“Careful now,” Rogue warned, giving her a scolding look. “You’ll start dreaming of more if you get too far ahead.”
Amelia rolled her head dramatically to return his look. “My mother changed her name at least once, perhaps even more. She lived in destitute circumstances with no family to call upon. What are the odds that anyone we meet will actually be pleased to see me?”
Rogue shrugged and moved to the other side of the table, sitting down in the chair. “I think you would be surprised at how strong a family connection can be, especially when time has passed, and grievances have lessened.”
“Or intensified,” she countered, folding her arms and leaning against the table. “Things can fester too. You forget, I’ve lived with other families.”
“Ah, so this makes you an expert?” he asked with a smirk, one hand dangling near his mouth.
She fought against amusement and exasperation. “No,” she managed through her teeth, somehow smiling, “but it does make me wary.”
He accepted that with a brief nod. “Wariness is warranted, I will grant you that.” His eyes took on a faraway look, and his brow furrowed. “Sometimes things aren’t as you expect, and all you have are your instincts.”
Amelia tilted her head, watching him carefully. In the two weeks since their investigation at the cottage, she and Rogue had developed a different sort of relationship. They prodded and teased each other, tossed insults and jabs, but there was mutual respect between them beneath it all. It had been a wonderful reprieve from being on edge all the time, and they had been very productive.
They’d been able to track her mother’s life far more easily now that they had her real name and greater insight into her life. They’d found some of the shops frequented by her during a short stint in Cheapside when Amelia was young, as the journals documented, and though she was not known as Mary Clairbourne to them, Mary Palmer had, at last, become a person. The Clairbourne clue was a bit trickier, as the family was extensive and finding any sort of connection had proven difficult. Some were quite low in station, and some were rather impressively positioned in Society.
Her Clairbournes, however, had been squarely in the middle of everything. Not too high, not too low, without much to recommend them. Her mother had been born in London, christened at St. Mary’s in Putney, but the minister there had no recollection of the family, as he had only been at the church for twenty years, and they had not been in the parish in all his time.
It did not help that the names on the christening register had the parents’ names as being John and Anne, which seemed to be traditional names for the Clairbournes.
She had begun to wonder about the intelligence of her family predecessors.
Thankfully, Rogue was not put off by the challenge and seemed to relish the idea of a project needing true investigation.
Then they’d gotten a lead, a Clairbourne family with an infant daughter had moved into the Cheapside district, and some of their former servants had remained in the house they’d lived in, though they now worked for the current residents, who were no relation and no connection. But the servants remembered the family as being very fair and proper but thinking ‘a mite too high for their station’, as they were of no significance in Society. It seemed that Mr. Clairbourne was an unfortunate son of a respectable family and had never quite adjusted to reduced circumstances.
Despite the entertaining stories the servants had told, they did not know much of the family whereabouts after they had left London, only stating that they had gone north into the countryside to retrench.
Rogue had not been put off by that at all. On the contrary, he seemed to think that any Clairbournes out of London were a right sight better than all the Clairbournes in it.
Amelia hadn’t understood that one bit, but Rogue had gone off on his own to check some things, and adamantly refused to take her with him. She’d been forced to remain with the clerks and Gent, a new ally who seemed to enjoy any sight of her and Rogue together. She’d given him some real entertainment with a number of their rows, and in Rogue’s absence, he’d helped her find some answers in London.
Rogue had been gone a few days, and only just returned with the shocking news of Hertfordshire.
Imagine, a family of her own rusticating in that part of the world.
But she’d had some success herself here in London while he’d been away, and she was going to put it all to excellent use. There was, however, the small problem of informing Rogue of her plan, and she did not think he would approve of it. Which was why she had not told him and might not tell him at all. Why bother venturing into perilous territory when it might prove fruitless? Gent had seemed rather pleased with her plan and vowed to aid her in it, and he was a much more even-tempered fellow.
She was content with that.
She’d lost too much for caution.
And by the look of Rogue’s expression at this moment, he had lost a great deal as well, and it seemed to have the reverse effect on him.
“Who did you lose, Rogue?” she murmured softly.
His eyes tracked back to hers, but his face lost none of its gauntness. “Pardon?”
She leveled her eyes at him. “Come on, you know my story. You’ve lost as well. Tell me.”
He watched her steadily for a long moment, then exhaled a little. “Everyone.”
Amelia blinked slowly, her mind spinning. “Excuse me?”
He moved his hand and straightened a little. “I’ve lost everyone,” he stated, his gaze fixed on her. “My father when I was too young to care much, through recklessness and greed, which I happened to inherit. My mother to illness when I was a child. I have no siblings, and no cousins remaining. I lived a wasteful life before coming to this, and as I had nothing and no one, I was content to be a waste.”
It was chilling to hear his complete lack of emotion about his own life, almost as if it had happened to someone else. No one should sound like that. Even if he had enough control and detachment to avoid the feelings associated with bereavement and loss, which she doubted, he would not be able to discuss it without some sort of bitterness. This was not bitter.
This was rehearsed.
“There’s more to that story,” she pointed out. “You’re hiding something. You avoid forming relationships of substance and intentionally give off an acerbic exterior that no one in their right mind would come near. No one is that callous naturally.”
He scoffed almost silently, giving her a patronizing smile. “I happen to be.”
Amelia shook her head, smiling herself. “No, you’re not. You lost someone who meant a great deal to you. Possibly more than one. I’ll say your mother, as you gave the least details about her.”
“That’s enough, Amelia,” he warned, his jaw tightening at the same time his fist did.
She eyed his hand, then raised her eyes to his and turned her smile soft. “Going to hit me, Rogue? Too close to the truth?”
Rogue’s brow furrowed, his head cocking to one side. “Why are you looking at me like I am a temperamental child? And speaking to me as the same?”
She laughed and found herself beaming. “Because I understand, Rogue. You don’t have to hide any of it from me. I won’t pry, I’m not meddlesome.”
He clamped down on his lips and raised a taunting brow but said nothing.
Ignoring him, she tossed her head a little. “But I understand. How old were you when your mother passed?”
He settled more fully into his seat and just stared at her, apparently not inclined to share at all.
Amelia stared just as intently back, letting her eyes take in the picture of him. Extended interaction with Rogue had given her a new appreciation for his physicality, the way every emotion of his, no matter what he portrayed, was on display in the rest of his body. He could glower more fiercely than any man she’d ever met, but the set of his shoulders would be relaxed and open. His eyes could be frigid and intimidating, while his jaw would have none of the tension that ought to follow.
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He smiled far more often than he thought he did. Oh, it was not a smile by anyone else’s standards, but once you knew what to look for, it was impossible to not notice it. He was amused by a great many things and took great pains to hide it. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.
She did not doubt that his cynicism was real, nor that he was hard from the life he had led. But she saw no evidence that he was the blackguard he pretended.
And he had an intriguing sense of fairness.
“You know my secrets,” Amelia pointed out gently, willing him to open up even a little. “You know everything about me.”
“If only that were true,” he replied in a quiet tone, his eyes taking on a new light.
Her breath caught, and she blinked in confusion.
He was always doing that to her, making her heart stop in her chest, suddenly speaking in a tone that made her tingle, or looking at her in a way that made her knees weaken. And he always looked so handsome when he did it.
Insufferable man.
“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” she asked with a heavy sigh, needing this moment to pass and do so quickly.
Rogue only smiled a knowing, crooked smile.
Amelia rolled her eyes and stood. “Fine. Any luck with the landlord in Surrey?” Despite their efforts that day in Surrey, the landlord had been away, so they’d not been able to find out more than a name. It had taken this long merely to track him down and ask questions about the property. One of Rogue’s associates, whom Amelia did not dare ask about, had done that bit and was to report back.
“Some,” he replied with a shrug, apparently unaffected. “You were right. No one took the cottage after you left, but not for want of offers.”
That did not make any sense at all, and she frowned. “So… people wanted to live there, but he turned them down?”
Rogue nodded once. “It does not add up, so I think I will pay him a visit and try to find more specific information.” He smiled in a way that made Amelia wonder just what sort of methods he meant to employ to do so.
She smirked at him knowingly. “Do I want to know how you intend to bring this confession about?”
“Probably not.” He rose and brushed off his vest, not that it helped the worn article one bit. “Some things, my dear, even you would draw the line at.”
Amelia snorted and adjusted her shawl. “I doubt that very much.”
His eyes suddenly flashed a little more dangerously than usual. “Don’t.”
She stilled and stared at him for a long moment. He rarely spoke harshly to her anymore, and when he did it was never unwarranted. This was different.
He shook his head slowly. “You don’t know half as much about the world as you think you do, Amelia, no matter what you’ve experienced. It is darker, crueler, and more savage than you can ever imagine. And you should fear it. For your own sake, be a little less hardened. Don’t get jaded. Save whatever remains of your innocence.” His throat worked on a swallow, and he shook his head again. “Keep yourself above the rest. Far, far above.”
She wanted to say something flippant, something that would bring him back from this almost frantic precipice he was on, but she couldn’t deny that his words had taken root, and she felt the severity of their meaning. She couldn’t brush this off, as she might have other warnings from him, as she had done other warnings. But this was Rogue stripped of his artifice, and the first time she had seen him speak with real sincerity.
It might have been the only thing she could honestly take as real where he was concerned.
So, she simply nodded, keeping her eyes steady on his. “All right.”
He swallowed and gave a brisk nod, then eyed the door. “Now, go find something else to do,” he said with forced brusqueness as he moved to his desk. “I’ve got a lot of things to do, and you’re distracting me.”
Amelia grinned at his back. “Are you calling me a distraction?”
“I believe I just said that.” He turned and gave her a look, making a shooing motion with his hands. “Go. Get out.”
“What exactly do you find distracting about me, Rogue?” she asked, suddenly feeling rather impish.
A classic Rogue expression of derision appeared, and he lowered his chin a touch to stare at her more directly. “Your neck is absolutely perfect for throttling.”
Amelia laughed, one hand going to the aforementioned throat. “Are you tempted by it?”
“Constantly.” He inclined his head towards the door. “For your own safety, vacate my office. S’il vous plait.”
He was continually tossing French at her, as he had the first day they’d met, and always with the slightest hint of suspicion. She’d grown used to it, and as she had no reason to explain herself, or to hide that she could understand, she played along. He never said why he did it, and she never asked.
She needed to keep up her French, so it suited her just as well.
So long as he never learned where she learned it, she could be content.
“Comme vous voulez,” she responded with a playful curtsey.
He rolled his eyes far too dramatically for his nature and shooed her out again.
She turned to exit the door, then paused when Rogue softly called after her. She glanced over her shoulder at him to find him staring at her intently, all former traces of scorn, derision, and teasing gone.
“I was eight,” he said softly, his hands spreading a little on the desk surface. “When my mother died.”
Amelia’s breath caught in her chest, and she fought the temptation to clasp her hand to her heart. So young. Her mother had faded from existence when she was young, but at least she had been alive. “What did you do?”
Rogue’s eyes lost some of their focus, and his hands tightened. “Cried a great deal, as I understand it. Then nothing at all. I have distant relations who were charged with my care. They sent me off to school, where I misbehaved every day of my life, and nothing has changed since.” His eyes flicked back to hers, and he smiled faintly. “What can I say, I have always been terribly misbehaved.”
She returned his smile, touched that he would share a little of his surprisingly painful past with her, though the details left something to be desired, and she was beyond tempted to ask for more. But she knew better; she was fortunate to have received any answer at all. And yet, she knew instinctively that there was so much more to Rogue and his past than this. More that was, perhaps, more painful than this, which would explain his sharing the vague details now. If this was the least painful part, it would be easiest to share.
But what, then, of the rest?
He shook his head with another smile. “No, you do not get to hear any more. Go cry for me somewhere else.”
“Cry for you?” Amelia said with a snort. “Hardly. For all I know, you are lying to try and make me trust you more so you can find and expose my secrets and flaws with more accuracy and flourish.”
“I never do anything with flourish.” He waved at the door and sat down at the desk, rifling through papers and not meeting her eyes again.
She went without a fuss, smiling to herself, not because of Rogue and his continually shifting demeanor, but because she had work to attend to this evening, and the more time she could spend preparing, the better.
Out in the hall, Gent met her with a warm smile. “Amelia, how was our resident dragon today?”
She cocked her head a little. “Him or me?”
Gent tossed his head back on a laugh. “Touché, mon chère. I won’t even ask if your skirts are singed.”
Amelia shrugged and walked with Gent towards the back of the building. “Only as much as ever. We seem to be getting on well these days, which makes me think he is up to something.”
“You never know with Rogue.” He shook his head and rubbed at some faint smudges on his cheeks. “He can be fairly companionable, when he’s of a mind to, which doesn’t usually occur more than once or twice every four months.”
She snickered and reached for th
e cloak she’d hung up near the door. Since her adventure in Surrey and that night they’d spent scouring London, she’d been given a sort of unspoken permission to do as she pleased in the office. She never ventured into the private offices without authorization, she was not so bold as that, but the common areas she quite took over when she felt like it. Even Callie and the clerks had stopped moving her things around, and they almost never fought anymore.
Almost.
“Well, he won’t suspect anything tonight, will he?” Amelia asked, bringing her mind back to the present and the man beside her, now holding the door.
Gent grinned and shook his head. “Not a bit. He’s got as much to do as you have and will be very busy this evening. Whatever you have planned, it will never be noticed.”
Amelia nodded, smiled in her excitement, and stepped outside. She slid her gloves on and started walking away.
Crisp steps behind her made her turn, and she gave Gent a surprised look as he followed her. “What are you doing?” she asked with a laugh.
He returned her look with a superior one of his own. “You didn’t think I was going to let you venture out on your own, did you?”
“Gent…”
“That is my name,” he said with a firm nod, “and also my nature. I don’t care where you come from, Miss Berger, or what you think you need. You will never be unescorted while I can help it.”
It was sweet, and she was flattered, but it was also the silliest thing she had ever heard. And she could never tell Gent she was touched by it; that would tarnish her image. So, she rolled her eyes and huffed, even with a smile, and continued on her way, Gent whistling jovially behind her.
Eventually, he came up to her side, and they chatted amicably until they reached her intended destination, at which point Gent waved her on and sauntered off into the London streets, no doubt to save other females in his path.
Amelia made her way down the hallways, passed several rooms, then arrived at the place she’d been directed and knocked on the door.
A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2) Page 12