“Travel. Help Yeti at the shop.” As a legitimate front for fencing stolen goods Yeti ran Ginny’s Antiquities, named after...well, come to think of it, Bran hadn’t the faintest idea where the old goat had gotten the name. “Take up sewing.”
“Sewing?” Juliet’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’d rather pluck out my eyes with a dull spoon.”
“Lots of women sew. It’s supposed to be relaxing.”
“I think you mean boring. I suppose I could help Yeti. God knows he needs it. Have you been in Ginny’s lately? The place is a mess. Which reminds me.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I need to tell Yeti he’s going to be hiring a new employee.”
Kicking his chair back, Bran crossed his arms behind his head. “Is that so?”
“Aye. One of the barmaids from the Mermaid found herself in a spot of trouble. Two sailors had her upstairs in a room by herself. I’ll let you guess what they were trying to do. I shot one in the arm.”
He tipped forward with a sigh. “What ‘ave I told ye about going around shooting people?”
“The bastard deserved it,” she said defensively. “You should have seen the girl’s face. The poor thing was terrified. I’m just lucky I found her when I did. God knows what those brutes would have done to her.” She cursed under her breath. “Why do men have to be such arseholes?”
“What was her name? The barmaid,” he clarified, looking at Juliet intently. The odds of them both meeting Lilly on the same night were astronomical, and yet…
“Lilly. Why?” she asked curiously.
“I’ll be damned,” he murmured.
“Do you know her?”
“Ye could say that. She’s upstairs sleeping.”
Juliet’s eyes widened. “Lilly is here? How the devil did that happen?”
“I was looking for ye and I found her. What?” he said when his sister smirked. “I couldn’t very well leave her there, could I? You said it yourself. The lass was terrified.”
“And you just had to swoop in, dashing hero that you are.”
“What’s that supposed mean?” he demanded.
“Don’t pretend like this is the first woebegone female you’ve dragged home. You’re like the Pied Piper of busty tavern wenches.”
“The hell I am,” he scowled. Pied Piper of busty tavern wenches. He’d never heard anything so bloody ridiculous in his entire life.
“What about the prostitute you brought home two weeks ago?” Juliet asked, lifting a brow. “The one with the black eye. What was her name? Mindy or Maggie…”
“Molly,” he said between gritted teeth. “Her name was Molly.”
“That’s right. And before her it was the French actress...Bianca or Bridgette or something or rather. I still don’t know how you managed that one. She didn’t speak a word of English.”
“For what we were doing she didn’t have to.” His scowl faded was replaced with a roguish grin as he recalled the fiery brunette who had burned up his bedsheets for three memorable days before leaving London with her theater group. “And her name was Babette.” His brow creased. “I think.”
Truth be told he really hadn’t been able to understand a single word Bianca/Bridgette/Babette had spoken, but then again he hadn’t needed to. Their short-lived relationship had been purely physical. There had been no emotion. No promises. Just simple, all-consuming pleasure. Exactly how he liked it.
Bran made no apology for his affairs and he wasn’t about to start now. As long as both parties understood the rules, what was the harm? The women he slept with knew he wasn’t about to get down on bended knee and pledge his love. Nor did he expect – or want – the same from them. To date, his longest affair had lasted just shy of four months. Any longer and he inevitably began to grow bored. But he always made certain his mistresses were well compensated for their time, and with the exception of a few tears and tantrums when it came time to end things, he’d not had any complaints.
He supposed eventually he’d like to get married and have a few squalling brats. Settle down in a nicer part of town and live the quiet, distinguished life of a reformed rake. But that was so far in the future it didn’t even bear thinking about.
“Have you slept with her yet?” Eying his scone, Juliet jumped down off the worktop and sidled up to the table, but when she made a grab for his plate he yanked it out of reach.
“Keep your bloody paws to yourself. I’m not done.”
“Not done? You’ve hardly eaten a bite!”
“Just because I don’t inhale my food doesn’t mean I’m not going to eat it.” To prove his point he popped a sliver of scone in his mouth and made a show of chewing it. He and Juliet may not have been brother and sister by blood, but that didn’t stop him from teasing her unmercifully whenever he had the chance. “Mmmm,” he said, smacking his lips. “Delicious.”
“You’re such an arse, Bran. I’m going upstairs.”
“Don’t wake Lilly.” His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up. “She needs her rest.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Her head tilted to the side, green eyes narrowing as they searched his face. “Have a care with this one, will you? She’s different from the regular tramps and trollops you usually bring home.”
“Sod off. I’ve never brought a trollop home in my entire life.” True, the women he consorted with were generally more experienced than the average lass, but that didn’t make them a trollop.
It made them good in bed.
“And I’m the Duchess of Kensington. Mind your manners, Bran.”
“I always mind my manners,” he said, vaguely insulted Juliet would imply otherwise.
She shook her head. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Five
Lilly woke to the faint pattering of rain against the window. For a few precious moments she closed her eyes and allowed herself to lay perfectly still, knowing that she’d soon be on her feet for the rest of the day and wouldn’t be back in her bed until the wee hours of the morning.
It was ironic to think that something she’d once taken for granted was now considered a luxury. When she’d lived with her parents she had been allowed to sleep in as late as she wanted and no one had bothered her. Well, that wasn’t completely true. Her little sister Abigail – known as Abby to her family and friends – had loved nothing better than to come running into Lilly’s room just as the sun was beginning to rise.
How Lilly had hated to be awoken by cold feet pressing into the small of her back and Abby’s bright, energetic voice chirping away in her ear. Now she would happily give anything to be woken by her sister again.
Finally, with a long, heavy sigh, she sat up, stretching her arms above her head…and froze with them in midair, eyes widening as she abruptly remembered where she was.
Not at the Mermaid in a tiny cramped room hardly bigger than a broom closet, but in the house of a man she’d only met last night! A man she knew absolutely nothing about. Although that wasn’t completely true, was it?
She may not have known what he did or where he came from, but she knew his name and the color of his eyes. She knew the sound of his laugher and the feel of his touch. She knew he had been kind when she’d desperately needed kindness, and for that she would always be grateful.
But she wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
Trust a rogue once, shame on him.
Trust a rogue twice, shame on you.
Scrambling off the bed Lilly looked frantically around for her clothing, but the despised serving dress was nowhere to be seen. The maid must have taken it after she’d dropped off a nightgown and a silver tray filled with light refreshments. Lilly had been too tired to eat anything the night before, but her growling stomach prompted her to take a biscuit off the tray and stuff the entire thing in her mouth as she searched in vain through the closets and antique mahogany wardrobe for something to wear.
She needed to leave before Bran returned, but she could hardly go outside in nothing more than a shift and a nightgo
wn! No matter that it was the prettiest thing she’d worn in months. The simple white frock may have been plainly adorned with lace trim and long sleeves, but in comparison to her serving dress it felt like a ball gown.
At last, folded away in the far back corner of a dresser, she found a dark gray cloak. It was masculine in design and several sizes too big for her petite frame, but it was better than nothing. However, no sooner had she swung it over her shoulders and drawn up the hood than she heard a quiet knock at the door.
“Lilly?” Bran’s deep voice flowed effortlessly through the wood. “Are ye awake? I’ve brought ye breakfast.”
“I…” She bit the inside of her cheek, gaze darting to the window as she contemplated a quick escape. She couldn’t say why she felt a sudden urgency to flee. Especially when she’d been so receptive to Bran’s charms the night before. But perhaps that was precisely the problem. She was too receptive and he was too charming. Much, much too charming. And in the clear light of day, with a clear head and a subdued heart, she recognized her folly at having allowed herself to be lured in by yet another rake.
“Lilly?”
“Yes,” she said with great reluctance. “I’m awake.”
Thank him for his help and be on your way, she told herself sternly, hands knotting behind her back as she watched the doorknob slowly turn. Don’t dally, don’t linger, and whatever you do…do not kiss him!
“I wasn’t sure what ye like, so I’ve brought ye a bit of everything.” Bran walked into the room carrying a platter with enough food on it to feed a small army. He stopped short at the sight of her, one tawny eyebrow lifting as he took note of her oversized cloak and guilty expression. “Going somewhere?”
“No, I just…Yes,” she admitted sheepishly, biting her bottom lip. “To be quite honest, I was hoping to be gone before I saw you this morning.”
He carefully set the platter down on the small table in front of the window. She inwardly braced herself for his anger, but instead she saw nothing but understanding in his clear blue gaze when he turned to face her. “Then I’m glad I caught ye before ye left. Ye don’t want to be traveling about the city on an empty stomach. Toast with apricot?” Sliding a square piece of bread lathered with orange jam onto a small round plate, he held it out to her with all the gentle coaxing of a groom trying to win the favor of a head shy filly. “It’s still warm from the oven.”
Lilly didn’t need to be asked twice. While the road to most women’s hearts was paved with gold and diamonds, she’d always had a weakness for pastries. Or any food, for that matter. Particularly since the fare at the Mermaid left much to be desired.
“Ohhh.” The single syllable came out as a long moan of pleasure as the apricot jam melted on her tongue. Relishing the sweet, tangy flavor she didn’t notice the way Bran’s eyes suddenly darkened, or the tension that radiated through his jaw when he clenched his teeth. “I can’t remember the last time I tasted something as good as this.” Her tongue flicked out, swiping at a drop of apricot on her bottom lip before it could fall to her chin. “Did you make it yourself?”
“No,” he said roughly. “We have a part-time cook.”
“We?” The jam soured as Lilly’s stomach fell. Was Bran married? He hadn’t mentioned a wife last night…but then she hadn’t asked. Maybe he had a mistress, or a lover, or–
“My sister, Jules. We live here together. Her bedroom is at the other end of the hall.”
That’s right. He’d mentioned his sister last night, but she’d been so tired she must have forgotten. Her breath escaping on a long, relieved breath, Lilly finished the rest of the toast and brushed the crumbs from her fingertips. “I see. And your parents?”
“Both dead. It’s all right, love.” His teeth flashed in a grin at her horrified gasp. “They passed a long time ago. No, it’s just me and Jules. Ye actually met her last night at the Mermaid.”
Lilly’s brow creased. “I did?”
“Aye. Tiny lass. Green eyes. Red hair. Dresses like a lad.”
“Oh!” She blinked in astonishment. Her rescuer, the one who had shot the sailor and prevented her rape, was Bran’s sister? But… “You look nothing alike. I never would have guessed you were related.”
“That’s because we’re not.” At her confused look, Bran chuckled and gestured towards the table. “Why don’t ye have a seat and finish your breakfast. It’s a bit of a long story.” Waiting until she’d filled her plate to the brim with three strips of savory bacon, two poached eggs, and another slice of apricot toast, he sat down across from her, long legs stretching all the way under the table to rest comfortably on either side of her chair.
He’d changed his clothes, she noted belatedly, and taken a bath, for his mane of golden hair was damp and slightly curled at the ends. He had also taken a straight razor to his jaw, although trimming his side whiskers had done nothing to detract from his roguish appeal. If anything he was even more handsome than he’d been yesterday, and as a flicker of heat unfurled between her thighs she hastily directed her gaze down to her plate.
“So…er…how did you and Jules meet?” Unable to stop herself, she snuck a quick glance at his face. He smiled innocently, as if he hadn’t the faintest idea how attractive she found him, but the glint in his eye was pure wickedness. Flustered, her hand jerked and she accidentally dropped her fork. It bounced off the table and clattered to the floor, landing directly between her feet.
“Oh.” Her cheeks burning a bright, brilliant red, she pushed her chair back. “I’ll get it.”
But as quick as she was Bran was quicker, and when she reached for the fallen utensil he snatched it out of her grasp. Their heads were bent so close together beneath the table she could see the steady throb of his pulse and smell the coffee on his breath. Her breath caught when he reached out with his hand and slowly tucked a loose tendril behind her ear, and it took all the self-preservation she possessed not to close her eyes and lean into his touch like a flower reaching up towards the sun.
“I’ll fetch ye another fork.” His voice broke the spell, and with a hard blink she sat back on her heels as he stood up and walked out of the room.
By the time he returned she’d found her composure, and she accepted the new utensil with a quietly murmured, “Thank you.”
“Yer welcome. Now, where was I?” Lounging back in the chair, he crossed his legs at the knee and fixed her with a grin that would have made the devil swoon.
“You were about to tell me how you and your sister met.” She cut off a piece of bacon. “Is Jules a nickname? Because when she introduced herself she said her name was–”
“Juliet. Aye, that it is. But only to those she trusts with ‘er life.” And then, while Lilly listened, her new fork completely forgotten, Bran went on to tell her all about his life as a young boy growing up on the streets of St Giles. When he’d finally finished she could only shake her head, stunned by everything she’d just learned. And she’d thought her past was interesting!
Never in a million years would she have dreamed she was sitting across the table from one of the most prolific jewel thieves in all of London. To be honest, she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. Stealing was both illegal and immoral. But nothing in the East End was black or white, especially not handsome rogues with an endless abundance of charm.
“And you really won this house in a card game?” she asked, glancing around.
“I did, although at the time it was nothin’ more than a falling down heap of boards. Ye wouldn’t even recognize it. Took almost a year to get it up to snuff. We decided to leave the outside looking as it does on purpose, to dissuade criminals and the like.”
“Yes,” she murmured as she picked up her toast and took a tiny bite. “Wouldn’t want any criminals in the house.”
Bran’s smile was slow to spread, but when it did she felt the warmth of it all the way across the table. “Why Lilly me lamb, did ye just make a joke?”
She supposed she had. Her first in a very, very long time. Still no
t feeling completely comfortable with everything Bran had just revealed about himself and Juliet, she shifted restlessly in her chair, her eyes dropping from his amused gaze to her plate. “Do you…that is to say, during one of your…er…jobs…have you ever hurt anyone?”
“That’s two different questions, isn’t it?” Clasping his hands behind his head, he regarded her with a steady, unblinking stare. “If ye are askin’ if I’ve ever harmed anyone in the act of snatching a pretty piece, the answer is no. I’m a thief, not a thug. Most of the houses I rob are empty, and if I hear someone coming I hop out the nearest window. I’m not after a fight.”
Relief coursed through her. Stealing was still wrong, of course, but it was reassuring to know that Bran never hurt his victims, only their purse strings. And it wasn’t as if they couldn’t afford to lose what he took. She was sure it was a nuisance, having a favorite piece of jewelry taken, but the lords and ladies he stole from were not exactly in danger of going hungry. “That’s very good to–”
“But,” he cautioned, holding up a finger, “that’s not to say I ‘aven’t knocked a bloke out cold who deserved it.”
“Oh,” she said faintly, her gaze dropping to his fists.
“I’m not a violent man, Lilly, if that’s what yer askin’.” He leaned forward until his elbows were touching the edge of the table. The affable charm was gone from his gaze, and without it he looked…hard. Dangerous. Menacing. The sort of man you would not want to come across in a dark alley late at night. “But I protect what’s mine, no matter the cost, and I’m not above shedding blood to do it.”
A shiver coursed through her. Kind? Had she really thought Bran was kind? There was nothing kind about him now. Then he smiled, and the rigid line between his brows softened, and he reached across the table to gently cover her hand with his.
“I would never hurt ye, Lilly.” His blue eyes searched her face, probing gently at the wall she’d painstakingly built around her heart brick by brick. “I hope ye know that.”
Bran wouldn’t hurt her physically. That she believed. But there were a hundred different ways to hurt someone. A hundred different ways to leave them gasping for air, feeling for all the world as if their life was over. A hundred different ways to send them reeling, not from the strike of a hand but from the slice of a careless word.
A Dangerous Passion Page 4