A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

  He had the good sense to look more humane at her tone and nodded once.

  “There are no doctors there,” Amelia recalled bitterly. “Everything smells of death and disease, waste and rodents. There was no one to tend her but me, and I knew nothing. It did not take long for her to stop eating, to speak only nonsense, and to look the part of a corpse. All I could do was stay by her side and pretend my ministrations would make any difference. Then I began to realize that her nonsense ramblings were nothing of the sort.” She shook her head, the familiar fury rising within her. “She was pining for a man. For her love. Speaking to him, declaring herself, begging him to stay. She told him about me, reminisced about some courtship, and sobbed with all the agony a broken heart has known.”

  “She was delusional,” Rogue muttered without sympathy.

  Amelia nodded, not rising to his bait. “And hysterical, despite her weakness. But it was the most clarity I had seen from her in months. When I prodded her, tried to break through and ask about him, she would only weep further and say how he was gone and could not return.”

  “And you believe her.”

  She nodded once more. “I do. If you had seen her, the change in her when she spoke of him, you would have too.”

  Rogue scoffed loudly. “Doubtful.”

  Amelia gripped her skirt tightly in her fist, directing her fury at him now. “Listen to me, Rogue. I am not a romantic. I am the furthest thing from it. I have lived in the real world, and I do not have a single sentimental bone in my body. I am telling you, my mother loved this man so much that a life without him drove her to her death. She died of a broken heart.”

  His expression did not change, but he did not refute it.

  “She died calling for him,” Amelia said quietly, looking away. “It was the last thing she said. Never mind me, she had long since forgotten me. But not him.” She ground her teeth briefly, then forced a calming breath. “I left the poorhouse as soon as I could sneak away. I would be much better on my own than trapped there with the helpless and hopeless.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Away,” she replied vaguely with a sniff and a shrug. “I collected our things and left that godforsaken village behind me. I worked and scraped, vowing that as soon as I could manage to raise the funds, I would find the man that abandoned my mother and left her to die.”

  Her vehemence did not seem to impress him. “And now you have the funds?” he asked dubiously.

  She met his icy gaze evenly. “And now I have the funds.”

  He made a noise she could not interpret and leaned forward on the desk. “You do realize that the most likely outcome is that he is dead.”

  “Of course, I do,” she returned with what was probably too much bite, “but I still want to know who he is.”

  “What will you do if that is the case?” Rogue pressed, his eyes fixed on her.

  She shrugged. “Enjoy the prospect of him suffering in hell for all eternity.”

  “And if he lives?”

  Amelia smiled tightly. “As I said, what I do with the information is my own business.”

  Rogue watched her for another long moment, then grunted and sat back once more. “How did you hear about me?”

  Amelia nearly sighed with relief. She was not willing to discuss details, particularly with what she had planned, not to mention what she had done. She had learned well that outright lying was not safe, but neglecting to provide all the information was less of an issue. And something about Rogue warned her to tread very, very carefully.

  She tried for an easy manner. “I long ago learned that I did not have the skills to manage something like this myself. I asked anyone I could for the name of a capable investigator.” She managed a smile. “You would be surprised at how far your reputation extends.”

  “I doubt it,” he muttered.

  That seemed odd, but she did not think he was speaking to her just then. The dark shade that had drawn over his eyes was unexpected and certainly uncalled for, considering he should be thrilled with additional cases and funds.

  Yet he was surly and miserable and seemed to wish her gone, even with her exorbitant offer.

  Curious mystery, this one.

  “And what did these random individuals say about me?” he asked reluctantly, rubbing his brow, which did nothing for the furrows there.

  Amelia tilted her head, a strand of her chestnut hair falling free of her ear. “That you are a man who will see the task done, no matter what. That you are dangerous, reckless, and not to be trusted. A man without honor or restraint. That you once rushed into a burning building to save a mother and child who were…”

  Rogue suddenly swore colorfully and slammed a hand down on his desk, startling her.

  “What in the world?” she snapped, adjusting her hair and putting a hand over her suddenly racing heart.

  “I hate that rumor,” he grumbled, avoiding her eyes. “It makes me seem like a bloody hero, and I am not.”

  Amelia almost smiled. Almost. “I never said you were a hero.”

  He glared more darkly at her. “It was implied.”

  She shook her head slowly, now letting herself smile a little. “I never imply. Far too much effort involved.” She considered him for a long moment. “Are you saying the story isn’t true?”

  “Did you hear any other stories about me?” he asked, sitting back once more.

  Amelia nodded and glanced out of the remarkably filthy window, considering the tidy state of the room. “Several. I don’t believe half of them.”

  “So, why believe that?”

  She sighed heavily and looked back at him, taking in the oddly disheveled dark curls that were too long for polite society. Yet his speech was perfect, no common accent or limited vocabulary. Between his dress, his accent, and his manner, she could not get a proper idea of him. He belonged nowhere, it seemed.

  Like her.

  She shook herself of that vein of thinking and returned to the conversation at hand. “Because it is the only thing I’ve heard that leads me to believe you are human,” she told him. “You are not a criminal, you are not honorable, and you get the job done. I did not care about much else.”

  “There are many such others,” he insisted, shaking his head. “Why me?”

  “I am not about to flatter you or let you turn this interview into a sermon on your virtues or lack thereof,” Amelia declared in irritation. “I picked you because it was repeatedly stated that you are the best, and I will not settle for less. Now, will you do it? Or am I to waste both of our time a bit longer?”

  “Are you done with your tragic tale yet?” Rogue asked, his tone suddenly that of boredom as one of his hands scratched his chin.

  Sensing she was being toyed with, Amelia clenched her jaw and nodded once.

  Rogue nodded slowly, his fingers now moving absently along his jaw, his eyes fixed on her.

  She willed herself not to blink as she stared just as boldly back.

  “This seems fairly straightforward,” he mused quietly. “Why the extremes?”

  She had expected the question and smirked. “I have spent long enough waiting, Mr. Rogue. And I fear it will be more complicated than either of us believe.”

  He straightened up in his chair, observing her carefully, as if her secrets were laid out on her face for him to read.

  Unfortunately for him, Amelia had spent her entire life keeping secrets, and not a soul alive knew them. “Well?” she prodded.

  Rogue slowly exhaled, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

  “No?” she cried, nearly coming out of her seat. “Why not?”

  He exhaled again noisily and gave her a hard look. “Miss Berger, that was a sigh of resignation and shaking my head at the sheer idiocy of what I am about to do.”

  She held her breath. “Which is?”

  “Find your father, take your money, and do all of it very quickly,” he answered, pushing to his feet and brushing off his filthy trousers. “Because if I do anything el
se, you are going to plague me to death and ruin my tolerably uncomplicated life.”

  “Too right,” she quipped, beaming with relief.

  He frowned at once. “Don’t smile like that. I have not done you any favors. If you are determined to be as involved as you say, foolhardy as it is, then you will obey my orders and directives, everything I say with exactness. I don’t care that you are funding the venture, it is my skills that you have come for.”

  Amelia got to her feet, bonnet and reticule in hand. “Surely not everything you say,” she protested. “I’ve been trying my hand at this for years, I know more than you think.”

  “And a marvelous job you have done, I am sure,” he drawled with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Tomorrow, you will come back to this office at ten minutes past twelve with a list of everything you know and all of the documents in your possession. You will be prepared to tell me everything relating to your past, and if I find that you are lying, I will toss you from this building without a word and without a care for how it offends you.”

  Instinct stiffened Amelia’s spine, and she lifted her chin defiantly. He was not that much taller than her, and she could undoubtedly swing for his jaw without any difficulty and probably knock him to the ground. But she needed him on her side, despite the bristling she was feeling and against her desire to blacken his eye. So, she bit her tongue and nodded once.

  “And I want fifty of those pounds upfront,” he added, motioning to the door.

  She snorted and gave him a hard look. “And if I refuse that?”

  Rogue smiled or made an attempt at one that actually frightened her. “Then we will consider your offer a lie, Miss Berger, and the aforementioned statement stands.”

  She returned his smile with a sickeningly sweet one of her own. “Then it is lucky for me that I am able to do so.”

  He inclined his head. “Indeed, it is.”

  She shook her head, her jaw aching from the tension there. If she managed to survive this venture without murdering him, it would be a miracle. She was a strong-willed woman with nothing to lose, but he was a stubborn man without manners. It would be a battle every step of the way, and she had absolutely no intention of losing. She had earned the right to know who her worthless waste of a father was, or had been, and she deserved the justice that her mother would never have.

  She marched passed Rogue out into the waiting area and turned for the front, where the clerks were quietly working, the maid now gone. The sooner she left here, the less likely she would say something she might regret.

  “Attention à la marche,” Rogue called from behind her.

  She looked down at her feet automatically, moving out of the way, and realized too late that he had meant to catch her off guard. A girl in her situation should not know French, and yet she had not only understood but had reacted, just as he had wanted her to.

  He was testing her.

  She stopped and exhaled slowly through her nose, then turned to face him. He stood in the doorway between the waiting area and the front, smiling smugly.

  “Diable vous emporte,” she spat, clenching her fists at her sides.

  Rogue raised a brow and bowed mockingly. “Merci.”

  Amelia bit back a screech and whirled back to the door, let herself out, and slammed it behind her. The man was the most insufferable creature she had ever met on the planet, and if she were not desperate, she would never have put herself through this. But revenge would be sweet when they achieved their goal, and she would thank him profusely when that day came.

  She stormed out of the narrow street where his office stood and made her way towards the boarding house where she had left her scarce belongings. Her uncle had refused to do any more for her than that, which she was wise enough to be grateful for. Since he was not her uncle after all, and since she had been delighted to leave their judgmental and impossible hovel of a home, she did not expect more. She had been on her own for almost ten years and spending the last two with them had been some of the worst, impossible as it seemed.

  But what was a girl to do without known relations? Making up a connection seemed the most sensible decision, and they were just honorable enough to take in family.

  They’d never be able to locate her if they ever discovered the truth, and she was grateful for that.

  She put her bonnet on her head and quickly tied a knot, wishing she could give up her pretense of finery. She’d never had to manage this much of a fuss before, it seemed ridiculous to start now. But she would do what she had to do now that she was back in London.

  Even suffer the Rogue and his foul temper and fouler glares.

  As long as she could remember her mother crying for Daniel, whoever Daniel was, she could suffer it. She smiled grimly to herself. Whatever came of this, she was confident that she would at last find satisfaction in her life.

  She crossed the busy street and eyed a small child watching her curiously. The girl could not have been more than seven, and her wide eyes knew the worldliness that Amelia’s had known.

  Amelia smiled a little and tossed a coin at the girl, her smile growing further at the toothy grin she received in return.

  London, for all its horrors in her past, was still a fine place. Even better for the ending that would come with it.

  Chapter Three

  Gabe rubbed at his eyes and shut the ledger on his desk, waving away the cloud of dust that rose with the force. No matter how he pored over the accounts from day to day, there always seemed to be more questions than dust, and the dust was always prevalent.

  It ought to be cleaner, as they now had Callie about, but Callie was not comfortable with the offices yet, and he couldn’t blame her. With all that they contained, no matter how coded they were, secrets were rampant within. The more one knew about the nature of their work, the more one was likely to jump at shadows. And the more danger one was likely to be in.

  He did not find fault with Callie’s disinterest in the offices. Once she was bolder and had survived a few scrapes, she would be more inclined to become more deeply involved. Of course, it was entirely probable that she would not wish to remain a maid at that point.

  That was the trouble with training the maids and street urchins of England. They all became so accomplished and could blend in so well that very few wished to remain in the lower station. Oh, they would help out when it was called for, but it took a great deal of persuasion to have someone genuinely dedicated to the benefits of service.

  Gabe groaned and stretched in his chair. It had been a hellish day, what with the hoyden wreaking havoc upon his plans, and then trying to catch up after her extraordinary interview, only to be distracted by thoughts of her story the entire time.

  Miss Berger was lying.

  About what, he could not say, but it was an absolute certainty.

  He was almost positive she had given him a false name from the careful way she had said it, and her clothing told a story of meticulous care, which a dress of that sort was not generally given. Either it did not belong to her, or it was her best one. From the state of her coat and shoes, he suspected the latter.

  It was not uncommon for those seeking assistance to portray the best and most respectable version of themselves when doing so. Of course, had Miss Berger truly wished to present that picture, she would have behaved with far more gentility. That betrayed her more than anything else. No refined woman was so direct and impertinent unless they were so ancient it was excusable or so hated that they did not care.

  Her story had so many gaps in it that he could have danced a reel through them all, though he avoided dancing like a plague. Did she honestly think that they would be able to discover the identity of her so-called father with the obviously limited details she had?

  He did not believe the man she sought really was her father.

  Something, and he was not entirely sure what, prodded him to give her a bit of French for effect, and she reacted perfectly in line with his suspicions. Based on her story, she was from
a poor and unfortunate family, probably with limited education, and no possible reason to know French, let alone to translate something as obscure as “mind your step”. Her fury at his catching her was truly something to behold indeed. He was quite proud of that.

  Provoking people was always so enjoyable, particularly when their ire rose so spectacularly.

  He did not trust Miss Amelia Berger, or whatever her name was. He knew she was driven, stubborn, willful, and remarkably quick-witted; intelligent, bold, and not easily intimidated; secretive, hard, and in possession of a temper. She was, in fact, just the sort of person that would make a dangerous and unpredictable opponent. There was no reason, none whatsoever, that she should have two hundred pounds to give him. He did not like this combination, which was why he had taken her on. Better to draw her in and risk it than let her alone and be ignorant.

  He hated being ignorant. There was too much at stake.

  Only earlier this year they’d been investigating a circle of relatively influential British men who were supporters of a renegade French faction determined to overturn all that had happened since the downfall of Napoleon, and there were far too many loose ends for their comfort. The last five years or so had grown particularly uncomfortable because of the group, whose trouble was relatively minor, but the potential was unknown. The Shopkeepers had everyone on the alert, and Gent’s turn with rooting out select members and tracking funds had gone reasonably well.

  Of course, there had been the added inducement of one supporter trying to gain a significant amount of money through marriage to the woman Gent loved, and all of that through means most nefarious. But as the plot had been very neatly thwarted, Sir Vincent Castleton was now no more than a faint itch in the grander scheme.

  Gabe felt a perverse pleasure wondering what the blackguard had suffered when he’d had to report back to the others that his grand plan had failed.

  Whatever it had been, they had been remarkably quiet of late. With Gent away, Rook had taken up the task of minding the traitors. It was a bizarre twist to see the peacock suddenly become an imitation of Gent, but he did a reasonably good job at it. He was a skilled operative and while not as invisible as Gent tended to be, he was not far behind.