Rejecting the Rogue
Page 10
“I’ve read it twice.” She flipped another page. “I adore Caldwell Nance. He’s one of my favorite authors.”
Spencer blinked. “Really? But how can you overlook—”
“He writes the most delightful heroines.” She cut him off, her attention still on her open book. “So independent and intelligent.”
“Yes, but—”
Meena’s glare stopped him. She sighed and set the book aside.
Spencer looked around the room, searching for inspiration. Boxes of books, piles of books, and paperwork spread across the small desk concerning…books, conspired to mock him.
“Fine.” Meena set her book aside and stared up at him from her spot on the floor. “We should discuss Ramsay, in any case. We’ll need a plan.”
“I’ll handle Ramsay.”
“He’s stepped on my toes now. Edison and Briar are already working on the problem, I have no doubt. To say nothing of the Hapgoods. I can’t imagine the six of us can’t out think one weasely bootlick.” Her mouth pursed as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “He’s not even a very good thief.”
“I’m not convinced he’s working alone.” Spencer voiced the fear that had been nagging at him since Ramsay had set them up. It was a rather elegant move, not one he would have credited to his former acquaintance.
He could almost see her mind ticking through the events of the past week. “I see what you mean,” she said finally.
Spencer hoisted himself up from the desk and carried the brandy over to her. He refilled her glass and topped off his own before slumping back down in his chair.
Meena took a long sip of her drink. “We can send the Hapgoods to his old haunts.”
Spencer closed his eyes in irritation. “Ramsay is my problem. I’ll stop him, one way or another.”
“I won’t argue with you, Crane. We can work together. Or not. Ramsay’s threatened my family now. I will see this business done.”
He shrugged. “Do what you will.” She would anyway.
“I’m meeting Briar and Edison at our emergency gathering spot in the morning. You’re welcome to join us.”
Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You have an emergency gathering place?”
“Don’t you?”
“Who would I gather with, exactly?” He hoped that hadn’t sounded as pitiful to her as it did to him. He changed the subject. “What if something goes wrong? What if your cousins are detained?”
“Then we’ll meet at our secondary site at sundown.”
It would only irritate him further, but he couldn’t stop himself from inquiring. “And does this secondary site have its own emergency plan?”
The look she threw him left little doubt as to her opinion of those who did not have plans on top of plans. She raised her glass. “Wherever we meet, I’m sure we’ll fashion a plan to deal with Ramsay in no time at all.”
Spencer scrubbed a hand over his face. This was what drove him to distraction. This was why they would never suit. She was like a dog with a bone. Once an idea infected her, there would be no rest. No peace.
“Would it be so bad to work together?” The question surprised him. The wistful little smile on her face surprised him even more.
He threw down another mouthful of brandy and shook his head. “That’s not it.” He raised a hand in the air, searching for words. “This isn’t your battle. This trouble with Ramsay, it started long after you and I… After I…”
“After you tumbled that actress?”
“You mean after you threw me over?” He snapped his mouth shut, but the damage was done. Bollocks. He was five kinds of a fool.
Meena’s eyebrows rose. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut and grabbed her brandy glass. She took a great swig and swallowed. Her eyes watered. “Believe what you will.” The alcohol roughened her voice.
She grabbed her book and opened it, staring pointedly at the page.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“ Spencer sighed and threw back his head. “It’s all water under the bridge now in any case. We both moved on long ago.”
In the dim light, it was easy for him to imagine that a look of pain crossed her face. But he knew far better than that. Any feelings she’d had for him died the moment she opened that actress’s door. Exactly as he had intended, he’d realized much later.
Meena raised her book up between them, hiding her face, leaving him alone with his dismal thoughts.
The room was so quiet the hissing of the gas lamp seem to fill it up. Spencer closed his eyes. Dawn was a frustratingly long way away.
When he opened them again, Meena was watching him. She’d set aside her book and pulled her knees into her chest, her arms wrapped around them. “Do you miss it?”
He knew exactly what she meant.
Spencer ran a finger around the edge of his empty glass, searching for words. “I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.” He reached for the bottle.
Meena nodded thoughtfully. “That’s why we do it, isn’t it? The excitement.” She took another long sip of brandy. “I mean, it’s about putting things to right, of course. After all the awful things we’ve done—what father made us do—I need to do the right thing.”
Her solemn expression melted into a lovely grin. She raised her glass. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”
Spencer laughed. “I admire you. You and your cousins. To take all those risks, and none for your own benefit.” He toyed with his glass. “I find that quite extraordinary.”
“You could…” Meena hesitated. She shook her head and started again. “You could do the same. It feels quite wonderful, really.”
Spencer shook his head and watched the sparkle leave her eyes. He stared down into his glass, not wanting to see her disappointment.There were times, fleeting moments, when he wished he could be that man. In his heart though, he knew differently.
Given the choice, he’d save himself first.
Meena tossed back the last of her brandy and stretched herself out along the wall. She rested her head on a small stack of books. “I must confess, there have been times I’ve envied you.”
Spencer raised an eyebrow.
“Truly.” She waved a hand in the air. “The Jonquil has such a reputation. Such a glorious reputation.” Her smile became sloppy. “He’s so very dashing. When you were working, and it was all over the newspapers, the ladies spoke of little else.”
“But you’re a far better thief.”
Meena’s smile slid sideways. “Oh I know. But you have all the panache.” Her hand flopped back down to her side.
Spencer laughed. “If I had done only half the things the Jonquil has supposedly accomplished, I’d be rich as a king.”
Meena hiccuped. “Yes, but people believe you’ve done them. That’s the point.”
Spencer leaned across the desk and stared down at her. The little minx was quite drunk. He smiled to himself. She wouldn’t feel so awfully well come the morning.
He rose from the desk to douse the light. “We should try to sleep.”
Meena turned onto her back and folded her arms across her chest. She nodded. Spencer turned off the gas and stretched out next to her. There was no other floor space in the tiny room.
A moment later, her deep, even breathing suggested she’d fallen asleep.
Spencer grabbed several of the ridiculous novels from the pile she’d made, and stuff them under his own head. Sleep, he realized, wouldn’t come easily.
“Spencer?”
He turned toward her, but could see nothing but the barest outline in the dark. “Yes?”
“I haven’t always… I didn’t… I do want you to know…”
He waited, wondering what she meant to say. But with a soft snort, she turned onto her side and fell asleep.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then got up slowly, careful not to disturb her. He felt his way back to the desk and sank back into the chair, hefting the half full bottle.
There just might be enough left to help him forget how it felt to l
ose any chance at winning her heart.
7
Meena feigned great interest in the excellent example of Spanish Realism on the wall in front of her. To her left, Edison and Briar pretended to scrutinize an odd still life glorifying grapes, lemons, and—for some odd reason—a dead fish.
To her right, Crane slumped on a bench, oblivious to the treasures surrounding him. Perhaps the British Museum was not precisely to his taste. On the other hand, given the brandy he’d consumed, his head must be aching.
Sequestered in the book shop’s dark office, she and Crane had both slept far past dawn. They’d had to rush to make it all the way to the far side of the city in time to meet her cousins. Between the omnibus and a hurried hansom ride, there had been little time to talk. That suited Meena.
Between the small back room, the books and the brandy, Meena had no desire to spend another instant in forced intimacy with Crane.
Now they were meeting in a small, obscure gallery at the back of the magnificent museum. A perfect place for the four of them to confer.
Meena only hoped her cousins would be reasonable. Crane seemed willing to pool their resources. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity. She couldn’t wait to see the last of him, but she was honest enough to admit putting their heads together would solve their mutual problem much more quickly.
Meena straightened her spine and dove in. “I propose that we work with Crane. He knows Ramsay well. And it goes without saying that we all have different skills to bring to the problem.” She kept her eyes on the fish’s unnerving stare as she talked, not wanting to let Edison’s glowering presence distract her.
“I agree.” Her cousin’s deep voice vibrated off the walls of the small gallery.
Meena blinked.
Edison glared at Crane’s hunched form. "Much as I’d like to knock his head off, he’ll be quite an asset.”
Meena swallowed hard. “That’s it then.” She couldn’t shake the feeling she might yet regret her wish.
Briar’s delightful teal walking dress swirled around her ankles as she turned toward them. “How will we find Ramsay?”
“I have no idea.” Crane shook his head. “He’s been nowhere near his usual haunts.”
Hands deep in his pockets, Edison strolled over to look at the Spanish painting. He cocked his head to the side as if mesmerized by the exquisite brushwork. “Won’t take long. We’ve got people looking into that. Plenty of people in our world know of him.”
“But what about the necklace?” Briar asked. “The police figure the two of you for the job. I don’t see how we can pin that on Ramsay. Clever of him to drop the damned thing in your bedroom.”
Meena tapped a finger on the guilt edge of the bench. “I don’t imagine we can count on him confessing.”
Edison crossed his powerful arms over his chest. “I don’t know about that.”
Crane looked up. “We don’t need Ramsay to confess. We only need him to admit it wasn't us.”
Edison’s smile was not a friendly one. “He can implicate one of his own, or he can disappear. Whichever he likes.”
Crane smirked. “I’d be satisfied with either conclusion.”
Meena sighed. “Yes, yes. That’s all well and good to manhandle Ramsay, but the truth is, we can’t force him do anything.”
Crane looked annoyed. “You have another idea?”
“I do not. No. But there’s time. We haven’t even found him yet.”
“I say turnabout is fair play.” Briar stepped closer to the odd still life, and wrinkled her nose at the limp fish, then she grinned. “Why can’t we frame him?”
Crane smiled approvingly. “That is brilliant. Make sure a few other pieces from the ball show up at Ramsay’s lodgings. Then it would be obvious he was trying to implicate us.” He sat up taller, clearly energized. “Blackborough might even go after him himself.”
Edison chuckled. “A bonus. I like it.”
Briar smiled, acknowledging his praise. “I have an entire collection of maid’s costumes. It’ll be nothing to gain access to Blackborough’s neighbors. A necklace here, a signet ring there, and Ramsay will be in it deep.”
A young couple rushed around the corner into the gallery, their arms linked. Their faces fell when they saw they wouldn’t be alone.
Meena stood and straightened her wrinkled skirts. She strolled out of the gallery. The others followed at a leisurely pace.
“I believe we’ve the beginnings of a most excellent plan,” she said once they’d moved into the next room. “Crane and I must simply keep out of sight until you find Ramsay.”
Briar fished in her reticule and held out a large brass key. “That’s already handled.” She dropped it into Meena’s palm. “A Mr. and Mrs. Dickens are registered at the Excelsior. I’ve already dropped off your things."
Meena raised an eyebrow. “The Excelsior? That’s—”
“Indecently expensive.” Breyer grinned. “I know. The inspector won't think to search for you there.”
Meena’s fingers curled around the key. “You have a point. But can’t we find something less… married?”
“You’d never be allowed in any respectable hotel on your own.” Crane seemed to guess her meaning.
He was right. Blast it. After yesterday, she wanted breathing room. She wanted her own kitchen. She wanted her own bed. Most of all, she wanted away from Spencer Crane.
Spending an entire night with him had been unsettling. The edges of her anger were eroding, and she didn’t like that one bit. Being angry with Spencer Crane hurt so much less than the alternative.
She would have her way soon enough, however. Now was no time to be a ninny. A few more days couldn’t cause too much damage.
She hoped.
“It’s shocking. Just shocking.” A red-faced gentlemen and his tall stick of a wife passed by the doorway to the gallery. His face was aflame, his thick ears red as beets. “Nothing but filth.”
A museum guard trailed after the couple. He looked over their group and continued on his way.
Meena moved toward the entrance to the gallery, her attention on the guard. “Wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“Oh wait.” Briar reached back into her bag and held out a thick gold band. “Here. We’ve got to make this look good.”
A wedding ring.
Meena tried not to cringe. She took the piece and shoved it on her finger. It felt cold. Heavy.
And entirely wrong.
“This featherbed is delicious.”
Meena sank back on the thick mattress with a happy groan. Amazing what a bath and some proper tea could do for one’s mood. Now that she was no longer rumpled and tired and hungry, the next few days with Crane didn’t seem so insurmountable.
“It’s divine here, isn’t it?” Briar sailed through the connecting doorway from Crane’s room. She sighed heartily. “He has absolutely nothing intriguing among his things.”
“Briar! Shouldn’t we afford the man some privacy?”
Her cousin considered for a moment before shaking her head. “No. He’s the reason we’re in this mess.”
Meena wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself and re-tied the sash. “What did you expect him to bring, a bag of stolen jewels? No, wait.” She thought for a moment. “A journal. The Jonquil’s journal, with detailed descriptions of every heist.”
“And interesting anecdotes about all the society nobs he’s robbed, and the ladies he’s bedded.” Briar winced. “I’m sorry.”
“No need.” Meena waved away her apology. “I am immune to Spencer Crane.”
Mostly.
Meena rolled onto her stomach. Although she was in much better spirits, she was grateful her cousins had seen fit to get them adjoining rooms. Having to spend the night in such sumptuous surroundings with Crane would have been asking far too much.
Even with separate chambers, the suite felt too decadent. The rich decor, the elegant bedding, and the vases brimming with deep red roses seemed staged fo
r an assignation.
Meena rubbed her hand over the green satin coverlet, wondering how many women had lain there, whiling away the time sipping champagne, awaiting their lovers.
Briar crossed to the French doors that opened onto a tiny balcony and studied the street one story below. “I hope they hurry. I’m famished.”
Meena watched her cousin pick at the last crumbs on the tea tray. Between the four of them, they made short work of the small sandwiches and scones before Edison and Crane headed off to check in with some of Edison’s acquaintances regarding Ramsay.
As she studied the sturdy cart, Meena realized she could do with a proper meal herself.
She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, twisting the unfamiliar band around her finger. “You don’t think Edison will hurt him, do you?”
Briar shrugged. “Probably not. He seems to be over that part.” She eyed Meena suspiciously. “I wasn’t certain you’d care.”
“I don’t,” she lied. “I just think we need all the help we can get until this business is done with.”
Briar flopped down in the upholstered chair nestled in the corner near the balcony doors. “You’re handling this business with Crane very well.”
Meena studied the fine crown moulding that edged the ceiling like thick white fondant. “That’s all old business now. And clearly, it was for the best.”
Briar looked unconvinced.
“Even if Crane weren’t such a cad, he’s too wild. To undisciplined. We would never have suited.”
“Hmmm.” Briar studied her with narrowed eyes, all the while twisting an auburn ringlet around her finger. “I can’t agree. You could use more excitement in your life.”
Meena sat up and spread her arms wide. “Is this not enough excitement?”
“You know what I mean. Manly excitement.” She waved dismissively. “This bother is just the cost of doing business.”
Meena flopped back down on the delightful mattress. “I have no need of excessive stimulation. What I admire in a man is steadiness, responsibility, loyalty.”