by Shana Galen
But when it was over, and he moved away to right his clothing, she knew it was not what she wanted at all. She wanted more than his mouth and his hands. She wanted his eyes on hers, his body pressed against hers, his lips calling out her name in ecstasy.
She wanted all of him.
* * *
“We can’t stay here,” Gideon said after she’d dressed. A pity she had to dress. She had the most beautiful body he’d ever seen. She was long and lean and fit him perfectly. Her pale flesh was perfect, not a single blemish or pockmark to mar it.
He’d never seen a woman so perfect—not that he’d seen that many, but enough.
The hair at the junction of her thighs had been the same red gold as that on her head, and when he’d parted her legs, she’d been red and ripe as a strawberry.
He hadn’t taken her.
She thought that was what she wanted, but she would have come to regret losing her virtue to him. She wouldn’t regret the pleasure. He knew that much.
She looked at him over her shoulder, arms raised as she attempted to twist all of that thick, long hair into a neat and tidy style. She wouldn’t succeed. It was too wild and tangled now, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The more wanton she looked, the more beautiful.
“To Vauxhall?” she asked, her lips curling into a smile.
“Yes. We should go tonight. We were seen at the public house.”
She lowered her hands, giving up on her hair. “By whom?”
“I don’t know. It’s a feeling. When you live in the rookeries long enough, you learn to trust your instincts. We should go.”
She checked her dress and glanced at the dog. “I’m ready.”
He wished he could say the same. He’d take her to Vauxhall, and then she’d be through with him. He’d have served his purpose.
That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted his necklace and a new life. He wanted to put London behind him, to put Gideon Harrow behind him.
She lifted her glim-stick from the table with a ghost of a smile. He wondered if she was smiling because she would soon be back in the house the glim-stick had come from. She’d soon have her old life back.
“Let’s go then. Stay close to me until we’re away from Field Lane.”
He opened the door, and Stub grinned at him.
“’Ello, Gideon. Remember me?”
Fifteen
Gideon didn’t think. He yanked the glim-stick from Susanna’s hand and slammed it across Stub’s cheek. Stub staggered back. Gideon dropped the weapon and grabbed Susanna’s hand. “Run!”
He dragged her through the door and pulled her into the street. A few feet from Des’s dolly shop, Racer stepped into his path. The dog barked and growled long enough to distract Racer, and Gideon stuck out a shoulder and sent Racer toppling to his arse. It wouldn’t stop him long, and Racer was fast enough to catch them without even winding himself.
Their only chance was to lose the cubs in the narrow, winding streets of the rookery and then head for Vauxhall. But eluding Beezle’s gang was no easy task when Racer and Stub knew the area as well as he.
“This way!” He pulled her into a crowded gin house and shoved people aside to wend his way through the room. They stumbled out the rear, and Gideon slammed the door and pressed his back against the building. The yard was strewn with trash and puddles he did not want to examine too closely. Susanna coughed, gagging at the stench.
“Now what?” she asked, her forearm covering her nose.
“There’s a loose board in that fence. We make it through before Racer remembers he can cut us off. If we make it to Fleet Street, we might have a chance. They won’t expect us to head for the pleasure gardens. They’ll think we’re hiding underground and double back. Can you run?”
She grinned at him, and he shook his head, wondering if he imagined it. No. She was having a wonderful time. Probably thought this was as diverting as any night at the theater.
Daft mort.
It was better than a night at the theater. How could he not grin back at her?
He took her hand and dashed with her through the yard. Lifting the board, he pushed her through first then ducked and went through himself. She stood rigid on the other side of the fence, and he grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
“Gideon,” she whispered, fear in her voice.
He dropped her hand.
Beezle had a knife to her throat.
* * *
She didn’t scream. The point of the knife dug into her neck, and except for the shaking she could not control, she was too terrified to move. She wanted to close her eyes and open them again at home. She wanted to hug her mother one last time, tell her she was sorry for disappointing her.
Across the narrow street, women called down to men below, and the men answered with equally inappropriate responses. No one seemed to notice or care that she was about to die.
She heard footsteps and darted her eyes in their direction.
“Racer.” The man holding the knife to her throat acknowledged the newcomer. Now Gideon was outnumbered. In the dim light escaping from the bawdy house, she could read Gideon’s expression. His lips pressed tightly together, and his eyes blazed with fury. He stared at the knife’s point on her neck.
She closed her eyes. This would be a good time to pray he didn’t attempt anything rash.
She heard a distant rumble and realized it was thunder. None of the men so much as glanced at the sky.
“Beezle. Racer.” Gideon gave them mock bows. “Lovely night for a stroll.”
So this was Beezle. She understood why Gideon didn’t like the man. She didn’t particularly care for him at the moment either.
“You know I’ll kill you,” Beezle said. “Give me what I want now, and I’ll do it quickly and spare the girl.”
“The necklace?” Gideon tapped his chin. “That’s a problem. I don’t have it with me.”
“Fetch it.” Beezle jerked the knife in the direction of the street then laid it back against her skin. “We’ll wait.”
Thunder rumbled again. And again.
No, that last hadn’t been thunder.
Her eyes darted down at Beauty, poking her head through the opening in the fence. The dog gingerly stepped through, growling low in her throat.
“Git!” Racer shouted and lunged at Beauty. She bared her teeth and stood her ground, legs splayed wide, head low.
“How rude of me,” Gideon said in that easy voice. “Beezle, this is Beauty. She has a fondness for Susanna—that’s the woman you’re poking with that knife. If you don’t release Susanna, Beauty will rip your throat out.” He smiled.
“Call off the buffer, Gideon.” Beezle gestured with the knife again.
Susanna jerked to the side. Beezle held tight to her waist, but she’d thrown him off balance. They stumbled, and Beauty attacked. Beauty flung herself at Beezle, the weight of her body sending Susanna to the hard street. Gideon yanked her up.
“Run!”
“Beauty!” Susanna screamed.
“Run!” Gideon shoved her.
She ran blindly, knocking into men who’d come to have a look at the commotion. She pressed through them until she reached a T. Left or right? Hands on her knees, she heaved in a breath and wiped her tears on her sleeve.
Thunder boomed in the distance.
“Go right!”
She whipped around. Gideon held Beauty under one arm and ran like a man possessed. “Go right!” he yelled again.
She arrowed to the right, Gideon following close behind. He stayed on her heels, even when it meant slowing down to maneuver around a circle of boys throwing dice, or two men arguing over the carcass of a dog killed in a fight. The prostitutes cheered her on when she ran past, obviously thinking she was one of them.
No one offered any assistance—n
ot that she would have taken it. Still, Susanna’s faith in humanity was sorely tested.
“Head for Fleet Street,” Gideon yelled.
She threw him a bewildered look. For all she could recognize of their surroundings, they might have been in China.
“This way.” He led the way, increasing his pace with an ease she envied. The thrill of escape had given her the energy to run this far, but her strength was flagging.
He turned left and then right and then left and left again. She was lost in the maze. “Gideon,” she called, slowing to a jog, “I can’t.”
“Almost there.” He slowed, but not as much as she wanted. She trudged forward, tripping on the ill-fitting boots. Her legs were heavy and numb. Finally, Gideon pulled her against the side of a building, and she rested her head on the stone wall.
Thunder boomed again. A light drizzle fell, cooling her heated skin. “What’s wrong with Beauty?” she managed between pants.
He looked at the dog, tucked under his arm like a parcel. “Nothing. I had to pull her off Beezle, and I didn’t want to lose her when we ran.”
He slicked wet hair out of his eyes and set the dog down. “What are you smiling about?”
“You like her.” She nodded to Beauty.
He poked his head around a corner and surveyed Fleet Street. The sounds of carriages and people passing—most of them coming from or going to either Fleet or Newgate prisons—made her feel strangely safe. Beezle would not dare attack them in the middle of Fleet Street.
She bent and scratched Beauty’s head. “And you like him too, don’t you?” she cooed. Beauty pushed her head into Susanna’s hand then jumped up and licked her face.
“Disgusting,” Gideon remarked. “Dog spit.”
She rose. “Don’t be jealous. She’ll kiss you next time.”
His lip curled, and he peeked around the corner again.
“Now what?”
“Now we make our way to Vauxhall. I’m about to steal a gig to drive us there.” He pointed an accusatory finger. “Don’t argue with me.”
“Why would I argue?”
“Because you have a misguided sense of morals and principles?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my morals. In this case, the threat of murder trumps the sin of stealing. We take the carriage.”
He did it so easily and so smoothly, she wasn’t ready when he called to her from the seat on the box. She supposed she’d expected a commotion or a protest from the groom. She’d heard nothing.
He helped her up, and she called to Beauty. The dog barked once, then jumped into the seat. With a flick of the reins, the gig jerked into motion.
“Forgive my driving. I haven’t done this often.”
“I’d take over, but my mother says it’s unseemly for ladies to drive.”
He curled his lip. “The more I hear of your mother, the less I like her. Clearly, you should be the one to drive.” He offered her the reins.
“I just told you—”
“Susanna, drive.”
She changed places with him and gave the horse a bit of slack, which immediately caused the animal to run faster. The quick pace and the traffic on Fleet Street both terrified and exhilarated her. She threw her hair over her shoulder and tested the reins. Her brothers had discussed driving for hours on end, and she knew the basics even if she had never put that knowledge into practice. She guided the horse right and left, steering him around obstacles and in whichever direction Gideon indicated.
Finally, they crossed Waterloo Bridge and left the city behind for open fields and scattered farmhouses. Gradually, that gave way to inns and taverns, a glassworks building, and the larger houses of several wealthy families.
By the time they reached Lambeth, the drizzle had all but stopped, and the thunder moved off into the distance. When she heard the faint notes of the violin and cello, Gideon told her to slow. She stared at a three-story symmetrical house and a group of people entering it, most likely proceeding into the pleasure gardens. Gideon directed her to drive on, and they soon reached Kennington Lane. Grooms walked the horses of those who had come by carriage, and Gideon directed her to pass them and stop under a tree, the darkness providing them cover. Weary but exhilarated, she hopped down into Gideon’s arms.
“You’re glowing,” he said, holding her far longer than was appropriate.
“I could drive all night.” She gave the gig a wistful glance. “I do hope the horse finds his owner again.”
“So do I.” He set her down and lightly slapped the horse’s rump. Horse and empty gig clopped off into the night.
Susanna pointed back along the lane. “That’s it, isn’t it? Vauxhall Gardens?”
“That’s it. Now we have one last problem. No blunt for admission.”
“How will we gain entrance?”
“I’m glad you asked.”
He led her far away from the lights and noise of the arriving carriages, into the shadows and the darkness of the field and the night. The grass here was long and unkempt, and she stumbled over rocks several times. Beauty ran ahead of them, flushing out rabbits and birds. Gideon kept a hand on her elbow, steadying her. He must have had eyes like a cat’s to see so well in the dark.
“This is about right,” he said and moved closer to the wall of the perimeter. Susanna looked up. She could certainly not climb that high, and if he did, how would he manage to help her climb over? How could they be certain they wouldn’t be caught sneaking in? They couldn’t see what was on the other side.
“Not up, Strawberry,” Gideon said. “Look down.”
He crawled along the base of the wall, reaching into the thick foliage growing along the wall. Beauty sniffed the ground alongside him then seemed to form an idea and trotted ahead. A moment later, she began to dig furiously, and Gideon rose and jogged to her.
He knelt, his head disappearing into the bushes. When he backed out, he shook leaves out of his hair. “Dog found it.”
“Found what?”
“Our entrance. Follow me, my lady.” And he dropped down to his knees.
* * *
Brook stood at the Proprietor’s House, the entrance of the pleasure gardens, and studied the men and women streaming past. He’d followed one or two for a better look, but none of the women had been Susanna.
The crowds here were better dressed and better smelling than those he’d encountered on Field Lane. They didn’t look at him like he smelled of refuse either, the way Des Stewart had when Brook had slammed him into the wall of his own dolly shop.
“I don’t know where they are, thief-taker,” Des spat, his face turning red from the pressure of Brook’s hand on his neck.
“How do you know who I seek?”
“Ye’ve accosted ’alf the people on the street. Word is out.”
Probably true. “The word I have is you were seen with my sister.”
“Your sister?” Des’s blue eyes bulged. “I never so much as laid eyes on ’er.”
With his free hand, Brook produced a miniature from his pocket. He held it in front of Des’s eyes. Recognition flickered before Des could hide it.
“Talk.” Brook squeezed Des’s throat for emphasis.
“I didn’t know she were your sister. I swear.”
“If you touched her…”
“No! Put me down. I’ll talk. I swear. I were only trying to ’elp out a crony.”
Brook lowered Des and loosened his grip, but he didn’t step back or give the fence any room to run. “What crony?”
“Gideon ’Arrow. ’E’s one of the Covent Garden Cubs.” He wiped sweat from his brow.
“I know him.” And what the hell was a rook like Gideon Harrow doing with Susanna? Gideon knew Marlowe, but as far as Brook knew, she’d never invited any of her former rooks into Derring House.
“Gid needed a place to lay low.
’Alf of London is after ’im. I owed him a favor.” His blond hair was damp with sweat now, and Brook could smell the fear on him.
“And my sister?”
“Gid called her Strawberry. I never asked her real name. ’E weren’t ’olding ’er against ’er will. I don’t ’old with that.”
“And Miss Brenna O’Shea? Can she vouch for you?”
Des closed his eyes in a wince of pain. “Don’t ’arass ’er. She gave the girl tea and something to eat. Brenna’s a good girl.”
Brook tapped Des’s damp shirt. “If anything has happened to my sister, I’ll be back. You and Miss Brenna will spend time in Newgate.” He strolled away, past a pile of silk handkerchiefs. Half the monograms hadn’t even been removed.
“Don’t say that, Derring!” Des called after him. “I didn’t do nothing!”
Brook had climbed into the Derring coach and instructed the coachman to drive to Vauxhall Gardens. Brook was not a man given to gambling. He would not have risked money on the chance Susanna had gone to Vauxhall. But it was all he had left. His mother had said she’d mentioned it. Brook didn’t know what the devil Susanna had been thinking, what made her want to see Vauxhall, but he did know she could be determined.
Would she run away just to see Vauxhall? He didn’t think she was that foolish, but what did he know of women?
And how was Gideon Harrow involved? He’d liked the thief when he’d met him—as much as Brook could like a thief. But if he was with Susanna, Brook would see him locked away on a prison hulk for the rest of his life. Hanging was too good for the bastard.
Two hours in front of the Proprietor’s House at Vauxhall had proved fruitless though. Neither Susanna nor Gideon had gone in or out. He’d walked back to his coach, head down, gaze on his boots.
If she wanted to go to Vauxhall, what would stop her?
No carriage.
No coin for the ferry.
No…
Brook stopped, and a man almost ran into him. With a curse, the man pushed past him and Brook turned back.
