wearing Strawberry’s silk ball gown.

  “She’s asleep. Poor love is exhausted.”

  Gideon indicated the too-small gown that stretched to the point of ripping over her hips and breasts. “Did you steal her clothes?”

  “I gave her one of my dresses. If you’re to continue dragging her through London, Gideon Harrow, this isn’t the most practical attire.”

  “It looks fetching on you,” Des said with a look in his eyes Gideon knew well.

  “How did you find her?” Brenna asked. “I vow she’s innocent as a babe. Asked if Des and me were married.” She guffawed at that thought. “Blushed to the roots of her hair when I stripped this gown off her.” She pointed at Gideon. “You’d better be careful with her. She’s a virgin or I’m not Brenna O’Shea.”

  Gideon raked a hand through his hair. His eyelids were heavy, and he envied Strawberry her slumbers. “I wouldn’t touch her,” he said. “The sooner I’m rid of her, the better.”

  “Good,” Brenna said with a nod.

  “Very good,” Des said. “Come sit on my lap, Brenna love.”

  “Oh, I’m Brenna love now, am I? Before, I was too free with the invitations.”

  “My mistake.” Des tugged her down, and Gideon rose.

  “I’ll just…” But they weren’t paying him any heed. He made his way upstairs, leaving Brenna’s giggles behind. The door of the one room above had been left cracked. Strawberry lay on the bed, one hand curled under her chin. She wore one of Brenna’s dresses, a pretty green material that swirled around her legs. The smudge of ash was gone from her cheek, and her hair fanned out around her head like a halo of fire.

  Gideon wanted to crawl into bed beside her.

  He wanted to wake her with kisses and slow caresses.

  He wanted… He wanted what he knew he could never have.

  Nine

  “Oh, Dorothea!” Lady Chesterly said as she promenaded into the Dowager Countess of Dane’s boudoir and swept the dowager into an embrace reeking of cologne. Dorothea tried to breathe shallowly so as not to be overcome by the scent of rose petals.

  Finally Florentia released her and settled on the cream silk-upholstered chair beside the lavender chaise longue where Dorothea reclined.

  Florentia’s small hazel eyes swept over her friend, and then she snapped her fingers at Edwards. “Tell the housekeeper we need tea sweetened with brandy right away.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Edwards said.

  “And some of those delicious biscuits as well.” Florentia patted Dorothea’s shoulder. “You must keep up your strength, dear.”

  No matter that the biscuits were Florentia’s personal favorite. Dorothea didn’t want a biscuit. She didn’t want tea. She didn’t even want her dear friend.

  She wanted her daughter.

  “I came as soon as I received your note,” Florentia said. “You wrote the matter was urgent, but I must confess I did not expect to see you like this. My dear, I’m worried.”

  Dorothea reflected that was because she had rarely ever felt this close to losing her composure. She hadn’t wept and railed when Erasmus had died. She had cried silent, private tears over the babes she’d lost all those many years ago. And she’d almost wept at Dane’s wedding to that horribly unsuitable Marlowe. But she’d been strong. She’d had to be strong, because there was no place in this world for a weak woman.

  That’s what she’d tried to teach Susanna. And now the child was missing.

  “Please tell me what ails you. Shall I call for the doctor?” Florentia asked.

  “No,” Dorothea said.

  Florentia peered around the small but well-appointed boudoir. It contained a small desk, two chairs and the chaise longue, and a tulipwood table on which to serve tea. The windows faced the gardens, but Dorothea had ordered the curtains shut. The light hurt her eyes this afternoon.

  “Where is Susanna?” Florentia asked. “Is she not attending you?”

  Dorothea pressed her lips together. “Susanna is the reason I begged you to come,” Dorothea said in a whisper. “She’s…” She could not seem to say the words aloud. She’d heard them said. Crawford had said them and then Brook had, after he’d done a cursory search. But Dorothea feared if she spoke the words, the situation would become real.

  Florentia leaned close. “She’s…?”

  Dorothea dug her nails into the soft flesh of her palm, willing the tears back. She swallowed, humiliated by the sound her gulp made in the back of her throat.

  “She’s ill?” Florentia guessed.

  “No.” Dorothea shook her head. She should speak and not force her poor, dear friend to conjecture.

  “She’s engaged?”

  Dorothea closed her eyes against the sting of tears. If Susanna’s disappearance became known, her daughter would never find a husband.

  “She’s with child!” Florentia whispered.

  “No!” Dorothea shrieked. She could not bear to think of that consequence as a result of her daughter’s foolish actions. She closed her eyes and attempted to calm herself. “She’s run away.”

  Florentia gasped. “Surely not! You must be mistaken.”

  Dorothea shook her head. “I’m not. I slept late this morning. The storms last night woke me, and I did not rest well.”

  Florentia made a sound of agreement. “Yes, it was quite a storm. We lost a yew tree.”

  Dorothea gave her friend a severe look, and Florentia pursed her lips together, chastised.

  “Edwards woke me because Susanna’s maid was concerned. Susanna was not in her bedchamber, and her bed had not been slept in.”

  “Was she home with you last night?” Florentia asked.

  “Yes, yes.”

  Brook had already asked her all of these questions.

  “Oh dear,” Florentia said quietly. Her tone sent a shiver of apprehension through Dorothea. Certainly, Dorothea had imagined every possible scenario, but she could not quell the urge to ask her friend to elaborate. “Do you think it possible Susanna eloped?” Florentia asked.

  “Certainly not. I have kept her safe and secure, away from any men of that sort.” Dorothea wanted to add that Susanna would never do such a thing to her devoted mother. Her daughter had to know it would break her mother’s heart. She did not add the statement though, because if Susanna cared about not breaking her
mother’s heart, she would be here now.

  “What does Sir Brook say?” Florentia inquired. “Surely, he will have her home at any moment.”

  “I would have thought so, but he has been gone for hours,” Dorothea said, her voice beginning to shake. “He found no sign of forced entry or violence. In fact, the only missing article is a candlestick.”

  “One candlestick?”

  Dorothea nodded.

  “Odd. What does Sir Brook make of it?”

  Dorothea dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “You know Brook. He never speculates. So here I sit and wait. My darling Susanna could be in trouble, and I can do nothing to help her.”

  “Calm yourself, my dear Dorrie.” Florentia patted her shoulder. It did nothing but irritate Dorothea, and she regretted asking the woman to come. She did not want to be patted. Florentia continued to pat away.

  “You should not blame yourself.”

  Dorothea jumped to her feet, grabbing the edge of the chaise longue for support. “Why on earth would I blame myself?”

  Florentia hunched her shoulders, looking very much like a turtle that wanted to disappear into its shell. “You should not. I misspoke.”

  “No, you didn’t. You think this is my fault. Don’t you?” She pointed an accusatory finger at Florentia. “Don’t you?”

  Florentia made a show of peering at the door behind Dorothea. “Is that the tea?”

  “Damn the tea.”

  Florentia’s small eyes widened.

  “You think I protect her too much.”

  “She is your daughter. Of course you must protect her.”

  But Dorothea knew when she was being appeased. “But you think I protect her too much.”

  Florentia slumped and creased the material of her gown between two fingers. “I think you love her very dearly. After the losses you suffered, how could you not?”

  Dorothea sank onto the chaise longue. All the air in her lungs seemed to whoosh out. “Exactly.”

  “But…”

  Dorothea’s chin jerked up.

  “She might not have understood your motivations. Children sometimes rebel against being held too tightly.”

  “And you would know this because of your vast parenting experience?”

  Florentia’s cheeks reddened, and Dorothea immediately felt ashamed of her outburst.

  “I am not helping.” Florentia rose. “I should go.”

  “Wait.” Dorothea held out a hand, and Florentia took it reluctantly.

  “Perhaps I have been a bit strict with her. I didn’t want her to make the same mistakes I did.”

  “Of course you didn’t.”

  “I was too hard on her. I should have been more loving. I should have showed her more affection. God knows Erasmus could hardly bear to look at her.”

  “Do you think he knew?”

  “He was no fool. I don’t think he would have blamed me, if it hadn’t been for Susanna.” Dorothea buried her head in her hands. “And now,” she said, her voice muffled, “she asks me to take her to Vauxhall Gardens. The girl has no notion what she asks of me.”

  “Surely you would be safe going now.”

  Dorothea shook her head. She refused to raise it. She would not be seen crying. “I will never be safe there.”

  She would never be safe anywhere. For all her efforts to keep her daughter safe, Susanna was lost to her. She might never see the girl again. And she hadn’t even told her that she loved her.

  And now it was too late.

  “My lady?” The butler tapped on the door.

  Dorothea wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “Yes, Crawford. Come in.”

  He entered, his lips pinched with strain. He nodded at Lady Chesterly and presented a polished silver salver, perched on top of his white-gloved hands. A yellowed, crumpled playbill lay in the center.

  “A woman and a child arrived at the servants’ entrance just now, my lady. I would have sent them away, but the woman produced this…” He eyed the dirty paper, seeming uncertain how to describe it. “This playbill.”

  “I fail to see how this concerns me. We do not feed beggars. Send her on her way.”

  “The woman, a Mrs. Castle, claims Lady Susanna wrote a message on the back.”

  “Susanna?” Dorothea snatched the dirty paper off the tray and turned it over. Indeed, on the back in what looked to be marking pencil, was a short note in Susanna’s handwriting.

  Dear Mama,

  Bess Castle is an exceptional seamstress who has shown me great kindness. I would be most grateful if you would ask Crawford to employ her and her daughter at Derring House. You are always saying a good seamstress is invaluable.

  Your daughter,

  Susanna

  A postscript had been added, the words squeezed together.

  I will be home soon.

  “She will be home soon!” Dorothea thundered. “She will be home soon! Does she think she is on holiday? Where is this woman, Crawford? I want to speak with her. I want to know where she last saw my daughter.”

  “I thought you might, my lady. In fact, I have taken the liberty of sending Nathaniel to fetch Sir Brook and bring him here.”

  “Very good, Crawford,” Florentia said.

  “And I inquired of Mrs. Castle from whence she hailed.”

  Dorothea leaned forward. “And?”

  “The address she gave me is in St. Giles, my lady. Seven Dials, to be precise.”

  Dorothea sank to the chaise.

  Seven Dials. Her dear, sweet daughter had been in Seven Dials. Dorothea would kill her.

  If she wasn’t already dead.

  Ten

  Susanna jolted awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar sounds of a hoarse woman hawking meat pies and a group of men arguing about someone called Sir John Barleycorn. Opening her eyes did not reassure her. The room was unfamiliar, and it took her seven fast, hard heartbeats to remember where she was.

  Unfortunately, those were followed by four or five painful clenches in her chest when she felt the warm, solid figure beside her. The curtains on the windows in the room were so thin she could see through them, and Gideon’s dark hair on the pillow beside her gleamed in the filtered sunlight. Strands of light brown and gold were woven among the darker hair.

  His arms were wrapped around his chest in a protective gesture. Either that or he wanted to touch her as little as possible. She could have spent hours studying his long, nimble fingers or his lean, powerful frame.

  But her gaze drifted immediately to his face. That aspect of him she could not freely examine any other time. His eyelids hid his beautiful green eyes, and his mouth was slack with sleep. He looked quite young without his lips twisted in a mocking grin.

  His head was angled in such a way she could easily scrutinize his scar. It must have been red at one time, but age had faded it to white. It started at his temple, just at the hairline, and slashed across an inch of skin to bisect his dark eyebrow. He was fortunate he hadn’t lost an eye.

  “Are you done gawking at me?”

  Susanna squealed and jumped back. The bed was not wide enough to accommodate her startled movement, and she would have fallen had Gideon not reacted quickly. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and he yanked her back.

  He yanked a bit too hard though. She ended up sprawled on top of his chest. When she tried to lever herself up and away, he held her in place with his hands pressed against her back.

  “Take a good look,” he said. “It’s repulsive and yet strangely fascinating.”

  Susanna shook her head. “It’s not repulsive.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to study her for a long moment. He’d said she was a terrible liar. Could he see that she did not lie now?

  Could he see she didn’t find anything about him repulsive in the le
ast?

  Quite the opposite, in fact.

  Gideon shoved her aside. Sitting, he ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. “You want to know how I got it, don’t you?”

  “I don’t mean to pry.”

  He laughed without humor. “No. You want to stare at me while I sleep, but you don’t want to pry.”

  She looked down and noted the bodice of the dress Brenna had given her dipped rather low. Susanna tugged it up. “You are correct. My behavior was unpardonable. It won’t happen again.”

  He stared at her with a look of complete bewilderment on his face. “You really mean it, don’t you?” He stroked a finger down her cheek, and she tried very hard not to shy away from his touch. “You’re so prim and proper.” His hand dipped lower to the hollow of her throat. “Makes me want to corrupt you.”

  His finger trailed the neckline of the bodice she’d just yanked up.

  “What if I don’t want to be corrupted?” She grasped his finger in her hands and drew it away from her chest.

  “What if you do?”

  She tried to pull her hand away, but he had managed to twist his wrist. Now he held her hand captive.

  “All I want is for you to act as my guide to Vauxhall Gardens. Nothing more.”

  “Nothing?”

  When his eyes met hers, her throat tightened. She couldn’t speak, and shook her head feebly.

  “Not even a kiss?”

  “No!” she choked out.

  “Huh.” He nodded as though her answer surprised him. “I’ll tell you how I received my scar.”

  “You will?”

  “If you tell me why it’s so important for you to go to Vauxhall.”

  She ought to have known. He was a thief, after all. Nothing was free.

  “Then again, it’s your choice. You don’t have to tell me,” he said, finally releasing her hand. His green eyes cut to the thinly veiled window. “If you do, I might be more willing to risk my neck when night falls.”

  “Can’t we go now? My mother must be out of her head with worry, and my brother is most certainly searching for me.”