The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs)

by Shana Galen

  She should have ordered Gideon to leave. Let him interrupt the moaning and grunting.

  What on earth were they doing anyway?

  She had some idea. She’d moaned herself when he’d kissed her a few moments before. She hadn’t known a kiss could be like that. She’d only ever experienced the dry, papery-light pecks her mother had given her. Her brothers occasionally bussed her on the forehead, but that was even less personal.

  She’d seen Dane kiss his wife, of course. But she hadn’t dared watch them too closely. Did Dane kiss Marlowe the way Gideon had just kissed her? Did everyone kiss that way?

  It was scandalous!

  It was startling.

  She wanted to do it again.

  But not with Gideon Harrow.

  She never wanted to see him again. In fact, she wished she could force him to go to Vauxhall Gardens right now so she could be rid of him sooner. Instead, she would have to walk back into that room and bear his mocking grin.

  Swallowing the bile rising in her throat along with her pride, she opened the door and stepped back inside. Gideon was at the window again, and to her surprise, he didn’t look around.

  “I hope you’ve come to apologize.”

  “Apologize!” she sputtered. “You possess the unmitigated gall to suggest—”

  “That’s a no then.” He leaned a shoulder against the window, still not turning to face her. Below, something crashed to the floor. Susanna closed her eyes in mortification.

  “Like rabbits, aren’t they?”

  She didn’t answer. She did not want to encourage conversation. Instead, she went to the bed and sat primly on the edge. She folded her hands together and waited for him to make fun of her, but he continued to stare out the window.

  What did he see out there that held his interest? He was probably plotting a new crime. That was fine with her, as long as he conducted his criminal activity after he’d escorted her to Vauxhall. She was through pitying him. Yes, his mother and grandmother had died from fever. It did not seem that his father had been a very kind or compassionate man.

  Many men had unkind fathers.

  Many women too.

  That didn’t mean one had to resign oneself to a life of crime. He might have stayed at the orphanage, tried to learn a trade…

  Oh, she was being ridiculous now. Even sheltered as she was, she knew orphanages treated their wards little better than gaolers treated prisoners. She’d once asked her mother if she might join a philanthropic society to aid orphans, but her mother had forbid it.

  “Philanthropy is for married women,” she’d said. Apparently, the plight of orphans was too shocking for young misses.

  She pulled a lock of her hair down and examined the ends, partly to have something to do and partly to shield her face in case Gideon turned to look at her.

  She did not pity him. He’d made his choices. He had few of them, but he had survived and made a life for himself. Too bad his way of living dictated he take advantage of her when she’d offered him the meager comfort any compassionate person would have. She would have to be strong and unfeeling to survive the night ahead.

  She peeked through the strands of red. He still stood at the window. One of his hands tapped his thigh, the fingers beating a rapid pace. What was he planning?

  This long silence made her uncomfortable. How long would she be trapped in this room with him?

  “I believe I mentioned I wanted to go to Vauxhall Gardens because of my mother.”

  “Actually, you called it your dream.”

  “It is, or rather, what it represents is.”

  The fingers tapping on his thigh paused. “I’m listening.”

  “Dreams may seem silly to you.”

  “Now why would you think that?” he drawled.

  She paused at his sarcasm. She should have expected it. “But I assure you my life has not been without its own travails.”

  “Travails?” he said with a disparaging look over his shoulder. “Right. Like the day you sacked your slavey and had to dress yourself in silk and diamonds.”

  “Well, yes, that was a difficult day.”

  He rounded on her, and she smiled.

  Slowly, a smile crept over his features too. “You don’t take yourself as seriously as I thought.”

  “I take myself very seriously. I must go to Vauxhall. After this, I’ll never have another chance. I have to know why my mother behaves as she does.”

  “And how is that?” He rolled one of his sleeves up, exposing a muscled, bronzed forearm.

  “Protective.”

  He looked up from his sleeve. “Yes, that must be awful.”

  “It is when it’s taken too far. I’m not even allowed to go to the ladies’ retiring room by myself!”

  “The what?”

  Her cheeks burst with heat. “You know, the private chamber for ladies.”

  “Oh, you mean to piss?” He grinned. “Sorry. But the look on your face was worth the crass words.” He put a hand over his heart. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman for the rest of the day.”

  “That I would like to see.”

  He gave her a rather dashing bow. “As you wish.” He started on the other sleeve. “So your dear mama is overprotective.”

  “Yes. She’s always been thus with me. My brothers were allowed to do as they wished, but I was locked away.”

  “Would it be impertinent to point out that you are a girl and they are boys?”

  She checked a smile at the lofty way he gestured with his hand. “No, and even taking that into account, she all but smothered me. I don’t understand why. I’ve done nothing to lose her trust.”

  “Until now.”

  “Yes, until now. And I’ve taken this step only as a last resort. You see, I was finally allowed to go to the ladies’ retiring room alone, and when I was there, I had the oddest conversation.”

  He raised a finger. “I want credit for the fact that I have not voiced one comment that has crossed my mind these last few moments.”

  “You have it. Lady Winthorpe mentioned my mother had once been in love. And the man she had loved was not my father.”

  Gideon gasped. “No!”

  Susanna looked about for something to throw. Where was her candlestick? Drat! She’d left it downstairs. “I know that is not unusual, but if you knew my mother, it would surprise you. She’s…not the sort to fall in love.”

  “You mean she is a cold bitch?” At her stare, he held his hands up protectively. “I mean that in the most polite and gentlemanly way possible.”

  “No matter.” Susanna stood. “Nothing you say can shock me anymore.”

  “Oh, I very much doubt that.”

  “You promised to be on your best behavior.”

  “It’s just so damn tempting.” His fingers danced on his thigh again. “Tell me more about Lady Winthorpe.”

  Susanna smiled at the way he made her name sound like she was on par with the Queen. “My mother has never loved anyone. Or at least that has not been my observation. Not me, not my brothers, not my father. Who is this man she did love?”

  “The man Lady Winthorpe thinks she loved.”

  “Yes, it is the countess’s recollection, but she mentioned picnics and late-night rendezvous at Vauxhall Gardens. She intimated my mother and…this man were lovers.”

  “Shocking. Immoral behavior among the upper classes.”

  Susanna strode to the window and stared out, seeing nothing. “Mock me if you will, but I couldn’t help but think if I went to Vauxhall Gardens, I might discover something about her past.”

  “I don’t mean to wake you from this dream—no, yes, I do mean to do exactly that. These meetings at Vauxhall were how many years ago? Twenty? Thirty?”

  A group of boys carrying sticks chased a distorted ball into an alley then return
ed again, swatting it through the legs of passersby.

  “I agree. I had thought of that, but then when I mentioned the possibility of her taking me to the pleasure gardens, she acted so strangely, so adamant that I not go. I began to wonder if maybe there was something there she wanted to hide from me.”

  He leaned one shoulder on the window casing, standing very close to her. “Let me get this straight. Your mother told you not to go to Vauxhall Gardens, and the very next thing you do is run off with me to…Vauxhall Gardens. I no longer wonder at your mother following you to the retreating room.”

  “It’s a retiring room, and that has nothing to do with it. This is the first time I have ever disobeyed her.”

  “The last time too, I imagine, when she has you back.”

  “I’ll be married immediately or sent to a convent in France.”

  “A convent?” He lifted a strand of her hair to his nose. “The life of a nun wouldn’t suit you.”

  “How do you know?” she asked in challenge. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know that inside that prissy exterior, there’s a woman with needs and desires waiting to come out.”

  “That’s what you want to believe because you want to corrupt me.”

  “On the contrary. I want to corrupt you because I see the potential in you. You’re a wanton, Strawberry.”

  She slapped his hand, freeing her hair. “I most certainly am not.”

  “The way you kissed me earlier suggests otherwise. There’s passion in you. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel anything.”

  “I won’t discuss this.” She directed her gaze out the window again.

  “Why? Don’t want to admit you’re a flesh-and-blood woman, not a virgin sacrifice? Your mother will marry you to the highest bidder, most likely an old man with a title and enough blunt to fill a house. That’s what swells do to their children, isn’t it? Marry them for connections or blunt?”

  “My brother did neither.”

  He lifted her hair again, and this time she allowed it. “That puts more pressure on you to be good, to go to your marriage bed as the sacrificial lamb. Tell me this”—he leaned close and whispered in her ear—“do you think your old, feeble husband will make you feel like I did?”

  She shuddered, uncertain whether the gesture was from lust at the memory of Gideon’s kisses or revulsion at the prospect of her future husband.

  “Do you think it’s like that every time two people come together? It’s not. I felt something too, Susanna.”

  She turned her head sharply, causing him to tug on the lock of hair he still held. “You felt something?” She studied his face, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. His green eyes were clear and guileless, but she could not afford to believe he meant what he’d said.

  She couldn’t trust him.

  “Something you’ve never felt before?” she asked softly. “Something different than every other woman you’ve ever been with? I’m special, is that correct?”

  “You seem skeptical.”

  “My brothers warned me about men like you. You just want to trick me into falling into your bed.” As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she felt the heat rise from her bosom to the top of her forehead.

  He leaned close, one finger playing with the yellowed lace on her sleeve. “Do you really think I’d have to trick you to take you to bed?”

  No, no she did not. One look at those gorgeous eyes. One look at those sinful lips. He did not need to persuade her much at all. She stepped back, stationed herself on the other side of the window. “Why are we having this conversation? Again? This is about why I need to go to Vauxhall. I want you to understand why I must go.”

  “Oh, I understand.”

  “You say that as though you understand something I haven’t stated.”

  “See, I knew you were clever.” He winked at her.

  “I have no hidden agenda.”

  “Oh, yes you do. You just don’t know it.”

  “Really?” She folded her arms over her chest and thrust a hip out. “Then what is it?”

  “You have seized upon this trek to Vauxhall because it offers you what you really want.”

  “Which is to see Vauxhall Gardens.”

  “No. What you really want is a change, an escape from the life you’ve led until now. A way out before you’re married to Lord Doddering, and you’re trapped.”

  Her arms seemed to unfold themselves.

  “In which case,” he added with a wicked grin, “why not seize your freedom while you have the chance?”

  * * *

  He didn’t reach for her, but she stepped back nonetheless. “Don’t even think about it, Mr. Harrow.”

  He laughed. “I do believe you’re the only lady that’s ever called me Mr. Harrow. I like it. I like you.”

  “Why?” Her brow furrowed, the slender eyebrows dipping down. “You shouldn’t like me.”

  “Shouldn’t I? You did steal my necklace.”

  “It’s not your—”

  “And you have an annoying tendency to argue with me.”

  She tossed her head.

  “And stick your nose in the air as though the air the rest of us breathe isn’t good enough for you.”

  Her head jerked down, and she poked him in the chest. “That’s not true. I’ve never thought that.”

  “You’re an earl’s daughter. You think it without even realizing it.”

  Her face flushed again, this time with anger. “Of all the gall—”

  “That’s right.” He paced away from her, pretending to warm to his topic. “You use words like gall and unpardonable.” He imitated her accent and waved a pinky finger.

  “You’re jealous because your vocabulary consists solely of words like arse and fuck.”

  The moment the word escaped her lips, she clamped both hands over them. Her eyes, huge and owlish, darted from side to side, as though she feared someone had overheard.

  Gideon grinned like a fool. He grabbed her hands and pulled them down. “What did you say, Lady Susanna?”

  “Leave me alone.” She tried to pull away, but he was having too much fun.

  “Did I hear the word arse escape those pretty pink lips?” He touched a finger to her lips, and she promptly tried to bite him. He was too quick for that. “Arse,” he mimicked in her rounded vowels. “It sounds so refined. But the other…”

  “Do not say it,” she warned him.

  “Say what?” He gave her an imploring look. “What was the other word you used?”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “Never say so.” He caught her around the waist. “I liked it.”

  “You would! Let me go.”

  “Say it again, Strawberry,” he murmured in her ear, and she stilled.

  Her body trembled almost imperceptibly as he brushed his lips over the shell of her small ear. He caught a lock of her hair and tucked it out of the way then put his mouth on the sensitive spot behind her ear. She smelled of a mixture of soap and a light, flowery perfume. So sweet, so innocent.

  He was a bastard to even consider half the thoughts running through his mind at that moment.

  “I don’t like red hair,” he whispered against her jaw.

  “And here I thought this was a litany of what you do like about me.” She sounded breathless, her voice ragged and low with need.

  “I’ll get to that. I’m trying to remind myself of what I don’t like first.” He tasted the skin just below her jawbone, traced the delicate curve with his lips. “You’re too thin.”

  Except she felt perfect in his arms. She was warm and soft and round and exactly the right height. He hadn’t thought he liked tall women, but now he realized he would never have to bend or stoop to kiss Strawberry.

  “So are you.” She ran a hand over his back.
She might have meant to point out how little extra flesh he had, but her hand slowed, and her fingers began to stroke him. His cock, which had been half-awake, came to attention then.

  “We both need to eat more.” He pulled her closer, tended to her long, pale neck. “Do you know what I think?”

  “You actually think?”

  He grinned. Her words might be saucy, but the catch in her voice betrayed her. She wanted him, even if she didn’t know precisely what it was she wanted.

  “I think quite a lot. I think about you and me eating in bed.”

  “That sounds quite decadent.”

  “Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” He swept her into his arms and carried her three steps to the bed. Tossing her down, he was over her, his hands holding her wrists captive before she could protest. She stared up at him, her eyes dark with arousal, her breasts heaving. Brenna’s dress was too large in the bosom, and it had dipped down again, exposing Susanna’s snow-white shift.

  How he ached to rip the fragile linen in half and expose her pale flesh. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, bury himself in her. His breath came in ragged gasps, reminding him of a beast poised to pounce on its victim.

  “Do you know what I like about you?” he asked between breaths.

  She shook her head.

  “You’re kind.”

  Her eyes flickered with confusion. “Pardon?”

  He laughed and had to lower his head beside hers on the bed. Releasing her, he rolled onto his back and lay beside her. The ceiling had a large crack in it in the shape of an S. When he stopped laughing, he met her gaze. She stared at him as though he were a lunatic.

  It wasn’t far from the truth.

  “I’m kind?”

  “Yeah.” He wanted to touch her lips, brush a finger along her cheek, lift her hair to his nose. Instead, he lay perfectly still. “You’re kind to mongrel dogs and lost children and women who need employment.”

  “Oh, that.” She looked up at the ceiling. Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t even think you liked Beauty.”

  “I don’t. I’m not kind.”