by Shana Galen
She flicked her eyes at him. “I don’t believe that.”
When she looked at him like that, with those big brown eyes that had seen so little of the world and none of the cruelties he witnessed daily, he wanted it to be true. He wanted to be kind for her. He wanted to be the sort of man who deserved to lie beside her, touch her, breathe her rarified air.
“Of course you don’t. You’re one of them what believes the best about everybody.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t believe you’re innocent of theft.”
“Bet you think you can reform me.”
She looked away. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Do they?” He propped his chin on an elbow. “Care to prove that?”
She frowned at him and narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “I don’t know.”
Smart girl.
“I want another chance to kiss you.”
He didn’t think she could help the color that rose in her cheeks at his suggestion.
“Because I’m so kind?”
“Because I like you.”
“Despite the hair?”
Their gazes were locked, and he could feel his heart thundering in his chest.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Despite my bony frame?”
“A man’s tastes can change.” He ran a hand down her arm, the bare skin so soft it was like that of a newborn’s.
She curled her hands around his neck and tugged him down. “So can a woman’s.”
She pressed her lips to his, her touch tentative. Her stiff lips reminded him to hold back. She wasn’t for him. He would only sample, and he shouldn’t do even that.
But he wasn’t a gentleman. He wasn’t bound by duty and honor. In his world, men took what they wanted because life was short and they might have only one chance.
And so he kissed her. He kissed her because he shouldn’t, because Beezle would probably kill him this night, because once he saw her to Vauxhall Gardens he’d never see her again.
Because he’d never wanted to kiss a woman so badly.
Her fingers slid into his hair, and her mouth opened under his. Gideon registered surprise, but he’d been trained to take. She freely offered her mouth, her lips, and he plundered them. He slid over her, his body molding to hers, his hands cupping her cheeks.
His tongue touched hers, teased hers, then took possession. He slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her as though this was the last kiss either of them would ever have. He kissed her until he could feel her heart thudding just as hard as his against his chest.
He wanted to touch her, to show her what was possible between a man and a woman, but he kept his hands on her face, cradling her gently. He’d wait until she asked, and he knew that would be never.
And still, if this was all he would ever have of her, it was more than he deserved. It was more than enough.
“Gideon,” she said on a moan and arched her body to press into his. He didn’t even think she knew what she was doing. She had no idea how much she tested him and his self-discipline.
He nipped her lips lightly. “What do you want, sweetheart? Should I stop?”
“No!”
He grinned until she kissed him, and he forgot to grin, forgot to breathe, forgot to keep his hands off. Her small, shapely breasts filled his hands, the taut peaks pressing against his palms. They were the size of ripe peaches, and he imagined just as succulent. She moaned again then gasped when he tweaked one of her hard nipples.
Gideon froze. He knew he should remove his hands, but a man had only so much control. He raised his gaze to hers, expecting to see censure or anger.
“I didn’t know I could feel like that.” Her voice and her eyes were full of wonder and something else that resembled curiosity.
Oh, he could make her feel a hell of a lot more.
“Should I stop?”
“Oh, you are trying very hard to be the gentleman, aren’t you?”
“Not as hard as I should be.”
She arched her back, pushing herself fully into his hands. “Then don’t try. I like the rogue.”
She’d barely said the words when his mouth claimed hers again. He fully intended to kiss her senseless, but it was his senses that seemed to take leave when she met his kisses with her own, which were just as passionate, just as full of need.
He yanked down her stays and her shift, revealing the warm, round flesh of her breast to his callused hand. She was perfect, and he reluctantly broke the kiss to put his mouth on her flesh. The curve of her breast was as soft as satin, the flesh like a snow-laden rise before his eyes. Her pink nipple jutted proudly at the center, and he trailed his tongue across her breast until he could circle it. She made a sound of pleasure, and he lapped at her then blew cool air, causing her to dig her fingers into the back of his neck.
He flicked his gaze to hers, but her eyes were closed, her face flushed, her lips parted. Oh, he was a saint. He’d never been so tempted. His cock had never throbbed and demanded the way it did now at the view of womanly beauty and desirability offered before him.
Gideon put his lips on her nipple and gently sucked it into his mouth. He rolled it over his tongue, swirled the tip of his tongue around the hard bead, then sucked almost imperceptibly harder. He repeated the motions two then three times until at the final suck she cried out and thrust her hips so her core met his hard cock.
His vision dimmed slightly with the hard jolt of desire.
“Wh-what are you doing to me?” she asked, her words slurred with pleasure. Gideon felt a surge of triumph hard in his gut. He would never have believed her so receptive. If he but touched her between the legs, she would come apart. He slid a hand down her waist and over the swell of her hip—one firm press, even over the material of the gown. He had to see her face, watch her climax. Gideon wanted to know if she would be as beautiful as he imagined.
He cupped her warmth, and the door creaked open.
“No time for that, love,” Brenna said, her voice quick and hard. “We have trouble.”
Twelve
Susanna scrambled to tug her chemise over her bare skin and extricate herself from Gideon’s arms. She jumped to her feet in a tangle of hair and skirts and immediately felt foolish. Brenna wasn’t looking at them. She kept watch over her shoulder. Now that the blood wasn’t thrumming in her ears, Susanna heard voices below. Another woman and…Des? No. His voice was higher than the low rumble rising up the stairs.
“Who?” Gideon asked without preamble. He stood and scraped his hair back off his forehead, all the more handsome for being disheveled.
“Mrs. Cummings,” Brenna said, cutting her gaze to him then back over her shoulder.
“Shit.”
“She is, and ye weren’t none too wise to make an enemy of her. What’d ye do? Steal from her?”
Gideon didn’t answer, and Brenna laughed. “Ye’ve got balls, I’ll say that. First Beezle, now Mrs. Cummings. Do ye want to die?”
“Not particularly.” He pushed past Susanna and shoved the curtains aside.
Brenna stomped into the room and slammed the curtains closed again. “Don’t be daft. Ye’re not going out that way.”
“It’s the only way.”
Brenna hooked a thumb at Susanna. “Not with her. She can’t climb in those skirts. Couldn’t climb in trousers either, I wager.” She gave Susanna an assessing look and then glared at Gideon. “Or were ye thinking to leave her?”
“Mrs. Cummings doesn’t know her,” Gideon began.
Susanna clutched her chest when a sudden pain shot through her. He would have left her. A moment before, he’d been holding her, kissing her as though she were the only other person in the world. Now the coward was more than willing to be rid of her.
She must have made some sound, because Gideon turned his green eyes on her. “You would have
been fine, and I would have come back for you when she was gone.”
Because she had the necklace. That was the only thing he cared about.
“A fine plan,” Brenna interrupted, “but she’s looking for both of you. Next we’ll have Beezle at the door.”
“Goddamn snitches.”
Brenna sniffed. “What do ye expect when you make powerful enemies?” She gestured to them and swept across the room to fumble with a tapestry hanging on the far wall. It was an ugly thing, a depiction of a mythical dragon, and not a very good one, but Susanna had assumed the tapestry hid another crumbling wall. Instead, Brenna revealed a short door cut into the wall, the dark wood standing out against the crumbling plaster.
Brenna tugged on the round handle, but the door didn’t budge. “Can you lend some of that brawn, Gid?”
“I should have guessed,” he said, yanking on the door and freeing it with a creak. “This lead to one of the tunnels?”
“Aye, and at the end is the basement of a building Des would appreciate you forgot ever seeing.”
“I can do that.”
“You’d better.”
Susanna rose on tiptoes, peering over Gideon’s shoulder into the darkness of the passageway revealed by the door. The air that escaped smelled faintly of damp wood, and no light penetrated the darkness.
“I won’t forget your help,” Gideon told Brenna before grabbing Susanna’s hand. Her instinct was to tug away. She did not want to go into that darkness with him.
“We’ll see what you say after a few hours. This door is the only way in or out. Ye’d better stay there until Des comes for ye.”
With a grim look of resignation, Gideon tugged her forward. Susanna gripped the door’s casement. “What about Beauty?”
“The dog?” Brenna asked, with a quick look over her shoulder. “She’s a fine specimen. Growled at Mrs. Cummings, so I like her already. Now, you’d better hurry.” She pushed the door closed, and Susanna snatched her fingers inside. Darkness enveloped them, cutting off every last sliver of light.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark,” Gideon said, and though his words grated, his voice was reassuring. The hand on her wrist slid down her hand, and his fingers twined with hers. “Come on, Strawberry. If we stand too long in one place, the rats will think we’re dinner.”
“Rats!”
With a laugh, he tugged her forward. “Staircase here. Watch your step.”
Reluctantly, she put a hand on the damp wall and guided herself down the creaky slope of stairs. There were about a dozen, and then the ground evened out. The corridor seemed wide enough for the two of them, but she desperately wished for a lamp or candle so they would not be in complete darkness.
She jumped at the sound of scurrying feet nearby, and Gideon squeezed her hand. “It’s probably a cat.”
“But you said before—”
“I was hoaxing you.”
But he hadn’t been, and whatever she had heard had not been a cat.
“The rookeries are known for having hundreds of hidden tunnels. Helps when a rook needs to escape one of the thief-takers. They’re perfectly safe. I’ve been in them a hundred times.”
He pulled her forward as he spoke, and his voice soothed her frayed nerves. He must have known he had that effect, because he continued to speak at a slow, measured cadence.
“Another set of stairs, Strawberry.”
She slid her foot forward, feeling for the first step.
“We’ll hide down here for a time, and Des will come for us when it’s safe.”
Hand on the wall again, she negotiated the steps. “What if he doesn’t come?”
“He’s got a store of valuables down here. He doesn’t want us as permanent guests.”
The steps, only four or five this time, ended, and they were once again on flat ground. Gideon paused and released her hand. “I’m right here. Touch my back.”
She felt a fool, but she clung to the back of his shirt for comfort. His raised hands felt along a wall of some sort then rattled something made of iron.
“There’s the handle,” he said. With a shove, he opened a door. She stumbled after him, moving aside so he could close the door again.
When that was done, she stood in complete stillness as Gideon moved about. “Wipes and clothing,” he muttered, sorting through various handkerchiefs and shirts. Something rattled. “Sounds like silver.” He pressed something cold and solid into her hand. “Glim-stick, Strawberry. Your favorite.”
She tried to shove it back at him, but he closed his fingers over hers on the shaft. “Keep it. You might need it.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
He laughed then tugged her backward. “Sit.” Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her down onto a surprisingly soft surface. She moved back and forth then ran her fingers over the velvet material. It felt very much like a couch or chaise longue. She stretched her fingers but couldn’t feel the end of the furnishing.
“How is it a man ends up with clothing and furniture in a room underneath Field Lane?”
“I told you,” Gideon said, sitting beside her. “He fences stolen goods.”
“Who would steal a chaise longue? How would you even carry it off?”
“You don’t really want to know the answer to that, do you?”
“No.” She closed her eyes and felt tears sting the lids. With a sharp nip to her lips, she fought them back, but it would take more effort to keep them at bay. Her emotions raged wildly close to the surface. One moment she was running in fear of her life; the next moment her heart was pounding from the thrill of Gideon’s touch, and a moment later her legs were wobbling in terror.
She should be begging Gideon to take her back home. She wouldn’t put it past him to have engineered some of their close calls to elicit just that response from her.
If she asked, he’d take her home as soon as they were free of this…prison. She hesitated, but that’s what it was for the moment. She could be safe in her own home, dressed in clean clothing, comfortable in her own bed.
All she had to do was ask.
She drew a deep breath, but the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want her comfortable life back.
She didn’t even want to be rid of Gideon. She actually liked him. Perhaps that was part of the danger and the thrill. How long until he rid himself of her? How close to the fire did she dare to venture before he burned her?
Susanna wanted to be burned. She wanted him to kiss her again and touch her again and put his hands on her. She shouldn’t want that. Ladies didn’t have such wanton desires.
Nor did ladies traipse about the rookeries of London with known criminals.
“If my mother could see me now, she would probably need smelling salts to revive.”
“And that’s to be avoided?”
She laughed. He was always making her laugh, even when she did not want to laugh. “It’s never happened before. My mother has an unusually strong constitution.”
“Then we shall have to think of even more shocking antics if we want to properly distress her.”
Susanna ran her hand along the soft velvet of the chaise. She imagined it a rich eggplant in color, but she supposed it could as easily be an ugly golden yellow.
“It does not take much to distress my mother. I disappoint her daily.”
She felt Gideon shift beside her, and his fingers touched hers on the longue. “If that’s the case, what does it matter what you do? You disappoint her no matter what.”
Susanna opened her mouth to protest and immediately closed it again. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
Susanna ignored him. Something inside her had broken open, and she half expected light to pour from her chest. Her heart was suddenly weightless, her shoulders no longer encumbered b
y a yoke, her lungs expanded and filled with—
She coughed. The air in the underground room smelled moldy and felt heavy with dust. That wasn’t the point. Susanna could breathe. Finally, she could breathe.
She held Gideon’s hand in hers and squeezed. “You’re right,” she said again.
“I know. I’m alw—”
She slapped his hand on the chaise. “I cannot believe I didn’t realize this before. Nothing I do will ever make my mother approve of me. I will never please her. Why am I trying so hard?”
“Might you loosen your grip on my hand?”
She released him and stood, too filled with enthusiasm to sit still. “You don’t understand. I’m free now. I can do what I want—break all the rules. I’m done trying to be perfect.” She bounced on her toes, her feet all but coming out of the too-large boots she wore.
“I do applaud your sentiments, but you might think again before you break all the rules. From all appearances, you had a comfortable home with slaveys and plenty to eat. You might not like the way the rest of the city lives.”
She sank beside him. “Do you think I care about all of that?”
“Yes.”
She tried to elbow him, but he evaded her. “I don’t need servants and silk gowns and six courses at dinner.”
“You only say that because you’ve never lived without. If I were you—”
“Which you’re not.”
“True, but if I were, I’d make amends with your lady mother. I could put up with quite a great deal if it meant I’d end the day with a six-course meal every night.”
She laughed. “You’re just like Marlowe. All she did was eat when I first met her.”
Beside her, his body tensed. She felt as though the room grew darker and uncomfortably warmer.
“I’m nothing like Marlowe,” he said. “She always belonged with the swells. She tried to fit in with the rooks, but there was something about her too good for the likes of Satin and the Covent Garden Cubs. She’s where she should be now.”
She heard the note of longing in his voice and felt the accompanying stab of jealousy in her chest. Foolish to be jealous over his friendship with Marlowe. Marlowe was married to Dane, and blissfully so. Even if Marlowe had been free, it was not as though Susanna had any claim on Gideon or ever could. Their stations in life were too sharply divided.
