by Shana Galen
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Susanna asked. “After Father—Lord Dane—died.”
Her mother sat back. “The earl will always be your father, Susanna. He accepted you. You bear his name. Neither Robert nor I would take that from you. I should have told you. I was scared.”
“You?”
“I’m a silly old woman, too worried about what others think of me. No more.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means”—she leaned forward and kissed Susanna’s cheek—“I plan to be happy. I plan to smile and laugh and sing.”
“Sing?” Susanna was appalled. She’d never once heard her mother sing.
“Yes. And I would do something else. I do hope you approve.”
Susanna was too afraid to ask. Her mother had never asked for her approval.
“I would marry Robert.”
Susanna caught her breath, joy exploding within her. “Oh, yes! Do! You deserve happiness, Mama. I know your marriage was not a love match.”
“I want you to know your father, and I want you to be happy, Susanna. I love you, my darling.”
Susanna felt as though the words were an ax cleaving her already battered heart open so it was bare and vulnerable. Tears streamed down her face. “I love you too, Mama. I’m so sorry if I made you worry.”
Lady Dane hugged her tightly. “I’m happy you are home, safe and unharmed.” She pulled back. “You are unharmed?”
Susanna looked down at the white coverlet. “I’m no longer fit for marriage,” she whispered. Her mother took a deep breath, and Susanna cringed.
“Did he force you? Hurt you?”
“No.” Susanna tried to look up, but her gaze refused to meet her mother’s. “He was gentle and…loving.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No!” Susanna did raise her eyes. “I love him. I thought he felt the same.”
“Perhaps he does.”
“Then why did he leave?”
“I would think his leaving an even greater indication that he loves you. What could he offer you by staying? I know a little of him from Marlowe. He has nothing. By leaving, he gives you a chance at a better life. I respect him for that decision.”
“You what?”
Her mother chuckled. “The lower classes are not completely without their merits.”
“Are you sure you are my mother?”
Lady Dane laughed, another sound Susanna could not recall hearing.
“Yes, but listen well, Susanna. This family cannot withstand another mésalliance. Dane’s was quite enough. I would not marry Robert if I thought it would hurt the honor of our family, but Robert is the second son of a viscount. I am a widow and do not need to marry for status or money. You, however, are a different matter entirely.” She tucked the covers around Susanna. “You had better sleep. Robert will be here in the morning, and I’d like the two of you to spend time together.”
She frowned at Beauty, who crawled beside Susanna and laid her head on Susanna’s stomach.
“Do you really intend to sleep with this mongrel?”
Susanna patted Beauty. “She’s saved me more than once.”
Lady Dane sighed. “Very well. I don’t like it, but I suppose you are old enough to make your own decisions.”
Her bedchamber door opened and closed, and Susanna lay quiet and alone but for Beauty. She thought of Gideon and waking in his arms. Where was he now?
She wiped a tear from her cheek. No more crying. Her mother was right. She had made her decision.
Nineteen
Seeing her mother kiss Robert Southey jarred her. No matter how many times she witnessed the affection between her mother and her father, it still left Susanna feeling slightly shocked and disconcerted.
Her mother giggled. Her mother, the great dowager countess Lady Dane, blushed like a schoolgirl. Susanna had even caught her mother and Southey in a passionate embrace in the dining room. Her mother hadn’t even been embarrassed to be caught bent over the sideboard, her hair trailing in the kippers as Southey kissed her neck.
Now the two of them sat across from her in the coach, their hands entwined, their eyes locked. Susanna doubted they even remembered she was present. She didn’t know why she’d agreed to go with them to Vauxhall Gardens. But what else did she have to do?
Brook had disappeared again, back to his office on Bow Street or wherever he spent his days and nights.
Dane and Marlowe had returned to the country and Northbridge Abbey. Marlowe had asked Susanna to come, but she’d wanted to stay in Town and spend time becoming acquainted with her father.
As the coach neared Vauxhall, Susanna began to think this trip had been an error in judgment. The past week, she’d spent every waking moment not thinking about Gideon. Concentrating on that task kept her quite occupied. She couldn’t control her dreams, and most mornings she woke vaguely aroused and with a sick feeling of loss in her belly.
Her first thought upon waking was always Gideon.
Upon seeing the lights of the Proprietor’s House at Vauxhall, however, no amount of concentration could shut Gideon out of her mind. They’d walked there together, his hand in hers.
“Are you feeling unwell, dear?” Lady Dane asked.
Susanna jumped. She looked about and realized the carriage had stopped and the footman had opened the door, but she hadn’t moved.
“No,” she said, smiling tightly. “I was lost in my thoughts.”
“Good thoughts, I hope,” her father said.
He took her hand and handed her down from the carriage. He smiled kindly, and Susanna felt her heart swell. He was a wonderful man—kind, quiet, cheerful. He was exactly the sort of man her mother needed, and he brought out the best in her. He looked quite handsome in his new clothing. Her mother said he possessed a wardrobe full of stylish clothing, but most days he preferred his gardener’s garb. Even though he spent many hours in the small garden behind the town house, Vauxhall and its pleasure gardens was the place he’d wanted to come when her mother had asked if he cared for an evening out.
Susanna reminded herself she did want to see the gardens with Southey and her mother. This, after all, was where they had fallen in love. This was the place her mother had come to heal after the babies she’d lost. And this was the place she’d found Robert again. It seemed fitting the three of them should see it together.
Southey paid for their entrance, and Susanna wandered through the Proprietor’s House like the rest of the visitors. She walked slightly ahead of her mother and Southey, giving them privacy. When she emerged from the Proprietor’s House into the Grove, she looked up in wonder. It was so lovely, a place anyone might fall in love.
Her gaze darted to the tree where she and Gideon had stood that night, hiding from Brook. There was the path where they’d walked, his arm warm on the small of her back. And if she looked down The Great Walk, lit by hundreds of oil lamps, she imagined she could see the shadier path of The Dark Walk.
She closed her eyes, remembering Gideon’s hands on her skin as the fireworks exploded above.
“Susanna, this way,” her mother said, linking one arm with her and the other with Robert. “I want to show you my favorite arbor.” She tsked at Robert. “Not that one!”
The three of them strolled, Lady Dane and Robert laughing and talking. Susanna tried to smile, but everywhere she looked she saw Gideon. Every man with dark hair caught her attention, made her heart pound with anticipation.
Of course, he wasn’t here. She would never see him again. When would she stop thinking about him? Pining for him?
Finally, she begged to rest for a few moments in an arbor. Robert and her mother left to fetch a waiter to bring wine and ham. She suspected the errand was nothing more than an excuse for the two of them to steal kisses, but Susanna wanted a few minutes alone. She allowed her shoulders to slump
and closed her eyes, the grief washing over her.
Had he ever loved her? Even a little? Was her mother correct? He’d left her because he did love her? And why could she not forget him? They had no future. She’d always known that the daughter of an earl and a thief could never hope to have a life together.
But then again, she’d never thought a widowed countess and a gardener could find happiness.
“’Ello, Lady Susanna.”
Susanna gasped and jumped to her feet, whirling around.
A shadow in the darkness moved forward. “That’s yer name, right? Ye’re one of them Derrings. One of Marlowe’s gang.”
“Who are you?” she asked. “Don’t come any closer, or I shall scream. The constables are everywhere.”
“Oh, you don’t want to do that. If you scream, you save yerself but damn yer lover.”
“What are you talking about?”
She shuddered when the first fireworks popped, illuminating his face. It was Beezle. She should have screamed and run, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Her lover? Gideon?
“Come with me now, and ye ’ave a chance to save our mutual friend. Scream, and I kill him.”
Another firework popped. In the distance, the orchestra played, and someone laughed. The nightingales chirped.
Beezle, the snake in the garden, held out his hand. With a whimper, Susanna took it.
* * *
Gideon looked about Sir Brook’s office on Bow Street and wondered what the devil he was doing there. He wondered what the devil he was doing in London. If he had any sense, he’d be in Yorkshire or Scotland by now. He sure as hell wouldn’t be standing in the middle of Bow Street, thief-takers all around him and a stolen necklace in his pocket.
And he sure as hell wouldn’t be in the office of the man whose sister he’d defiled just eight nights ago.
But Gideon hadn’t been able to leave London. He’d tried. He’d made it as far as Richmond, and then he’d gone back. He’d found himself standing in front of Derring House, staring up at the lighted windows, wondering which one was hers, wondering if she was still in Town.
He was a cod’s head.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”
Gideon turned. “Good to see you too, Derring.”
“No it’s not. I should kill you.”
“But you won’t. Besides, I’m here to do a good deed.”
Derring stomped across the room and all but threw himself into the chair behind his desk. “You’ve decided to hang yourself?”
“No. I’ve decided to give you this.” Gideon’s hand faltered, and he forced it into his pocket. He grasped the necklace and pressed it tightly against his palm, feeling the edges and points of the diamonds cutting into his flesh.
Do it fast, Gid. That’s the only way.
He slammed the necklace down on the desk and stepped away, forcing his gaze to Derring’s face and not the sparkle of the jewels.
Derring looked at the necklace and then at Gideon. “What the devil is this?”
“Stolen goods. Thought you could find the owner.”
Derring’s eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for you?”
That was the very question Gideon had been asking himself. Every time he tried to leave London, the pull he felt for Susanna tugged him back. But that wasn’t all. Derring’s words that night outside the Three Ducks lodging house played over and over in his mind.
You could have been one of us.
The idea was ludicrous. Gideon Harrow, a Bow Street Runner. But the more he’d thought about it, the more the idea had taken root and dug deep.
He’d be a damned fine Runner. He knew all the rookeries, knew every gull and fambler and resurrection man. He knew every flash ken, every rag-and-bones shop, every school of Venus. Who would be a better Runner than he?
It wasn’t as though he liked filching. He’d never liked taking what wasn’t his. He’d done it to survive and because it kept the Covent Garden Cubs alive. But he didn’t belong to Beezle’s gang anymore.
He didn’t belong anywhere.
He met Derring’s gaze. “You said the Runners look after their own. I want that.”
Derring’s lip curled. “You think you can be a Runner?”
“I could be a hell of a Runner.”
Derring lifted the necklace, dangled it in front of him. Gideon’s gaze dropped to it and then back to Derring’s face.
“And how do I know this isn’t a game? Some new con?” Brook asked skeptically.
“Because Beezle wants me dead, and you’re holding my ticket out. I’m stone dead if I stay in London, but I’m still here.”
Derring didn’t say a word, merely fingered the necklace.
Footsteps pounded outside the office, and a sharp rap sounded.
“Come,” Derring said without looking away from Gideon.
“Sir.” A breathless voice could be heard over the creak of the door opening. “You’re needed—”
The Runner broke off, probably catching a look at Gideon.
Derring made a gesture with his finger. “Go on.”
“It’s your sister, sir.”
“What?” Derring had barely begun to rise when Gideon whirled around and grabbed the man by the throat.
“Lady Susanna?”
The man’s sharp eyes bulged with fear, and he shook his head.
“Get back.” Derring jerked Gideon’s shoulder, hauling him off the Runner. “What about my sister, Sawyer?”
“She was abducted, sir. From Vauxhall Gardens.”
Gideon’s mind raced. Vauxhall? What the hell was she doing at Vauxhall?
“Word came from one of the constables there. She was with your lady mother, and when the countess couldn’t find her, they began to search. They’re probably still searching. I was about to tell you, when this came.” He held out a dirty, torn pamphlet advertising a ridotto al fresco at Vauxhall Gardens.
Gideon couldn’t breathe as he watched Derring open the paper. It was as though a heavy wooden plank had been laid over his chest and piled high with rocks. The weight suffocated him.
Derring made a sound like a low growl in his throat and handed the pamphlet to Gideon. He didn’t read as fast as Derring, but he worked the words out.
“Where is this Rouge Unicorn Cellar?” Derring asked.
“Seven Dials.” Gideon threw the pamphlet on Derring’s desk. He would kill Beezle. He would strangle the man’s last breath from his body.
“We send a half-dozen men,” Derring said. “I want MacKenzie, Baker, Joy—”
“No.” Gideon shoved Derring against the desk. “You read the paper. No one but me can go, or Beezle kills her.”
Derring shoved back, his hand circling Gideon’s throat and pinning him to the wall. “What the hell kind of new game is this, Harrow? Dipped your toe into abduction now?”
Gideon fought for breath as the words swirled in his mind. “You think I’m in on it?” he rasped.
“Beezle’s your arch rogue.”
“No!” Gideon kicked out, slamming a toe into Derring’s thigh. Derring cursed and released him.
Sawyer took hold of his arms, pinning him before he could strike Derring again.
“This is your fault,” Gideon spat. “You call yourself a prime investigator, but you can’t even protect your own sister!”
Hunched over, Derring looked up at him through wild hair. “It’s you he wants, Harrow. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself.”
Gideon would blame himself for the rest of his life. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her. The fucking necklace again. He should have given it to Beezle in the beginning. He never would have met Susanna. She’d be safe at home now, doing…whatever the gentry morts did. She’d have been better off never knowing him.
His g
aze locked on the necklace, lying forgotten on Derring’s desk.
“That’s what he wants,” he said with a nod, struggling against Sawyer’s hold. “He’s either gambling I’m still in London, or someone snitched. I’d wager my life on the latter. Too many snitches in the rookeries. They’ll sell a cove for a glass of frog’s wine.”
“Why take Susanna if he wants you?”
Gideon slumped, and Sawyer, feeling no resistance, released him. Gideon slid to his knees on the floor. “Because he knows she means something to me. Half of Field Lane saw us together. He’s figured out who she was, and he took her to get the necklace from me.”
Derring glanced at the necklace then back at Gideon.
“This is about the necklace?”
“This is about settling old scores. Marlowe is out of his reach, so he found the only other person who matters. I’m going in, Derring, and I’ll make sure she walks out. You try to go in, and he’ll kill her without blinking.”
“How do I know you’ll do what you say? I send you, and I may never see her again.”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
Derring barked a derisive laugh. “Try again.”
Gideon met Derring’s stony gaze without smiling. “I love her, Derring. That isn’t something I say lightly, or ever. If I don’t send her safely out, you’re welcome to kill me.”
“Oh, I will. Slowly.”
“But you have to give me the chance.”
Derring stared at him, his gaze hard and shrewd. Gideon met his gaze with his own unblinking one. He didn’t know at what point he’d fallen in love with Susanna. Probably the first time she’d slammed him over the head with that glim-stick. He sure as hell didn’t want to be in love with her. He’d cared for Marlowe all these years and where had that gotten him?
What he’d felt for Marlowe couldn’t compare to Susanna. He thought he’d been in love, but his heart had never felt like a knife had cut it open when he’d thought he’d lost Marlowe. Now, just the thought of losing Susanna made his life pointless.
“A man like you,” Derring said, his mouth curved in a sneer, “you don’t know what love is. Susanna was never more than a sword racket to you.”
