As Rich as a Rogue (18 page)

They turned to find two footmen standing awkwardly beside them. The one with the pompous tone wore the livery of the household. The other wore the colors of the Earl of Sommerfield. She and Lord Rimbury exchanged a concerned look. “Is something amiss?” Lord Rimbury said.

“No, my lord,” the pompous one said.

“I have a message,” said the other. “For Miss Powel. His lordship said to hand it to her and only her.”

That was surprising. And attracting notice. “Very well. You may give it to me.”

The young man did, and she quickly ripped open the missive. It was written on coarse paper in a bold hand.

I am unavoidably detained. I pray you will forgive me. I hope I may be allowed to call on you tomorrow.

—W

She frowned as she looked up at the footman. “Is Lord Whitly well?” It wasn't appropriate to question the man, not in the middle of a ballroom, for all that most everyone was still at the supper buffet, but she couldn't stop herself. She had to know if he was all right.

“Yes, miss. He's just otherwise occupied.”

Well, that didn't answer anything at all. She glanced at Lord Rimbury, who was frowning at the missive. And then he was abruptly overcome by a massive yawn.

“Oh dear Lord,” he grumbled when it was done. “How gauche of me.” Then he gave her a deep bow. “I fear I have been enjoying the Society rounds too much these days. London does that to me,” he said with a gleeful twinkle. “I do love this city, but I think I shall take my leave.”

“Of course,” she said, not believing him for a second. Especially as the two footmen had withdrawn, and Lord Rimbury was sauntering after them with every appearance of casual speed.

Something was up, and Lord Rimbury was going to figure it out. Well, what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. She'd already sent her mother home, claiming she'd be escorted back by one of her friends. That meant this was the perfect time to escape, before the other guests came out of the buffet room.

So while Lord Rimbury and the footmen exited, she ducked out the side door and rushed around to the front. Fortunately, it was a warm night, and she didn't need a cloak. A moment later she saw them climb into a waiting hackney. Now was her chance. Thank God her wild sister had taught her a few things.

She rushed forward as fast as her slippered feet could carry her. She wove between the trees, then dashed between two sitting carriages. And just as the hackney hit the shadows, she leaped onto the boot and let it carry her away too.

Mari was chilled all the way through by the time they reached their destination. It was a dockside pub in a dangerous part of London, and she felt fear slide through her bones. She'd never been alone like this. And though her sister had gone on adventure after adventure, Mari was usually more prudent.

But it was too late now. She was here, and for the first time ever, she was grateful for the dark blue of her gown. The quality couldn't be disguised, but the color hid her from view, especially since she'd stripped off her white gloves. She was still trying to decide what to do when the hackney doors opened. Lord Rimbury's voice came through clear as day.

“Peter's in there? Whatever for?”

“Keep your voice down,” said the footman as he stepped out. “He's looking for a boy named Tie, who knows something about what the earl's doing.”

“What
is
the earl doing?” Lord Rimbury asked as he disembarked. “Never mind. If you knew, we wouldn't be standing out here. Lord, it stinks.” Mari couldn't help but agree. Uncoiling her frozen limbs, she jumped off the carriage while Lord Rimbury paid the driver. But then she was standing there in silk slippers and a dark blue gown, with bare arms and feeling rather stupid. Just what had she hoped to accomplish by coming along? She slipped into an alleyway, keeping her eyes and ears open for an opportunity, but all she heard was more bickering between Lord Rimbury and the footman.

“Come on. Let's go see what we can do,” Rimbury said as he headed for the tavern. The footman grabbed his arm.

“You can't go in there dressed like that! We'll get knifed for sure.”

Lord Rimbury looked down at himself. “As rough as that?”

“Aye,” the footman responded with a thick dock accent. “I grew up nearby. I can fit in, but not in these clothes. And you'll—”

“I'll wait outside. In the shadows. You go get us clothes.”

The footman was understandably confused. “But I thought we'd wait outside. Safely—”

“I'm not leaving my best friend to die unprotected. We can't go in dressed as we are, so go get us the right clothes.” Then he headed to the exact same alley darkness where Mari was crouched listening.
Oh no!
Then she heard it. A babe's fretful cry. The sound came from a broken window a story up in the building that crowded the tavern. Luck was with her. She found a way inside the building quickly, then up the stairs as she skirted a gin sot sprawled in the hallway. The babe was truly upset now, and she focused on that as a woman's crooning voice tried to hush the child. A moment later she was at the door, listening hard. No man's voice.

She knocked on the door. “Please,” she said through the door. “I don't mean any harm. I need help.” She swallowed and pitched her voice lower. “I can pay.”

She suspected that last part was what had the woman opening the door, her eyes narrowed with distrust. Goodness, she looked tired. Once she would have been a beautiful woman, but it was late at night, and she had a fretful baby squirming in her arms. Her blue eyes had heavy bags under them; her blond hair was dirty. “Wot?”

Mari smiled in her most coaxing way. “Please, it's just me. May I come in?”

The woman nodded and stepped back, only to have her eyes widen in surprise when she took in Mari's elegant clothes.

“Wot you doing out 'ere?”

“It's a long story,” she said gently. “But I need to be dressed differently if I'm to leave safely.”

“It'll take more'n different clothes.”

Probably true, but she'd start with her dress. “I will trade you,” she said. “My dress and shoes for yours. And a cloak.”

It was a good bargain for the woman. She'd be able to sell the dress alone for enough food for a month. And a quick look around at the terrible condition of her flat made Mari want to give her more.

“How do you survive?” she asked quietly. “Do you have a husband? A way to get money?”

The woman nodded. “He's a sailor, but he ain't been 'ome for a while. I work down there when I can.” She gestured with her chin toward the tavern. “But Rudy don't like the babe coming with me.”

“No, I don't expect he would,” Mari said. “Do you have anyone to help you?”

“Me mum comes 'round, but she's got troubles of her own.”

Of course.

“And she's not quite as respectable as me.” The woman lifted her chin. “I was married right and proper in a church. You ain't got no cause to be thinking less of me.”

“I don't,” Mari said hurriedly. “Not at all.” But she couldn't help thinking that if this was respectable, then what of the life of ill repute? Was it better? Or infinitely worse? Meanwhile, she began to unbutton her gown. “So will you do it? Do you have clothes to trade?”

The woman nodded slowly, still wary. “Over there.”

Since the woman was still holding the babe, it was left to Mari to sort through the pile. There was a cloak hanging on a peg that would serve her fine. The dresses, however, were dropped on the floor in a cluttered pile.

“What's your name?” she asked as she crouched down to find the most suitable of the bunch.

“Ellie.”

“Hello, Ellie. I'm Mari.” She set down her gloves then pulled out a dress that looked like the only possibility. Ellie was rail thin, and Mari would never fit into anything the woman normally wore. But there was a fuller gown there, probably worn during Ellie's pregnancy.

“May I have this?” she asked. “I'll give you my gloves and my dress.” Then she saw rough shoes that would likely work. “I'd like those as well, and I'll leave you my slippers.”

Ellie nodded, but her eyes were still wary. “Wot brought you 'ere?”

A dozen lies hopped to her lips, but there was no need for them. Instead, she decided to prod for information. “I'm looking for a boy named Tie. I'm told he runs in that tavern down there.”

Abruptly, Ellie sidled backward. “'E's one of Silas's boys. You don't want to mess with 'im.”

“Who is Silas?”

Ellie frowned at her. “'E's not a good man.”

Mari took a moment to think, then she slowly pulled off her ear bobs. They were simple dark sapphires, tiny enough to match with her sedate image. She held them out to Ellie.

“Tell me everything you know.”

* * *

Peter set down his drink and tried not to throw it against the wall in frustration. The ale here was lousy, the stench hideous, and worst of all, there was no point to being here. He understood the benefits of lying in wait, in listening to the grumbles of folk who had information he wanted. He knew he had to wait here for Silas or Tie or someone who knew something that would help him figure out what his father was up to. But so far, he hadn't learned anything but that the barmaid would tup him for a penny, a half dozen cargos were being unloaded, and no one was paid enough.

The idea that he had given up a night spent with Mari to fester in this shithole was enough to make his mood very, very foul.

He stared at his drink, wondering if he could stomach another draught. Three new sailors came in, bursting with pay that they longed to spend, and the pair of thieves by the fire hunched closer together, no doubt planning the best way to rob the boys before they spent it all on drink.

Then a voluptuous barmaid, with assets spilling out of her gown, slipped into the seat across the table from him. He sighed, unwilling to engage in enough conversation to send her away, when her scent teased his mind. Not a true scent, not in this morass of ale and piss, but a clean smell that might have had lemon in it, but certainly did not reek of the usual tavern wench. Which was why he lifted his gaze enough to see her face.

Mari.

Bloody hell.

Questions crowded into his mind. How had she found him? Why was she dressed as a common tart, in clothes too bloody tight? And how the hell did he stop her from causing a riot when the three sailors took note of her assets?

“Come over here,” he growled at her.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Come over here,” he snapped. Then he shoved back his chair enough to give her room and patted his lap.

She drew back, clearly shocked down to her toes. “I will not!”

“If you're dressed as a tart, then you'll act the part. Unless you'd rather spend your time with them?” He jerked his chin at the meanest-looking huddle of men, all of whom had hard eyes that recognized she wasn't typical in this place.

“I'm not dressed as a—”

“Mari, goddamn it, you're going to get us both killed.” It wasn't a lie. He'd seen worse in India. He caught her wrist, then firmly, steadily, inexorably pulled her out of her seat and over to his side of the table.

She stumbled around and settled just where he wanted her. In his lap with her arm on his shoulders and his hands settled possessively around her waist. And then, just to see how brazen she was, he let one hand slide down her thigh. A couple flicks of his wrist at her skirt, and his fingers were underneath, stroking the silk of her stockings.

She gasped in surprise, but he was busy nuzzling beneath her hair. Sweet lemon scent, clean and fresh. God, he wanted to sink into her perfection, but he couldn't. Not here, not now. But soon, he promised himself. Very soon.

He became bolder with his fingers, and she slapped her hand over his, flattening his palm against her thigh. “You are exposing my leg to everyone here,” she growled.

“Then swing your legs around across my lap. They'll be hidden underneath the table.” Plus, it would give him better access to her body.

“Bad enough that I'm dressed as a barmaid—”

“A tart,” he corrected. “Barmaids don't come close to splitting the seams of their dresses.”

She looked down at where she was near to bursting past the worn threads. “I tied my corset as tightly as possible. I can barely breathe.”

“Then I'll have to get you out of it as soon as possible,” he said as he helped her adjust her legs over his. She accidentally nudged his thick cock, and he hissed with pain and arousal. Damn, if they were attacked while he was in this state, he would be hard-pressed to protect either one of them.

“You will not!” she said primly.

“I will,” he promised as he pulled her tight enough that he could glare over her shoulder. And then she jiggled across his lap. She was simply finding her position as she tried to tug her skirt over her legs, but the movement knocked against his cock again.

“Sit still,” he growled. “Or move more gently.”

“What?”

“Good God, I thought you were raised in the country. Surely you can understand that a man needs gentle handling.”

“I was raised in India,” she retorted. Then at his arch look, she flushed. “I'm sorry,” she said more quietly. “Have I hurt you?”

He pulled her in tight enough that she could feel his erection pressed hot and throbbing against her thigh. And the dark thrill that went through his body at the pressure had his hands sliding to where they should not be. Not yet at least.

“I'm made of hardy stuff,” he said as he nuzzled again into her shoulder. He brushed aside her luscious mane of hair so he could watch the room even as he nipped at her neck. And then, when she was shivering in his arms—and the room had returned to its normal business—he lifted his mouth to her ear.

“Why are you here?”

“I came to help you.”

Of course she did. “And how exactly does dressing as a tart—”

“A barmaid.”

He huffed rather than argue. “You cannot help. You need to go home.”

“I know all about Silas, and Ellie will let me know when Tie shows up. Oh, and Lord Rimbury and a footman are hiding outside, just in case.” She drew back and beamed a smug smile at him.

“You…what?”

“Did you think you were the only one who could skulk about in taverns?”

The very idea that she'd been here…that she'd been
skulking
, left him cold with horror. “Tell me everything,” he said in a low voice tinged with true anger and nearly overwhelming terror. “Now.”

She rolled her eyes, then settled against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, his actions more protective than sexual. And yet he couldn't deny the need that pulsed inside him.

“It wasn't difficult,” she said, obviously pleased with herself. “I jumped on the back of Lord Rimbury's hackney. Then I found a woman and traded my clothes for hers, and my earbobs for information.”

He rubbed his hand through her hair—her glorious tumble of auburn locks—and felt her earlobe. It was naked, and he tugged on it just to hear her murmur a throaty purr. “But why?” he said, genuinely confused. The magnitude of what she'd done was just filtering into his awareness.

She exhaled loudly. “You promised to explain things to me. You promised to do it tonight. I cannot help it if you made it blasted difficult to find you.”

“But, Mari—”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “Have I helped you? Have I gotten the information you need?”

“You haven't told it to me yet!”

She blinked. “Oh. Right. Silas runs a thieving ring of boys. They steal cargo somehow. They've got at least one wealthy protector—some say more—and Tie is the youngest of his crew.”

“Somehow?”

She shrugged, and in that too-tight gown, her breasts were a distracting sight. “Ellie didn't know. Though Silas comes here more nights than not, which implies that his home is nearby. And it's not just him, though he's in charge. He has three lieutenants, though I don't think it's right to call boys raised to steal by a military rank. Insults the real lieutenants, don't you think?”

Peter dropped his forehead against her temple, shaking his head slightly. “I quite agree,” he said rather than reveal how flabbergasted he was by her knowledge. “Three lieutenants?” he prompted.