When a Rogue Falls

by Caroline Linden

  “Then why don’t you listen to me?” She closed the distance between them, laying her palm against his cheek. “Ask me what I want.”

  He leaned into her touch without thought. “What do you want, Minnie?”

  “I want you,” she said without hesitation. “I want you to ruin me.”

  Mina didn’t have a lot of experience in the matter, but she was reasonably certain that a request for sex did not usually end with the man wide-eyed and slack-jawed, hurriedly redoing the flap to his breeches and backing away from her as though she’d sprouted another head.

  “It’s a reasonable request,” she said, a bit too defensively.

  “No, it isn’t.” Charlie shook his head, his brown eyes round as the rim of the teacup she’d drank from earlier, when plotting this very appeal. “You can’t possibly want this.”

  The corners of her lips turned downward in a frustrated grimace. At some point, people were going to have to stop underestimating her and telling her what she wanted, or she was going to do something drastic. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s insane.” He took a step back, and then another, his arms raised and his elbows out, his hands running through his hair. “Not only would your brothers have my head on a silver platter, but there’s Donaldson to consider.”

  “Who won’t want me.” She plopped down on the bed, wishing her cheeks would stop burning. Her body was still flushed—still wanting. If only they’d return to how they’d been a minute ago. “I’ve thought this through. Donaldson wants a prize, and I’m no good to him if I’m not a virgin. He’ll withdraw his proposal. Joaquin can’t force me to marry him if Donaldson doesn’t want me.”

  Charlie opened his mouth, promptly shutting it again. He did this once more before he came up with a response. “Look, I’m not the best judge of these kind of things, but as I understand it, your reputation would be shit. That means somethin’ in your circles—hell, it probably still means somethin’ in the rookeries too, it’s just…less of a damnation.”

  “I don’t care about that.” Her reputation had done nothing for her. It’d kept her captive, unaware of the realities of her family’s real business. It hadn’t protected her when McNair had attacked her.

  Charlie had. He’d kept her safe.

  “But don’t you think you oughta care?” Charlie paced the length of his flat, his voice retaining those rough traces that reminded her she’d had an effect on him. “Maybe you won’t know what you had until it’s gone. You’ve got a chance to make somethin’ of yourself. Move up in social class. Get out of these parts, go somewhere nice.”

  “Without you,” she pointed out.

  His mouth quirked into a sad smile. “You’ll be better off, without me. It’d be different if I could promise you all that. If I had more blunt to my name than a few pounds and this meager flat. If I was somethin’ more, you know I’d offer for you in a minute, then.”

  It pained her to hear him talk of himself with such despondency. “Why do you do that?”

  He ceased pacing, holding up his hands. “Do what? I’m tryin’ to talk sense into you.”

  “No. Belittle yourself.” She stood, going over to him. She didn’t reach for him, not now, when he was so determined to refuse her over some confounded, misplaced honor. “You’re so certain our life together would be horrible, you won’t even give us a chance.”

  “Because there’s no point.” The ache in his eyes tore at her heartstrings, as the finality in his voice raised her hackles. “It doesn’t matter. I promised Zacharias I’d stay away from you.”

  “So that’s it, then?” She reeled on him, shoving at his chest. “You’re willing to make promises to Chapman, but not to me.”

  He did not fight her as she beat her fists into his chest once more. He did not do anything that she’d expected of him. How imbecilic she’d been then, to think that he was a good man. A man who believed in her.

  “All this time, I thought you cared about me. That maybe you loved me.” She spun around, going toward the door. “Forget I came here. I’ll figure out how to get out of this marriage without you. I don’t need—or want—your help anymore.”

  “Minnie,” he called.

  She didn’t stop. She reached for the doorknob. He grabbed her arm, turning her back around, so that she faced him.

  “Let me go,” she hissed. “We’re done here. You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me.”

  In a flash, he had her back in his arms. “Fool woman,” he ground out, the raw gravel of his voice sending a shiver up her spine. “I’m tryin’ to do right by you, and you’re makin’ it damnably difficult.”

  Before she could form a response, he had his mouth on hers. The fierceness of his kiss took her breath away. She matched his passion with her own, kiss for kiss, an equal partner in this, as in all other matters. Those embers that had kindled within her before flamed brighter, stoked by the thrust of his tongue, the grip of his hands—one in her hair, angling her head closer to his; the other at her hip, holding her steady.

  He always kept her steady. He was her anchor.

  She lost count of the times they kissed. What had been a tiny fire became blistering, until her clothes seemed too heavy, too confining, and she longed to tear them off. Yet she didn’t break this kiss, for fear that he might return to what he claimed was sensible.

  When he did pull back from her, she tried to capture his mouth again. “Minnie,” he breathed, his grip on her hip tightening. “I love you, you stubborn, fool woman. I can’t give you the good life you deserve, but God, I love you.”

  If he had not said it again, she’d think she was hearing things. Surely, her mind could not conjure him professing love twice. Not when he was kissing her, and those wonderful blazes of heat were swirling through her, destroying all her worries and leaving happiness instead.

  As his kisses moved lower, to her neck, underneath her ear, and then her collarbone, her lips curved up into the widest of smiles. He loved her—all these years, she’d hoped against hope that he would love her. That he’d someday be hers.

  “Oh, Charlie,” she murmured, as he nipped at the pressure point between her neck and collarbone, then soothed her skin with his kiss. Somehow, the combination of pleasure and pain felt so right, perfect when so much of their friendship had been one or the other. Moments of complete bliss marred by the anguish of suffering.

  But perhaps, it had made this coming together more powerful. They’d waited so long that their kisses, their touches, were incendiary.

  She reached again for the closures of his shirt, and this time he did not push her hands away. She pulled it out from his breeches, pulling it up and over his head. She had known he was toned—the way he filled out his shirt-sleeves had made that very, very clear—but she had not imagined the full extent. In the candlelight he was a bronzed god, thick shoulders, compact chest muscles and a trim waist. She could not look away from him.

  “Like what you see?” He grinned.

  She nodded, unable to think of a suitably smart remark. In this instance, he had every right to be cocky.

  Tentatively, she traced the large tattoo on his right breast, following the raised lines of the ornate “C” with her fingertips. What must it have been like, to have a needle dig into his flesh, permanently inking him with the gang’s symbol? She bit her lip, recalling when he’d first got the mark from a tattooist in a traveling fair that came to Shadwell.

  “Hurt like hell,” he said quietly, placing his hand atop hers. “At the time, I was damned proud of it.”

  “I remember.” She didn’t want to think about the tattoo anymore, or about Chapman, or about the Kings. She wanted to be with Charlie. Still, she couldn’t help but ask, “What do you think of it now?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Been rethinkin’ a lot of things. But I’d say turnabout’s fair play, wouldn’t you?”

  When he gestured to her shirt, she blushed. “Oh.”

  “You needn’t be bashful ’round me.” He
caught a loose lock of her hair, twirling it around his finger. “You’re the prettiest damned thing I ever seen, Minnie.”

  “You’ve seen a lot.” She arched a brow at him, but urged on by his intent stare, she undid the buttons to her waistcoat.

  Charlie shoved her hands away. “Nobody like you. You move too slow, love. I’ve been waitin’ a long time,” he told her, quickly slipping the shirt over her head, frowning at her bound breasts. “That’ll have to go, too.”

  He left her no time to be uncomfortable, for soon he had the wrappings undone and removed. When she was bared before him, he stood back and looked at her for a minute, that cocksure grin becoming almost giddy. “Prettiest woman alive, I was right.”

  She’d wanted to cover up, but when he regarded her with such rapt admiration, she no longer felt so exposed. That wonderful tingling started up in her again, especially when he came closer to her, kissing her. His kiss traveled lower, lower, as his hand came up to palm her breast. Her skin tingled with eager awareness, becoming the most lovely heat as he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolled it. She couldn’t keep back the whimper of pleasure, for his touch felt so, so good—and so, so right, as though this was what her body been made for all along.

  His head dipped lower, flicking his tongue across her nipple, and a low keening sound escaped from the back of her throat. He licked her, tasted her, sucked on her until that heat within her had built into a full-fledged fire. Instinctively, she arched into him, her fingers entwined in his hair to hold him there, in that spot that made the world start to spin.

  “You’re beautiful,” he told her, turning his attention to her other breast. “Perfect, even. If I were a words kinda man, I’d be writin’ sonnets to your breasts.”

  “That would be excessive,” she murmured, her words ending on a moan as he bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth. “This will do nicely.”

  He kept on, his lips working magic upon her body, until he eased her back toward the bed. “Mina.” The way he said her name, so urgently, cut through her haze of pleasure and made her sit up.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not gonna ruin you.” He spoke in huffs, his chest rising and falling with the effort to contain himself.

  She didn’t understand, not when she could see—and feel—the hard indentation of his erection. “But you said you loved me.”

  “It’s because I love you that I’m not gonna ruin you.” His hands shook as he reached for her, his fingertips coming to rest at the edge of her borrowed breeches. “It’s not just your reputation, Minnie. It’s…I don’t feel right ’bout it. Makin’ love with you, not bein’ able to promise you the moon.” He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her protest. “I know, you say you don’t care ’bout all that, but I do. When I take you, it oughta be for real, with a ring. It oughta be because I can support you, and our children.”

  “You said ‘when.’” She stayed ever so still, his finger still looped on the first button of her breeches. “So this is…a promise to ask me to marry you, later?”

  He chuckled, reaching up to brush a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess you could say that. I’m gonna make you mine, officially, once you’re free of Donaldson and this mess between the gangs fades. Nobody’s gonna have you but me.” He paused, suddenly tremulous. “That is, if that’s fine with you.”

  “That’s absolutely fine with me,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. “I love you, and I’ll wait for you.”

  He returned her kiss, brushing his lips against hers in sweet tenderness. “I oughta tell you, I don’t have a damn clue how this is gonna work for us. With you bein’ a King, and me Chapman.”

  She shrugged. “You’ve never been one for plans. Just action.”

  “Aye.” He chucked her chin, grinning. “But there’s ways I can bring you pleasure…without takin’ your maidenhead.”

  “Oh?” She had overheard talk about such activities from one of Joaquin’s mistresses—she couldn’t remember which one, as they all started to blend together after a while. But the woman had said men did not enjoy giving pleasure when they couldn’t be on the receiving end.

  “Aye,” Charlie said again, his jade eyes twinkling mischievously. “Do you trust me?”

  “Always.” Perhaps he was the only person she still trusted.

  “Lie back.” He gave her a gentle push and she landed flat on the bed, her head on his pillow. He undid the flap of her breeches, sliding them down and off her legs. She hadn’t worn any pantalettes with the breeches.

  Completely bare to him, her first instinct was to reach for the blanket to cover herself. He released her hand from the fabric, shaking his head.

  “You should never wear clothes again,” he said, surveying her with such obvious approval that she felt warm all over. “Around me, that is. I don’t like the thought of other men seein’ you.”

  She chuckled at that, running her fingers through his hair as he lowered himself over her. “I like this jealous side of you.”

  “Really,” he mused, as he slid his hand across her breasts and then lower, to her hips. “Because I’ve been thinkin’ about what I’d like to do to Donaldson—”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.” She shook her head. “I want to think about us.”

  “I can do that.” He suited his words with what he was best at—action, nudging her thighs apart.

  With only slight hesitation, she parted for him, a surprised gasp coming from her as he ran his thumb across her nub. Oh, that felt simply magnificent.

  Still keeping contact with her center, he dragged his fingers across her channel and tempting heat pooled within her again. She bucked up against his hand, her hips shifting unconsciously with his movements. She’d thought his attentions before were good, but this was something beyond. She squirmed against him, moaning out his name. These wild feelings inside her were building to something strange and wonderful.

  “Christ, you’ll make me spill,” he gasped out, shifting his breeches to accommodate his hard cock.

  She started to reach for him, eager to give him the same pleasure, when he shoved her hand away and shifted on the bed so that his head was between her thighs. She blinked down at him, confused at first, but then his mouth closed over her and she forgot what she’d been about to say. She forgot everything except this very moment, with his tongue sliding down her folds, laving her, tasting her, taking her bud between his teeth and exacting the most exquisite torture. She was jumping out of her skin, floating somewhere beyond them, outside of this room and all of the difficulties facing them. Should she fight the sensations building? Struggle for control, exert her will over the situation, when the waves seemed unstoppable?

  “Let go,” Charlie urged, looking up and meeting her gaze. She saw truth in his eyes, and she knew he’d never hurt her.

  At every point, he’d been there for her. He knew when to support her, and when to let her stand on her own. He didn’t want anything from her outside of her love, and that was everything to her.

  So as he moved his tongue in a steady circle against her nub, she gave herself up to the pleasure. Fireworks exploded before her as she came, crying out his name. When she returned to reality, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and reached for him.

  “Ah,” he grunted as she took him in hand. “This could get—”

  With her free hand, she undid his breeches, scooting them down his legs. “Turnabout is fair play, you said, yes?”

  “Minnie,” he panted, as her hand closed around his rigid shaft, so large—larger than she’d ever expected. She eyed it skeptically, thinking that sex would be a tricky situation, but figuring that was a logistics problem she’d conquer another night. Right now, her head felt so light, and her body was so relaxed, she couldn’t possibly fathom size and dimensions.

  He showed her how to pump him up and down, his breath catching when she hit the right rhythm. She watched his reactions wide-eyed, a slow smile curling her li
ps. She’d produced his arousal, through her body and her ministrations. It was a heady trip, and suddenly she understood why Joaquin’s mistresses could wield such power over him.

  Because this was intoxicating. She kept going, loving the feel of Charlie in her hands, and the way he moaned her name. He sat up suddenly, pulling from her, spilling on the sheet.

  “Oh,” she said, as he tidied up. “I see. Well, that certainly makes more sense now.”

  He laughed. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head, as she reached for her clothes. “Much more, really, but words don’t seem to want to come.”

  “I’ll keep this in mind then,” he observed. “Never won an argument against you, but if you can’t be thinkin’ after we—”

  She shushed him with a kiss, determined that he wouldn’t win this, either.

  Only when he walked her home, dropping her off on the street near her brother’s townhouse, did she fully realize that she still had no real solution to her current problem. All she could do was trust that Charlie was right, and they’d find another way to be rid of Donaldson.

  Because now that she had Charlie—or at least, the promise that she would have Charlie—she refused to accept anyone other than him.

  Chapter 10

  When his father had been on one of his rampages, Charlie often slept on the streets, finding shelter underneath a shop awning, or upon the steps of a gaming hell like the King of Spades. He’d been a light sleeper then out of necessity, never fully relaxing. Even as a child, he had understood that evil was everywhere, a tiger prowling through an urban jungle, eager to sink its teeth into tender flesh.

  All those nights under the stars with only a rusty pocket knife to ensure his safety had not prepared him for waking up like this.

  He was drowning.

  Last he knew, he’d been asleep in his bed. Then he was awake, shorn brutally from slumber by a rush of water into his lungs, making him cough and choke—which meant more sludge in his mouth, down his throat, seeping into his stomach. Bilge from the Thames, if the smell was any indication. He registered this detail with the sort of peculiarly aware abstractness one has when still half-asleep and piecing together an unfamiliar reality.