by Shana Galen
Their association now was based completely on mutual self-interest. He would keep the criminal element away from Vauxhall during the prince’s celebrations, and she would make a profit. The kiss had not been a part of that arrangement. It had been nothing more than a remnant of the past. Now that they’d relived the past, they could put it aside. They were both very different people now.
The blond man returned and cocked his head toward the door. “Duke will see you.”
Henry would have felt relief at being led away from the knife-wielding thugs, but he was most likely walking into a far more dangerous situation.
He was led into her library. Henry wasn’t certain if that was how she thought of it. Perhaps she considered it her torture chamber, as it was the same room where she’d smashed Hedgehog’s hand. But it had books and armchairs and a thick rug, and so in Henry’s mind, he referred to it as the library.
The blond tapped once then opened the door. With a shove, Henry was thrust inside.
Henry stumbled then recovered, brushing at his sleeves and coat to right himself. “That was unnecessary,” he muttered.
“Don’t expect civility here,” came the familiar low, velvet voice. “You won’t find it. Drink?”
She was seated at the desk where she’d ruined Hedgehog’s hand. She sat sideways, legs looped over one arm of the chair, watching him. She was dressed as a man again—trousers, linen shirt, coat—but she didn’t wear her hat. Henry doubted any man who looked at her lovely skin, her dark eyes, or her pink lips would be fooled into thinking she was a man.
She gestured to a crystal decanter filled with an amber liquid. Brandy, Henry thought. He could have used a sip, but he wanted his wits unimpaired.
“No, thank you.”
“Coffee, then?” she asked. She held up a small china cup. “It’s what I’m having.”
“Very well.”
“Serve yourself,” she told him, making no attempt to adhere to any social graces. Henry didn’t mind. There wasn’t any artifice with her. He liked knowing she didn’t play a part. When he’d poured the coffee into a cup matching hers, he took the seat across from her.
“I have some ideas for how you might drum up revenue at The Griffin and the Unicorn,” he said.
“Do you?” She arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware I’d accepted your proposal.”
Henry set down the cup he’d been about to sip from. “If you aren’t interested, then why did you insist I come today?”
“To discuss our options. I thought I was clear on that point, but perhaps our kiss muddled your brain.”
Henry clenched his jaw. “Perhaps it muddled yours,” he said tightly.
“Not at all. I’ve thought about your proposition. I think we could make a profit if we spruced up the inn and if you do your part to bolster its reputation.”
“Good. With that income and the wages your men will earn as servers—”
“My men will not serve at Vauxhall. I told you. That won’t work.”
“Then I can’t be responsible for that portion of the lost revenue.”
She kicked her legs down and swiveled to face him, her hands resting on the desk. “Oh, you are responsible for it, and you’ll help me, or I’ll make certain Prinny’s little fete is a complete and utter disaster.”
“You are welcome to try.”
“I won’t have to try very hard. One or two small incidents will be more than enough to taint the public’s view and ruin you.”
She was right. Of course she was right. But perhaps ruination was preferable to negotiating with a crime lord.
“I don’t want to ruin you, Lord Bexley,” she said quietly. “You’ve always been my friend, and I believe you’re still my friend. Are you my friend?”
“The question, Kate, is are you mine?”
“I want to be. I want to believe the boy I knew is somewhere inside the coat from Weston and the boots from Hoby.”
He began to rise. “If last night didn’t show you—”
“All I want is for you to get into bed with me,” she interrupted.
Henry sat back down. “Could you say that again?”
She smiled. “Get into bed with me. It’s a saying, Henry. Like row in my boat. I want you on my side.”
“I am on your side.”
“Then prove it.”
He made a sweeping gesture to encompass the room. “Here I am. This should be proof enough. If anyone ever finds out I am meeting with the Duke of Vauxhall, I’ll be more than ruined. I’ll be brought up on charges and have my neck stretched on the gallows.”
“No one will find out. And I promise that if you help me with one more task, my men and I will confine ourselves to the inn until after the celebration is over. Vauxhall will be barren of rogues—my rogues, at any rate.”
Henry knew he should walk away. He knew he wouldn’t like what she said. But if he walked away, he’d never see her again. That seemed a fate worse than ruination, worse than the gallows even. He tried to remind himself they had no future. Their kiss the night before had been a nod to the past and nothing more.
And yet he could not stop staring at her lips and wondering if she would ever allow him to kiss her again.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Good. In two days’ time, there will be a prizefight at Vauxhall, Samuel Storm versus Darius King,” she said, naming two pugilists.
Henry was shaking his head. “No, there won’t. I never authorized any prizefight.”
“I authorized it weeks ago.”
“You don’t have the authority.”
“I’m the bloody Duke of Vauxhall. That’s all the authority I need. King is the clear favorite, but Storm is coached by Godrick Gunnery. Gunnery’s name alone will bring in a pile of blunt. And who do you think receives a cut of the wagering?”
Clearly, she and her gang did, but Henry didn’t for a moment believe that was the only piece of the pie she had her finger in. “And where is this fight to take place?”
“My gang will erect a tent—a large tent, mind you, such as a sheikh would have—in one of the dark walks.”
Henry shook his head. “You are mad. Absolutely daft. The constables will shut it down before it even begins.”
“Not if you give them the night off.”
“That won’t account for the Runners.”
“I have a plan for them as well. Would you like to hear it?”
“No.”
“Shall I tell you anyway?” She stood. “Because if my plan works, and if you help me, Vauxhall will be all yours for the rest of the season.” She planted her hands on the desk and looked into his eyes, her face just inches from him.
Henry couldn’t deny her anything when she was this close to him. “Tell me,” he said. After all, how bad could it be?
At least, that was his logic until he heard her scheme, and then he knew he had truly made a deal with the devil.
Chapter Five
KATE DIDN’T KNOW WHY she’d never thought to enlist someone from Vauxhall before. Having Henry on her side made everything so much easier. She didn’t have to climb under hedges or scale fences. She simply strolled in through the main entrance. And she didn’t have to wait until it was dark on the nights the pleasure gardens were closed. She could enter during the day, just like a normal Londoner who’d come to enjoy the flowers.
Except she wasn’t a normal Londoner. She was the Duke of Vauxhall, and she had much to supervise if her plan for the night of the prizefight was to be a success. And if all went as planned the night would be a spectacular victory. The Duke of Devonshire had agreed to attend and to present the winner of the fight not only a fat purse but also a ring of gold, encrusted with diamonds. Kate wanted that ring. Henry would have never agreed to that portion of her scheme, but as long as he thought all she planned was to capitalize on London’s betting nature, she needn’t worry. That Henry was participating at all surprised her—not that he’d agreed to participate; she’d given him little choice in the
matter. The level of his participation surprised her. He was a viscount, but that didn’t stop him from dirtying his hands. He put his back to the necessary manual labor along with Red, Scrugs, Davey, and all the rest. Henry dug pits, positioned ropes and nets, and obscured walking paths—and all without a word of protest.
If he hadn’t already had a position in the House of Lords, she would have hired him to work for her. The first day in Vauxhall, Henry had to leave early to attend a session of the Lords. Kate had wondered how he’d managed. He’d looked exhausted when he left, and she knew the Lords could often sit for hours.
But the next day, he had arrived even before she, looking as dashing as usual with his hair neatly combed and his jaw freshly shaven.
He labored as hard as he had the day before, but she knew him well enough to see the signs of fatigue others would miss. She noted the way he rolled his neck and how often he pressed a hand to his eyes. Kate made sure to offer him extra rations of ale, scowling when she caught Red looking at her with an amused grin on his face.
“Wipe that smirk off your face,” she ordered Red.
“Yes, Duke,” he said and went back to shoveling excess dirt into a flowerbed where it wouldn’t be seen.
After a moment, Kate put her hands on her hips. “Why were you smiling?”
Red shrugged. “I’ve known you a long time, Duke.”
“And you’re smiling because of all the times I’ve saved your arse?”
“Ha!” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You mean all the times I saved your arse.”
“If that’s how you remember it, you’ve been hit on the head once too often.” But if she was being honest, he had saved her as often as she had saved him.
“I haven’t been hit so much that I don’t recognize the look on your face.”
“The look that says I could smash your nose with that spade at any moment?”
But Red wasn’t worried. “No, this look has more to do with a lusty roll in the sheets.” He inclined his head toward Henry, who was listening intently to something Scrugs was saying.
“I don’t have time for rolls in the sheets,” she said.
“That’s too bad. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you interested in a man for more than what you can pick from his pocket.”
“I’ve had my share of rolls in the sheets.”
Red lowered the shovel and looked at her. “You did what you had to do. Maybe it’s time you tried doing what you want to do.”
She looked at him for a long time. Red didn’t often speak, and he’d never offered her advice. But he did know her better and had known her longer than anyone else, save Henry. She lowered her voice. “I’m no innocent. He wouldn’t want me.”
“Oh, he wants you. He has the same look you do when you’re not watching. And don’t tell me you believe all that rubbish about men wanting a virgin. Any man worth his salt wants a wench who’s clever and pretty and makes him laugh.”
Kate stared at him. Was that really true? Was that the reason Henry had kissed her? Because he thought she was clever and pretty and she made him laugh? Well, she hadn’t made him laugh yet, but she could. She’d thought their kiss had simply been a way to relive a moment of the past, but what if it had been more?
“So?” Red said. “What do you say?”
She put her hands on her hips again. “Did you actually call me a wench? Do you remember what happened to the last person who called me a wench?”
Red shook his head and went back to his work, closing his mouth for good this time.
But at the end of the day, when Henry didn’t leave for a session of Parliament, Kate walked beside him as they exited the pleasure gardens.
“Tomorrow is the fight,” Henry said, making idle conversation. “No matter what happens, you can’t say I haven’t done all I could to ensure success.”
“We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
He stopped and rounded on her. “I bloody well knew you would say that. You’ll never trust me, will you?”
“I don’t know. Do you claim to trust me?”
“Of course I don’t trust you,” he argued. “Every time I turn around, you threaten me. I never know what you’ll do from one moment to the next.”
Kate rather liked that description of herself. “The Lords are not sitting in Parliament tonight?” she asked.
Henry scowled at her in confusion. “No. Why should you care?”
“I don’t.”
He stomped away from her, and she could have kicked herself, because that was not at all what she’d meant to say. With a half-dozen quick strides, she caught up to him. “I asked because I thought you might join us at The Griffin and the Unicorn. I’m buying everyone a drink.” She didn’t know where that came from. She hadn’t intended to do any such thing. But it was too late now. Scrugs had been walking by, and he let out a little whoop of joy. The next thing she knew, his blond head was bouncing ahead of them as he spread the news to the other men.
Since she couldn’t rescind the offer now, she hoped she hadn’t made it in vain. “Why don’t you join us?” she suggested. “You did as much work as anyone.”
Henry narrowed his eyes and looked at her for a long time. She didn’t have to wonder at his thoughts. No doubt he was thinking about how to turn her down without making her so angry she slit his throat. After all, why would a viscount want to sit and drink with a gang of criminals?
“Never mind,” she said, cutting him off before he could reject her. “It was a foolish idea. I’m certain you’d rather go home to your town house in Mayfair.” She marched away, grinding her teeth against the sting of tears.
“Why would I wish to return home to an empty house?” he asked from behind her. “Don’t misunderstand, I have a full complement of servants, but conversations where the other party answers nothing but yes, my lord and no, my lord do grow tiresome.”
Kate found her mouth curving into a grin. “No one will be my lording you at The Griffin and the Unicorn.” Her voice was carefully neutral.
“And you’ll drink with us?”
Now she did turn so he could see her smile. “I’ll give the toast.”
UNTIL THE MOMENT HENRY sat at the bar in The Griffin and the Unicorn, he had almost convinced himself he was no longer smitten with Kate. She’d threatened him, ordered him about, and compelled him to complete her backbreaking work. When she’d asked him to have a drink with her, his one thought had been that he’d rather kill her than drink with her.
But he hadn’t lied about the emptiness of his Mayfair residence. It had belonged to the Viscounts Bexley for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t ever expected to live there, and after the initial awe and wonder he’d felt upon moving in and realizing the grand house was all his now, he’d wanted little more than to go back to his room above his barrister’s office.
That little section of Islington was home to him. The people there were familiar. He saw the same men and women he’d seen every day since he’d been old enough to toddle out of doors. His friends were there. One or two had come to visit him in Mayfair, but everything had felt stilted and awkward and his friends hadn’t returned. He was a viscount. He was supposed to make friends with earls and marquesses. But they seemed to want little to do with him. He’d been in trade—it was always said with a disapproving intonation—before being elevated to the rank of viscount. They might sit beside him in the Lords, but they didn’t invite him to their clubs or their soirees. The one time he had thought he had made some progress and made friends, he’d been tricked into doing the other peers’ dirty work.
And now he was stuck playing the disapproving banker to the Prince Regent.
Henry didn’t belong at The Griffin and the Unicorn, but neither did he belong in Mayfair. He didn’t know where he belonged, or where he would end up, but he knew when he was with Kate, he had the sense that he was where he should be.
In some ways, she didn’t belong either. Yes, she was a celebrated lord of the underworld, b
ut the power she held was a ruse. She dressed like a man and played the role of the Duke of Vauxhall, but she wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretense forever. And when her rivals discovered she was a woman, they would come for her and her gang, and no crime lord—not even the Duke of Vauxhall—would be able to withstand that sort of attack.
The blond thug—his name was apparently Scrugs, though Henry was uncertain whether that was his given name or his surname—stood behind the bar and poured a generous measure of gin into a glass before slamming it down in front of Henry. Henry looked at the glass. He didn’t usually drink gin, but he could hardly refuse without offending someone. Red and Scrugs tipped their glasses and shot theirs back, swallowing it with one gulp. Henry tried to do the same and ended up coughing for a good five minutes.
When he could breathe again, Kate was beside him. “A little strong for you, my lord?”
“No my lording,” he managed to rasp out of his burning throat.
“My mistake,” she said. “I have some brandy in my parlor. Would you prefer that?”
Red and Scrugs smirked at him.
“No,” Henry said, clearing his throat. “Another gin, please.” He pushed his glass toward Scrugs, who filled it again. Then he filled his own and tossed it back. Thirty minutes and three drinks later, the room spun and Henry was no longer tossing gin back. The gang’s attention had shifted to a high-stakes dice game, and Henry was left to stare into his gin and wish he’d drunk less and stared more.
Kate pulled out the chair beside him and sat. “Sometimes I think I will never understand men,” she said, staring directly in front of her. “Why do you feel the need to prove your masculinity by making yourself ill?”
“I’m not ill.”
Her eyes cut to him. “Liar. You’re practically green.”
“I need something to soak up the alcohol.”
Kate lifted a hand, and the lad behind the bar brought over a plate with bread and cheese. Henry forced himself to take a small bite of the bread.
