Her brows knitted further. “You’re not going to seize it for your investigation regardless of what I want?”
He tilted his head at her and folded his arms. “My investigation? Are you under the deluded impression that I am some sort of law enforcement taking on your case for the honor and protection of kingdom, country, and neighborly concern? You hired me, Amelia, which means that, whether I like it or not, you are tied to it, and, on occasion, I must consult with you. And allow you some leniency.”
Amelia scoffed loudly, which he pointedly ignored.
“Look,” he growled, “do you want the damned chest or not?”
“You take it,” she insisted, shaking her head, grinning at him. “Perhaps you can find something useful in it, and I would only wallow in memories, no doubt. It would be a shame to waste your concentrated efforts to goad me out of melancholy today just for sentimentality, which you abhor.”
Gabe stilled, staring at her hard. Then he exhaled roughly. “You knew what I was doing?”
Amelia’s smile turned wry. “I knew. It wasn’t hard to notice. You delivered your barbs almost jovially.”
He grunted and looked away. “I can see I need to work on my level of enthusiasm for well-placed insults and derision.”
“Why’d you do it?” she asked, her voice curious but soft.
He didn’t like that tone. It made him feel vulnerable somehow.
“Because you would have been emotional and weepy and useless, and I didn’t need another reason to regret bringing you along.” He made his tone as sharp as he could while still sounding indifferent, fighting for his old manner with her.
He didn’t even know his manner had changed until that moment.
“Would not,” she murmured, and he could hear the smile in her tone.
“Yes, you would,” he insisted, watching the buildings of London pass them by. “It would have been a waste of a day if you hadn’t been dragged out of that cesspool of feminine impulse, and the only way to do that was to prod you.”
“So, you’re telling me that you cared enough to keep me out of the dark places.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I have a low tolerance for wallowing in despair when there’s a task to be done. Nothing more.”
There was silence for a long moment, and then there was a hand on his knee. He looked over to see her smiling at him far too gently.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He stared at her for far too long, gaze fixed on the blue of her eyes, almost smoky in their shade, and the tender regard she seemed to be offering him. The lock of hair that hung loosely near her ear, the barely palpable weight of her small hand on his knee, and the somehow perfectly sculpted cheekbones that were now tinged with an alluring shade of pink. It was madness. It was sheer and utter madness…
She was stunning.
He immediately shifted and returned his gaze out the window.
“For doing my job? You’re quite welcome. I always do my job.”
Her hand left his knee, and he could breathe again.
“Of course you do,” she said with a substantial measure of irony. He could hear her shaking her head and the faint sound of laughter being muffled.
He ignored her completely.
The carriage pulled to a stop, and Amelia did not wait for him. “I’ll start asking questions about Mary Clairbourne tonight,” she called over her shoulder. “I know some people in London now.”
He stared after her for a few heartbeats, processing the insanity that had come out of her mouth, then scrambled out of the carriage. “Whoa, whoa, come back here.”
She did no such thing. She held her head high and strode forward as proudly as if she owned the city.
He groaned and grabbed her arm. “Stop, Amelia.”
She stopped and turned to face him expectantly.
“Are you completely mad?” he asked, keeping his voice down as there were several people about. “You want to go out about London at night by yourself and ask questions about your mother?”
“I do, yes,” she replied simply, not at all concerned. “There’s a lot of work to do, and I know just where to start.”
He shook his head and gripped her arm harder. “You don’t know anything, Amelia. You don’t know a blasted thing about any of this. You have names, you have your own bias, and you have whatever vendetta you refused to tell me about. That is all. You don’t know anything. That’s why we went to Surrey, to get answers. And we have some now, and this chest could give us the information we need. We need to be smart about this, not go risking everything just because ‘there is a lot to do’.”
“Why are you making a fuss about this?” Amelia asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I can start asking questions, and you can examine the contents of the chest. Everything would get done much faster.”
“Why the hurry?” He looked around quickly, then gave her a serious look. “Acting hastily without all of the information gets people hurt, Amelia. Go back to your hovel of a boarding house. Tomorrow, we can start afresh.”
She folded her arms and peered up at him. “Are you under the misguided delusion that I am a delicate woman with fragile sensibilities who cannot handle herself in a place like London?”
Gabe reared back a little. “Well, I…”
“Because I’ve seen the underside of this city, Rogue,” she overrode, stepping closer to him, her chin lifting with a stubborn jerk. “I was raised in it. I’ve seen worse and come through stronger. I know where to avoid and what to say, and I can take care of myself. Or didn’t you wonder what happened to the man who lied to me when I tried to find you?”
She shrugged his hand off her arm and quirked her brows, then turned and continued on her way.
Gabe stood there, voices and sounds and smells of the London evening surrounding him, reminding him of all the reasons why he should go after her. Protect her. Not let her do anything so foolish.
If he had a conscience.
Which he did not.
He turned on his heel, started towards the carriage, and then stopped after three steps, wincing with a hiss.
No. No, he was a hardened man without gentlemanly tendencies. He had work to do. Serious spycraft involving some very dangerous men and potential national security matters and seeing to them was long overdue. Why, the Crown could be in danger, and it was his duty to investigate those concerns, and if Amelia Berger or whatever her name was wanted to get herself killed…
His hands became fists at his sides, and he exhaled sharply. “Taylor, take the carriage back and put that chest in my office.”
“Aye, sir.” The grizzled man tapped the brim of his hat and flicked the reins.
Gabe nodded, turned around, and jogged back to Amelia. “Let me do all the talking,” he grumbled. “I’ve been at this a lot longer, and who knows what you’ll say.”
She smirked up at him and clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, Rogue.”
“And stop looking at me like that. This is business.”
“Yes, Rogue.”
“You look like the wrong side of hell.”
Gabe jerked as he hung up his coat on a peg. No one ought to have been in the office. It was too early for the clerks to be in, Rook was on assignment, and Cap was with his children. Which left only one feasible option.
He blearily stared down the grinning man leaning against the doorway of one of the offices. He wore his usual common clothes, same as the rest of them, and a cap sat almost jauntily atop his dark hair, tilted back and making him look much younger than he was. Which was nearly as maddening as the grin he bore. “Is there a right side of hell, Gent?”
Impossibly, the grin spread. “Well, of course. The side we are on.”
“That’s debatable.” He stepped forward to shake his friend’s hand and then moved past him into his office. The worn chest sat on his desk, just where he’d instructed Taylor to put it. He blinked hard, trying to find the motivation.
“Don’t tell me you’ve
been out all night,” Gent said as he followed him into the office. “You’re too old for that.”
He really was, but he wasn’t about to admit just how much his back and neck were aching. Not to mention his feet. Amelia had been relentless in her energy and enthusiasm, and they had quite literally been investigating all night. He’d only just convinced her that she ought to get some rest to be fully prepared for the mysteries of the chest they must sift through, not to mention the answers Taylor would have from the landlord.
Truth be told, Gabe wasn’t sure they would get much out of either compared with what their full night of work had done, but aside from telling her that he was desperate for five minutes without her yammering on so he could shut his eyes, he couldn’t think of what else to do.
The worst part of it was that, exhausted beyond measure as he was, he’d actually enjoyed his night.
With her.
Oh, hell.
“Yes, I am,” Gabe grunted, shoving the thoughts away. He sank into his seat and emptied his pockets. “And I already regret it, so shove off.”
“What were you doing all night?” Gent asked, ignoring his command.
“Working.”
Gent hummed in disbelief and took a seat. “Docks?”
“No.”
“Gamblers?”
“No.”
“French?”
“I wish.”
“I’ll keep guessing.”
Gabe put his head into his hands on his desk. “Please don’t.”
“Your aunt?”
“I will shoot you.”
“Tell me, then.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “It was a woman.”
The utter silence of the room would have been comical had he been coherent enough to process it properly. He picked his head up and looked at Gent, curiosity getting the better of him.
His friend stared at him with wide eyes, his jaw slack. “A… woman?”
Gabe sat back slowly, smiling a little. “Yes. A female. You know the sort? You just married one.”
Gent blinked slowly, not seeming to hear him. “You… don’t like women.”
“Not true.”
“I’ve heard you disparage them.”
“That is true.”
“You can’t stand them.”
“Also true.”
“Yet you willingly spent the night with one?” Gent’s voice cracked a little with the force of his questioning. It was astonishing how pale he had gone, considering his customary tan. His exotic travels with his bride had only enhanced that, yet he looked rather sickly at present.
Gabe held up a finger immediately. “Clarification is required. I passed the night with one. I did not spend the night with one.”
His friend’s dark brow lowered. “I see. So, this is not… romantic?”
Gabe hooted a hoarse laugh and crossed himself, which wouldn’t mean much coming from him, but he’d always heard that God was merciful. “Absolutely not,” he choked out. “I’ve not fallen that far. She’s a client.”
Gent’s relief was evident, but it was short-lived as suspicion set in. “A client you passed the entire night with? Un-romantically?”
Gabe did not like Gent’s tone, and he averted his eyes, turning to the chest on the desk.
“She’s the worst sort of termagant that ever existed. Demanding, rude, reckless… She thinks she is above something as insignificantly mortal as death, as evidenced by the fact that she had us traipsing all over London in the dead of night and would have gone by herself if I’d let her. She’s been through hell, I’ll grant her that, but that’s no excuse for possibly killing an informant or lying to a family about being a relative. Who knows, maybe the story she told me is a complete fabrication because I’m not entirely certain she won’t kill me as soon as I let my guard down. I’m really starting to hope that she is a French spy just to get rid of her. She is the most unladylike, irritating, maddening, scheming, unpredictable woman I have ever met.”
“Pretty, too, I’d wager.”
“Oh, she’s beautiful, and it just makes…” He trailed off, frowned, and looked up at his friend in horror.
Gent was smiling far too smugly, crossing one leg over the other and drumming his fingers together. He raised a taunting brow, tilting his head slightly.
Damn.
Gabe swore, which made Gent chuckle quietly. “I despise you,” Gabe muttered, rubbing his tired eyes.
“I know,” Gent sighed, sounding far too pleased about it.
“Don’t you have a wife at home to make passionate love to or something?” Gabe determinedly avoided looking at his no-doubt smirking friend as he opened the chest and started through the papers within.
“I do. And I did.”
Gabe paused for only a moment, as the words sunk in. Then he shuddered for effect and resumed his shuffling, not really seeing any of it. “And she’s had enough of you already? I know your obsession is too great for you to be so easily satisfied.”
He heard Gent shuffle slightly in his chair. “She is visiting friends today and asked me to get back to work and stop distracting her.”
Gabe snorted his disbelief and pulled the stack of journals out of the chest.
“Besides,” Gent continued, leaning forward, “I wanted an update on everything, considering the mess I left behind.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Gabe assured him, finally looking up. “Everything’s been pretty quiet. Rook took over your monitoring, and he says they’ve been meeting less and less. Looks like they’ll have to find someone else to fund the operations. I don’t have time to take care of my assets and contacts, thanks to this bloody cover. Your maggots have reported in regularly, but I left most of those to Cap.”
Gent snorted and picked up one of the journals before Gabe could stop him. “Figures. You ought to take a few of them for yourself. You’d be amazed at what they can give you.”
Gabe made a face. “Children at the docks and in the gambling rings? I thought you liked them.”
“I do, very much. But you’d be there, and no doubt your contacts have limits where children are concerned.” He flipped open a journal and started to read, dark eyes going wide at once.
“You underestimate humanity in general,” Gabe said with a shake of his head. He extended his hand and flexed his fingers. “Give that back, it’s not yours.”
Gent sniffed and held the book further away. “Never stopped me before. Besides, it’s not yours either, unless…” He lowered the journal to give him a sardonic look. “Have you started to catalogue events of your day in the form of a love letter? And to whom would you be writing, I wonder?”
Gabe returned his look with a snarl. “That would be for me to know, and you to find out. Give that back.”
Gent considered him for a moment, then handed it back. “My apologies, Rogue. I had no idea you would be so sensitive about the romantic scribbling of a woman currently in her early fifties, if I’m not mistaken.”
“My business, not yours.” Gabe set the book down and began to flip through it himself.
“Of course.” Gent rose and put his hands on the desk, leaning over to read upside down. “Who’s Amelia?”
Gabe jerked and covered the pages. “Get out.”
“Your client of the night, then. Excellent.” He grinned, his nearly perfect white teeth glinting in the morning light. “Which means this is her mother’s journal, and several others lay there. If her mother is writing to her dearest love and telling him about Amelia’s dealings, I must assume we are looking for Amelia’s father. And given that you have an illustration of the mother in your possession, and you have been out all night investigating, I may assume she was from London or spent some time here. If you are going off what you know of the mother, it means we have no information about the father whatsoever, which means Miss Amelia is most likely illegitimate. If all of that is true, I must ask if we suspect the father of being a peer and thus granting her a fortune to which she ought to be entitled,
or if you really have simply taken on a wild goose chase because of a pretty face.”
Perhaps it was Gabe’s sleep deprivation interfering with his ability to process rational thought, or perhaps he had merely forgotten how incredibly astute his colleague was, but he was utterly taken by surprise by the perfect accuracy in Gent’s brief assessment of the situation.
All he could manage was to blink and slowly sit back in his chair, watching the subtle play of emotions on Gent’s face as he attempted to interpret the underlying working of Gabe’s mind.
He would have quite a time of that.
Gabe couldn’t even fathom the whole of it, and he was privy to every little detail.
He groaned and waved Gent back into his seat. “Fine, I’ll let you in on it, but only because I’m too bloody exhausted to care.”
Gent sat down eagerly, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together. “This is going to be good.”
Gabe threw him a glare. “First of all, it had nothing to do with her face. Pretty or otherwise.”
Gent held up his hands in surrender. “My apologies.” Then he grinned. “But it is a pretty face, yes?”
He debated lying, he truly did.
But Gent would never believe him.
“Yes,” he relented reluctantly. “Yes, it is.”
Chapter Ten
"Hertfordshire? It can’t be Hertfordshire. Are you sure? She never spoke of Hertfordshire, she was always talking of London and Surrey. It cannot be Hertfordshire.”
Rogue sighed and gave Amelia a pitying look. “I did not close my eyes and point to a random county on a map to fix upon, Amelia. Give me a little credit for doing my job. I really am quite good at it.”
She smiled at him and patted his arm. “Of course you are, Rogue.” Then she sighed and looked back at the assorted papers filled with notes they had compiled over the last few weeks. “Hertfordshire. So, you’ve found her family there?”
Rogue nodded, then nudged her with his elbow. “Your family too.”
She scoffed a little and shook her head. “Not really. Not yet. Maybe eventually, but I want answers first. Did she run away? Did she get married, and we just haven’t found the marriage record yet? Was she a proper lady or not?”
A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2) Page 11