A Rogue About Town (London League, Book 2)

by Rebecca Connolly

  As he suspected, she was gaping at him.

  “Well?” he prodded, wincing just a little.

  She closed her mouth, seeming to chew on her answer. “You…” she started, blinking as if she could not believe it. “You… need my help?”

  Gabe closed his eyes with a rough sigh of regret. “Yes. Please.”

  “Good heavens. I did not know you knew that word.”

  He cracked open one eye to glare at her, which caused her to smile. “Are you going to be cruel to a man who has come for help?” he muttered.

  Geraldine smiled, shaking her head. “Of course not. But I fully intend to relish the moment.”

  She picked up her tea to take another quick sip, no doubt to strengthen her constitution, then looked at him with prim soberness. “How can I help you?”

  He really ought to forget about this whole thing. Involving his aunt was the worst idea he had ever had in the history of all ideas. But he was growing desperate, and she had the connections he needed. “The woman at the ball,” he said at last.

  Geraldine’s expression changed into a doleful one in an instant. “I asked you about her not three minutes ago, and you said you didn’t know who she was. What in the world am I supposed to help you with?”

  “I don’t know who she is,” he said, echoing her tone exactly. He managed a weak smile. “That is the problem.”

  It was comical to watch Geraldine’s face change as his words sunk in. The myriad of emotions ranged from confused, to incredulous, to gleeful, with a dozen others in between. One of her hands shot up to cover her mouth, though her eyes were free of tears or anything remotely sentimental.

  “You wish to seek her out?” she asked with a merry squeak. “Oh my goodness, oh heavens, I never thought… I never even dreamed that…”

  “Do get a hold of yourself, Aunt,” Gabe sighed, attempting to feign indifference. “I only want to find her, not propose matrimony.”

  Geraldine laughed loudly, clapping her hands. “The fact that you want to find her proves that my plan worked. Your wife! Oh, Gabriel, this is divine!”

  This was nothing of the sort. He sat forward and held up a warning finger. “She is not my wife. I don’t know who she is or anything about her but what she told me at the ball. It is entirely possible that she is very poorly situated in life and quite shrewish to boot.”

  “I can only wish for both of those things,” Geraldine replied with a false smile, “for then she would be your perfect match.”

  There surely were laws against the extermination of one’s relations, but perhaps if he made it look as though a dreadful accident had occurred and appeared injured himself in the process…

  “Let me fetch my guest list,” Geraldine was saying, rising from her seat.

  “I have your guest list,” Gabe told her with a shake of his head, waving her back down.

  She stilled, staring at him with hard eyes. “How did you manage that?”

  He shrugged unapologetically. “I bribed a servant shortly after the ball.”

  “Which one?”

  “Not telling.”

  She frowned and sank back into her chair. “Impertinent man. Why wouldn’t you just come to me?”

  Gabe smiled at her knowingly. “Would you have come directly to you if you were me? Be honest.”

  Geraldine pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and retrieved her tea again. “So, you have been trying to find her for some time now, and still have not managed it?”

  He acknowledged her unspoken agreement with a dip of his chin and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Roughly, yes.” He offered his aunt a weak attempt at a smile that he did not feel. “It seems your guest list is not entirely complete.”

  Geraldine smirked at him with some derision. “Of course, it isn’t complete. I let others invite whom they wished.”

  Gabe stared at her for a long moment, then dropped his head back against the chair, groaning again.

  That explained everything. There had been far more people in attendance than what was recorded on the guest list he had procured. It also explained why he had never seen the goddess before, and why no one could seem to help him find her. He had vastly underestimated his aunt’s plans for him if she had allowed others to invite guests as well.

  “You were that desperate to find me a wife?” he asked, closing his eyes.

  “You’ll thank me later. Perhaps at your wedding.”

  He snorted. “I highly doubt that.” He rolled his head in her direction, forcing himself to look directly at her. “Who else invited people?”

  Geraldine’s brow furrowed, and her eyes clouded in thought. “Let me see… Gerrards, obviously… Whitlocks, Rivertons, Rothchilds, Townsends…”

  “Good lord,” Gabe moaned, sitting forward to put his head in his hands.

  It was a list of the most popular names in London, and he was not on any particularly familiar terms with any of them. And he could not have word spread about that Lord Wharton was looking for a woman from the masquerade. That would unleash a hellish storm of societal panic and send the misses from that night into a frenzy, and who knows how many others that were not in attendance would have pretended to be her?

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” the voice of Geraldine’s butler suddenly intoned from the doorway, “but there is a caller for you.”

  Gabe looked at his aunt, knowing how she felt about callers when she was already occupied. Her lips formed a thin line, and she gestured for the tray with the telltale card atop it. Plucking it up, she scanned the lines, then her mouth curved into a thin smile of satisfaction.

  “Send her in,” she informed her butler, replacing the card and sitting up straight. “And bring a fresh tea tray.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” The butler clicked his heels and bowed, then swept away to do her bidding.

  Gabe watched him go, then frowned at his aunt. “Is that how it’s supposed to go? Goodness, I’ll have to send Houser ‘round for lessons.”

  Geraldine adjusted her black shawl, fidgeted with her blue crepe gown, and rested her hands in her lap at last, still looking a mite too superior.

  Something was afoot.

  He straightened up and glanced at the door, then back to her. “What is going on? Who is calling?”

  “Someone else that I encouraged to invite guests to your masquerade,” Geraldine said airily, her smile mischievous now.

  “Geraldine…” he warned.

  “Lady Raeburn, ma’am,” the butler suddenly announced in a grave tone.

  Gabe was out of his seat in half of a second and heading for the side door of the room. There was absolutely no way in hell that he was going to…

  “Geraldine, darling!” gushed the unmistakable tones of the most terrifying, if not influential, member of London’s finer Society.

  “Tibby!” his aunt cried in delight, rising from her seat. “My nephew was just saying how delighted he was at the prospect of seeing you, isn’t that right, Gabriel?”

  Gabe turned to face the women, less than five paces from the door he yearned for and fought back a rather blistering curse. “Delighted,” he repeated, sounding anything but. “Absolutely.”

  Lady Raeburn gave him a reproachful look as she embraced his aunt. “Come now, Wharton, you know very well you were fleeing.”

  “He would never…” Geraldine protested, stepping out of the embrace.

  “He would,” Gabe and Lady Raeburn interrupted as one. They shared a faint smirk, and Lady Raeburn crooked two fingers at him.

  He debated for longer than was polite, because, really, it was Lady Raeburn, and while she was widely renowned as a wonderful woman, she was also interfering and eccentric and altogether unpredictable. None of which were Gabe’s favorite things.

  Geraldine cleared her throat and widened her eyes meaningfully at him.

  Barely restraining the urge to roll his eyes, Gabe trudged back over to them, plucked Lady Raeburn’s hand up, and gave it a perfunctory kiss.

  He was surprise
d that Lady Raeburn patted his cheek after that. “It’s so nice to see you pretend at the niceties, Wharton,” she said with a cheeky smile.

  He chuckled and inclined his head playfully, forgetting that, when it suited him, he actually liked this vibrant and intimidating woman. She was everything in the extremes, from her flaming red hair, to the rather expensive looking blue silks currently draped around her form, to the feathered monstrosity upon her head, and her long fingers were almost all decorated with brilliantly jeweled rings. One had to appreciate her for what she was, whatever that was.

  No one ever quite seemed to know.

  “I do try,” he informed her, “but sometimes pretending is so tiresome.”

  She clucked and sat on the divan next to his aunt. “Don’t speak to me of things tiresome. They take up at least two-thirds of my day.”

  “Then may this interview with my aunt be the least tiresome of the lot,” he said with false earnestness. He bowed and started towards the front door of the room.

  “Gabriel!” Geraldine scolded loudly. “You are to join us.”

  He turned with a look that quite plainly said, “Must I?” and was rather perturbed at her nod.

  He was a grown man with no tendency towards gentlemanly behavior, but it was somehow impossible for him to go against his aunt in any manner whatsoever.

  Somehow managing not to grumble, he resumed his seat and took three of the biscuits with the tea service.

  “It is fortuitous that you are here, Tibby,” Geraldine said, giving Gabe another warning look before turning to her friend. “We are rather in need of your assistance.”

  “Indeed?” Lady Raeburn asked, looking between them with interest.

  Gabe held up his hands and made a face of adamant refusal.

  “Gabriel is looking for someone,” Geraldine continued without heeding him. “A young lady from the masquerade. And it requires the utmost discretion, you understand.”

  He could have strangled his aunt if he were sitting closer.

  Lady Raeburn looked at him with calculating eyes. “Discretion is my middle name, my dear. Do please go on.”

  It was safe to say that Gabe was in a foul mood when he returned to the office that afternoon. He’d tugged off his cravat on the walk and removed his jacket when the day became too warm for it. His aunt and Lady Raeburn had been ruthless in their interrogation of him, and their methods would be something he would have to remember when he next had a suspect in his care.

  Or perhaps he could refer them to Milliner for her expert use. She was always looking for additional ways to help improve the skills of the young ladies of the Convent who would be future spies.

  They could not have had two better teachers.

  He hated how exposed he had felt before them. He’d managed to avoid sharing any intimate details, sticking purely to the facts of the situation and refusing to indulge them in their more ridiculous sensibilities. As a result, he was not sure if they believed him in love, indifferent, obsessed, or simply mad.

  At this point, he did not care.

  He entered his office and tossed his jacket and cravat in the corner, not caring if they became wrinkled or stained. Houser could deal with that if he chose or purchase new ones if he did not. Funds were no longer an issue for him, despite his aunt’s desperation to foist more upon him, and he could certainly afford new clothes.

  He sank down in the chair behind his desk and waited for someone to descend upon him, whether it be the clerks, Amelia, or Gent. Someone would. They always did.

  Being forced to relive those moments with the goddess today had been sheer agony. Even now, weeks later, he wanted her with a desperation that bordered on madness. He had found control over it, but when all his barriers had been torn down, and the heart of the matter was laid bare, the wounds were as fresh as the day she’d caused them.

  He was not used to feeling this way, and it unnerved him. He had spent years cultivating his exterior and hardening himself against all things personal and emotional, and he’d done quite an efficient job of it. After the pain of losing his mother, and the poor adolescence he’d endured both with his uncle and at Winchester, it had been far better for him to feel nothing. And then to form so strong a bond with his cousin Alex despite all of that, only to lose him as well.

  There was nothing Gabe hated so much as the raw torment of vulnerability.

  It made him feel weak and powerless, and he could not abide either.

  “Gent! Rogue!”

  He jerked, suddenly alert, and was on his feet in a moment, racing out the door. The clerks never called like that unless it was something urgent. His mind raced through every possibility, every scenario. His thoughts seized upon Amelia. What could have happened to Amelia? Or was it something bigger? Something had happened. But what?

  Part of him was relieved when he saw Amelia sitting in the corner she had arranged for herself, looking confused, and concerned.

  He nodded at her, but moved on, Gent following directly behind.

  A man in rough clothing with a rougher countenance stood in the foyer, looking at the two clerks as if they were the stupidest things he had ever seen.

  “Can we help you, sir?” Gent asked in a polite voice but keeping his accent very common.

  “Yes,” the man grunted, tapping his cap, which he did not remove. “I’m looking for Mr. Turner.”

  It was as if all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room, and Gabe felt the earth shift beneath his feet.

  Mr. Turner had been Trace’s deep cover name during his dockside investigation. Surely it was a coincidence. No one ought to know that name.

  “Mr. Turner,” Gent managed to say after a pause that he hoped their visitor missed.

  The man nodded, scratching his chin. “Aye. It was a long time ago, but he told me if I ever saw anyfink out of the ordinary down by the east docks, I was to come and tell him. I plum near forgot until the strangest thing happen’ t’other night.” He shrugged and fumbled in his coat pocket for a dirty handkerchief that he used to wipe his brow. “Right pleased to have ‘membered Mr. Turner, an though’ he’d like to know.”

  Gent looked at Gabe with far too much understanding, and Gabe jerked his chin once.

  He would investigate this himself, whatever it was, but Gent would do the questioning. Gabe could not manage it.

  It had been Trace, he was sure of it. Alex was always leaving small clues and tips around, trusting that people would remember and give him the information he needed. The most maddening part of it was that it always worked.

  And here it was again.

  “Follow me, sir, and I will take down your information,” Gent said, gesturing towards his office. “Mr. Turner is out on assignment at the moment, but I will relay everything you tell me to him directly.”

  The man nodded and followed without a word, his shoes making an odd squelching sound on the floor.

  Gabe stood there for a moment after they left, clenching and unclenching his hands as his jaw worked.

  “Blimey,” Two whispered. “What was that about?”

  Based on the sound that followed the question, Gabe assumed that One slapped him in the back of the head. He didn’t bother to look but returned to his office and closed the door behind him.

  He couldn’t breathe for the life of him. One of Trace’s aliases coming up now, after weeks of nothing? Years after everything had settled, after he had died for his cursed investigation, it was coming up? He wasn’t ready for this, couldn’t bear remembering how he had been helpless to save his cousin. He would never forget the sounds of that night. A knife piercing flesh ought not to sound so thunderous from across a stretch of water and a dock. He had imagined Alex’s face a thousand times in his mind at that moment, as he’d been too far away to see it.

  They’d all had their own injuries that night, but none had hurt so painfully as that sound, and the knowledge that it brought.

  Gabe exhaled roughly, surprisingly fighting against a rising tide of te
ars, which he was quick to quell. No matter what Weaver and the other Shopkeepers said, this wasn’t over and would never be over for him. He would find out whatever was going on down there at the docks, and whatever Alex’s work as the Trace meant to it. He was a spy, and his comrade had died for this cause.

  He would see it completed.

  A soft knock at his door brought him out of his thoughts, and before he could open his mouth to acknowledge it, the door opened.

  Amelia peered in, her expression soft. “What can I do?” she asked quietly.

  He shook his head, swallowing with a little difficulty. “Nothing,” he told her, his voice hoarse.

  She gave him a searching look, then entered the office and closed the door behind her, placing her back against it. “Gabe…”

  Something about the tenderness in her voice, the way she said his name, broke whatever resistance he’d thought to have, and he wordlessly held out a hand to her.

  She came to him at once, and he pulled her against him, resting his chin against her brow. “I did not need that today,” he managed. His words were choked and rough, and he folded his arms around Amelia’s shoulders wearily, gratified to find her arms encircling him in return.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, stroking his back. “What can I do?”

  He shook his head against her, sighing roughly, his mouth at her hairline. “Stay right here. This is enough.”

  Amelia nodded and held him tighter.

  And for the moment, it was enough.

  It was all he needed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Are you quite sure about this, Amelia?”

  “Quite. And it’s Alexandra, remember.”

  “Right, sorry.”

  Amelia rolled her eyes and scratched just above her left ear where the itchy wig bothered her most. “Don’t apologize. But when we are in there with Mrs. Chapman, you cannot forget. We’re supposed to be sisters.”

  Callie gave her a sour look. “Who in their right mind would believe that?”

  Amelia cocked her head a little. “There’s a good look. That’s believable.”