Actually, it was the first time in fourteen or fifteen years he had been thrown out of anywhere. The last time he had been fourteen and Mary had gotten the both of them thrown out of the miller's shop behind one of her mischievous schemes.
"It is either laugh or pummel you," Mary replied. "Which do you prefer, milord?"
Mary didn’t wait for his reply, she just kept walking away from all the curious stares. He quickly followed, and considering what he had just seen her do to the man, prudence demanded he go with the former. Apparently, this was not a night for prudence. Mary came to a sudden stop in the middle of the deserted sidewalk. Rodney nearly plowed into her back. She wavered a little and he grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
When she turned around to confront him, they stared defiantly into each other's eyes. In the dim light along the boulevard her eyes were limpet pools of dark emerald green. Her irises suddenly dilated, swallowing up the surrounding green. And then they darken with longing.
Long repressed desire exploded inside of him. Years of dreaming of this woman merged into a single heartbeat. Her eyelashes fluttered and his heart beat a call to arms that was answered in his groin.
Rodney saw and heard nothing around him. Not the passing of a carriage. Nor shuffling of feet as people sifted around them. He was spellbound by her eyes as they gazed back at him. Mirroring the desire throbbing through his soul.
He leaned down. She rose up. Their breath mingled and merged as one.
"Blimey, ye can't be kissin' her 'ere. Not the way she's done up."
It wasn't the child's voice from just behind him that jarred Rodney back to reality. It was the pistol being cocked several feet to his side that pulled him from his insanity. He jerked away from Mary and turned, coming face to nuzzle with a large dueling pistol.
"It's loaded, gov’nor. And I can assure ye, he knows how to use it."
The end of the pistol was being held by a large bedraggled urchin. A boy of no more than fifteen or sixteen from the looks of him. But he held the pistol with the steadiness of a seasoned soldier. And from the glint in his eye, Rodney had no doubts that the weapon was indeed loaded. And that the child would shoot both him and Mary if provoked.
"Peter's a bit slow in the head, gov’nor. But he's a dead shot," another child spoke from beside the pistol welding one. Rodney thought it might have been the one who had stopped him from kissing Mary.
The thought crystallized in his head as he turned to face yet another dirty and scruffy looking urchin. This one looked to be about ten-years-old. But his eyes were that of a seasoned criminal.
"You'll hang, if you shoot us," Rodney informed him.
The child laughed in a harsh, un-childlike way that told of his years on the streets of London's underbelly. "Gov’nor, we could hang for the apples we stole to keep our mums and sisters alive. So, it don't make no never mind to us if'n we's hung for killin' ye or stealin' the man's bread down on Market Street."
"Bloody hell," he heard Mary mutter from beside him.
"Evenin' ma'am," the ten-year-old thief said and bobbed a quick bow in Mary's direction.
Rodney turned in time to see her eyes widen in surprise before she quickly concealed it. The boy began talking again and Rodney turned back to the child crime boss.
"We won't be a botherin' ye Miss. Ye done done us a favor a few months back. Though I reckon ye won't be knowin' that it was us that ye was a helpin' out."
"I beg your pardon?" Mary asked. Her male voice cracked and came out garbled male-female in the end.
"Old man Sanders caught one of the bozs 'ere liftin' e's pocket. He beat him somein' fierce. And took all our earns for the week. Which ain't right, him bein' as big a thief as the rest of us. So, we up and followed 'em, and were goin' get our blunt back. But he went to the Devil's Cove and set to a game of cards with ye and some other gents. Ya took him for every six pent he had. Then when ye left, ye came right up to us, as pretty as you please, and gave it all to me. Said ‘e saw what he done and didn't hold with it."
Rodney turned and saw her smiling back at the boy. She nodded. "I remember. Sanders is a filthy bastard. He gets his jollies from beating up young girls and children who can't defend themselves."
"Right ye are, mum. He was a right filthy bastard. And ‘e got his comeuppance a month later when they found ‘em dead in an alley," the child replied.
Rodney turned back to the child and saw him beaming up at Mary. "That's how's I knows ye is a bird and not a gent like yer friend 'ere."
"How?" Mary asked.
"I was so impressed with ye, I followed ye, ma’am. Me and the bozs ’ere. We saw where ‘e lives. Then I sees ye change once ‘e was inside. Took off yer whiskers and yer hair and there's ye were, a lady if ever I seen one. Scared me nearly plum to death the first time I sees ye do it."
"Oh my God," Mary said. "You watched me change clothes."
"Oh, no ma'am. I didn't watch ye change yer clothes. I jist seen ye take off your whiskers and all. After that I turned me back, like a proper nob would."
Rodney felt her take his arm and squeeze. He could feel her trembling a little. "What else did you see?" he demanded.
The boy's smile nearly split his face. "I followed ye to Drury Lane a time or two. Seen ‘e perform too. Ye’s real good, Miss Sigona. Even hidden up in the rafters as we were, we could see ye is a real good at what ‘e do. One day I's goin’ be one."
"If you don't get yourself shot or hanged," Rodney said under his breath.
"Right ye are gov’nor. Right ye are," the boy replied jovially. "But until then I's got's to be feedin' me family and those that depend on me."
Rodney glared down at the boy as he calculated the odds of getting to the gun before he could pull the trigger. He figured his chances were pretty good but he didn't want to endanger Mary. So, he reached into his waist coat and withdrew the precious few notes and coins he had dared to bring on this misadventure. Ten pounds, three pence. It was a fortune to him in his reduced circumstances. And probably a King's ransom to the miniature crime lord in front of him.
"Blimey, is that all ye got?" the boy sneered.
Rodney's jaw cracked as he clinched his teeth. Ten pounds could feed the urchin and his family for several months. "My apologies. I wasn't expecting to be held up tonight. So, it's all the coin I have on me."
The boy grinned back. "I've got expenses, gov’nor. So, I'll be taken your clothes as well."
"My clothes?" Rodney demanded.
Mary laid a quieting hand on his forearm and squeezed. "Kenny, just give him your coat. I'll buy you a new one tomorrow."
Giving up his coat wasn't the point. Well, maybe it was. He could ill afford to buy another one right now. But it still wasn't the point. It was the principle of the thing.
"Waistcoat, too," the boy said and waved his pistol in the direction of Rodney's belly.
His ears began to burn as he glared down at the ragamuffin. "And my shirt? Do you want that as well?" he snapped out even as he began ripping his coat from his shoulders.
"Nah, ye can keep yer shirt, gov’nor. In deference to Miss Sigona 'ere. Wouldn't want 'er havin' to go about with a half-dressed man, now would we? It might give people the wrong idea about 'er."
Rodney flung the coat at the child, who caught it deftly. He then peeled his waistcoat off and flung it over as well.
"Much obliged," the delinquent said.
He and the larger boy then fled up the street and down an alleyway. Along with a half dozen other boys he hadn't seen before. Suddenly Rodney was very grateful he hadn't challenged the two urchins. It was very likely that at least one of the hidden hoodlums had had the other dueling pistol.
"Well, that was exciting," Mary said.
He turned on her and just stared. What had her life been like for the last eight years that she thought being robbed at gunpoint by two half-pint criminals was exciting?
"Exciting?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. "It was once I realized he wasn't
going to shoot you."
"And what made you sure he wasn't going to shoot me?" Rodney asked. "Because I wasn't."
She hesitated for a second and he knew from the look in her eyes that she hadn't been sure. She was just putting on a brave face for his benefit.
“Come on. Let's get off the street before some more children come along and decide that they want my shirt and pantaloons this time.”
Chapter 7
11:05 PM
Mary had to keep her head about her. If she was going to pull this off and hopefully improve her chances of a return to respectability for Abby's sake, then she needed to keep her mind on what she was doing. And kissing Rodney in the middle of the street wouldn't accomplish that. Especially not the way she was dressed.
It didn't help that she nearly lost it when the oversized kid was holding a loaded gun on him. She had nearly attacked the child then and there. But Mary had spent too many years wandering the streets of London at night to completely lose her instincts for survival. Rodney might not have noticed the rest of the gang in the shadows but she had. And she had also seen the second pistol pointed right at his head.
In those moments her whole life had flashed before her eyes. Or more to the point, the life she and Rodney had shared as children and young adults. Every misadventure and lark they had shared. And their kisses. Especially the last one.
Their hackney turned off Drury Lane and headed toward the back of the theatre, jarring Mary back to the present. She needed to get her mind off their past; both ancient and present. For both their sakes.
"Once we get to the stage door I'll run in and grab a waistcoat and overcoat for you from the wardrobe department. We have at least three actors who are your size so I know there'll be something there to fit you."
He gave her a suspicious look. And she didn't blame him. The night hadn't gone as planned so far.
"I still think I should come in with you," he said.
Despite her reemerging affection for him, he was going to drive her crazy with his overprotectiveness. "For the tenth time, Kenny, it wouldn't do for you to be seen with me here at the theatre. The last thing I need is for you and me, dressed as Mr. Johnson, to be seen gallivanting around the theatre together. It is going to be hard enough to keep people from tying the three of us together as it is."
"Fine," he grumbled. "But if you're not out in ten minutes then I'm coming in after you."
"Oh, for the love of God, Kenny. The show just finished and these people know me as Mr. Johnson, patron and supporter of the theatre. They're not going to threaten me. Nor are they going to question my being backstage after a performance. Not unless I show up with a half-dressed man hanging around me."
He still wanted to argue, but he fell silent and appeared to be pouting. Something he had done a lot when they had been children and he lost yet another quarrel.
The hackney came to a stop and she jumped down and then waited for Rodney. She quickly paid the driver and watched as he drove off in search of his next fair. "Stay in the alleyway and out of sight. I don't want someone seeing you and asking questions."
With that she walked to the stage door and entered without being stopped or questioned by anyone. The cast and stage crew were still milling about and many of them nodded to her or greeted her as she weaved her way through to the dressing department. Within minutes she found what she was looking for, a dark blue coat and canary yellow waistcoat. A little more flamboyant than Rodney's usual style. But it would do for the night. Mary quickly folded them and then draped her own overcoat over them to hide them from view.
Retracing her steps she made it back to the right wing when a familiar couple cut off her escape. "Lord Hastmann, Lady Hastmann, what a pleasure to see you again," Mary said in her male voice and nodded politely to them. "Did you enjoy tonight's performance?"
"In deed we did, Mr. Johnson," Lucien Stoughton replied. His eyes were fixed on Mary in a way that made her feel uncomfortable with his scrutiny. "And you? Did you also enjoy the show?"
She smiled and shook her head. "Regrettably, no. I was unable to attend tonight's performance. I just arrived, and now must be off."
"Oh, what a shame," Lady Hastmann said. Her azure blue eyes boring into Mary in a way that made her feel stripped bare of her disguise. "And curious, Mr. Johnson. You're just arrived, and yet, you must rush off. Whatever has you in such a hurry?"
It was an impertinent question. And one no normal aristocrat would ask. Especially, in such a derogatory tone. It set Mary back a little as she wondered what the couple was up to.
According to the newspaper and gossip rags, Lucien Stoughton, new Baron of Hastmann, was both an acclaimed Army war hero and heroic sea captain. She had met the couple on any number of occasions. Both in her Marietta Sigona persona and in her Arthur Johnson disguise. She and Lucien, or Luc as he preferred, had played cards on a few occasions. And Mary counted both him and his wife as friends, of a distant sort. She had never had the feeling that they had seen through her façades. Until now that is.
"A friend of Miss Benson asked me to deliver a message to her," Mary answered. "And now I must be off."
"Ah, one of the actors in tonight's performance," Lucien said. "She is quite good. Not as good as Signorina Sigona. But a delight to watch nonetheless."
Mary almost thanked him for the compliment but stopped herself just in time. It was always nice to receive compliments on her talent as an actress. "I'm sure Signorina Signoa would appreciate your compliments, milord. If I see her, I shall, of course, pass them on to her."
"I'm sure she already knows of my husband's admiration for her acting abilities," Lady Peggy Hastmann replied. Mary could swear the woman was trying not to smirk. Which made Mary's stomach roil terribly.
"I'm sure she does, milady. Now if you will excuse me, I have someone waiting for me." With that, Mary stepped around the couple and headed for the back door.
She was brought up short with Peggy Hastmann's next words. "Would that be Lord Hamstone, Mr. Johnson?"
Mary stopped and blinked rapidly several times to clear her head. What did these two know of her association with Rodney?
Turning around, she plastered a polite, but as blasé look on her face as she could muster. "I beg your pardon, milady?"
"As we understand it, you and he were thrown out of the Devil's Cove no more than a half hour ago. Were you not?" Lucien asked. His tone was polite. But there was no mistaken the steely undertone to his voice.
Mary sifted her attention from his unyielding constants to that of his wife's guarded but possible amused vestige. What in the bloody hell was going on here? How would they have heard about that while attending the theatre?
The lady continued, unaware of Mary’s turbulent thoughts. "Lord Hamstone is an old and dear friend of my husband, Mr. Johnson. And we wouldn't want to see any harm come to him. So, we were naturally concerned when we heard the unsettling news that he and his companion, a Mr. Arthur Johnson, had been forcibly ejected from a notorious gambling hell near the Seven Dials."
"Oh, bloody hell," Mary muttered.
"Quite so," Lucien replied.
She turned to the tall, imposing nobleman and stared at the long scar on his face. At the moment he looked more like an angry pirate than the son of a Duke, or national war hero. Which seemed to confirm some of the more scandalous rumors about the man. Rumors that said he had been a spy during the war and had a talent for uncovering secrets.
Suddenly her attention was jerked back to his wife when Lady Hastmann reached over and flipped her overcoat off of the one she had pilfered for Rodney. "Are these, perchance, for Lord Hamstone, Mr. Johnson?"
Mary never got a chance to answer as Benjamin chose that fortuitous moment to interrupt them. "Mr. Johnson, might I have a word with you?"
Grateful for the interruption she turned to the back-stage door guard. He was an imposing man and usually quite stoic in his appearance. He wasn't composed at the moment. "Benjamin, what is it?" she demanded.
&
nbsp; He eyed the couple with her for a second and then turned to her. "The gentlemen you arrived with, the one that was waiting in the alleyway in back."
Mary felt her heart lurch. She hadn't seen Benjamin when they had arrived. But apparently, he had seen them. "Yes," she replied as there was no use lying about it.
"Well, he was arrested by the watch as a vagrant, and for loitering near the theatre."
"Why?" she demanded. "He's not drunk. Nor was he loitering. He was waiting for me."
The huge man shrugged his shoulders. "Mr. Martin hired the watch to arrest suspicious people that they found hanging around the back of the theatre. There's been a number of complaints from some of the actresses and women when they leave at the end of the night."
"Oh, bloody, bloody hell," Mary muttered.
In Rodney's current disheveled appearance he would most definitely look suspicious to the watch. She had completely forgotten that she and Leslie had both demanded that the management provide more security at the end of the night. And now she had gotten Rodney arrested as a drunken vagrant as well as kicked out of a gambling hell and robbed at gunpoint by a bunch of miniature criminals.
"Where did they take him?" she demanded.
"The Bow Street magistrate," Benjamin replied. He then doffed his cap towards them and returned to his post.
Mary stared down at the ground as her mind whirled with all the ramifications of this disaster. "They can't keep him. He's a bloody Earl, for the love of God," she murmured. But with nothing to prove his identity how was she to get him out of goal?
"Has he any way to prove that, Mr. Johnson," Lucien asked.
She whirled around and confronted the couple again. She had completely forgotten that they were there. Her mind raced as she also couldn't recall if she had remembered to use her "Mr. Johnson voice" or if she had used her own.
"I don't know," she said and then the image of the little hoodlums as they trotted off with his coat and purse flashed before her. "No!" she exclaimed. "We were robbed after leaving the Devil's Cove. They took his coat, calling cards, and all his money. He has nothing on him to prove who he is."
The Earl's Night of Being Wild (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 3) Page 5