The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs) (21 page)

“He wants to make you a Runner.”

“God knows he could use a good man.”

“Exactly.” A smile played on her lips. “So could I, Gideon.” She stepped forward, hesitated, took another step. He barely resisted the urge to hold his hands out to her.

“I’m sure the
ton
is teeming with good men.”

“I don’t want them.” She shook her head, knelt before him, and slid her hands into his. “I want you.”

“No.”

She placed a finger as light as a feather on his lips. “Yes. Marry me, Gideon.”

He grasped her wrist, pulled her hand away from his mouth. “What the devil is this? Another of your larks?”

She didn’t flinch at his harsh tone, merely brought her other hand up to wrap around the hand holding her wrist. “I love when you touch me,” she said. “You can’t know how much I’ve missed it.”

He released her as though she had burned him. “You’d better go back to your room.”

“Why?” She arched a brow. “If I stay, will you kiss me?”

“I might do a hell of a lot more than that.”

Color bloomed in her cheeks. “Good. That’s what I want—you, every day and every night. I know it’s not right or proper, and I know you don’t care about those rules. So I’m asking you to marry me. Please say yes.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since we parted. I love you, Gideon.”

“No, you don’t. I’m not the right man for you. I don’t deserve you.”

“You saved my life, more than once. You risked everything for me. I don’t deserve you, but I want you anyway. You must feel something for me.”

“That’s not it, Susanna.” He rose, flinching at the stabbing reminder of his wound. “The things I’ve done… I’m not worthy to marry you. Or anyone.”

“What have you done?” She looked up at him from her knees. “Took the pistol ball Beezle meant for me? Saved me from Dagger Dan? Found me food, clothing, a place to rest after I’d all but forced you to accompany me?”

“You didn’t force me. I wanted to go with you.”

Hope flashed across her face. “Why?”

He closed his eyes. “Do you want to know how I got this scar?” He brushed his hand over it, feeling the smooth, raised skin under the pads of his fingers.

“You told me. You fought a boy from a rival gang.”

“I was twelve, and the other boy a few years older. Satin caught him in our territory and brought him back to the flash ken. Told me to fight him.”

“And he had a knife?”

Gideon nodded. He could see the dark flash ken in his mind, smell the stench of it, hear the
drip, drip
of water from one of the corners. “Satin had either let him keep it or given it to him. Made the fight that much more interesting.”

“I don’t need to hear this.”

Gideon hauled her to her feet, held her wrists. “Yes, you do. This is who I am. I fought him, and when I stumbled, he held me down and cut me.”

Her face contorted with pain, almost as though she felt the agony of the knife slicing her own skin.

“Everyone cheered him on. There’s nothing quite like watching blood spilled. Watching a fight to the death. That’s what it was. He’d kill me, or Satin would kill him.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and her eyes filled with pity.

“I don’t want that.” He nodded at her face. “I don’t want pity. I don’t deserve it. You think I had pity for him? I pushed him off me, and the knife hit the floor.” He could still hear the thud when it landed on the packed earth. “I reached it first, and when he came for me, I plowed it into his chest.”

Gideon swallowed the bile that rose when he remembered the soft yield of flesh as the knife slid in, the warm gush of blood over his fingers, the tangy smell of it.

Another tear slid down her cheek.

“I drove the knife in and up, and when he went limp, I kicked him to the ground. That’s the man I am, Susanna. You don’t want me.” He released her and stepped away, the pain of memories and fresh wounds almost felling him.

* * *

Her heart broke for him, for the boy he’d been, for the innocence lost. She needed to wrap her arms around him, hold him, whisper words of love to him. That would come later—she hoped. He’d allow it in time. He’d forgive himself in time.

“You’re wrong,” she said.

His gaze jerked to hers, and she read surprise and confusion.

“I do want you. I want all of you, Gideon. The good and the bad. I don’t care what you’ve done. All of that’s in the past. I know who you are now. I know who you can be.”

He stared at her as though she were half-mad.

“Don’t say no. Don’t say you won’t have me.” She took a chance and threw herself into his arms. He caught her, pulled her hard against him. Pleasure exploded like a firework in her heart. He
did
want her. He must.

“How can I resist you?” he murmured into her hair. “You break down my defenses.”

“You don’t need them with me.” She clutched him tightly, the pure joy of being in his arms again making everything else in the room, in the world, fade away.

“I’m not free to marry you. Beezle escaped, and he’ll come for me.”

She pulled back and met his gaze, her own expression concerned.

“Let me catch him. Let me prove to you I’m worthy by—”

She silenced him with a kiss. She’d intended it to be a quick kiss, but when she might have moved back, his immobile lips softened. Heat coiled through her when he parted her lips, dipped his tongue inside.

Breathless, she clung to him when they separated. “Don’t ever say that,” she managed through gasps of air. “You have nothing to prove to me. I love you for who you are.”

“I want to be better.”

“I spent my whole life trying to be someone my mother wanted me to be and failing miserably. I would never place that burden on anyone else. I want you.
You
, Gideon, as you are. I ask you again, take me as I am, marr—”

“No.”

Cold seeped into her, weakened her legs until she needed his arms to hold her. She tried. She didn’t know what else to say. She would lose him.

“You’re wrong about me.”

Tears blurred her vision. She should walk away now, escape before he saw her cry, before she began to weep.

“I do care about rules, and I won’t have you propose marriage to me.”

He released her shoulders and knelt, still holding one hand. Susanna swiped a hand across her face, unsure whether her eyes deceived her.

“What are you doing?”

“I love you, Susanna. Despite our differences, despite your fondness for mongrels and glim-sticks, despite the fact that you’ve made an honest—well, mostly honest—man of me.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The joy spilled out of her.

“Lady Susanna, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” She fell on the floor, all but knocking him over with her embrace. “
Yes
.”

He kissed her, his lips soft and tender on hers, his hands circling her waist and moving up her back possessively.
Yes.
She wanted to belong to him, only him, now and forever.

A sound broke through the haze of passion, and she jolted when her mother appeared in the open doorway. Susanna sucked in a breath. “Mama.”

“I see I am interrupting.”

Gideon pulled Susanna to her feet. “Lady Dane, a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Is it, now?” She raised a brow. “Might I ask exactly what you were doing to my daughter?”

Susanna tried to speak, to save Gideon, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. “I kissed her in celebration. She has just agreed to be my wife.”

Her mother’s expression didn’t change. Her thin lips remained pressed together, her eyes suspicious. “I do not think Susanna has the power to grant that request.”

Susanna bit her lip. She’d thought her mother understood, thought things had changed between them. Now she would have to marry without the countess’s blessing. She was not yet twenty-one, not of an age to marry without parental consent. How would they obtain the funds to elope to Scotland?

“You will have to speak to her father,” Lady Dane said.

Susanna jerked with surprise.

“Her father?” Gideon asked. “Mr. Southey?”

“Yes. Tell him you already have my approval. Tell him you wish to marry with all possible haste.”

Susanna ran to her mother, who opened her arms and hugged her tightly.

“This is not what I wanted for you, but I can admit now that I was wrong before, and I may be wrong now. And so I wish you every happiness, darling,” her mother whispered. “I hope you find as much as I have.”

“Thank you,” Susanna said with another hard squeeze.

“No, thank you. Because of you, I found love again.” Her mother kissed her cheek. “I couldn’t be more pleased, more proud of you, Susanna. Be happy and marry with my blessing.”

He hadn’t lived to see their wedding day. Gideon Harrow had to die—rumor had it he’d been killed by a slug ball from Beezle’s snapper—in order for Dudley Dorrington to be born. Dudley Dorrington was a distant cousin of the Derring family from somewhere in Lincolnshire.

Or perhaps Nottinghamshire.

Dudley had cropped hair, a clean-shaven face, and a wardrobe full of fine coats, trousers, breeches, and blasted—no,
bloody,
because he spoke like the swells—cravats.

Dudley was an inspector for private hire by the very wealthy and very discreet. He also worked closely with the Bow Street Runners, often using Sir Brook’s office. So far he’d proven himself one hell of an inspector. Though he’d never been in London before, he had the uncanny knack for finding men and cargo in the rookeries. He might have looked familiar, but no one could quite place him.

Lady Susanna Derring had fallen in love with her distant third—or was it fourth?—cousin at first sight. They’d married as soon as the banns were called. And now, today, Dudley Dorrington was the husband of Lady Susanna.

Of the options offered by Sir Brook, Gideon had chosen the name
Dudley
because every time they were in public and Susanna was forced to call him Dudley, it made him smile. Who the hell named a brat Dudley? Gideon almost felt sorry for those coves.

And he didn’t mind at all that Susanna still called him Gideon in private. They would have ample time for her to use his real name now that they had wed.

Susanna said the wedding was lovely. Gideon didn’t know what the hell it was. He hadn’t even looked around the church. Easier to avoid the Earl of Dane’s and Sir Brook’s scowling mugs that way. Easier not to spot Corker and Dab loitering in the back of the sanctuary, or Des and Brenna sitting in the front. He didn’t know how the hell they’d heard about the wedding, and he didn’t want to know. He wanted only to survive this wedding breakfast and corner Susanna alone.

She’d looked stunning in her pale pink gown, the sunlight streaming through the windows behind her and lighting her hair until it seemed to shimmer with pale fire. Her large eyes had never left his face as her father, now Lady Dane’s husband, had placed her hand in his. He’d looked down at the white-gloved hand resting in his own gloved one. He’d thought about how he’d never owned gloves before. He’d thought about how none of that mattered to anyone anymore. She was his, and she didn’t care about gloves or titles or wealth.

Gideon supposed that was for the best. He would never be a wealthy man on an inspector’s salary. At least not what she considered wealthy, but Susanna said she was content to live modestly. Until he had saved enough to rent a flat of their own, they resided at Derring House. Gideon planned to earn the blunt he needed quickly—anything to escape the dour-faced Crawford and the gong summoning all to dinner.

After today, he’d sleep in Susanna’s room. Derring had him moved to a guest chamber after the betrothal had been announced, but Gideon found he felt more comfortable in the servants’ quarters.

He suspected he’d be most comfortable in Susanna’s bed—if the wedding breakfast ever ended.

“Not long now,” Marlowe whispered, pausing at his side.

Gideon gave her an innocent look, and she laughed. “I know you too well, Gid—sorry, I mean,
Dudley
. I can read your thoughts. You can’t wait to tumble her.”

“Why, Countess, I don’t know what you mean.”

Her blue eyes danced with merriment. “You always were good at aping your betters. The way I see it, she loves you exactly as you are.”

“Foolish mort.”

She smacked his arm. “Not at all. Now, off with you. Keep an eye on Des before he makes off with the silver.”

Gideon’s gaze cut to his friend across the room. Des was indeed eyeing a silver serving spoon with interest.

“Did you ever think you’d see Des Stewart and the Earl of Dane in the same room with a half-dozen thief-takers, and Gap and Tiny?”

“Can’t say I did. Can’t say I think any of them will ever be invited back again either.”

Des slipped the spoon into his coat, and Gap shoved Tiny back, sending him sliding into a footman whose tray of champagne toppled over.

“Susanna does try,” Marlowe said with a sigh. She put a hand on his chest to indicate he stay where he was. “I’ll take care of it. You go upstairs and find Susanna.”

“Upstairs?”

She winked at him. “Oh, didn’t you know? She’s in her room waiting for you.”

“And you waited this long to tell me?” he called after her. He all but sprinted from the room, not caring how eager that made him appear, not caring that the entire room probably knew exactly where he was going and what he would do. He cared only for Susanna.

Gideon knew which door was hers. He’d seen her maid come out of her room and scuttle down this hallway.

Gideon went straight to her door, knocked softly, and heard her call, “Who is it?”

“Me.” He looked nervously down at his shoes. “Gideon. Your husband.” He said the last loudly, in case one of the brothers was nearby. Brothers could be notoriously overprotective of their sisters. Best to remind them of his new status.

“Come in.”

Gideon pushed the door open and halted. He’d cracked houses smaller than the bedchamber. White and pink surrounded him—pale pink walls, white curtains edged with lace, dainty furniture adorned with small vases filled with flowers.

And the bed.

Gideon closed the door and locked it.

A snowy-white counterpane covered the large bed behind filmy, thin drapes that would hide nothing. White, frilly pillows formed a small mountain at the head of the bed. Gideon had never owned one pillow, much less fifteen.

“I know it needs renovating,” said a voice. Gideon pinpointed it behind a large rectangular screen decorated with flowers. “We can decide on colors and fabrics together,” she said.

“Right.” The last thing he would do was spend time staring at paint colors. They wouldn’t live here long enough to necessitate renovation. Besides, he rather liked the pink and white. He felt clean surrounded by white, probably because he
was
clean. The damned valet Derring had assigned to him had all but drowned him in the bath.

“Take off your coat,” she said, still behind the screen.

What was she doing back there?

“This is your room now too.”

He shrugged, slipped off his coat, and dropped it on the floor. Yanking off his boots and stockings, Gideon stepped onto the thick white rug. His toes burrowed into the softness. Who needed a bed when the floor was so soft?

He wiggled his toes and clawed at the cravat the valet had given him to wear. When that was beside the coat on the floor, he shed his waistcoat and stretched. He felt almost normal again, except for his cushioned toes. He enjoyed peeking his toes in and out of the rug until he caught a movement and looked up.

All of the blood rushed from his head, and though he tried to speak, he barely managed a grunt.

Susanna leaned negligently against the screen, her hands at her sides, her long strawberry-blond hair down about her waist in shining waves. Her large eyes fixed on his face, and as he stared at her, the color rose prettily in her cheeks. At her neck sparkled diamonds and emeralds from a familiar necklace.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think I must be dreaming.” Gideon was proud he managed that much. Susanna wore nothing but the necklace.

He’d seen every part of her unclothed, but never like this. Never with the white sunlight filtering through the curtains and dancing on all that pale porcelain skin.

“Brook said he hasn’t located the necklace’s owner yet.” She ran a hand up the curve of her hip, past her small, round breasts, to the sparkling jewels at her throat. “I asked if I might borrow it.”

“You put it to shame.”

She smiled and started across the room, her long legs slim and shapely. “When you say such things, you make me feel bold.” She stopped before him, the rosy tips of her nipples brushing against his shirt. His hands encircled her small waist, his skin instantly warmed by her flesh.

“I’ll say more then. I like you bold.”

She undid the buttons of his shirt and slid it up, trailing her fingers along his abdomen as she raised the material. “I like being bold.” She dropped his shirt on the floor. “I am tired of waiting for permission, of waiting for my life to begin. I didn’t wait for you to ask to marry me.” She reached for the fall of his trousers. “And I won’t wait for you to take me to bed.” She loosened the trousers and shoved them over his hips. “I’ll take you.”

“If this is marriage, I believe I will like it,” he murmured.

“I like you, Husband”—she smiled at him—“though I am still not used to seeing you with your hair shorn.”

“I look respectable.”

“Not quite.”

Her bare breasts pressed against his chest, their softness distracting him from her hands working his trousers down until she cupped his bare buttocks. His cock was hard and more than ready. Even though she’d always been extremely responsive to his touch, he didn’t want to rush her. He wanted this first time to last. He wanted to remember it as the beginning of his life with her, his life after the Covent Garden Cubs.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured in her ear. He pushed his cock against her belly. “Feel that? I want you.”

“Then let me take you to bed.” She took his hand, and he stepped out of his trousers and followed her. She pulled him onto the bed until he knelt in the middle with her. With both of them naked, he forgot the social classes between them. Nothing but the two of them mattered.

He took her mouth, cupping the back of her head and sinking his hands into all of that soft hair. She opened for him, stroking his tongue with hers and pressing her body wantonly against his. Her hands roamed his flesh, her hands fisting in his hair, her nails scraping his back, her fingertips on his belly, then wrapping around his cock. She slid her hand up and down until he had to dig his blunt fingernails into his palms to keep from ravishing her.

Gideon lowered his mouth to her breasts, to the pale pink nipples standing so erect and so ready to be tasted and pleasured. He sucked lightly, his hands sliding down her stomach to her pelvis and her thighs. She gasped with pleasure when he used his tongue to lave the straining bud then blew cool air on the wet flesh. Her skin flushed dark pink, and he went to work on the other breast.

“I could do this all night,” he said, circling her flesh with his tongue while she arched and her head lolled back. “I could pleasure you like this for hours.”

“Touch me,” she demanded, and though he was already touching her, he knew what she wanted. His fingers moved in slow, expanding circles toward the junction of her thighs. The hair, slightly darker than that on her head, brushed against his fingers, and he delved inside. He was not surprised to find her wet for him. He was surprised when he parted her lips and ran a finger over the sensitive bud between them. With a gasp, she shuddered and cried out.

He pressed against her, watching her hips move to the rhythm of the pleasure, and when she finally met his gaze, her dark eyes were bright with desire.

“Do you know how rare that is?” he asked. “That you find pleasure so easily?”

“How could I not?” She planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. “When you touch me, I come alive.”

The pillows cushioned his head and left him at the perfect angle to watch as she kissed his chest and his belly. She wasn’t quite brave enough to kiss his cock, but he could see her thinking about it.

“Next time,” he said, tilting her chin up and bringing her mouth to his. The curtain of her hair shrouded them both in a soft, dark cocoon. He guided her body until she straddled him, positioning her until the soft wetness of her core hovered just above his aching cock.

“What now?” she asked, levering herself up. Her breasts tilted upward, the peaks like cherries on a snowy hill. The new position also brought skin to skin, and her mouth opened into an
O
. Her eyes grew large and dark. “Oh, I see.”

“You wanted to take me.” He arched his hips. “Take me.”

“Yes.”

She slid over him, sheathing him in liquid warmth. She faltered at first, and he showed her how to move, how to find friction and ride it to climax.

She had stamina and enthusiasm. Finally he felt her tense, and in a single movement, he rolled her under him.

“What are you doing?” she panted, probably angrier to have her climax postponed than at the change of positions.

“I want to see your face,” he said, linking his fingers with hers on the bed. He moved inside her, and she clenched her fingers tightly.

“Please don’t stop.”

“No.” He slid out, then very slowly back in until he was buried deep and thick.

“Oh, yes.” Her hips arched as she sought more friction. “Hard, Gideon. Fast.”

“So demanding.”

He plunged in hard and fast, and he watched her control waver. His was breaking too.

“Susanna.”

Her hazy gaze met his, and her lips curved into a smile.

“I love you,” he said, grasping her hands tightly.

“And I love you.”

Hands and bodies linked by love, they tumbled into forever.