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Rejecting the Rogue

Page 11

by Riley Cole


  “Sounds like your perfect man would make an excellent house pet. You’d be bored before dinner.”

  “I could surprise you.”

  Briar snorted. “And Mr. Steady won’t care one whit that you crack open the odd safe now and again?”

  That was the rub.

  Meena closed her eyes. How many steady, loyal men would she find willing to put up with her avocation? She rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. None of that mattered anyway. She was not currently in the market for a romantic relationship.

  A wicked little smile tugged a Briar’s lips.

  Meena frowned. “What?”

  “I was just thinking. You know that Mr. Quigley, at the end of the block?”

  Meena pictured their neighbors. “The one who lives with his mother?” She shuddered.

  “That’s the one. He’s rather handsome, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose.”

  “He’s some sort of physician I believe. Perfectly respectable. We should have him to tea.”

  Meena bolted upright. “No, we should not. He isn’t… He doesn’t…” She shook her head in frustration. “He’s not interesting.”

  “Ah. So we must add interesting to the list.” Briar was silent for a moment. “Crane is interesting.”

  Meena laughed. “The Jonquil is entirely too interesting. And too headstrong, and too much of a womanizer. Other than that, I’m sure he’s perfect.”

  Briar put a finger to her lips, her gaze on the ceiling. “Perhaps the locksmith next to the dressmaker’s shop. You’d have a great deal in common.”

  Her deep blue gaze met Meena’s, and they both dissolved in a heap of giggles.

  Meena was still laughing when the door to her room crashed open. A burly, bearded man with thick forearms, wild eyes, and a large pistol barreled in.

  She was up off the bed before she was even aware of it.

  Briar was on her feet as well, a wicked little throwing dagger already in her hand. She raised her arm to heave it at the intruder, but before it left her fingers, another man burst in from the balcony behind her, knocking her to the ground.

  The dagger tumbled harmlessly out of reach.

  The first attacker lunged at Meena. He seized her by the upper arms, shaking her so hard her teeth rattled. “This here’s the one.”

  “What in the blazing—” Meena protested.

  The brute smacked her across the face, knocking her sideways.

  She staggered back and fell hard across the tea cart, crashing to the floor on top of it.

  Pain stabbed her hips and shins where they’d banged into the cart’s metal edges. She ignored it, desperately trying to scramble to her feet. Before she could fill her lungs to scream, her attacker grabbed her by the back of neck and dragged her upright.

  As he pulled her up, Meena saw that Briar was on her side, watching for an opening to strike.

  Meena’s attacker yanked hard at the neck of her dressing gown, trying to pull her back toward the door. She resisted, sagging back against him, making him haul her dead weight.

  “Bloody hell!” Briar’s assailant screamed. “You little bitch.”

  The man was bent over, clutching his thigh, one of Briar’s hat pins planted firmly in the center of his leg. The pistol swung from his fingers, forgotten.

  Briar grabbed the weapon and leveled it at the man’s chest. She cocked the pistol. “Call off your man.”

  Howling in anger, Meena’s attacker shook her like a wet dog. “You’re the one we came for.”

  His face was so close, Meena could see the dirt ringing his thick neck. His hot breath washed across her face, making her stomach heave.

  Ignoring Briar, he dragged her toward the open door.

  Even with her attacker wounded, Meena knew Briar dare not take her gun off him. She needed her own weapon most desperately. Her parasol was on the far side of the room. A hot rush of anger sent a surge of strength through her. She reached out, fingers clawing toward the large silver teapot on the floor, but it was just out of reach.

  Seeing her dilemma, Briar leapt forward, her skirts held high, and kicked the teapot straight at her. Meena wrapped her fingers tightly around the handle and bashed her assailant straight in the face, hitting him so hard the teapot dented.

  “Well done!” Briar called out.

  Bellowing in pain, the man stumbled back, pulling her with him. As he dragged her back, Meena scooped up the stray lemon slices from the broken dish on the floor and squirted him in the eyes.

  The man released his grip, and thrust his hands over his stinging eyes. “Holy bleeding hell,” he yelled as he staggered off down the hallway.

  Meena turned her attention to Briar’s man. As she suspected, her cousin already had things in hand. Their second attacker had backed himself into the wall next to the open balcony doors. The hat pin no longer stuck out of his thigh, but his hands were still wrapped around his injured leg. If looks could kill, the rage in his close-set eyes would have felled them on the spot.

  But rage was no match for a loaded weapon.

  Both she and Briar advanced on him, each watching for another weapon, another attack. But the tough had had enough. He limped back out to the balcony. They gave chase, but before they could reach him, he vaulted over the ledge.

  By the time they reached the railing, he was sliding down the canvas awning that shaded the ground floor windows. Like a child hurtling down a slide, he flew over the edge of the awning and tumbled out into the street. A figure darted out from under the building and dragged him to his feet.

  Jameson Ramsay.

  Meena locked gazes with her cousin.

  Briar’s face was blank with shock. “Looks like we’re in the thick of it now.”

  Ramsay shifted from foot to foot, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his overcoat. It wasn’t the cold that kept him moving. He only wished it were a chill that made his arms, his shoulders, his legs, so tense they trembled.

  The old wharf was dark and foul. It smelled of machine oil, and the particular stench of Thames’ black water that swirled around the pilings beneath the worn planks. A small animal skittered through the refuse that had blown into the corners of the building in front of him. He shuddered.

  His employer slipped out of the shadow of the dilapidated shack. “Let me see if I understand this.”

  He strolled toward Ramsay and his men, his pace unhurried, though something about the set of his shoulders made Ramsay want to flee.

  All the more so when he noticed the evil-looking giant with him. Standing a head taller than most men, just the sight of the bodyguard would be enough to send most men running.

  His employer waved a silver topped cane at Ramsay and his men. “So I’m to believe you men came out looking like this? Against two unarmed women?”

  Ramsay swallowed hard. He stared down at the stained wood, waiting for the storm to blow over. If he was lucky enough to make it out of this mess alive, he’d never deal with the quality again.

  The taller of his accomplices sniffed and sent a wad of spittle arcing off into the darkness. “They wasn’t no normal women.” He stepped forward until Ramsay could see the big bruise covering the side of his face. “Fought like men. Unnatural I calls it.” He cocked his head toward Ramsay. “He told us they was ladies. They wasn’t no such thing.”

  Ramsay moved to put a hand on the man’s arm, to stop him, but he thought better of it. Leyland White appeared every inch the polished nob, but the man had a hair trigger.

  “I see.” White eyed them as if they were dung splattered on his shoes. “How distressing that must have been.”

  Ramsay’s other accomplice shuffled backwards, hampered by his game leg.

  Silence settled over the empty wharf, eating at his nerves. His fingers worked at the buttons of his overcoat. “I underestimated them, sir. It won’t happen again.” He rushed on. “I’ve got the size of them now.”

  If anything, the man looked bored. Ramsay didn’t find t
hat reassuring.

  “We did get the ledger.” He hurried to point out.

  “As to that—” White snapped his fingers. The giant slipped a leather-bound book into his hands. He launched it out into the river with a vicious heave. “It’s a fake.”

  Chills, then burning heat raced from the soles of Ramsay’s feet to the top of his head. He wondered if he might faint. “But it came straight from Blackborough’s safe. I took it from the woman myself.”

  White waved away his concern. “Don’t fret. I believe you.” His eyes narrowed. “This time.” The man sighed. “It’s of no import. It was merely a test. I wanted to see if Mr. Crane and Miss Sweet were as capable as you say.”

  He smiled. “Fake or not, they passed. I have every confidence they’ll be able to perform the tasks I have set for them. Now, it’s time for you to step up, Mr. Ramsay. I won’t tolerate another failure.”

  Ramsay was trembling so hard, he wasn’t sure his tongue would work. “I’ll get Crane. And the woman. I can—”

  “Yes, yes.” White’s gaze veered off over the oily water. “I’m sure you will.” Then he glared straight at him, pinning him to the spot. “You do know what awaits if you fail?”

  Ramsay’s mouth was so dry, his tongue stuck to his teeth. He swallowed once, twice, three times, before he could make his lips move. “I do, My Lord. I do. I’ve got a better plan now. You’ll have them soon.”

  His employer laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

  “For your continued health, Mr. Ramsay, I hope that’s true.”

  White took a step toward him. He tried to remain calm, but he couldn’t stop himself from flinching as the man closed in. He cursed himself under his breath.

  Showing fear to a man like White would be the death of him.

  Legs trembling, Ramsay forced himself to remain still as the man and his lumbering body guard brushed past. The body guard swung wide, smashing a broad shoulder into his bruised companion, almost knocking him off his feet.

  White reached the door of his waiting coach. One foot on the step, he stopped, and turned back toward Ramsay and his men. With a careless motion, he pointed at them with the tip of his black cane.

  Before Ramsay could blink, the body guard whipped around to face them, a dagger in his meaty hand.

  “Bless the Lord our God—” Ramsay whispered the only line of prayer he knew.

  But the body guard passed by him. With an agonizing groan, the bruised robber to his right clutched his chest and crumpled to the ground.

  The giant pulled his knife from the man’s body and wiped it clean on the man’s own coat. Then he threw a questioning glance back at their employer.

  “You two.” The cane pointed at Ramsay and his hobbled companion. “Toss the body in the river.”

  The squeal of the springs as the big body guard climbed into the coach cut through the awful silence. Ramsay and his remaining assistant stared at each other, neither man moving to touch the body, until the coach rumbled off.

  As if by design, he and the smaller man nodded at each other, and bent in unison to pick up the body.

  Ramsay’s hands were shaking so badly, he could barely grip the dead man’s jacket. Each inch forward seemed to take an hour. The awful sound of the man’s body scraping along the uneven planks of the pier would be with him for a lifetime.

  White’s carriage was long gone before they made it to the edge of the wharf.

  With a glance around to make sure they were unobserved, Ramsay nodded at his crippled helper. They bent low and rolled the heavy body over the side.

  It hit the water with a loud splash, then disappeared into the blackness with sickening speed. With a wince, he straightened his aching back and wiped a hand over the chilled sweat running down the sides of his face. He’d deliver Crane and Meena Sweet, trussed up better than Christmas geese.

  Then he would run. He’d run until he found a place no earl’s git would dare venture.

  8

  The rhythmic swaying of the railway coach coaxed Spencer’s eyelids shut before the train even cleared the city proper. He shifted in his seat, letting the pleasant weight of a good nap settle over him, but as he dozed off, the train hit a rough section of track, rocking him sideways.

  Across from him, Meena sat upright, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery. On a train packed with holiday travelers heading to the seaside, she seemed the only one ill at ease. Children ran up and down the aisles, squealing in delight, while their parents chatted with their seat mates. The rustle of newsprint and the creak of picnic baskets floated atop the laughter and conversation and the steady clack of the wheels on the rails.

  Back schoolroom straight, shoulders rigid, Meena appeared oblivious to the chaos. She stared out the window at the last of the manufacturing areas ringing the city. Her right foot jiggled while her index finger tapped out a sharp beat on the windowsill. Her expressive face looked pinched with worry, her lush mouth flattened into a forbidding line.

  He thought she might vibrate straight off her seat with nervous energy.

  The train might as well have been carrying her straight to the mouth of Hell.

  “It should only be a few days.” Spencer broke the silence.

  Only her eyes moved as she glanced in his direction. “I agree. Both Edison and Briar are exceedingly inventive. They’ll run Ramsay to ground in no time.” She stared back out the window.

  Spencer stretched his legs out until his feet were even with her skirts and slouched down in his seat, wriggling his shoulders until he achieved the perfect position. “Why the worry? Brighton won’t be as dull as you believe.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing Alicia. She must be all but grown up.”

  Spencer smiled at the thought of his beautiful half-sister. She was indeed a young woman now. A mischievous troublesome delight of a young woman.

  “I should warn you. Once she sees you, there’ll be no living with her. Don’t expect any peace. Or quiet.” Spencer felt his grin widen. “When Alicia’s excited, it’s like living with a houseful of puppies.”

  Meena laughed. “How fortunate that I adore house pets.”

  As quickly as it had appeared, the amusement faded, and her gaze once again drifted to the window. Spencer leaned in the same direction, pressing his nose to the glass, and stared out. The smoke-belching factories ringing the city had long since given way to wide stretches of farmland. The greens and browns of the rolling hills set off the bluebird sky above them to perfection. Pretty as it was, the scenery didn’t call for such intense scrutiny.

  He covered his mouth as another huge yawn hit him. Two nights with little sleep had worn him out, but it was difficult to relax when sitting across from someone with the pent up energy of a hunting tiger.

  Spencer scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed. “You should try to rest.”

  Meena nodded. Her foot ceased its tapping, and she folded her hands in her lap, lacing her fingers together, but nothing in her demeanor suggested she was relaxing.

  He closed his eyes. What he wouldn’t give for a catnap.

  After returning to the shambles at the hotel, neither he nor Sweet—nor the women, he imagined—found much sleep. He and Sweet took turns on watch although the consensus was that Ramsay wouldn’t dare try to hit them again with all the guests about.

  Spencer glanced across at Meena. She was attempting to stifle a yawn herself, though the stiffness of her shoulders, and the tightness of her jaw told him she was far from sleep.

  “You’re not worried about your cousins, are you?” He shifted in his seat. “They’re more than a match for Ramsay. Hell, Mrs. Hapgood alone could best him.”

  Meena shook her head. “Not in the slightest.” She chuckled. “I’d pay good money to watch Briar handle him. She’s fantastic with a parasol.”

  Spencer laughed. “That would be a sight worth seeing.”

  He studied her face. Briar had done a fine job hiding the bruise on her cousin’s cheek. Still, it was visible to an
yone who knew what to look for. Spencer’s stomach tightened. He curled his fingers into fists. Just thinking about that bludger putting his hands on her made him want to smash something.

  Meena tapped her finger on the windowsill.

  “Does it hurt much?”

  She shook her head and winced. “Only my neck.” She rolled her head gingerly from side to side. “A bit stiff.”

  A flash of heat bloomed in his chest. Ramsay would pay extra for that.

  He concentrated on the green fields and the whitewashed farm houses flashing by outside the window and tried to ignore the tension that vibrated through him when he imagined of the attack. If Meena and her cousin weren't so skilled, so level-headed….

  The alternative didn’t bear considering.

  Meena twisted around in her seat, her attention on the families now pulling sandwiches and treats from their wicker baskets. She appeared to all the world like a fellow vacationer, but Spencer knew better.

  Something was not right.

  “It’s your head then.”

  “My head?” Meena looked at him oddly. “You’re the one Ramsay whacked about.”

  “I mean, your head must ache. You seem out of sorts.”

  Meena narrowed her eyes. “You don’t usually show any interest in my… sorts.”

  Spencer stiffened. It was no more than the truth. Not that she hid her feelings about him, either.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Idiot. She wasn’t ill. She was sick of him.

  They’d be days in each other’s company. Alicia and his aunt would be flitting about. Successful as the world at large believed the Jonquil to be, his Brighton home was far more modest than his overblown reputation implied.

  Not to put too fine a point on it, but his house was not large.

  Spencer stared up at the rounded ceiling of the railcar. “We won’t be able to avoid each other’s company.”

  Meena shot him a puzzled frown.

  “My house,” he explained. “It’s rather modest. We’ll be tripping over each other quite a lot the next few days.”

  She shrugged. “That’s of no consequence.”

  Her demeanor in no way matched her words. If he hadn’t known her so well, he would've said she squirmed.

 

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