Viscount of Vice (10 page)

Robbie had slept like the dead the past few nights. It was a change from the first days he'd been home, when he hadn't been able to sleep more than an hour or so at a time. Flynn wished that had been the worst of it, but the chills, vomiting, violent tremors, and intestinal issues he'd watched his brother suffer were far worse than the insomnia.

When he'd shown up on his mother's doorstep in Bath with Robbie in tow, he had no idea of the nightmare to come. The family had traveled to London because the best doctors could be found in London, but even the best could not curb the worst of Robbie's sickness. No wonder Robbie had not succeeded in giving up opium before. It had taken Flynn, his mother, Emma, a small army of servants, and a staff of three doctors to see the man through the darkest days. Thankfully, Flynn could say they were now through the worst of it. The doctors had come away from Robbie's bedside, smiling and nodding more often than before, and Flynn himself had actually begun to breathe again. His body, so tight with worry for his brother, had begun to relax.

He stood, and his mother turned. He nodded at her and indicated the door. Flynn wanted his own bed. No, he wanted his bed with his wife in it. He was perplexed to realize the London house was beginning to feel more and more like his own. Initially, he'd thought he would return to his bachelor quarters, but he could not take Emma there. And the memory of those lodgings was inextricably tied to what he had begun to think of as The Old Flynn. The Old Flynn caroused, gambled, and drank. The New Flynn played nursemaid and—God help him—had begun to take on some of his duties as Viscount Chesham. The New Flynn was a husband.

He could not have known, when he told his brother they would create a new home, how true that would be. Even his mother was not quite the thorn in his side she had once been. Perhaps that was why he did not protest when she followed him out of the room and into the corridor. She nodded to a footman sitting outside, and the man entered Robbie's room silently. They'd been advised never to leave Robbie alone, but Flynn imagined those injunctions would begin to fade away soon.

Without a word, Flynn and his mother moved down the corridor, away from Robbie's room. She was still slight, but her face was a bit rounder, and more color appeared in her cheeks. “He is improving,” she said quietly as they paused in front of the door to her suite. She still occupied the chamber she had when his father had been alive. It was attached to the viscount's rooms, which were now empty. Flynn supposed he might have demanded she change rooms so he and Emma might have the suite they were entitled to, but such trivial matters did not seem important. He supposed they never had been.

“Yes,” Flynn agreed. “I think the worst is behind us.”

“Henry.”

Startled by the soft tone of her voice, he glanced at her quickly. She was indeed looking at him curiously. “I never expressed my gratitude to you for bringing him home.”

“There was no need.”

“There is every need,” she said without any softness. “I fear I have not been a very good mother to you. I haven't been a mother at all to Robert. I know it is late. I know you are a grown man now, but perhaps we might change that. Perhaps we might become friends, the four of us.”

Flynn furrowed his brow.
Four?
Ah, she included Emma. She would. Emma had taken care of them all, but she'd been particularly solicitous of the dowager viscountess. She'd made his mother rest, made her eat, made her step outside occasionally. It was not difficult for any of them to love Emma, but he knew loving him had never been easy. He understood the effort it took for his mother to say these words. She was not an affectionate or demonstrative woman. “I'd like that, Mother. I think Robbie would like it.”

“Good. But first I do believe you will have to leave Robbie and me for a few days.”

Flynn blinked. “I beg your pardon.”

She frowned at him. “Have you forgotten Lady Emma?”

He never forgot Emma. “No. It's the middle of the night. I assume she is sleeping.”

“You haven't been a very good husband to her.”

Flynn wanted to disagree. He'd been a very good husband to her. She was half-afraid the entire household had heard what a good husband he'd been to her on several occasions. Fortunately, his mother continued, “You married her with a special license and then brought her home to care for a sick man. You have not taken any time away, any time alone.”

Flynn raised a brow. “You want us to go away?”

“Now that your brother is improving, I think we all need a holiday. Perhaps I will take Robbie to the seaside in a few weeks. In the meantime, you take Emma…somewhere…”

He wondered how she would complete the statement.

“Romantic.”

That was not what he had been expecting. “Mother, you surprise me. I never knew you were so sentimental.”

She straightened. “Sentimental. What rubbish. I only want a few nights peace.”

He laughed, then surprised himself by bending and kissing her on the cheek. “We'll go, and thank you for giving your blessing.”

She huffed, but he could see she was flushed with pleasure. “It was either give my blessing or forcibly push you out of the house.”

And with that, she opened the door to her room and stepped inside. Flynn, smiling, continued to his room. Silently, he opened the door and slipped inside, trying very hard not to wake Emma. He had just stripped down when she murmured, “Flynn?”

“Go back to sleep,” he said, climbing into bed beside her. Wanton woman. She was as naked as he beneath the bedclothes warmed by her body.

“I will,” she said, stretching so her body pressed against his. She wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers for a long, luxurious kiss. “How is your brother?”

“Sleeping.”

“Good.” Her hand slid down his chest, creating a trail of fire. As she neared his abdomen, he felt himself grow hard and eager. Her leg, so hot and soft, wrapped about his waist, and her heat pressed close to him. “And how are you, my Lord Viscount of Virtue?”

“Not feeling very virtuous at the moment.” He kissed her neck, her earlobe, and trailed his mouth lower until she sighed with pleasure and anticipation.

“You did promise me I would not regret marrying such a paragon of virtue.”

“And I have yet to break a promise to you,” he said, pulling her closer and settling himself on top of her. He looked down at her in the flickering light of the hearth, at her dark eyes and her golden skin. He loved her, more now than he had ever thought possible.

“And what can you promise me tonight?” she whispered.

He answered her with his lips, lowering his mouth to kiss her, moving his hands and his body to fulfill his promises. He may have put the days of the Viscount of Vice behind him, but in the dark, when they were alone, he was very, very wicked indeed.

Don't miss the first in Shana Galen's
new Covent Garden Cubs series

Earls Just Want to Have Fun

Coming February 2015 from Sourcebooks Casablanca

She was five. She liked being five because it meant she could hold up every finger on her hand and spread them wide when an adult asked her age. Adults always asked how old she was and her name. Sometimes they asked her favorite color. Those were easy questions. Her name was Elizabeth, and her favorite color was pink.

She liked candied violets and puppies and hated bedtime and her nanny. Nanny always made her stand up straight and keep her dress clean and brush her hair. Elizabeth had long light brown hair, and it tangled. She had to brush it three times a day.
At
least
. Nanny asked difficult questions. She asked Elizabeth to spell her name. Elizabeth had once told Mama that she wished she had a name like
Jane
, which was Nanny's name, because Elizabeth was
too
long
.

Mama had laughed. Mama was always laughing, and Elizabeth wished she could be with Mama all the time and never have to see Nanny. But Mama and Papa had to go to the Season. That meant they dressed in clothes Elizabeth could not touch unless her hands were scrubbed clean, and they stayed up very late and slept all day. Elizabeth had to be
so
quiet.

She hated being quiet almost as much as she hated bedtime with Nanny, who yelled if Elizabeth didn't stay in bed or if she chattered too much. Elizabeth loved it when Mama tucked her in, because Mama always sang her lullabies. Elizabeth's favorite began “Lavender's blue,” but Mama changed the words.

Elizabeth's true, dilly, dilly,

Elizabeth's sweet.

A kiss I will give, dilly, dilly,

When next we meet.

Mama was not with her today. Today was sunny and warm, and Nanny had taken her to the park. Elizabeth was so happy. She could run—if Nanny wasn't looking—and twirl and dance and pick wildflowers for Mama. Nanny had scolded her earlier for muddying her pinafore, but Elizabeth did not see how that could be avoided when everything that was interesting was either beside the mud or in it.

Elizabeth bent over to examine a pretty pink flower and jumped when a ball rolled to a stop at her feet. She looked up, searching for the owner of the ball. A boy, just about her age, waved at her and said, “Kick it back!”

Elizabeth blinked and glanced over her shoulder at Nanny. But Nanny was not watching her. Nanny was speaking to a man Elizabeth did not recognize. Nanny was also smiling and blinking a lot. Elizabeth wondered if her nanny had something in her eyes.

“Kick it!” the boy called again.

Elizabeth wanted to kick the ball, but she was not certain whether Nanny would approve. Of course, Nanny was not watching her at the moment. With a last furtive glance over her shoulder, Elizabeth kicked the ball. It sailed over the grass and down a small hill. The boy let out a
whoop
and chased after it. “Come on!” he called with a wave. He looked like he was having so much fun that Elizabeth followed. He kicked the ball, then let her have another turn. Then it was his turn, then hers again. Elizabeth was laughing and running and wishing the game would never end. She wondered if Nanny saw how much fun she was having, but when she turned, she did not see Nanny. She did not see anything that looked familiar. She was still in the park, but she'd run far away from the path where Nanny and the other people had been enjoying the day.

“Come on!” the boy yelled, kicking the ball again.

Elizabeth shook her head. “I can't. I have to find my nanny.” She looked left and then right and frowned. She didn't know which way to go. Her lip trembled, and she felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

Suddenly a man stepped out from behind a tree. The boy seemed to know him and went to him immediately, but the man ignored him. “Don't cry, little girl,” he said. “I'll help you find your nanny.” He held out his hand, and Elizabeth stepped forward. She looked up at the man and hesitated. His eyes were small and odd—one blue and one green—his teeth were sharp and crooked, and despite his fine clothing, his black hair hung in long and stringy clumps. He smiled, but his eyes did not smile like his mouth. Wordlessly, Elizabeth shook her head and backed away.

“Where are you going, little girl?”

She shook her head and turned to run just as his hands caught her about the waist.

* * *

Marlowe watched Gap stroll down Piccadilly as though he hadn't a care in the world. That wasn't as easy as it looked. Piccadilly was so crowded, even the largest of men were likely to be jostled. And the noise. Everyone was talking at once, trying to be heard over the calls of postboys and peddlers of every sort. Gap looked at home, which he was. Hands in his pockets, he whistled a tune through the gap in his teeth and appeared to stroll aimlessly. Men and women kept a watchful eye on him. He looked every inch the pickpocket ready to dive for the first easy bubble he spotted.

That was why Gap didn't dive.

As he neared the corner where she stood, alternately pretending to watch a gentleman have his boots shined and study the printed bills that covered every available wall or scaffold, Marlowe tucked an errant strand of hair into her cap. She'd bound her breasts so tightly she could barely breathe. She had slim hips and legs, but her long hair and her ample bosom would betray her if she were not careful. There was nothing to do about her chest, but she wished Satin would allow her to cut her hair. He wanted her to keep it for some of their better-rackets.

She watched as Gap gave her the signal, tipping his hat to show her the bubble. Marlowe could dive as well as any of the gang, better than most because she practiced so often. She had the gift of manipulating her speech so she sounded much more cultured than she was. That and her sweet face meant the gentry trusted her. They thought she was one of their own, or not too far beneath them. They never suspected one of their own.

With a tap on the brim of her cap, she indicated she saw the bubble and approved. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and neat blondish-brown hair under his brushed beaver hat. He looked wealthy but not foolish, and she hesitated momentarily, wondering what Gap had been thinking. This was not their usual, easy game. He must have waved some blunt to attract Gap's attention. And if there was blunt to be had, she had better bring it back to the flash ken. She didn't relish another of Satin's punishments.

She turned away from the boot boy and his gentleman, timing her movements perfectly. By the time she stepped into the crowd of people moving alongside Piccadilly, she was almost upon him. His eyes, a sharp, clear blue, met hers, and she had a moment to think
this
is
a
mistake
. But it was too late, because she'd already collided with him, and her nimble hands had done their work.

She had his blunt in her hand by the time she stepped back and bowed to him. “Terribly sorry, sir. Pardon my clumsiness.” While one hand stuffed the pounds in her coat pocket, the other tipped her cap genially. Now was his turn to say
think
nothing
of
it, my fine lad
. Then they would both go on their way.

But he didn't say his line. In fact, he didn't even look at her hand tipping her cap. His gaze arrowed directly down to the hand stuffing pounds in her pocket, and his lips curled in a smile. “Good day, Elizabeth. I've been waiting for you.”

* * *

She ducked into the flash ken with a curse on her lips. She was late, and Satin would have her hide. Strangely enough, that was the least of her worries at the moment. For once, she had bigger problems than Satin, and he was generally a rather substantial problem.

“Ye're late,” Satin sneered from the corner of the large room the gang gathered in to eat and socialize. He was gnawing on a greasy chicken leg, his black hair hanging down about his face.

“Sorry.”

“Gap said you got nabbed.”

She shook her head with a quick look at Gap. Snitch. He'd be sorry later. “No. I took the long way back. I have the blunt.” She approached Satin warily and dumped the pile of blunt into the hat between his feet. She felt more than saw the necks of the other boys crane to get a look at her haul. It was impressive, but she didn't pause to bask in Satin's praise. She wanted to escape his attention as quickly as possible. She wanted to be alone, but she couldn't disappear too soon.

Gideon sat to Satin's right, and when she glanced at him, she saw the flicker of a question in his eyes. He knew something was wrong. She prayed Satin didn't.

Satin nodded and grunted then glanced up at her. “That all of it?”

“Yes.” She turned out her pockets and dropped her empty purse on the floor. For once she was telling the truth. She hadn't held anything back.

“Good. Go change. You're working the better-racket tonight.”

“What? Why?”

His black gaze shot up to her face, and she shut her mouth.

“Because I said so. Need another reason?”

She shook her head.

“Good. I'm sure Gid here will be glad to have you.” He nodded at Gideon, whose face remained expressionless.

Marlowe didn't dally. She knew better than that. She went to her room, which was nothing more than a curtained-off space in the room adjoining the main room. It was cold in the back, and she could see through the gaps in the wood to the world outside the building. When it rained, the roof leaked, and everything and everyone got wet. She was the only girl among the group, except for a couple of prostitutes Satin sometimes used for a racket or other. Because she was the only girl, and expected to have some feminine clothing for games like the one tonight, she also had a small trunk. She closed her curtain and opened the trunk, wiping her hands on her trousers to make sure they were clean. She didn't want to soil the muslin of the dress.

Marlowe hated dressing like a girl. She hated it because it was uncomfortable, and she hated it because the other cubs looked at her differently. She worked hard to be one of them. She talked like them, dressed like them, spat like them. She didn't want them to think of her as a girl—not only because it might give them ideas, but because she wanted to fit in. She wanted to be one of the Covent Garden Cubs, as they called their gang. It was the best gang in London, if anyone asked her.

But today had proved she didn't fit in. That bubble had called her
Elizabeth
. She wasn't Elizabeth. She tried to tell him, but he knew she was lying. She was usually a good liar, but she'd been taken off guard. The bubble should have been pleased. She was never taken off guard.

“Marlowe?” a quiet voice asked from the other side of the curtain.

She jumped. “Almost ready.” She wasn't almost ready, and she stripped the men's clothing off quickly, pulling on a shift and digging in the chest for a petticoat, stays, and shoes. She was Marlowe, she told herself. That was her name. Not Elizabeth. That was a fantasy she'd conjured to soothe herself after one of Satin's beatings or when she'd been a new cub and was cold and scared.

She wasn't a cub anymore. She was twenty. And she was Marlowe. She shrugged the stays on, struggled with them for a moment, then gave up. “Is Barbara here?” she asked, knowing Gideon was still waiting for her on the other side of the curtain.

“No. She brought dinner and went back. Should I get her?”

Barbara was the wife of the owner of the Rouge Unicorn Cellar, a public house across the street in the cubs' little corner of Seven Dials. Satin had some sort of arrangement with the couple. Marlowe suspected Satin had promised he wouldn't rob the place if Barbara provided a hot meal once a day and cleaned up after the cubs. Barbara also helped Marlowe dress on the rare occasions she needed to look like a lady. But Gideon knew how to dress a woman too. He'd undressed enough of them, she thought.

“No, don't bother,” Marlowe said, opening the curtain. She knew Gideon wanted to be on his way. And Marlowe didn't care one way or another whether Gideon fastened her stays. He was more her friend than a man. They'd kissed a few times, when they'd been a bit younger, but neither had felt anything. There was no spark—not that Marlowe knew what a spark felt like, but Gideon said he did, and the two of them didn't have it. That was probably a good thing, since Satin would kill both Marlowe and Gideon if they started sneaking around to make the beast with two backs.

Gideon stepped inside, and she turned. When he didn't begin right away, she looked over her shoulder. He gestured to her chest. “You should probably unbind them first.”

She looked down at her all-but-flat chest under the shift. “Right.” The shift was loose, and she simply let it drop down to her elbows until she could untie the knot in the bindings. Then she began unwrapping the band of material, which was an arduous task, because there was so much of it. As soon as she'd unwound it a few turns, her breasts began to ache as the blood rushed back into them. She hated their heavy feeling and how they got in the way. She glanced at Gideon and noted he had looked the other way. “Gideon,” she said, “you like bubbies well enough.”

He laughed and shook his head, still not looking at her. She plucked at one dark nipple. “What makes you so daft over them? I think they're a nuisance.”

“Marlowe, I'm not having this conversation with you right now. Pull up your shift and turn around.”

She did as he bade her, slipping the stays back on. With deft movements, he laced the back. They pushed her breasts up more than was comfortable, and she sighed, knowing she would be exposed for hours to come.

Interesting that Gideon didn't want to look at her breasts and offer an opinion. She'd seen his noodle. She didn't have much to say about it except that it looked like all the rest she'd seen. She supposed Gideon was trying to act like a gentleman. She didn't know why, when she was no lady.