by Shana Galen
“Vauxhall isn’t open during the day.” Gideon stood and stretched, exposing a flat swath of bronzed skin at his waist. “Furthermore, Sir Brook can go to the devil. He may be the best investigator in the country. He may have found people no one else could find. But he doesn’t know the rookeries like I do. He won’t catch me unless I want to be caught.”
“And Beezle?”
“He’s another reason we wait until dark. You’re too conspicuous in the daylight.” His gaze settled on her, and Susanna felt heat rise in her cheeks. She notched her bodice higher again, which caused him to grin.
“Me? What have I to do with this Beezle?”
“You’ve been seen with me.”
“Would that I could undo that.”
He grinned, unapologetic. “I warned you.”
Since he had indeed warned her, and she’d taken no heed, she ignored his statement. “So we wait until dark and then travel to Vauxhall.”
“That’s the plan.” He sank down on the bed, and she tilted toward him before regaining her balance.
“And what do we do all day?”
Something crashed on the ground floor, and Brenna’s giggle floated up to them.
“I can think of a few ideas.” Another wicked grin. The man had an unlimited supply.
“Won’t your friend want his room back?”
Another crash and another giggle.
“I think they’re doing quite well without it.”
Susanna ducked her head before he could see her cheeks. She feared they’d changed from pink with embarrassment to red with mortification. She heard more giggling and then a soft moan.
The heat from her face traveled down through her body and settled in her lower belly, causing an unfamiliar and somewhat urgent ache.
Oh dear. A distraction. That was it. She needed a distraction.
“You were about to tell me how you acquired your scar,” she said loudly to cover the noise from below.
“Was I?” The undamaged brow rose. “Then you agree to my terms?”
Another moan.
“Yes, yes. I agree. Go on then.”
“Are you feeling ill, Strawberry? Your face looks a bit flushed.”
“I’m fine,” she hissed, turning her face away from him. “It’s warm in here.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” He rose and went to the window, parting the curtains slightly and peering down. Susanna couldn’t resist studying him while he stood with his back to her. He wore a coarse shirt that had once been white, and faded black trousers. His coat had been abandoned on a chair. Despite the shabbiness of his attire, he wore it well. He stood tall and straight, looking almost regal. He might have been a deposed monarch attempting to adjust to life as a commoner.
What if that was part of the story behind the scar? What if he was actually the lost son of a duke or a baron who’d gambled away his fortune?
Or what if he was exactly what he appeared to be, and she was trying to make him into something he was not because…
Because she liked him.
Because despite everything—or perhaps because of some things—she liked him. And just now she’d been imagining herself married to him. Which was ridiculous. She could never marry a man of his station, and she was a foolish, naive girl to pretend he was anything other than what he appeared to be.
But how could she be anything other than foolish and naive when she had no experience of the world? Gideon Harrow was the first man who’d touched her bare skin. The first man she’d spoken to about any topic not prescribed by her mother. The first man who’d made her belly flutter and her heart gallop when he looked at her for a moment longer than was appropriate.
Susanna knew all of this when she considered the matter logically. Unfortunately, whenever those bold green eyes focused on her, she forgot all about logic.
As though he knew what she was thinking, he turned and caught her staring. If he was annoyed by her blatant perusal, he didn’t show it. His expression remained both bemused and smug.
“You won’t believe this, but I wasn’t born a thief.” He pulled the ineffective curtains closed and strolled back to the bed, standing at the foot and looking down at her.
“On the contrary, I find that very easy to believe.”
Now was the moment he’d tell her he was actually a viscount in disguise. Hadn’t Brook gained his current reputation for finding the lost brother of some viscount or other in an opium den? It was not impossible.
“My parents weren’t wealthy.”
She sagged with disappointment. When he didn’t continue, she glanced at his face and caught the bewildered expression. No doubt he wondered what had disheartened her.
“Sure you want to hear this?” he asked.
“Yes. Please, go on. Your family was not wealthy.”
“No, but we had a home, and I didn’t go to bed hungry. There wasn’t any money for school, but my grandmother taught me to read and write.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t meant to show him her surprise, but when he’d said he could read, she’d thought he lied. She hadn’t expected him to be educated. She supposed she should have expected it. He spoke better than most of his ilk, though his lower-class accent crept in once in a while. But then men like he were always tricksters and cheats. They could imitate their betters.
But perhaps Gideon hadn’t been imitating.
“My grandmother had come down in the world. Her father had been a gentleman, but she was his only offspring. When he died, the property went to a distant cousin.”
“It was entailed.”
He pointed to her. “That’s the word. When her husband died, her son—my father—had to learn a trade. He worked for a printing press and kept me supplied with plenty of reading material.”
“What did the press print?”
“Religious pamphlets, political literature. Anything a man was willing to pay to have printed. My mother was a seamstress. She sewed all my clothing.”
“You were well dressed and well-read.” She pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. She would have never guessed any of this about him. It fascinated her to think of this man as a boy with parents and a grandmother. He seemed so alone now, so self-sufficient. He didn’t seem to need anyone.
“It sounds as though your parents loved you a great deal.”
He let out a short laugh and stared at a spot on the wall. “It does, don’t it?”
The silence settled in, and thankfully there really was silence, as whatever Brenna and Des had been doing was over, and she waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she lowered her hands and rose to her knees.
“They didn’t love you?” she prodded.
“They died.” His gaze cut to her again, and for an instant she saw the boy he’d been. The hard, green eyes had been softened, and the arrogant set of his mouth replaced by a genuine smile.
But now the hardened thief was back.
“How?” she whispered.
“Fever. Took my grandmother and my mother.” He shrugged as though he didn’t care, even though she knew recalling their deaths must have been painful. “Took a lot of people that winter.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured and reached out to touch his arm, to offer comfort.
He stepped back. “So was I, but I was even sorrier when my father started drinking.”
Susanna could see where the story would go now. Why had she asked him to tell her this?
“Did he give you that scar?” she asked.
Gideon shook his head. “No. He gave me others. The drink made him mean. And then one night he didn’t come home. I was an orphan at seven.”
Susanna put her arms around herself because she knew he wouldn’t let her hold him. He wasn’t that little boy any longer, and yet she wished she could hold that child and soothe his fears.
“You want to know who Beezle is? He’s the arch rogue of the Covent Garden Cubs. That’s my gang—or was. Satin started the gang and brought me in when I was about ten or eleven. Beezle came later and proved himself just as ruthless as Satin. Now Satin’s in the stone pitcher, thanks to our friend Marlowe, and Beezle’s the new Prince Prig.”
Susanna gestured to his temple. “And Satin did this to you?”
He touched it absently, almost as though he’d forgotten it. “In a manner of speaking. I fought with a cub from a rival gang over a trifle—a silk wipe maybe. He pulled a knife and did this.” He traced the white scar with his tanned fingers. “Almost took my eye out.”
“You were lucky,” she said.
“Right. That’s what I keep telling myself. I’m lucky.”
He hadn’t told her everything, and she was afraid to ask questions. How would she feel if she knew more about his life? Would she like him more? Hate him?
She was afraid she’d admire him, and she didn’t want to care about him, to want to hold him, to wish she could save him.
She couldn’t save him.
She couldn’t even save herself.
Besides, he didn’t need her to save him. He’d been doing quite well on his own, until she’d taken him from his path and forced him onto hers. “I’ll make you a promise,” she said. “As soon as you take me home from Vauxhall, I’ll give you the necklace back. I won’t break my word.”
“No, you won’t.” His eyes hardened. “And now fair is fair,” he said, resting one knee on the bed. It was so small that even that slight weight pushed her forward and all but into him. “I received my scar in a fight with another cub. Your turn.”
He took her hand and pulled her up on her knees until she was facing him. The other hand slid around her back and drew her closer.
“What are you about?” she demanded.
Unconcerned, he settled her inside the leg braced on the bed, his chest almost touching hers, and his heat making her skin tingle.
“Taking my payment.”
“I was to tell you why I want to go to Vauxhall.”
“And you will.” He released her hand and sank his fingers into her hair. A gentle tug and her neck ached until she looked him in the eye. “You agreed to my terms. You didn’t ask what they were.”
“I assumed—”
“That was your third mistake. Your first was asking me to be your guide, and your second”—he lowered his head until their faces were inches apart—“was telling me you’d never been kissed.”
* * *
Her deep brown eyes widened, and he might have feared he’d scared her if she hadn’t parted her lips and touched the tip of her tongue to the top. She wanted to be kissed. She should have been kissed before now, perhaps by some inexperienced youth who slobbered all over her or stuck his tongue down her throat.
His hand tightened in her thick strawberry-blond hair. He didn’t want to think of any other man kissing her. He wanted to be the first.
“Why was telling you I’d never been kissed a mistake?” she asked, her voice breathy and low.
“Because it’s an oversight I must rectify.”
Her hair tickled his bare wrist. It felt like he imagined a skein of silk might feel before being woven into an exquisite garment. Her long lashes fluttered, then lifted again, giving him a look into her wide eyes—eyes that were dark with arousal.
“You shouldn’t.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t dare to touch you. And I’ll kiss you because I shouldn’t dare. Call it my contrary nature. I have a bad habit of doing what I shouldn’t.”
He lowered his lips and brushed them lightly across hers. Her lashes fluttered down, and he felt her tremble ever so slightly in his arms.
When he lifted his lips, her lashes lifted again. “Was that the kiss?”
He tried to hide his smile. “No.”
The hand on her back drifted down to caress the curve of her waist. She was slim, but she had curves. He wanted to slide his fingers lower to discover whether her arse was as round and firm as he thought. But he’d save that for later.
He knew without question there would be a later.
“I plan to corrupt you, Strawberry.”
“I told you I don’t want to be corrupted.”
“Little by little.” His fingers edged down to her waist. “Bit by bit.” He brushed the swell of her arse. “Minute by minute.”
He gave her flesh a light squeeze, and she jumped.
“You don’t want to be corrupted.” He brushed her lips with his again. “Give me the necklace.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Not until…”
His tongue traced the seam of her lip. She was impossibly sweet. Her lips were lush and full, and the taste of her like honey.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, sounding scandalized.
“I told you.” He nibbled her lower lip. “Corrupting you.”
He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her gently, allowing her to accustom herself to the feel of him.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“Then tell me to stop.” He paused, his lips so close to hers all he needed to do was breathe to touch her.
He waited. Gideon was a lot of things—a thief, a liar, a cheat. But he was no bully. He’d stop if she asked.
His heart pounded in his chest, and his body tensed. His cock grew hard as the seconds passed. Neither of them moved or breathed. And just when he thought they might be at another impasse, her hand pressed lightly against his chest.
That light, tentative touch almost undid him. He was tempted beyond reason to ease her back onto the bed, cover her with his body, kiss her the way she should be kissed. It would be nothing to accomplish. One leg was braced on the bed, and he held her to him. He needed only to lower her to the bedspread.
But Gideon wasn’t Beezle’s best rook because he gave in to urges. He knew how to be patient. He knew how to wait.
He bore the heat and the light brush of her fingers as her hand explored the contours of his chest. He fought not to jerk when her faltering fingers tickled him. He gritted his teeth when she skated over a particularly sensitive spot.
He waited until she raised her eyes to him again. The invitation was in her eyes, but he wanted to hear it.
“Say it,” he murmured, his lips almost touching hers when he spoke the words.
“Kiss me,” she whispered so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her.
“Gideon.” He pressed his lips against hers gently, teasing her. “Kiss me, Gideon.”
She tried to shake her head, but his hand in her hair held her steady.
“I can’t say that.” He could feel the heat of her embarrassment where their skin touched. If he’d pulled back to see, he knew her face would have been the color of a beet.
“You can say it.”
He pressed his lips to hers again, taking her lower lip between his teeth and sucking lightly.
“You want to say it.”
“I don’t…”
“Say it, Susanna. Kiss me, Gideon. Say it, and I’ll slide my tongue inside you. I’ll kiss you until you forget my name and your name and your fucking money and title. Say it.”
Her body went rigid at his curse. It was impossible for him to temper his language when he was this aroused. And if she pulled back now, he’d make a vow never to curse again.
But she leaned closer, her breasts brushing against his chest. Small, firm breasts that would fit his hands perfectly.
Desire raged through his body, and his efforts at restraint taxed his muscles until they felt like they might pop with the exertion. He’d never wanted anything this badly. Never wanted a woman so much. Never waited for a woman like this.
Any other woman, and he would have walked away, decided sh
e wasn’t worth the effort.
But Gideon didn’t move.
Her dark eyes focused on his. “Kiss me, Gideon.”
He checked the urge to take her with the fierceness his body craved. Instead, he opted for torturous slowness. His lips slid over hers again and again until he knew her shape and was drunk on the satiny texture. She tried to kiss him back, an awkward attempt that only made him want her more.
He tasted her with his tongue, prompting her to part her lips. When she did, he slid inside her warmth.
She gasped and tried to withdraw, but he held her close. His tongue stroked hers, tangled with it, thrust and retreated. After a moment, she stopped fighting him. She moaned low in her throat, her body relaxing into his. He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, kissing her deeper and with more urgency.
He knew the moment she surrendered. Her body slid against his in an instinctive movement, and her tongue tangled with his. She was a quick student, and though her kisses were still unpracticed, Gideon’s cock throbbed in response to her efforts.
He buried both hands in her hair and finally summoned the willpower to break the kiss. It was either that or take her on the bed.
God knew he wanted to take her. And God knew he had no right to take her virginity. He was a common thief and she a lady, and he wasn’t good enough to kiss her feet, much less touch her like this.
“Strawberry,” he said, pulling back and giving her a cocky grin. “I think my work here is done. I’d venture to say you’re one step closer to corruption.”
He gave her a wink because it was the sort of thing he’d seen lechers do.
Her hand stung his face when she slapped him. He released her. Obviously, the wink had been too much.
She pushed him back—unnecessary, really, considering he was already moving away to avoid another slap—and jumped off the bed.
“Do not ever touch me again, you—you rogue!”
He flinched, only half in jest.
Head held high, she whirled and marched to the door. Throwing it open, she tossed a withering look over her shoulder and slammed it shut behind her.
Eleven
It had been a glorious exit, Susanna decided when she paused on the stairs and continued her retreat. Her return would not be as glorious. She should have considered the amorous activities of the couple downstairs before she’d marched away.