Her smile was soft but reassuring. “Not at all. Rather, I think you’ve managed to convince me that I should enjoy London while I’m here. But it is getting late. I should probably return to my lodgings.”
He winked at her. “If I can determine how to get us back to shore.”
She laughed lightly. “Thank you for the pleasant afternoon, Mr. Swindler. It seems I’m once again in your debt.”
“May I call upon you again tomorrow?”
She gave him a demure smile. “I’d like that very much.”
Chapter 5
After another day in her company, Swindler still didn’t quite trust her not to slip out and follow Rockberry. So after escorting her to her door, he’d ridden the carriage around the corner, hopped out, and ordered the driver to return to Claybourne’s. He then took up his post outside Miss Watkins’s lodgings.
He didn’t know what had possessed him to reveal so much of his past to her. After all these years, the anger over the injustice of his father’s punishment still ripped through him. He didn’t need the fury now. He needed a clear, cool head to deal with Miss Watkins.
But that was asking almost too much. What was it about her that intrigued him so? She was innocence, but she also possessed determination. Like him, she sought justice. How could he ignore her need to avenge her sister when everything he did was in the name of his father?
If this were a private matter, if he had been personally hired by Rockberry to spy on Miss Watkins, he could handle things very differently. But as he’d been ordered to follow her, his position required a bit more discretion. He couldn’t simply go to Rockberry’s residence and give him a good flogging.
Swindler waited until darkness descended. He saw the faint light easing between the draperies in her window. He watched her silhouette pass in front of the window and stop. Then it continued on. He wondered if she would comb her hair tonight. If he should stay.
He glanced around. No one was about. He shouldn’t be either. He began walking up the street. He would see her again tomorrow. For the first time in a long time, he was anticipating the next day.
Swindler awoke to the pounding on his door. Rolling out of bed, he pulled on his trousers and buttoned them as he crossed into the living area and went to the door. Opening it, he stepped back as Sir David strode by him.
“She followed him to Dodger’s. You were supposed to keep an eye on her,” Sir David said without preamble.
Swindler fought to suppress his yawn. “I watched her lodgings until after dark. She was there when I left. She must have gone out later.”
“What time did you leave?”
Swindler shrugged. “Perhaps an hour after the gaslights were lit.”
“You don’t know what time, do you, because you won’t carry a damned watch. Blast it, man! If you weren’t so good at what you do, I wouldn’t tolerate your idiosyncrasies.”
“If I’m so good, then why give me this assignment that requires none of my skills?”
“Rockberry asked for you by name. Apparently he saw your name in the Times for one crime solved or another.”
“But why cater to his whims?”
“Because he is powerful and influential. Now about the girl-”
“I must sleep sometime.”
Sir David plowed his hands through his black hair. He wasn’t much older than Swindler, but already his hair was graying at the temples. “Quite right.”
“Sir David, Rockberry did more than dance with Elisabeth. He trifled with her.”
“It’s unconscionable, but not a crime. He’s certain Miss Eleanor Watkins means him harm.”
“She’s not a danger to him.”
Sir David stilled and scrutinized Swindler. “Are you a hundred percent certain?”
Was he? If he said yes, the assignment might very likely come to an end. And if Rockberry learned that no one was watching her, he might decide to take matters into his own hands. Besides, Swindler suddenly wanted to spend time with her, very much.
“Right then,” Sir David said, as though he’d read all the thoughts crossing Swindler’s mind. “Keep an eye on her, and for God’s sake keep her away from Rockberry.”
“Yes, sir.”
Late in the afternoon Swindler again borrowed Claybourne’s carriage, and the lady was again dressed in pink. He wondered if years from now he would remember her as the lady in pink, for he had no doubt that in his dotage when he reminisced about his most fascinating cases, she would come to mind. Not that he found much to recommend the case itself for further reflection, but the lady was another matter.
She was a bit of freshness in his life, a life that had become stale by all he’d witnessed.
He considered asking her about her late night surveillance of Rockberry, had even considered driving by Dodger’s to gauge her reaction, but he was so damned tired of Rockberry being even a hint of a conversation. He selfishly wanted today for himself, for Eleanor. He wanted to give the impression he was a suitor-and a suitor wouldn’t talk of another man. Even though he knew he could never be a true suitor to her, he could have this little bit of time with her.
He loved watching the way she enjoyed the gardens as the carriage rolled through one after another. She laughed when he didn’t know the names of the flowers. She pointed out her favorites, but even if she hadn’t, he would have known. Pinks and lavenders. Pale colors. Softness. Nothing bright. Nothing harsh.
Then she surprised him by asking, “Will you take me through the part of London where you grew up?”
She might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water on him. He’d been considering seducing her, but the filth that had been his life as a boy would make any woman squirm with distaste at the thought of his hands touching her.
“It’s not nearly as beautiful as the gardens,” he said, hoping to dissuade her from pursuing that path.
“But it would tell me a bit more about your life.”
He knew he should have been flattered that she had an interest in his past, might have an interest in him. While he knew he could never leave it behind completely, that it was woven into the fabric of his character, he had no desire for her to actually see the specifics. “Allow me to paint a picture: it was dirty, smelly, and crowded.”
“I’ve noticed that much of London is dirty, smelly, and crowded.”
“Not like the rookeries. It is absent of hope. It is not a place that allows in dreams. It’s drearily dismal.”
She looked at him as though he’d opened up his chest and shown her his heart. “You’re ashamed of your past.”
“I’m disgusted by it, yes.”
Angry at her and his words, he averted his gaze. How had she managed to take control of the conversation and direct it away from where it belonged-with him learning about her?
He was aware of her small hand covering the tight fist balled on his thigh. She squeezed gently. “You rose above your origins, Mr. Swindler. That’s to be admired. While I’ve heard tales of the rookeries, without actually seeing them, I can’t fully appreciate them.”
He twisted his head around to look at her, knowing his eyes and voice held a hard, implacable determination. “That’s my point, Miss Watkins. There is nothing about them to appreciate.”
He wondered what she was thinking as she studied his face, wondered exactly what it revealed. The harshness of the life he’d led? How, as he’d grown older, as he became more knowledgeable in the way of things, he came to abhor the life he’d lived? How the first time he’d felt any pride was when he led a constable to a boy who’d pilfered a money purse in order that the innocent boy who’d been arrested for the offense would be set free? How a gang of other boys had beaten him up for squealing on their mate-and so he’d learned to be secretive in his dealings with the police?
Even the rights and wrongs in life weren’t crystal clear. Compromises were made for the greater good. The problem there was: who decided the greater good?
He’d had the audacity on more than one occasion to believe it was him
. Even now as he sought to gain her trust, to discover her plans, he wasn’t certain he’d provide Sir David or Rockberry with any information that could be of any use to them.
“You’re a complicated man, Mr. Swindler,” she finally said.
“Not complicated at all.” He unfurled his fist, turned his hand over, and threaded his fingers through hers. “All I need is a lovely lady to provide me with company.”
He watched her delicate throat work as she swallowed. “You claimed to be a scoundrel.”
He gave her one of his more charming smiles. “The evening is only just arriving, Miss Watkins.”
He’d planned to only be in her company for a couple of hours, but at the end of that time he wasn’t yet ready to let her go. Besides, if she was determined to seek Rockberry out at night, then Swindler was obligated to keep her occupied. He’d learned nothing while, if she was a perceptive woman-which he had little doubt she was-she’d learned a great deal. It bothered him that he could so easily reveal part of his soul to her. But it was only parts, bits, and pieces that she’d never be able to fit together properly in order to create the whole. He wasn’t even certain he knew the whole fabric of his being any longer.
When he’d become one of Feagan’s lads, he’d chosen a new name for himself: Swindler. While it was his nature to swindle others, of late he was beginning to suspect that perhaps he’d even managed to swindle himself into believing that his only interest in the woman stemmed from her fascination with Rockberry. Otherwise rather than taking her home, why did he return her to Cremorne Gardens?
“Why ever have you brought me here?” she asked as the driver brought the carriage to a halt on King’s Road.
“You’ve seen the worst of the gardens. I thought you should see the best.” He stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand to her. “We’ll leave long before the swells begin arriving.”
Her sister had written in her journal about the gardens and the spectacular display of bursting lights in the sky. “May we stay until after the fireworks?”
He gave her a generous smile that stole every bit of breath from her body. Oh, he was dangerous to her heart. She’d thought to take advantage, and instead she was finding herself enthralled by him.
“If it pleases you,” he fairly purred.
“It would very much.”
“Then stay we shall.”
After he handed her down from the carriage, he gave orders to the driver to return at nine. At the entrance, he paid a shilling for each of them, tucked her arm around his, and led her through the metal gates into the gardens. The crowd was dense. Ladies and gents strolled along arm in arm. She suspected most were married and those who weren’t had chaperones nearby. Even a few children could be seen. It was the time for families, for the proper people to be about.
This was what Elisabeth had seen, what she’d written about in her journal.
“Did your sister visit the gardens?” Mr. Swindler asked.
She jerked her head up and held the familiar green gaze, seeing the compassion and understanding there. How was it that he was able to read her so well? “Yes. She wrote glowingly about the fireworks.”
“So although you were lost the other night, you knew where you were?”
“It’s possible to be lost, even when you know where you are,” she said tartly.
“Are you lost, Miss Watkins?”
His question contained an undercurrent, as though he recognized that of late she barely knew herself, had moments when she felt adrift at sea. Sometimes she thought coming to London was a mistake. She wasn’t comfortable here. It hemmed her in. Or maybe it was merely her quest for retribution that made her uncomfortable with her surroundings.
“Since my sister’s death and then my father’s, yes, I very often feel lost. Untethered.” Those words were so true that it frightened her to think she could speak them to him so easily. She wanted to trust him with everything, completely, implicitly, but she knew she couldn’t. Too much was at stake. “Do you suppose we could make a pact, at least for tonight, to talk of nothing except the future?”
“How can we speak of what we do not know?”
“The present, then. It seems forever since I’ve only been concerned with the present.”
“Then tonight we shall focus on the here and now. Where shall we begin?”
So much to choose from, she hardly knew where to start. Then her stomach embarrassed her by making a little rumble, taking the choice from her. “I suddenly realized I’m quite famished.”
He smiled. “A woman after my own heart. Let’s see what we can find.”
As he guided her through a throng to the banqueting hall, she thought under different circumstances that she would indeed be a woman after his heart. He was strong, kind, and solicitous. He pleased her in small ways. He brought her smiles when she’d thought to never smile again.
She hadn’t come to London to find happiness, and yet it hovered, like a butterfly testing the petal of a wildflower. But no matter how much she wished otherwise, it’d not stay for long.
“Hold me, Mr. Swindler, dear God, please hold me.” The words were whispered out of fear, mingled with embarrassment. She seemed to be the only one in a panic as the hot air balloon ascended. The other passengers uttered a few hushed exclamations of awe and wonder.
As Mr. Swindler’s arm came around her, she clutched the lapel of his jacket and buried her face in the nook of his shoulder. He was as sturdy as the cliffs, as comforting, as he murmured, “You’re perfectly safe, Miss Watkins. We’re not going anywhere.”
“We’re going up.” She could hardly believe that she was standing in a basket-in a basket!-floating toward the heavens. She feared that she was going to bring up the warm meat pie he’d purchased her earlier. She’d not considered that watching the earth move away from her would make her head spin.
Hot air balloon rides were a weekly occurrence at the gardens. The balloon was moored so its ascent was controlled. Once the passengers had a good look around, it would be brought down for another group. From the ground it had looked to be so much fun. She didn’t know why the thought of going up bothered her. She’d looked out over the cliffs her entire life, but they didn’t wobble, they didn’t move. Steadfast and strong, they could support her. Could the basket hold the weight of everyone inside it? Or would they find themselves falling through its center to the earth below?
“Listen, Miss Watkins. Is that the quiet you longed for?” he asked softly.
She heard it then. The din of the crowds had retreated. There was no whir of carriage wheels or clatter of horses’ hooves. They were above the noise. She almost thought up here that she could hear Elisabeth whispering to her. How close were they to heaven?
The basket gave a little jerk. She released a tiny squeak and tightened her fist on his jacket as though it would hold her up if the balloon started to fall.
“It’s quite all right; we’ve simply met the end of our tether,” Mr. Swindler purred near her ear. If she weren’t so terrified, she might have swooned from his nearness. “Open your eyes.”
“I don’t think I can,” she whispered, hoping none of the other four passengers were listening to her.
“Don’t look down. Simply look across. Trust me, Miss Watkins.”
Swallowing hard, she barely opened one eye. She could see treetops. She opened the other and released a startled laugh. She could see rooftops. “Oh, look, there’s the Thames.”
She didn’t know why she was surprised to see it. The gardens were built at its edge. Some people arrived in boats at its waterside entrance. Its nearness was one of the reasons that the gardens were so green and vegetation flourished. The sun was beginning to set, creating a spectacular view awash in orange and lavender. What more was to be seen beyond this small area? How would her home appear from on high? She found herself envying the birds.
“I almost wish it would break free of its tether. Almost.” She brought her gaze to Mr. Swindler’s. He wasn’t peering out
over the land spread out below them like some elaborate tapestry. His eyes were on hers. “You’re missing the sights.”
His lips slowly shifted up into a sensuous smile. “I don’t believe I’m missing anything.”
She wondered at the taste and feel of his mouth. What a strange thought. To realize how desperately she wanted to experience his kiss, how she yearned to have him desire her. Even knowing that his interest in her might be influenced by an association with Rockberry that he’d not claimed, she still found herself drawn to him. She’d hoped to distract him from his purpose in serving Rockberry, and she was the one distracted.
With her tongue, she touched her lips, imagining his causing them to tingle and swell. His gaze dipped to her mouth, and she wondered if his thoughts were traveling the same path as hers. His eyes darkened and narrowed. Beneath her hands resting on his chest, she could feel the stillness in him, the tension building as though he fought some inner battle and was very close to losing whatever control he possessed. He took in a shuddering breath.
He swung his gaze out to the Thames, and she wondered if her small, insignificant actions had stirred his passions. Judging by the deep furrows in his brow and the tightness in his jaw, he was bothered by something. How fascinating, but then she shouldn’t be surprised by her interest when everything about him intrigued her.
She turned her attention back to the scenery. She wished they could stay up here forever. What a different world it was, looking down rather than up. She could almost forget her reason for coming to London, the need for retribution that nagged at her. Up here she could imagine that love was attainable.
A pity her heart knew the truth of the matter. In very short order she would sacrifice any chance she might ever have for a happy life.
Eleanor had asked him not to dwell on the past, but for a few hours to simply concentrate on the present. He took her request to heart. He forgot that he was the son of a convicted thief, an orphan raised by a master thief. He forgot that he’d spent his youth arranging swindles designed to line Feagan’s pockets with riches. He forgot that she was his mark, his duty. He thought only about the woman who strolled along beside him, taking such delight in the smallest pleasures offered by the gardens. She was as entertained by the acrobats as she was by the puppets. Her smile seldom abandoned her face and her eyes glittered more brightly than the gaslights that were being lit as darkness blanketed the gardens.
Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel Page 6