by Shana Galen
“No.” She removed his hand, placing it back on her abdomen. “I don’t think I can survive any more. And,” she continued before he attempted to disprove her, “I do not want to test that.”
“Too bad.”
How she wished she could see his expression. “You almost sound as though you want to…do that again.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Why wouldn’t I? I like the sounds you make. I like how you taste, how you grab my hair and push my face—”
“Do not say another word!”
He laughed quietly, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot below her ear. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Strawberry. You’re a passionate woman. That’s fortunate.”
“Fortunate? For whom?”
“Lord Doddering. He’ll want a passionate young vixen in his bed.”
“There is no Lord Doddering, and I cannot ever do…what we did again.”
He rose up, and though she couldn’t see him, she imagined he was looking down at her. “That’s a shame. I haven’t ruined you, you know. You’ll go to your marriage bed innocent. No one ever has to know what happens here. If you wanted me to do it again, I’d keep your secret.”
He was so very wicked, and not only because of what he was suggesting. The problem was he could read her mind. She did want him to do it again. And heaven help her, when his hand slid up to cup her breast and the other slid between her legs, she let him have his way.
* * *
Gideon had never met a woman like Susanna Derring. He barely had to touch her to bring her to climax. She kissed him, moved against him, like she would die if he stopped touching her. She seemed to thrive on his touch.
Her response made him only want to touch her more. He’d finally exhausted her, and she breathed deeply as she slept beside him. He should have been exhausted too, but he had too many erotic thoughts in his mind for sleep. His cock was still hard and none too happy about being ignored.
He could have had her.
She’d offered herself—in awkward, shy phrases. He’d wanted to allow it. Instead, he’d put his mouth on her again and made her scream his name.
He couldn’t have said why he wouldn’t fuck her. He supposed because, even in the dark, even though she wanted him, he couldn’t pretend she was someone other than who she was.
Lady Susanna.
Who was he to take her virginity? He shouldn’t even touch her. He was a common thief who’d grown up among the refuse of Seven Dials and shouldn’t have dared look at her.
He’d done much more than look.
One day he might deserve more. When he got his necklace back and left Seven Dials and the Covent Garden Cubs far behind. He’d leave Gideon Harrow too. Take on a new name, become a new person. One last act of thievery to make him an honest man. Maybe in a new city or the countryside, he’d find a girl with sweet curves, a pretty smile, and long strawberry-blond hair.
Gideon clenched his fists.
“She’s not for you,” he muttered to himself. “Do the job and get out before your luck runs out.”
Mrs. Cummings had found him. It was only a matter of time until Beezle did. Hell, Beezle might have been sitting in Des’s kitchen that very minute. And if he so much as smelled Gideon nearby, he’d slink away and lie in wait like a hungry cat.
He didn’t know how long he lay there before he heard footsteps on the stairs. Gideon put a hand over Strawberry’s mouth and shook her awake. “It’s me. Someone’s coming.”
She stiffened.
“Do not make a sound.”
She nodded, and he released her mouth. He could feel her work to straighten her dress. He felt the floor beside the couch for the wooden handle he’d found. It felt like the handle for a wheelbarrow or plow and would make an adequate weapon.
The glow of light pierced the darkness, sliding under the space below the door. Gideon used the light to creep across the room, avoiding tripping over any articles, and stationed himself beside the door.
He raised the weapon and met Strawberry’s gaze. She looked terrified and hauntingly beautiful. In the dim light, her hair made a dusky halo around her pale face. Her eyes were impossibly large and dark, while her lips were swollen and red. She looked like a woman who’d been well and thoroughly pleasured.
Gideon wished he could see her thus all the time.
The latch for the door lifted, and the hinges creaked as it swung open. Gideon raised his handle as the intruder lifted the lamp to reveal the assortment of stolen goods.
“Gid?” Des asked.
“Here.” He lowered the handle and blew out a breath.
Des twisted the light to shine on Gideon, and his gaze went immediately to Gideon’s hand around the handle. “Going to do me in, were ye?”
“Never know who might come looking for me.”
“That’s the truth. Mrs. Cummings didn’t believe ye weren’t ’iding in the house. Brenna finally threatened to set the dog on ’er if she didn’t leave.”
“Beauty?” Strawberry pushed her hair off her shoulders. “Is she hurt?”
“She’s perfectly fine. Chewing a bone at the moment.” Des’s eyes swept over her then flicked to Gideon. “I suppose I don’t have to ask how ye’ve been passing the time.”
Strawberry’s cheeks turned as red as the fruit he’d named her for.
“Is it dark yet? I appreciate your hospitality, but I’d like to move on before Beezle comes looking for me.”
“I’d like that too. Still an hour or more before nightfall. Days are long in the summer. Are ye ’ungry?”
“No,” Susanna said.
Gideon ignored her. “Yes. She’s hungry too. I heard her stomach rumble half a dozen times.”
“It did not!” She blushed again.
The swells were strange. Why should something like a stomach rumbling embarrass her?
“There’s a public house across the street. Food is decent. Better than Brenna makes at any rate.”
Gideon patted his pockets. “No blunt.”
Des looked at Susanna.
“She doesn’t have any either. Guess I’ll have to pay you back.”
“Sure you will,” Des said and gestured for them to follow him back upstairs.
Dusk was falling by the time the five of them entered the public house. Strawberry insisted on bringing Beauty with them, and Gideon didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, the buffer had a way of sensing trouble. If Beezle made an appearance, Beauty would alert them.
Susanna had to be coerced into eating at the public house. Ladies didn’t do such things. Gideon had grinned. “This is no time to start acting like a lady.”
He’d moved away quickly so she couldn’t reach him.
Des and Brenna sat on one side of a long bench, and Gideon and Susanna sat on the other. Beauty lay under Susanna’s feet, her head on her paws. Gideon had chosen seats for them at the end of the table, in case he needed to leave quickly. He had a view of the door, but no one he knew had gone in or out. Susanna sipped her ale daintily and claimed she wanted nothing to eat. He ordered her stew and potatoes anyway.
If she wouldn’t eat it, he would. Why not? Des was paying.
While they waited for their food, Gideon tapped his foot to the fiddler standing on a table beside them and playing a lively jig.
“Sometimes the fiddler’s woman sings,” Des said loudly to Gideon.
“Voice like an angel,” Brenna added.
“Not that you’d know what that sounds like, considerin’ ye’re ’eaded for ’ell any day now.”
Gideon laughed. “Thought you’d be hoping for my long life and toasting to my health. I can’t pay you back if I’m dead.”
“You? Pay me back?” Des pointed at him with the mug of ale. “We’re even now, is my way of seeing it.”
Gideon clinked mugs and drank.
> “What debt do you owe him?” Susanna asked. Her voice sounded all the more refined and elegant with the accents of Field Lane in his ears.
“He didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head.
“A few months ago, Gid and I cracked a house.”
“We robbed it,” Gideon translated. “Des usually sticks to fencing goods, but he lost Beezle’s property before he could sell it. Beezle gave him the choice of cracking the house or getting his throat slit.”
Susanna gasped.
“I didn’t lose the cargo,” Des protested. “Bow Street recovered it. Two different things.” He looked back at Susanna. “In any case, I like my throat the way it is, so I did the job with Gid. I was the budge, and he were the rum dubber.”
When her brow furrowed, Des gave Gideon a look. “Where the hell did you find her?”
Gideon smiled tightly.
Des signaled for more ale. “I was inside the house, throwing the cargo out to Gid. The owners came home and caught me. Gid could have run, saved his bony arse.”
“But he didn’t,” Susanna said.
“He risked his neck to go in after me. Got me out.”
“Lost the cargo though,” Gideon said. “Had to crack another house. Had better cronies that time.”
Susanna set her mug down with an audible thump. “Good Lord, exactly how many houses have you cracked?”
The crowd began to clap and whistle as a woman with black hair so long it was almost to her ankles and dark skin sashayed past the tables, her skirts tinkling. Gideon spoke in Susanna’s ear. “I’d tell you, but I don’t think I can count that high.”
She gave him a look so full of shocked innocence, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her.
She shoved him back. “Gideon!”
Oh, but he liked shocking her. He was sorely tempted to do it again. Brenna motioned to the table where the fiddler pulled the woman up beside him. “Ye’re in for a treat now, lads.”
“Is she a Gypsy?” Gideon asked. “She has the look.”
“Aye. That’s the rumor,” Brenna said without taking her gaze from the singer. “Who knows if it’s true?”
The fiddler began a slow song, the music haunting and high. The Gypsy singer swayed to it, letting her hips rock from side to side. Then she took a deep breath and began to hum. Her voice was low and melodic. Gideon leaned forward.
“Tell me the story of a lass and her love,
Tell me of two hearts broken.
Tell me the story of a lass and her love,
Tell me of passions awoken.
Bonny was she, faithful was he,
Never a day were they parted.
A red coat he donned and marched off to a song,
Leaving her brokenhearted.”
Susanna gripped his wrist, and Gideon pulled his gaze from the singer.
“A sad song,” he said, nodding to the Gypsy. “Do you know it?”
She shook her head.
“She’ll repeat the first verse, and then in the second verse the soldier is killed in battle. In the third, the lass takes her own life.”
“Then the ending is cheerier.”
He tapped her on the nose. “No, but the music is.” His foot tapped faster as the fiddler found a rhythm and his bow flew across the strings. Des swept Brenna into his arms, and they joined the half-dozen couples skipping about the room.
“Come on,” Gideon said, standing and holding his hand out to her. Beauty barked and rose to her feet.
Susanna blinked up at him. “Are you asking me to dance?”
He spread his hands. “Hasn’t anyone ever asked before, Strawberry?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Then come on!” He pulled her to her feet and spun her around. Her hair flew out, forming a fiery-gold halo about her head and shoulders. He took her waist and pulled her into the fray, swinging her about by the arm, trading her off, and taking her back again.
The wrinkle between her eyes told him she was concentrating far too hard on the steps of the jig instead of enjoying herself. When the Gypsy sang again, he twirled her until she wobbled.
“Stop thinking so hard, Strawberry,” he called over the fiddle. “Feel the music.”
She stumbled, dizzy, and he caught her in his arms, turned her again. She clung to him, head down, but when she looked up again, her eyes were bright with excitement.
Gideon let out a cheer and danced her around the room. The dog barked wildly, her tail wagging energetically. By the time they’d made it halfway around, she was leading him and clapping and stomping with the most energetic of them. Brenna took her arm, and the two held hands and spun. When their hold finally broke, Gideon caught her and swept her off her feet, twirling her until she tilted her head back and laughed.
His heart ached at the sight of her, all that wild hair and her bright cheeks. She was the picture of freedom. She danced another song, but the food had arrived, and Gideon sat and ate. He kept an eye on her, but the men here wanted nothing more than a drink and a little music. Beauty gave him an imploring look, and he passed her meat under the table.
Damn dog.
When Susanna finally sat beside him, sides heaving and hair damp against her forehead, she gulped down her ale and then took his and swallowed that too. Gideon grabbed her hand before she could steal Des’s.
“Oh no you don’t. Eat, or you’ll be so drunk I’ll have to carry you to Vauxhall Gardens.”
She swatted his arm. “Ladies are never drunk, my good sir.”
“Glad to hear it. Humor me, and eat the stew, my lady.”
She ate, but when he looked again, she had more ale in her hand. It wasn’t long before she pulled him to his feet and insisted on a dance. Gideon couldn’t refuse her.
He clapped as she raised her hands above her head and twirled until her skirts flew out around her. Throwing her head back, she laughed, and he caught her just in time, kissing her playfully.
She turned the kiss into something more. Gideon was half ready to drag her back to Des’s when he felt a prickle of unease skitter across his neck. He pulled away, his gaze sweeping the room.
A few men looked familiar, but none of them were Beezle’s cubs. None of the men or women who met his gaze were enemies. The door to the public house closed, and Gideon had a moment to wonder who might have left. He almost followed, then Strawberry kissed him again and laughed, and he was swept back into the dance.
Fourteen
“Report,” Brook said, his eyes dark with his usual skepticism.
Dorothea shifted her gaze from the disheveled Bow Street Runner who had just entered her drawing room, back to Brook. Her younger son had been born a skeptic. Perhaps that was what made him so good with puzzles.
Dorothea refused to call Brook an investigator. She chose to overlook the fact that her son kept an office in the same building as the Bow Street Runners and was hired to find missing persons and stolen property. The younger son of the Earl of Dane did not have a profession. To her mind, this sort of investigatory work was a hobby.
One at which he excelled.
The Runner glanced at her then clutched his hat against his chest. He wore a shabby coat and a stain on his trousers. His face was unshaven, and she had all but yelped when Crawford had shown him into the drawing room. She thought he’d been a rogue until Brook had greeted him.
“You found her?” Brook asked him, his voice betraying no hint of either annoyance or eagerness. For herself, Dorothea could not resist clasping her hands together. She might have stood, but then Brook would be forced to stand as well.
“I think so, sir,” the Runner said, his gaze on Brook. “I found a girl who matches the description.”
“Where?”
“A public house in Field Lane.”
“What?” Dorothea did rise
then. Field Lane? What on earth would her daughter be doing in such a place? “You must be mistaken.”
Brook was at her side immediately. “Mother, Mrs. Castle already confirmed seeing her in Seven Dials. Field Lane is not so far. Let’s hear what Mr. Sawyer has to say before we make any judgments.”
“Of course.” Her fingers hurt from being clasped so tightly together.
Brook pressed on her shoulder, and she sat again. Where was Dane? Shouldn’t he be there by now? She’d sent for him yesterday, even though Brook had advised against it. Brook didn’t see that Dane could aid the investigation, but she wanted her elder son for more selfish reasons. Dane was solid and strong. She could lean on Dane. Brook was never one to tolerate any emotion. Even as a child, he’d refused her hugs and comforting pats when he stubbed a toe or scraped a knee. Susanna had wanted too much coddling, and Brook none. Dane had accepted what she gave, never seeming to want more or desire less.
“Go on,” Brook ordered Sawyer.
The disheveled man glanced at her again. “I spotted her at a public house. I’d heard a rumor of a lady and a dog going up against Dagger Dan.”
“Who?” Dorothea asked.
Brook waved a hand. “Rumor.”
Sawyer nodded. “Must be, but I heard she had strawberry-blond hair, so I stayed put, kept my eyes open. She came into the public house for dinner.”
“Alone?” Brook asked.
Sawyer shook his head. “She was with two men and a woman. I don’t know the woman, but Des is a fencing cully.”
“He has a dolly shop?”
“That one. But she wasn’t as friendly with him as she was with the other.”
“What exactly do you mean by friendly?” Dorothea asked in a frosty tone.
Brook raised a hand. It was exactly the sort of gesture she detested. How dare he put her question aside?
“Who was he?” Brook asked.
“Don’t know him, but he was familiar. Maybe one of Beezle’s gang.”
Brook’s eyebrows rose with interest.
“Who is Beezle?” she asked.
The men ignored her. Really, the gall!
“Did she appear to be harmed? Were they holding her against her will?” her son asked.