If You Give a Rake a Ruby

by Shana Galen

  “The men who were after us might have killed you.”

  “After us? They were after you.” She poked him in the chest. Unfortunately, she had forgotten his shirt buttons were undone, and she touched warm, bare flesh. She drew her hand back quickly.

  “They were, but they would have taken you in my stead. I can’t say they would have killed you. They might have taken you to their leader. He’s the one who wants me dead.”

  “And who is that? Lucifer?”

  He shook his head. “No. Your father.”

  ***

  Warrick watched as all of the steam whooshed out of her. She deflated like one of those new balloons people were using to fly. So she hadn’t known. He hadn’t thought she did, but he couldn’t be certain. He still wasn’t certain. Courtesans were known to be excellent actresses, and she was no exception.

  Of course, she was no courtesan—and that only proved her acting abilities were exceptional.

  “What are you talking about?” she said coldly, backing away from him.

  “Those were your father’s men after Daisy’s carriage last night. Well,” he conceded, going to the window again and peering out, “I cannot be certain until we speak to Gabriel, but all of the information I have points to Joseph Bayley.”

  “He’s dead,” she said, but her eyes slid away and wouldn’t meet his.

  “And how do you know that? You haven’t seen him since you were fifteen.”

  She took a deep breath and ran a hand though her long, thick, dark hair. “I know because I killed him.”

  “Here we are then!” the lady’s maid said cheerfully, opening the door. Fallon moved away from him quickly, and he saw her wince. The pain on her face probably hurt him more than her. She was right about that at least—her injury was his fault.

  “Thank you,” Fallon said, cheerfully. “Put them on the chair, Anne.”

  The maid did so then moved about, straightening this and that, seemingly unaware that she was not wanted. Warrick was grateful for the moment to gather his thoughts. He’d done enough interrogations to have heard and seen just about everything. Nothing surprised him anymore, but Fallon’s admission all but knocked him over. He had a thousand questions and couldn’t even think where to begin.

  “Is there anything else, madam?” the lady’s maid asked.

  “Yes, I—”

  “No. You may go,” Warrick answered.

  Fallon shot him a look sharp with daggers. “My house. I give the orders.”

  “Then give them or I will.”

  The maid looked uncertain, her gaze darting to Fallon as though she was waiting for some sort of signal. He hoped she wasn’t stupid enough to give one. “Shall I send for Titus, madam?”

  Fallon glanced at him then shook her head. “No. We’re not quite done here. You may go, Anne.”

  “Yes, madam.” She left slowly, keeping her gaze on her mistress.

  “Loyal servants,” he remarked when the door finally closed.

  “Yes, they are, and they won’t hesitate to throw you out. If I were you, I’d leave on my own.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. First of all, you’ve piqued my interest with your confession of murder. Second, though you’ve proved yourself quite capable of defending yourself, I intend to stay nearby, just in case I am needed.” He parted the drapes again.

  “There’s no one but you I need defend myself from!” she all but shouted. “You’re the only one putting me in danger. And why do you keep looking out that window?”

  “Because I want to be certain our friends from last night haven’t found us.”

  “Why would they come here?”

  He shook his head. “You’re smarter than that, Fallon.” He dropped the drapes closed and crossed to her. “You’d never have made it this far in life if you weren’t.”

  “Are you saying they might have tracked us here?”

  He tapped her nose. “I knew you were a smart girl. Now, take off your shift.”

  The look on her face was enough to send him into a fit of laughter if he’d been a man of less restraint. She looked absolutely appalled and horrified. He might as well have asked her to eat a spider or a wriggling rat.

  “Go on.” He gestured for her to lift the garment over her head. “How else am I going to bind you? And I promise I won’t look.” Well, that was dishonest, now wasn’t it? “Very well, I won’t look much.”

  “But I thought you were going to bind me over my shift,” she all but sputtered.

  “This isn’t a pair of stays, Fallon. This is to secure your rib and keep it from any further harm.”

  “I think I shall be safe enough if you refrain from shoving me out of any more moving conveyances.”

  “I shall take that under advisement. Now, take off your clothes.”

  She glared at him. “I hate you.”

  He grinned. “No you don’t.”

  “Excuse me.” She walked to the door on the far side of the room and stepped inside. Warrick assumed it was her dressing room, an assumption that proved correct when she emerged wearing a pink silk robe. For some reason, the sight of her in pale pink made him feel a little guilty about all the lustful thoughts he’d been having. She looked so young and sweet in pink. He would not have thought the color suited her, and it did not suit the courtesan, but it suited the woman.

  He held up the strips of linen. “I am ready to begin, madam.”

  “You’re enjoying this.”

  “What man wouldn’t?” He schooled his features into a sober expression. “All right. I assure you from this moment on, I will treat this as a purely medical task. I have to admit, though, I’ve only ever worked on men.”

  “I feel infinitely more relieved.” She sighed and without further preamble slid the robe off her shoulders. He’d expected her to argue further, so he was not prepared for the sight of her ripe breasts revealed by the cascade of pink silk over flesh.

  His mouth went dry. She was exquisite. Good God, but he’d never seen breasts like hers before. They were heavy and round, the aureoles tinged a dusky rose. Her nipples were large, round, and puckering in the slight chill. They practically begged him to kiss them, lick them, roll them over his tongue…

  “Have you ogled enough, sir, or would you like me to turn from side to side?”

  Warrick quickly flicked his glance away. He really had intended to attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism about this task. Obviously his initial attempt had failed this completely, but perhaps he could salvage the rest of the procedure. “I apologize. You took me unawares.”

  “Yes, I’m certain after half a dozen orders to remove my clothing, it surprised you when I complied. I am cold, sir. Do your worst.”

  Good God, he was going to have to touch her. How was he going to touch her without touching her? He had always thought of himself as a man with substantial willpower. Now he knew he was far weaker than he had ever known. He cleared his throat, kept his gaze on the part of her still clothed, and moved closer. Immediately his gaze was drawn to those ripe breasts and he looked away again. He hadn’t even touched her yet, and he could sense the heat of her. He could smell the exotic fragrance of her skin. He could all but feel the silkiness of her flesh under his fingertips.

  He wanted her. He could not remember ever wanting a woman this much, and all she’d done was show him her breasts. He’d seen breasts before; he was no inexperienced lad. And she hadn’t even disrobed seductively. Not to mention, she’d as much as told him she hated him. Was he reduced to lusting after women who could barely stand him? Perhaps it was time he found himself a woman.

  He took a fortifying breath and lifted one of the linen strips to her rib cage. She shivered slightly. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  “No.” Her voice was ragged. She didn’t hate him nearly as much as she claimed.

  He
began to wrap one of the bandages around her ribs, but he made such an effort to avoid touching her breasts, he dropped the fabric. “Sorry.” He bent to retrieve it then tried another angle. But this one required him to bend, practically burying his face in those ample breasts. Perhaps if they were not quite so lush, he could have better ignored them. Perhaps if her nipple wasn’t half an inch from his lips…

  He tried to position the linen, tried to position his head, rubbed her breast with his wrist, and jumped back. “I apologize again.”

  She sighed. “Just get it over with.”

  Right. She had the idea. He would do it quickly. “I think this might work better if I kneel,” he said. “You’re on the short side.”

  “I’m petite.”

  He knelt and had to hastily lower his gaze again. Why had he thought this vantage point would be any better? She was not petite everywhere. Keeping his eyes averted, he wrapped the first strip of linen around her. He brushed the fullness of her breast twice, but he tried to ignore the heat the sensation shot through him.

  “How do you know Daisy?” Fallon asked.

  “Who?”

  “Daisy? The woman whose brothel we visited last night?” She sounded bemused, but he understood what she was doing. They should speak of something. It would keep both of their minds off fantasies of nuzzling her breasts with his lips, swirling those hard, hard nipples with his tongue, and then taking them into his mouth and sucking.

  Of course, that might not have been the exact direction of her thoughts.

  “Daisy. Yes.” He wrapped another strip around Fallon, trying to make sure it was tight and secure, and attempted to remember who Daisy was. For the moment, he could only picture Fallon’s dark eyes, full lips, and… other attributes.

  “She seemed rather grateful to you. Why is that?”

  “Ah.” He wrapped another strip of linen about her. He didn’t want to discuss this, but he couldn’t think of another topic at the moment—at least not one that didn’t involve erotic language and several questionable suggestions. “I saved her brother. I suppose she feels indebted to me for that, though I told her she owes me nothing.”

  “How did you save her brother?”

  He tightened another linen strip around her as he contemplated how much of the story he could reveal. Fallon had a small frame, and he would have thought this task would go quickly, but it seemed interminable. “We both fought on the Continent in the Peninsular Wars. I didn’t know him, but I happened to be nearby when he was wounded during battle.”

  Warrick saw in his mind the muddy, blood-soaked battlefield in what had once been a peaceful cornfield in Portugal. He could hear the screams of the men and, worse, the screams of the wounded horses. Cannonballs exploded before and behind him, and he reined his own horse in and patted the animal’s neck. “I don’t want to be here either,” he had muttered. But the documents secreted in his satchel contained vital information, and he must get them to Wellington posthaste.

  He tried to steer the animal around the clumps of fallen men, but it was inevitable they would trod on some of the dead. There were simply too many to avoid all of the bodies. Another cannonball exploded nearby, and Warrick heard the screech of shrapnel as it tore through the air. He kicked his mount, urging him through the smoke. A few more yards, and they’d be clear. But when the smoke cleared, they all but ran down a young man wandering about the field. Warrick turned the horse sharply. The animal, already spooked, reared. The young British soldier—at least Warrick thought he was British; it was difficult to tell from the soiled uniform—fell to his knees. Warrick tensed, prepared to kick the horse back into a trot, and then he swore. He cursed his goddamn conscience and jumped off the beast.

  “Where’s your commanding officer?” he asked the soldier, yelling to be heard over the battle raging somewhat to their east now.

  The man looked up at him, his face impossibly youthful, his eyes clouded with pain. He grabbed Warrick’s lapels, streaking them with blood. “Help me.”

  Warrick hadn’t been able to refuse.

  “You saved his life,” Fallon said, sounding surprised.

  “I did what any soldier would have done.”

  “And that’s not the whole story. You did more than that or Daisy wouldn’t feel so indebted.”

  He wrapped another strip of linen and realized it was the last. He tied the end and tucked it into the bindings.

  “I didn’t know you fought in the wars.”

  “I told you, there’s a lot you don’t know about me. I’m finished.” He stood and dusted his trousers off. “Cover yourself.”

  She did so. “Thank you.” She moved from side to side. “It feels better.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’re not the only one with questions.”

  Her dark eyes rose to meet his.

  “Tell me how you murdered your father.”

  Seven

  Fallon couldn’t have been more relieved when a quiet knock sounded and Anne opened the door. “Madam, I’m sorry to interrupt. Cook would like to know if you intend to dine in, and if so, will the gentleman be joining you?”

  Fallon glanced at Fitzhugh. He gave her a slow smile. “I never turn down a free meal—unless it is at my parents’ house.”

  She didn’t know why that should make her want to smile. She wanted him to leave—and take all of his soft caresses and warm stares with him. She didn’t want to like him, but she found it was difficult not to.

  “Anne, tell Cook the gentleman and I will dine in, and could you speak with the housekeeper and have a room prepared for Mr. Fitzhugh?”

  Anne’s brows rose, but she bobbed her acquiescence. “Yes, madam.”

  When they were alone again, Fallon said, “What are your plans for this evening?”

  Fitzhugh sat in one of her silk chairs, upholstered in emerald green. “Perhaps after dinner we might play charades. Or I could read the Times, and you could play the piano and serenade me.”

  “It sounds remarkably domestic,” she drawled. “Not the sort of thing either of us would enjoy.”

  He looked away. “No, not at all.”

  “I have an engagement,” she said.

  Fitzhugh raised his brows. “Don’t tell me it’s a gentleman caller. I know you’re not really a courtesan.”

  She frowned at him. “And how do you know that?”

  “I told you—”

  She sighed. “Yes, I know. There’s a hell of a lot you’re not telling me. And since we are sharing confidences—”

  “Are we sharing confidences?” he asked, setting his ankle on top of his knee. “I don’t recall you answering my question.”

  She ignored him. “There is one comment you made that has made me curious.”

  “By all means, let me ease your curiosity. But Fallon…”

  There was something in his tone that made her meet his gaze.

  “Nothing is free.”

  Oh, she knew that well enough.

  “Last night at Lucifer’s Lair, you said, this search was a matter of life and death. You used those words exactly. Life and death. Are these diamonds really that valuable?”

  He studied her. She couldn’t have said why, but she felt more naked now under his gaze than she had when she’d been undressed. “They’re not diamonds,” he said finally. “Lucifer’s Diamonds aren’t jewels at all.”

  She frowned. “Juliette said he came to her looking for diamonds.”

  “It’s a code name, rather like you are one of The Three Diamonds. The diamonds Lucifer wants are a small band of elite British operatives who fought against Napoleon and orchestrated his defeat during the Peninsular Wars. In some circles, these men are referred to as Diamonds in the Rough.”

  Fallon shook her head. “So there are no diamonds.”

  “Not in the sense Juliette and Pelham assumed. But I assure
you these men’s identities are as valuable, if not more so, than a handful of diamonds.”

  Fallon raised a skeptical brow.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I think you might be exaggerating slightly.”

  He looked amused by that statement.

  Fallon paced the room, trying to untangle the various threads in her mind. “Last night, we weren’t actually searching for information about diamonds but about spies?”

  “Actually, I was hoping to discover to whom Lucifer sold my friends’ identities.”

  “How do you know he sold their identities?”

  “Because one man is dead already, and another has been targeted.”

  Fallon opened her mouth to speak and then took a step back. “Wait a moment. Are you telling me you are one of these Diamonds in the Rough?”

  “I don’t recall divulging that information.”

  “And that is why we were being chased last night. Someone is trying to kill you!”

  “I suppose that’s not entirely inaccurate.”

  “And you dragged me into this?” She grabbed the first thing she could reach and thrust an amethyst-colored pillow at him.

  He caught it, stood, and tossed it on the chair. “I had little choice. I needed someone who knew the enemy.”

  Fallon shook her head. “I don’t know who or what you think I am, but I have nothing to do with spies or Bonaparte or the French. I know we won the war and Bonaparte is exiled, and that is the extent of my knowledge. I can’t help you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Fallon.” He strode directly to her, and she had the urge to back away. But she was no coward, and she wasn’t going to allow him to push her into a corner. Especially not in her own home. In her own room, nonetheless. Those gold-flecked eyes of his were hard and serious. He was so close she could almost count each and every one of those flecks.

  “How is that?” She hadn’t meant it to come out as a whisper, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice or enough breath to breathe, much less speak.

  “Because the enemy, in my case, is not the French.”

  “It’s not?” she rasped.