I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs)

by Shana Galen

  Dane patted his brother on the shoulder and ruffled his hair, which seemed to annoy Brook and amuse Dane. “Where is Hunt?” the earl asked. “He’s been lax in his duties.”

  “He’s in London with Dorrington, watching Beezle.”

  “Beezle?” Marlowe parted the two men, shouldering herself between them. “Not the Beezle I know.”

  “The same. In fact, you’re well met,” Brook said, moving toward the table where Lila stood. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind.”

  He indicated the chair Dane had pulled out earlier, but this time, instead of complaining about her backside, the countess sat. Lila sat as well, knowing the men could not do so until both ladies were seated.

  Brook gave a succinct accounting of the events leading up to their marriage. Lila was curious to see whether he would mention his plans for annulment, but he said nothing of it, as though marrying a woman to protect her from a crime lord were an everyday occurrence in his life. Perhaps it was. She hadn’t thought to ask if he’d been married before.

  “Marlowe,” he said after he’d finished with the summary, “I wondered if you could think back and recall any political men Beezle might have associated with—MPs or lords or the like.”

  Marlowe’s brow furrowed and she lifted her thumb to her mouth, then, realizing she had her gloves on, lowered it again.

  Lila could not help but interrupt. “Forgive me for asking, but how do you know this Beezle? Was it from the time you were a…the time you lived in St. Giles?”

  Marlowe smiled at her. “I do know I was a pickpocket and a housebreaker. I’ve never pretended differently, and in this case, you’re in luck. Beezle was part of my gang, the Covent Garden Cubs. I wouldn’t call him a crony. We never liked each other much.”

  “And this is the same man who abducted me? Is that sort of thing common?”

  “Not when I was in the gang, though I wouldn’t put it past Beezle. He was never afraid of taking a risk, and abduction isn’t anything new. Satin—he was the old arch rogue—abducted me. The difference is that I was a child. I can’t see why they’d abduct a woman unless it’s for ransom.”

  “That was my thought,” Brook added. “There have been a few other instances of that sort of thing going on, but I couldn’t tie them to Beezle.”

  “What is an arch rogue?” Lila asked.

  “The prince prig,” Marlowe answered. “The dimber-damber upright man.”

  “The leader,” Dane supplied. “When I met Marlowe, Satin was the leader. He was hanged at Tyburn, and Beezle took his place in the gang.”

  “The Covent Garden Cubs are one of the most powerful gangs in London right now,” Brook said. “Beezle took what Satin started and expanded it. There’s nary a gin house or a bawd in Seven Dials who doesn’t pay something to Beezle to keep trouble away.”

  “Beezle is the trouble, no doubt,” Dane added.

  “Considering he’s mostly built upon what Satin began, I thought he might have retained some of his political contacts. Did you ever see Satin or Beezle with a Mr. Fitzsimmons, an MP?”

  Marlowe looked down at the table. She tapped a finger in a staccato rhythm. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t remember any politicians, any swells at all to tell you the truth. Sure, the swells were bubbles—I mean, what’s the word?” She looked at Dane.

  “Victims?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right, but Satin would never have trusted a nob any more than he’d trust a pig.” She looked at Brook. “Oops, sorry.”

  “I’m not a Bow Street Runner, but I suppose I qualify as a pig all the same.”

  “Yes, but you’re the best sort of pig,” she said, kissing his cheek and holding out her hand. In it, his gold pocket watch flashed. “Just keeping in practice,” she said when he took it back.

  “What about me?” Dane asked.

  She kissed his cheek. “You are the best sort of nob.”

  Lila could see the love between husband and wife, between the entire family. It was obvious the trick of picking Brook’s pocket was one the countess had done in the past. It had the feel of an inside joke. Lila’s family had had their own, but that was before her mother had died.

  “I’m sorry not to be more help, but a week away from the rookery is like a year, which means I’ve been gone decades. I will say that if I had yellow boys and was looking for someone to filch the daughter of a duke, Beezle would be an easy choice.”

  “But no one wanted me filched—er, abducted,” Lila argued. “I was kidnapped for ransom.”

  “Beezle told you that?” Marlowe asked.

  “No. He didn’t tell me anything except I would be sorry I’d seen the murder.”

  “He would have killed you to rid himself of the witness. Unfortunately, if he’d filched you for ransom, that means he wouldn’t be paid.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Brook said, “but he didn’t expect her to see. He thought she was locked in a cellar.”

  “I still don’t think he would have killed her until after he had the blunt,” Marlowe said.

  Brook ran a hand though his hair. “I hadn’t considered that angle. I don’t know what Beezle was thinking because Dorrington found her before Beezle had a chance to kill her. Considering what she saw, I believe she’s in danger.”

  “I agree,” Marlowe said. “And you’re right to hide out here. Beezle knows London better than his ugly mug, but he doesn’t know the countryside. Still, I feel…” She looked at Dane, and he nodded.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Lila wondered how married people did that, how they managed to communicate without words. She and Brook could barely communicate with words.

  “Take care of what?” Brook asked.

  “Making the staff of Northbridge aware of a possible threat. I don’t want anything to happen to Lyndon or Maxwell while we’re away.”

  “Beezle is after Lila, not your sons,” Brook said, “but it’s not a bad idea. One cannot be too careful when dealing with a man like Beezle.”

  “Should we continue on to London?” Dane asked. “The wedding is over and you and your new bride are not in Town.”

  “That’s up to you.” Brook folded his arms.

  “What he means,” Marlowe said, “is it won’t be on his head when your mother flies into a rage because we haven’t been to see her.”

  “I’m sure Susanna would like to see you too,” Brook added.

  “Yes, but I’m not scared of Susanna,” Marlowe said, speaking of Brook’s sister. “We’re closer to London now than Northbridge, and I’d rather go on. If I have to sit in the carriage for much longer today, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  Lila saw her chance. “Would it be a terrible imposition to drive Sir Brook and me back to the hovel—I mean, cottage? It’s quite cold for a walk.”

  “Of course,” Dane said, gallantly. “I wouldn’t hear of you walking.”

  “You may well have to hear of it,” Brook said, rising. “Mrs. Derring and I cannot accept your offer. We’ll walk.” He leveled his dark gaze on her, a silent warning not to disagree. But Lila was in no mood to be amenable. Her wrist ached, her feet were sore from the walk yesterday, and she wanted no part of the cold wind she could hear rattling the shutters.

  If she was honest with herself, she wanted no part of this marriage. She might initially have seen it as an inconvenience, a matter to be socially overcome, but now it had become so much more. She’d fallen in love with Brook, and she couldn’t forgive him or herself for that, especially when he made it quite clear he would never return her affections.

  When he made it quite clear she was the reason he would never return her affections.

  And now she’d met his brother and Dane’s wife, and Lila liked them. She found the countess oddly charming and the earl gracious. They were just the sort of people she would want at her dining table or around her at the hearth on a cold winter night.

  Of course, there was no chance of any real relationshi
p with Dane and his wife. She’d be separated from Brook soon enough. And the loss of what might have been a wonderful friendship rankled Lila.

  Everything about Brook and their marriage rankled in the cold light of day.

  Lila burst out of her seat, her cheeks burning with anger and indignation at the unfairness of the entire situation. “You walk. I’ll take the carriage ride.”

  Brook raised a brow. Clearly he thought she was acting daft. “It’s better if the Earl of Dane’s coach is not seen at the cottage,” Brook argued with a patience she imagined he generally reserved for small children. “I chose that cottage because it’s not widely associated with the Derring family.”

  “Do you think this Beezle has men watching the cottage?” Lila asked sweetly. She waited for his answer. When he shook his head, she added, “There, then he will never know.” She nodded at Marlowe. “Even the countess said this Beezle doesn’t know the countryside. It will take several hours to walk back, and it’s freezing. Your brother’s coach can have us there in a half hour or less.”

  “Perhaps we should step outside and leave you two to discuss this privately,” Dane said, rising and moving toward the door. “Marlowe, come on.”

  “Why?” she asked, clearly much more interested in the argument than in politeness.

  “No need,” Lila said, “I’ve made up my mind. I will wait for you in the coach, my lord.” Lila swept out of the room.

  * * *

  Brook had half a mind to stomp after her and drag her out of the coach, but that would only amuse his brother and Marlowe more. Already, Marlowe had a hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

  “Perhaps I will wait in the coach with Lady Lila,” Marlowe said.

  “Good idea,” Dane said. “She seems so frail and helpless. Best not to leave her alone.”

  Marlowe followed Lila, and Brook raised a hand. “Not a word.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of saying anything against your lovely wife. She’s quite the breath of fresh air.”

  “That’s something considering who you married,” Brook muttered.

  “I suppose I always assumed that having a hero for a brother meant your wife would worship the ground you walked on. Did I miss something, or does Lady Lila seem lacking in worshipfulness?”

  Brook had the urge to tell his brother Lila did worship him. Well, she was in love with him, at any rate. But he refused to rise to the bait. “It’s not your concern.”

  “I won’t argue with you there. Do I remember correctly? Isn’t she the girl you mooned over for an entire Season?”

  “You do know I fight better than you,” Brook said, a warning in his voice.

  “When next you’re in London, we’ll test that at Gentleman Jackson’s,” Dane said, clapping him on the back. “I imagine you’ll be ready to beat someone to a pulp.”

  Brook removed Dane’s hand from his shoulder. “Let’s go before Lila decides to leave without us.”

  “Then you accept my hospitality as well?” Dane said as the two moved through the common room.

  “It’s either that or leave my wife to her own devices while I walk back. I can’t think which is worse.”

  * * *

  The next night and day were the longest of Brook’s life. All the talk of London had made him yearn to be back. He itched to return to the work he knew waited for him there. Crime in London never took a holiday, and he couldn’t afford one either.

  Not that this was a holiday. It was work, and Lila made sure it felt like work. Ever since they’d alighted from Dane’s coach and waved good-bye, she’d been surly and snappish. She’d said more to the mother cat and kittens than she had to him. He’d obviously done something to upset her, and he knew enough of women to determine it was more than suggesting they walk back when she preferred to ride.

  He had his first hint that night when he made a comment about retiring to bed, and she informed him he had better not think of touching her. He hadn’t actually been thinking of bedding her—oh, very well, he had been thinking of it. Not seriously. He imagined she was somewhat sore after the night at the posting house.

  There were other things they might do, and perhaps if he gave her pleasure, she would cease scowling at him.

  He thought about asking what he’d done to upset her, but he’d attempted that with his sister Susanna a few times. Susanna had only become angrier, retorting, “You mean you don’t know?”

  Brook had inferred it was better to pretend to know than to ask. Still, he thought as he lay beside Lila that night, she did not act like a woman in love with him. She had pushed herself as far away from him as she could, and though she pretended to sleep, he knew from her breathing that she was no more asleep than he.

  Perhaps she did act like a woman in love after all—a woman whose love is unrequited. He’d been clear that he didn’t love her anymore and had no intention of falling in love with her now. Perhaps it was better that she distance herself from him emotionally before he distanced them physically.

  She was hurt, and he understood that. He knew all about misery and heartache, but telling himself that didn’t ease the guilt he felt for causing her pain. Because he knew what the torment of unrequited love felt like, he also could sympathize with her suffering.

  What could he to do alleviate it? He couldn’t make himself fall in love with her, though the Lila he knew now would have been easy to love. She was as intelligent and witty as she’d always been, but now she was also kind. But what he’d felt for her was in the past. He wasn’t that foolish, lovesick boy any longer.

  On the second night, he was rather tired of the heavy silence in the cottage. The weather had been clear all the night before and that day, and they’d both taken advantage of it and spent time outdoors. He’d wandered the length of the property, telling her he wanted to make sure all was secure. Brook had no idea what she did.

  Not much, he thought when he returned. The cottage was as untidy as it had been when he’d left in the morning. The bed was unmade, the floors not swept, and the breakfast dishes unwashed. He hadn’t ordered her to do any of those chores, but she might have taken it upon herself as she had nothing else to do but read the bloody book on the Peloponnesian Wars, which she’d done all afternoon the previous day.

  He understood she’d always had servants, but he was not one of them.

  It was almost dark by the time he entered the cold cottage. He noted immediately the fire in the hearth had all but died out. He stoked it, seeing all the other evidence of Lila’s laziness. He didn’t see her anywhere though. He went back outside and found the mother cat staring at the kitchen building while her two kittens tumbled one over the other nearby.

  “She’s in there, eh?” he asked the cat, who blinked her green eyes at him in response.

  He couldn’t think why she’d have gone to the kitchens when he’d brought back bread, cold meat, cheese, soup, and tea from the posting house. She need only heat the tea and soup, and that could be done by the hearth in the cottage—if she didn’t allow the fire to burn out.

  He strode to the kitchen and pulled open the door, immediately waving a hand to clear the plume of black smoke that billowed out. “What the hell?”

  Someone coughed, and he covered his nose with his sleeve and burst inside. “Lila?”

  She coughed again. At least he thought it was her. He couldn’t see her for the smoke filling the room.

  “Lila!” he yelled.

  “Here.” Her voice was faint but strong enough for him to pinpoint. He followed it until he all but tripped over her. He bent and realized she crouched on the floor.

  “What are you doing? Get up!”

  “They say smoke rises,” she said through coughs. “I thought if I bent down I could see through it to put out the fire.”

  Fire? Sweet God in Heaven, give him strength not to throttle her. He dragged her out of the kitchen and sucked in clean air. A quick look at her told him she was uninjured, and he turned to study the building. He didn’t see any plumes o
f fire yet. He had to put it out before it engulfed the kitchen. The risk that it would also spread to the house was too great to chance.

  Brook removed his coat, then, taking a deep breath, dashed back into the kitchen and groped his way through the black smoke. How the hell was he to find the fire when he couldn’t see anything? He finally moved toward the ovens, expecting to be overwhelmed by the heat at any moment. The smoke was strongest in the ovens, and Brook waved the coat to clear it. More black clouds billowed from the oven, and he threw his coat over it, hoping to douse whatever fueled the fire.

  Almost immediately, some of the smoke cleared. Brook used his boot to stomp on the soot and ashes, and crush the embers of whatever was burning. Satisfied the danger was over, he emerged, fetched a bucket of water from the well, and returned, dumping the water on the steaming debris in the oven. He left the hiss and steam behind and fell outside, gulping in air.

  “Can you breathe?” Lila asked, coming to kneel beside him. “Is the fire out?”

  He nodded. He couldn’t breathe well enough to speak yet.

  “I don’t know what happened. I was attempting to warm the bread—”

  “Warm the bread?” he wheezed. Why the devil did she want to warm the bread?

  “I thought it might be a nice addition to dinner, especially after I knew you would be out in the cold, but I couldn’t quite understand how the oven worked, and then I had to look for kindling. By the time I found some, it was already late, but I managed to start a fire. If I’d been thinking, I would have brought a spark from the fire in the cottage, but I didn’t think of that until later.”

  Brook closed his eyes. Perhaps it had been better when he didn’t know how she’d spent the day.

  “I put the bread inside the oven, but then it began to smoke. I tried to stoke the fire, but that didn’t work. Before I knew it, the smoke was so thick I could barely see.”

  That must have been the point at which he arrived.

  Brook wanted to be angry with her. The bread was obviously a lost cause now, and she’d almost set the kitchen building on fire. But how could she know the stove’s chimney was probably blocked with old ash and the debris of leaves that had accumulated over the years? Any servant would have thought to clean the stove before cooking, but Lila, in all her ignorance, still did not understand where she’d erred.