I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (22 page)

But if Beezle came when he was away, she’d be dead.

Ridiculous to believe Beezle would find them, could find them, but Brook had learned that sometimes the ridiculous was possible.

She woke before him in the morning. He felt her stir and her body stiffen when she realized he slept beside her. He wondered if the reaction was surprise or distaste. She was attracted to him. He could see that plainly enough, but then he would have sworn she’d been attracted to him, even in love with him, all those years ago.

And she’d broken his heart.

He could feel her patting the coverlet, searching for her nightgown. He could have told her it had fallen to the floor on the other side of the bed. Unfortunately, she would have to go around him to leave the bed, and if he didn’t move, that meant she had little choice but to wait for him to wake or crawl over him.

She pushed the covers back and inched closer to him. Realizing she would have to go over him, she edged down the bed, so as to go over his legs. But just as she straddled him, he opened his eyes.

He must have enjoyed torture because the sight of her pained him. She was glorious with her tangled hair and her long, naked limbs. If she’d positioned herself a little higher on his body, he could have stripped the covers away and taken her. Brook was thankful for small mercies and for a moment to tamp down his lust.

But he wouldn’t allow her to escape. Instead, he caught her around the waist before she could scamper away and settled her on top of his cock. Unfortunately, the coverlet was between their bodies, but her gasp of protest made it clear she felt him beneath her.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Let go of me. I want my night rail.”

“And I want you exactly as you are.”

She moved her hands to cover herself, which made him smile considering what she’d allowed him to do the night before. She’d covered her breasts, and so he slid his hands up the silky skin of her thighs until she lowered her hands to cup the place between her legs. Brook moved one hand to her belly and watched the shiver ripple through her skin. Her nipples darkened to rose and hardened.

He slid his hand higher, fondling her full breast and plucking at her nipple.

“Stop,” she whispered, her voice a plea. “I can’t—I don’t want this.”

“Don’t you?” He moved to her other breast, bringing the nipple to a hard point. “You don’t want my touch or you don’t want to want my touch?”

“I don’t want to want it.”

She hadn’t lied, which he could appreciate.

“Then I’ll stop,” he said, removing his hands and slipping them around to her back. He took her hair in his hand and pulled her slowly down, until she was poised over him. Her breasts were inches from his lips, her nipples so close he could have darted his tongue out and touched them. He released her hair.

“Walk away, if that’s what you want.” His lips brushed her breast as he spoke. “I won’t stop you.”

She hesitated, and he held his breath.

“But if you prefer to stay,” he said after a long moment, “I will take your hard nipple into my mouth and suck it until you cry out with need. Then I’ll slip my hands between your legs, into that slick, hot place, and stroke you until you come apart. Your choice.”

She still hesitated. Then she rocked back, and he thought she would dash away. Instead, her mouth came down on his, the kiss so hot and unexpected, all the breath was knocked out of him. He kissed her back, his hands in her hair, her bare flesh brushing against the skin of his chest. She kissed his lips, his jaw, his neck. Brook clenched the bedclothes to keep from flipping her over and taking her when her small tongue tickled his ear.

She was an excellent student, and she’d soon become the teacher if he didn’t take control.

Hands on the swell of her hips, he slid her body over the hardness of his cock until he could feast on her breasts. When his hands slid down to cup her between the legs, she was his.

He did exactly as he’d promised and was rewarded when she arched above him, riding his fingers with abandon. She was more seductive than the highest-paid courtesan, and Brook knew he would struggle to give her up.

Sometime later, they’d dressed and broken their fast with the last of the bread from Mrs. Spencer’s basket. They’d given the last bit of broth to the mother cat, who had escaped outside with her kittens, probably to hunt for mice or birds. A chill wind blew, but the rain had gone and the sun shone from a cloudless sky. Brook couldn’t have asked for a clearer sign that he should travel to the posting house.

After he’d helped Lila—who had turned shy and quiet again—dress, he’d gone to the hook where her pelisse hung and handed it to her.

“You’ll need this and a bonnet.” He glanced at her valise, stowed in one corner. “If you have boots or a scarf, put that on too.”

She set down the cup of lukewarm tea she’d made earlier. It was truly horrible, but he’d drunk it quickly and made a mental note to take charge of any cooking from then on.

“Why?”

Brook donned his greatcoat, turning the collar up and feeling about in his pockets for gloves.

“We haven’t any provisions. I must go to the posting house and buy what we need.”

Lila stood. “But we haven’t a horse.”

“We’ll walk.”

Lila sank back down. “Exactly how far is the posting house?”

Brook shrugged. “Far enough. We’d better leave now if we want to be back before dark.”

“I remember that posting house,” Lila said, lifting the teacup once again and holding it close. “It was at least six miles. I am no great walker. You shall have to go without me.”

Brook placed his hands on the table and bent close. He’d been prepared for this, and he understood her reservations. He would have left her behind if he could.

“Put on your pelisse, your bonnet, and your gloves, and be ready to depart in five minutes.”

Far from being intimidated by his threatening pose, Lila appeared annoyed. She set the cup down with a thunk and rose to face him. “No.”

With that, she sauntered toward the fire, holding her hands out for warmth. Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to walk away and let her fend for herself for a few days. That would teach her to tell him no. Knowing Lila, he’d return and she’d have the entire cottage refurbished and a full staff at her beck and call.

He couldn’t take the risk Beezle might come for her. He couldn’t risk that a vagrant might spot the cottage and seek shelter from a rain shower. She was unprotected there, and he would not leave her. Nor would he stay. As an investigator, he often discovered useful information just listening to others talk. If anything or anyone unusual had been seen in the area, the locals would remark upon it. A visit to the posting house was his best chance of finding out if Beezle or anyone else who might prove dangerous was in the area.

Brook would have preferred to stay indoors and woo Lila back to bed, but he hadn’t stayed alive in the most dangerous holes of London by doing what he wanted instead of what he should. His side had healed, the food was all but gone, and the weather had cleared.

It was time.

He’d been silent for several minutes, and Lila peeked at him over her shoulder. She undoubtedly thought her display of pique had dissuaded him. Quite the opposite.

“Darling wife,” he said before she could turn back to the fire.

Her back stiffened and she rounded on him. “Do not call me that.”

“You misunderstand.” He spread his hands as though in supplication. “This is not a request I make of you; it’s an order.” He placed his hat on his head. “We will leave in”—he made a show of checking his pocket watch—“three minutes now. Either don your warmer clothing, or I’ll drag you out in that.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Her eyes flashed amber fire.

Brook crossed his arms over his chest. “Two minutes.”

Lila stared at him for a long moment. He would hate forcing her to walk six miles in this cold in only a thin muslin day dress, but he would do it. She would see it as further proof that he was a brute. Brook saw no need or reason to prove his strength or power to a woman. But he would protect her, even from herself.

Finally, just as he poised to move, she stomped across the wood floor and yanked her pelisse from the table where it lay. She shrugged it on and took her time fastening it. By his reckoning, her time was up, but he gave her a little leeway as she pulled on gloves, a bonnet, a scarf, and half boots. Closer to ten minutes had passed when she was finally ready, but Brook offered his arm magnanimously.

Lila walked right past him and out the door.

Brook smiled. He did like her sometimes. He really did.

* * *

The wind cut through her pelisse and her dress, and straight to her bones. Lila tried to keep her head down so the top of her bonnet took the worst of it, but her ears still ached from the cold. Her fingers, which she’d tucked inside her pelisse, felt numb and frozen. Her feet were the worst of all. The rain had left muddy puddles everywhere, and she could not avoid stepping in many of them. Consequently, her feet had been wet and stiff shortly after they’d set out.

Everything from her toes to her back to her red nose hurt. She had no idea how long they’d been walking or how much farther they had to go. She simply followed Brook.

For his part, her husband didn’t look troubled at all by the wind or the wet. His feet must also have been icy, his face windburned, but he showed no sign of flagging. Lila wouldn’t ever admit it to him, but his resoluteness fueled her own. If he could go on, so could she. If he did not make complaint, neither would she.

The fact that her teeth chattered and her jaw had locked closed certainly aided in her efforts to quell any grumbles that rose to her lips. Unfortunately, she’d been thinking about her cold toes and how much she hated Brook Derring and not looking where she walked. Too late, she saw the small hole in front of her. Her foot slid into it, and she overcompensated in her efforts not to lose her balance. Lila fell forward, catching herself on her hands and crying out when her wrist buckled in protest.

Brook swept her up immediately, enveloping her in his warmth and checking her ankle for signs of injury, as though she were a small child.

“Where does it hurt?” he demanded. Then, before she could answer, he made a sound of disgust. “If you needed to rest, you should have said so. I knew you were too quiet.”

“Perhaps you would have been happier if I’d complained incessantly.”

His dark eyes pierced her. “There is a difference between complaint and request.” He put his warm hand around her ankle. “Does this hurt?”

“No. My ankle is fine.” Cold but fine. “It’s my wrist.”

She offered it to him with a small wince. She did not think it was broken, but the pain had not subsided.

“Take off your glove,” he said. Then, “Here, allow me.”

But when he tried to pry it off, she hissed and recoiled.

“Damn it,” he swore.

“Let me try,” she said, tugging gingerly on one of the fingers.

“No. I can’t do anything about it out here. Better to press on and examine it at the posting house. Can you walk?”

Lila realized she’d been perched on his lap as he knelt on the road. She started to scramble up, and he settled his hands on her hips to hold her steady. As soon as she stood, she shied away. She did not want to feel his hands on her. She did not want to remember the wanton things they’d done together.

“My ankle is fine,” she said, testing her weight on it. “How much farther to the posting house?”

“Not more than a mile now.”

Lila wanted to cry. A mile yet to go, and she was already so weary. But she blinked the tears away and started forward. Brook walked beside her, his hawk-like gaze on her.

She wanted to rail at him, to blame him for the ache in her wrist, but she could see in the furrow of his brow, he already blamed himself. “I would not have brought you if I could have been certain you would be safe at the cottage.”

Why he still called that tiny hut a
cottage
was beyond her.

“Yes, I can see why you would worry. There are any number of creaky boards and rusty nails that might cause me injury.”

“You know my concern is more serious than that. If Beezle were to find you—”

“Beezle find me? Good Lord, I don’t even know where I am,” Lila said. “Surely a thief from London’s rookeries can’t know.”

“You make a mistake when you underestimate the rabble. Beezle wouldn’t be an arch rogue if he didn’t have cunning and boldness. We already know he has contacts in Parliament. Even if Beezle doesn’t have the resources to trace us here, you can be sure the members of Parliament do.”

Lila’s boot caught on a rock and she stumbled—not enough to fall, but Brook’s arm went around her nonetheless. She might have shrugged it off if it hadn’t been warm. At that moment, she would have rubbed shoulders with the devil himself if it meant more warmth.

“If there is a member of Parliament who ordered this Fitzsimmons dead, why is he worried about me? I saw the murder, but I didn’t see him. Even if I can identify Beezle, I don’t know who he works for.”

“You are a loose end. A man with political ambitions, a man capable of ordering the murder of another, will not want a loose end.”

“And so I hide away forever? Even when this Beezle is caught, you cannot be certain he will reveal his employer.”

“He’s no snitch,” Brook conceded. “But I’ve been known to persuade other closed-mouthed rooks to tell me their secrets.”

Lila peered at him curiously. “How do you do that? Or do I not want to know?”

“Incentives.” His gaze remained on the road before them. Lila didn’t ask him to elaborate. She didn’t need to. Hadn’t he persuaded her to join him in bed with incentives? He was obviously a man who knew how to get what he wanted. The worst of it was that she almost believed, for a time, it was what she wanted too. Although, how any woman wouldn’t want Brook Derring to kiss her, touch her, was a mystery to Lila.

She hadn’t known she could feel the way he made her feel. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure, although that was certainly part of it. But he made her feel as though she were the most desirable woman in the world. He looked at her, touched her, as though he wanted her more than…well, more than anything else. More than air or water or life.