A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Comparison,” he said simply. “And it is entirely possible you resemble her more than you realize, so on the off chance that Hal gets it wrong…”

  “I’ll forget you said that,” Hal muttered as she gathered her supplies.

  “…then we have a second picture, should it be needed,” he finished without pausing, ignoring Hal, as he usually did.

  Amelia frowned a little, not quite comprehending. “I suppose that makes sense… I’ve never been particularly fond of having my likeness taken.”

  “And who might have asked?” Gabe returned.

  She glowered at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then she turned her attention to Hal, who nodded, and Amelia began to describe her mother.

  Gabe watched as Hal somehow managed to translate the description into a detailed drawing, and he marveled at her skill. He had his own motives for the picture of Amelia, but there was no way he could manage it now that she knew there would be one.

  He moved behind Hal to watch more closely, then leaned down and murmured, “Make a copy of your sketch of Amelia for me, Hal.”

  “Personal?” she hinted with a smile, her tone as low as his.

  His throat tightened in protest. “No,” he managed. “No, it’s for an investigation.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  “A different one. Secret. And important.”

  Hal’s jaw tightened and her gaze on Amelia hardened, not that Amelia noticed, lost as she was in her description. Hal nodded once. “I’ll send it to your office later. Send one of Gent’s children to me.”

  Gabe patted her shoulder. “Thank you.” He moved back to his chair and sat down, listening to the description, and forming a mental picture in his head.

  Amelia Berger might not know it, but she was being investigated just as thoroughly as her mother.

  He would find out the truth, and he would use any means necessary.

  He always did.

  Chapter Six

  "It is unnerving, to say the least, Rogue.”

  “I don’t see why. It’s only your mother.”

  Amelia sighed and averted her eyes yet again. “Yes, and she’s dead. I don’t particularly enjoy seeing her face when I look over there.”

  Rogue shrugged. “Then don’t look over there.” He put the paper he had been perusing down and went into his office, leaving her out in front once more.

  He was missing the point entirely. There was nothing she wanted less than to stare at the likeness of her mother as it sat propped against the shelf. Why it was there, she had no idea, but it bothered her. The last time she had seen that face, it had been gaunt and haggard, a mask of death, and it had haunted her dreams for years.

  They’d had the picture for a few days, and Rogue had gone out with it but hadn’t yet taken Amelia with him, despite her endless complaints and reminders.

  His excuses were unending, and each as legitimate as the next. She could not question him, as every time he could explain and defend his reasoning. She could not even accuse him of leaving her out, not when every time he returned he brought her into his office and gave her a full report.

  It was maddening, wanting to complain but having nothing to complain about.

  Eventually, he would see that he could accomplish more with her at his side than he could by leaving her out.

  He had to.

  Unless he was far more skilled than she’d thought, and he was already on track to finding her father, in which case she would never say another word about it.

  But considering he had said nothing of the sort, she doubted that very much.

  He was a difficult man to understand. Years of studying people had given Amelia a bit of a knack for getting a feel for the manners and personality, and sometimes morality, of an individual, and usually quite quickly. But Rogue was the most complicated man she’d ever come across. Oh, she’d had a fairly accurate first impression, that he was ill-mannered and closed-off and did not care about reputation or appearances. But the more she got to know him, the more she felt that his first impression was intentional.

  The rumors about him had all been the same, except for his saving of the woman and her child. By every other account of him, he ought to have left them to their fate. He did not save bystanders from runaway carriages, or anything a sensible man with morals of any sort would. He ought to have only done a passable job of his investigation until she tempted him with more funds. And yet he was ruthlessly driven, remarkably quick, and she had seen with her own eyes the loyalty and respect for his colleagues as they came through. Rook to a much lesser degree than Cap, but she had still seen it.

  There was something admirable about him, and she wasn’t sure what it was. He had shown genuine care and concern for Hal, and their relationship had been something akin to siblings, if one actually liked their siblings. She would never have expected Rogue to be capable of any emotional relationships of any kind, but the evidence was before her eyes. He might not be able to stand One and Two, but he did not mistreat them, either. Callie was another story, but Callie was sharp, and Amelia suspected she had a more significant role in the office than met the eye.

  The irascible Rogue had a soft spot for women? And a potentially honorable one? That seemed highly unlikely. But something was off here, and she was going to figure it out.

  Assuming she ever got away from this damned desk and the papers that seemed to come at her intentionally.

  Poor One. He’d cleared off a corner of his desk for her, and he’d never complained once. But going through files for every Palmer born within a decade of when she thought her mother was within a twenty-five-mile radius of London proper was not exactly something that Amelia had the patience for. She had no idea how the clerks managed to accomplish such tedious tasks without wanting to screech like a bedlamite.

  Amelia understood the need for the task to be done. She did.

  But why did she have to be the one to do it?

  “Berger!”

  Amelia rolled her eyes to the ceiling. He’d long since lost propriety, and now she was just another member of the staff, and the only one with a proper name. “What?” she called back.

  Two snorted a laugh across the room, and she gave him a quick grin. Two was young and annoying with lofty expectations, so whenever she could amuse him, she claimed it as a victory. He could learn to be less pompous and pretentious, and enough time with this crew would give him ample opportunity.

  “He’s going to come out here, now,” One muttered, hiding a smile as he ducked his face closer to the desk and his own work.

  “Good,” Amelia said simply, making another mark in her ledger. “Because I was not about to go in there for him to tell me nothing again.”

  “He might have found something this time,” Two suggested, his doubt bordering on the blatant.

  Amelia gave him a look rife with her own sentiments on that point, and he chuckled again.

  “Get in here!” Rogue bellowed from his office.

  “Better do it,” One suggested with a nudge.

  Amelia shook her head firmly. “No, thank you,” she called back.

  One and Two were not laughing now. They looked between the doorway to the offices and Amelia repeatedly, their faces a mix of anticipation and worry.

  Brisk footsteps caught their attention, and the two clerks straightened up. Amelia continued to work on her mindless task, pretending she was not the least bit curious.

  The footsteps stopped near her. There was not a sound in the room but the scratching of her pen.

  “Miss Berger,” Rogue said in a barely controlled voice that almost hid his anger.

  She knew enough not to prod him too far. She finished her notation, then looked up at him politely. “Yes, Rogue?”

  His expression was thunderous, and she wondered if she might possibly have irked him one too many times. She couldn’t help it; it was just too tempting to provoke him, to defy his unspoken orders, to deny him command. He gave her the most entertaining
look, something between distraction and rage, and his own confusion at the dissonance within him was evident.

  He became disheveled, agitated, and lost some of his blessed control.

  He became… actually quite attractive.

  The errant thought caught her off-guard, and she looked at him in a bit of a different light. His features weren’t so harsh as she’d once thought, his eyes were really quite astonishing when they weren’t so cold, and his rugged roughness was enough to raise a bit of warmth in her cheeks. And his lips were…

  Goodness sakes, was she examining Rogue to find attractiveness?

  That was quite enough of that.

  She cleared her throat a little. “You bellowed?”

  One side of his lips quirked. “So did you.”

  She paused to acknowledge that with a dip of her chin. “Was there a purpose to our mutual bellowing?”

  Rogue folded his arms and gave her a look. “I thought you might want to get out of this office and venture into London’s depths to follow a potential lead regarding your mother.”

  Amelia stared at him, eyes wide. “What?” she eventually managed.

  “Unless, of course, you would rather stay.” He lifted a brow at her.

  Amelia was to the door in an instant, snatching her bonnet and frantically tying the ribbons as the clerks laughed to themselves.

  Rogue sauntered over, smirking a little. “Subtle, Miss Berger. One would think you’ve been held prisoner here.”

  “And one would not be wrong,” she returned, flinging the door open.

  Rogue chuckled as he followed, stuffing some papers into his jacket pocket, and shutting the door. “You ought to perhaps revise your opinions of prison, Amelia. Our offices are nothing of the sort.”

  Amelia looked up at him, clasping her hands behind her as they walked. “Have you been in prison then?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Once or twice. I don’t recommend it.”

  She smiled a little, amused that he was so cavalier about the whole thing. That was the sort of past one usually had regrets about and felt some degree of shame. But he admitted it freely and almost in passing.

  “What were you in for?” she asked with more curiosity than she ought to have done.

  Rogue smirked again, shaking his head. “Nothing worth repeating.”

  “Or regretting, apparently,” she mused, smiling more broadly.

  “Regrets are a waste of energy,” he said easily. “I learned a lesson, it proved a point, and I did not make the same mistake again. Until the next time I was arrested.”

  “For the same crime?” Amelia laughed.

  He shook his head. “No, a different one. I make the same mistakes in different ways. Variety, you know.”

  She laughed and shook her head, far more amused than she should have been. “Well, thank the Lord you weren’t hanged for your crimes, Rogue. Imagine the trouble I would have if I had to have someone else take on my case. What if I had to go with Rook?”

  Rogue snorted as he took her arm and led her down a different path than the one she’d started on. “You’d not find anything with Rook except for gossip and fops. Gent would be much of the same, but fewer fops, and more poor females in need of saving.”

  “Saving?” Amelia asked with a surprised laugh. “What, does the Gent have a hero problem?”

  “Gent is everything a hero should be,” Rogue told her, his tone sounding too derisive for what should have been praise. “Enough honor for two toffs. He protects reputations, he saves women from runaway carriages, he is the protective elder brother of every woman in London, and if I did not know better, I’d think him a monk.”

  Amelia laughed heartily at his descriptions, his tone still disgusted. “He sounds rather ideal.”

  “If you like the honorable sort, I am sure he is.” Rogue nodded at two unsavory looking men who kept their distance. “Otherwise, you will find him rather insufferable.”

  She smirked a little. “I don’t recall saying anything about liking or disliking, it was a simple observation. You must allow that today’s ideal man is all honor.”

  “Alas for the lost art of villainy.”

  He was apparently determined to maintain his dubious character, and she was more curious about that than anything else. “Is honor such a terrible flaw?” she asked, prodding a little.

  He considered that for a moment. “I suppose not, if I must be brutally honest, but I’ve always found it terribly inconvenient, particularly for our line of work. I make it a point to avoid honor at all cost. Less expectation allows me far more freedom.”

  “So, you are a dishonorable bottom-dweller who loathes all politeness and clings to the vain hope that he won’t be corrupted by the light?” she asked, laughing to herself.

  Rogue glanced down at her, seeming amused himself. “More or less, yes.”

  Amelia made a soft noise of acknowledgement. “You keep saying you have no honor, but rushing into a burning building to save a mother and child seems fairly honorable. Heroic, even.”

  Rogue’s glower was swift and potent. “Don’t do that, Amelia. Don’t pretend I’m something I am not.”

  His defensive tone was surprising, despite what she already knew of him. The first time she’d mentioned hearing that story, he’d reacted similarly. That alone had convinced her of its reality, and the more she learned of him, the less surprised she was by his actions that night. He claimed no honor, but he took great care with his work. He claimed villainy, but he’d never behaved beyond the level of curmudgeon and certainly had never truly behaved badly.

  In short, Rogue, in spite of his name, was nothing of the sort.

  He was simply cantankerous.

  Then why the act? And why the hatred of such a daring and honorable deed? “So why did you save them at such peril to yourself?”

  He shrugged, his jaw tight. “Collateral damage makes for a lot of paperwork.”

  Amelia frowned and shook her head. “I don’t believe you really feel that way.”

  He gave her a sardonic look. “You don’t know me, Miss Berger, and don’t let any amount of time in my presence let you believe that you do.” He strode ahead of her, making no effort to ensure that she followed.

  Amelia stared at him in confusion and not a small amount of irritation. For a man of no manners, he certainly had his own offended quite easily. He was determined to remain aloof and distant from any relationships beyond brief acquaintances, and heaven forbid that he should open himself enough to give an honest answer about anything at all. She hadn’t asked him to bare his soul, only to ask why he saved the woman and child when he seemed so bitter about it. Surely a man with no morals, manners, or honor would not have cared one way or the other.

  Then again, if the story was true, the screams had been what had brought him back, and she supposed one would have to be utterly without heart or soul to ignore such a sound.

  So why was Rogue determined to be considered such a vile creature when it was plain he was not?

  Amelia had never been one for riddles, but suddenly she had a fierce desire to solve this one. Why he had to be at the root of it irked her, but one did not get to choose the riddles that intrigued them. She only hoped that she would not get bitten in her attempt to solve it, but the danger could not be helped.

  She smiled to herself, wondering how much goading it would take to dissipate his anger enough for him to be witty and surly again.

  And then she had it.

  Grinning, she scampered ahead and linked her arm with his. “You cannot call me Miss Berger once you’ve decided to call me Amelia.”

  He jerked and tried to yank his arm away. “What are you doing? Get off.”

  She shook her head. “You called me Amelia. Twice, if I recall. This, I believe, makes us friends.”

  “And there you would be wrong, Miss Berger,” he said through gritted teeth, pulling his arm out of her grasp. “I have no friends, least of all you.”

  Amelia snorted and rolled her
eyes. “You have friends, Rogue. Cap and Rook, surely…”

  “Associates,” he said firmly. “Brothers-in-arms, perhaps, but we do not meet socially.”

  “You don’t meet anyone socially,” she pointed out, folding her arms.

  “That makes it very easy to avoid the inconvenience of friends.”

  She couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud. Thankfully, there were not too many people milling about where they were, so her amusement at the expense of the mysterious Rogue was not going to be remarked on. He would be relieved by that knowledge, she was sure.

  Rogue was looking at her as if she had gone mad, but he smiled all the same, which was a sight she would likely never become accustomed to. It literally changed his entire demeanor, and she rather liked it.

  “Oh, all right then,” Amelia managed, once her laughter faded. “We do not have to be friends if the thought distresses you so. But please, can you call me Amelia? I promise not to have any thoughts of friendliness on your part. It’s just that formality makes me uneasy.”

  “What gives you the idea that I would wish you to be anything but uneasy?” Rogue countered, raising a brow. “What if I don’t care about your personal comfort?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Amelia muttered, throwing up her hands and marching ahead, turning down the cobblestone road. “You are the most impossible, intolerable, insufferable, in…”

  He suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her the other way down the street, obviously the path least travelled. It led through narrow alleys with leaning buildings, dark stone that had never seen the light of day and was unquestionably the sort of place that girls like Amelia ought to be particularly apprehensive about treading through. But as there were no girls like Amelia, she did not have such fears.

  “Before you can come up with yet another word that means the same thing, Amelia,” Rogue said rather pointedly, leading her down the dank and filthy road, “you ought to consider not going ahead of me when you have no idea where we are going.”

  “Well, where are we…” she started with venom, then stopped when she realized what he had said and looked up at him sharply. “Did you just call me Amelia?”