Rejecting the Rogue

by Riley Cole

  Meena watched, as he and did the laces of her, and pulled it off. She had a hard time stopping herself from wriggling her toes in delight. “Having second thoughts?”

  “Not a bit. I’d rather take my chances with this detective than Ramsay and his lot.”

  She couldn’t stop the low moan that escaped her when he massaged the tight muscles on the bottom of her foot. “That. Is. Heavenly.” Her eyes fluttered shut.

  Funny how his touch seemed to affect her body in places very far from her foot.

  “This is far from heavenly. Trust me.“ Crane lifted her other foot to his lap and removed her other boot. When his hands touched her foot, it was as if an electrical current zinged to life.

  “No, it is heavenly.”

  “I can see I must provide a demonstration. Later.”

  Meena’s eyes flew open. Spencer was looking at her as if she were a succulent morsel on his plate. She shivered.

  His gaze wandered over her mouth. “Yes. A demonstration of heavenly is clearly necessary.”

  The illicit intent, so clear in his voice, made her shudder. Lord help her, the man barely touched her, and she burst into flames.

  He pressed his palm hard into her arch, massaging the tired muscles.

  Her lips parted. Her breath quickened. She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the exquisite sensations. “Yes, well, that’s all well and good,” she murmured. “But our agenda is full for a long while.”

  Crane traced a finger from the heel of her foot all the way up the sensitive arch. “All the more time for you to think about it. Imagine it.”

  Meena’s eyes flew open. She met his gaze. It was hard not to shy away from the heat smoldering there. She blinked. Did he see the same heat—the same hunger—in her eyes?

  She plucked at the folds of her dress, pressing them into tidy pleats. “I was thinking.”

  Spencer inched forward until his knees brushed her knuckles. “You were thinking?”

  It was silly, her hesitation. She’d lain in his arms, skin to skin, heart to heart. He’d seen every inch of her body. Kissed and caressed every curve and hollow. No sense in being shy now.

  Meena took a deep breath. “I was just thinking, I should like to—”

  A loud groan echoed from across the hall. “For the love of God, man. Just kiss her.”

  White teeth flashed against the dark stubble marking Spencer’s cheeks and jaw. The grin spreading across his face ignited a fire in her soul.

  He leaned over her, arms on each side of her body, pinning her in place. “That is the most intelligent piece of advice I’ve had in a long time.”

  Meena’s lips were parted and welcoming before his mouth descended.

  He tasted of passion. A teasing, tempting, taunting passion that would take an entire night to play out.

  A passion that made her body sing.

  She sighed, a soft, quiet little sound, and fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down on top of her as she sprawled on the sofa. When he chuckled in response, the vibrations rippled through her, making her smile, even as she moved her mouth against his.

  A short, sharp bark from the bedroom pulled them apart.

  Spencer pushed himself up, his lips inches above her as they strained to make sense of the noise.

  Again, a loud snort rolled out of the other room.

  Meena giggled.

  With a pained look, Spencer hove himself off of her and retreated to the far side of the sofa.

  A muffled thwack cut off another snore in mid-expression. “Holy hell.” Briar’s exasperated plea followed. “Why can’t you invent an anti-snore device, you great oaf.”

  Meena would have loved to bottle the smoldering look Spencer sent her before he stretched out his legs and folded his arms across his chest. To have that power over a man was a wonder to her.

  A fragile new wonder.

  13

  The Devil’s balls, he was jumpy.

  Spencer studied the small triangle of park from the safety of the greengrocer’s stall across the street. He hated waiting. He hated it almost as much as he hated knowing Meena was putting herself in danger on his account.

  And now he was having second thoughts about their entire plan.

  He swung the crate of onions up onto his shoulder, copying the casual way the delivery men around him moved. The sharp edge of the box cut into the side of his neck, making him wince.

  The whole escapade was racing toward disaster. They’d gone from being fugitives to planning a kidnapping.

  When had he become such a lunatic?

  He dropped the box on the pile behind the greengrocer’s stall and propped an elbow on the edge. Soft with age, the simple smock he wore worked well in the heat, even if the fabric pulled at the shoulders every time he moved. Briar had dressed him in rough woolen trousers and a stained linen shirt rolled up to the elbows, the better to blend in with the workmen hauling boxes, carts, and wagons full of merchandise to the row of shops on the far side of the square from his lodgings.

  Across the street, the inspector’s forces gathered. Two uniformed bobbies bracketed the entry to his building, while at the far end of the park, past the duck pond, two plain clothes detectives idled. Though they tried to appear like ordinary gents out to enjoy the early summer weather, their haircuts, the tension in their shoulders, the way they studied each person strolling by, told him otherwise.

  The men he saw didn’t worry him. It was the ones he hadn’t identified that made the back of his neck prickle.

  At the far end of the park, Sweet pushed a dented garbage cart toward his position. Spencer choked down the urge to retch. Piled high with refuse, and cooking in warm June sunlight, the cart had to reek. Just imagining the stench made his throat close up. Spencer didn’t wonder that the other occupants of the park took care to keep clear.

  The inventor ambled his way across the grass, stopping every few steps to sweep up debris and add it to the pile in his pushcart. Unlike the officers behind him, Sweet was a far better actor. With his shambling gate and rounded shoulders, he appeared to be nothing but a humble working man.

  “These for me?” The grizzled greengrocer pointed at the crate of onions.

  Spencer straightened and touched the brim of his cloth cap. “Yes, sir.” He stepped away from the crate, taking the time to remove his cap and swipe at the sweat beading his brow.

  “Here you go.” The greengrocer held out two ripe peaches. “They’ll only spoil.”

  Spencer palmed the sun-warmed fruit and nodded his thanks. He ate the fruit slowly, hoping to drag out the time. The peaches were warm and sweet and juicy, full of the promise of summer. He savored the taste. Savored the sun’s caress on the back of his neck.

  It was entirely possible it was the last he’d feel for a long time, if their idiotic plans soured.

  Across the park, Edison flailed his arms, shooing pigeons away from his cart. Behind him, Meena and Briar stepped into position.

  She was a vision.

  With her wavy brown hair caught up beneath the prim starched housemaid’s cap, Meena looked every inch the proper maid. Even the severe black-and-white uniform suited her curvaceous form. And by suited, he meant it cried out to be stripped off at the earliest possible opportunity.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it of lustful images. Audacious, hare-brained, unhinged as it might be, their plan was now in motion.

  Meena and her cousin walked arm in arm on the sun-dappled walkway beneath the trees, giggling at whatever workaday maids would find amusing. Meena and her cousin had vanished. In their place, two ordinary housemaids, out for their half day off, took the sun, offering flirtatious smiles to the men they passed.

  Spencer didn’t fail to notice how long those men’s gazes lingered on their trim forms after they passed.

  Even from halfway across the park, Meena’s bright smile made his chest expand, as if he were filled with helium gas. An odd, protective urge swamped him. He wanted all he
r smiles. All for him alone.

  He closed his eyes, letting a slow, deep breath fill his lungs, purging him of such unrealistic, unattainable ideas. Alone, he’d get. But not with Meena. They were having a good run, but it was a fragile thing.

  She was prickly. Independent. Unyielding.

  She might share her bed—for now—but she’d never forgive him.

  Someday soon, she’d bring up the past. She’d make him pay.

  Spencer tossed the last peach pit into the gutter. Any minute now, the inspector, Burke, would head to the bench where they’d offered to meet. He was moments from freedom, or moments from the end of his life as he knew it. Time to focus on—

  “Ain’t you that captain?”

  A flush of fear surged through him, making his lungs burn and his legs long to bolt. He looked down. Standing just in front of him, her work-worn hands wrapped around a fish, swaddled in newsprint, was the little maid from the day he’d been framed.

  As quickly as it had come, the tension drained from him like helium from a balloon, leaving him just as limp. He wanted to swear. Instead, he put a finger to his lips.

  The girl nodded solemnly. “You’re pulling a caper, ain’t you?” she whispered, her thin lips barely moving.

  Spencer felt his eyebrows rise. “What makes you say that?”

  “I ain’t stupid. Since you was here last, there’s been nothing but peelers everywhere.” She looked him up and down. “And I ain’t seen hide nor hair of you. It adds up, don’t it?”

  Spencer tried hard not to smile. He wasn’t entirely successful. “You have me there, madam.”

  Her cheeks pinked, and she dropped her gaze, as if consulting with the solemn cod in her arms.

  Spencer reached in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a ha’penny. He held it out to her. “It’s a secret mission. I’d be grateful if you could forget you saw me.”

  The girl wrinkled her nose and pushed his hand away. “I don’t need your coin.” She tightened her grip on the silvery fish until the newsprint crackled. “I’m not a snitch.”

  “I can tell. Take it anyway.” He tucked the coin between the paper and the scales. “You look like a girl who works hard for her pay. You could do with an extra bit of lace. Maybe a bag of sweets?”

  The barest smile curved her lips. She blinked up at him. “There’s a lady down the street what teaches girls how to write on those mechanical writing machines. I been wanting a lesson or two. I don’t aim to be a maid me whole life.”

  Surprise rocked him back on his heels. He dipped into his pocket again and slipped another coin into the fish’s wrap. “Take as many classes as you need.”

  The little maid smiled up at him, then her face grew serious. She cocked her head toward the park. “Looks like your bloke showed up.” The inspector was striding toward their meeting place.

  “Good luck to you,” she offered, and scampered off.

  Meena and Briar had taken their positions on a bench a short way down the path from where the inspector waited. Edison, too, was meandering toward the meeting area, his face hidden behind his growing mound of refuse.

  Time for his own stage call. Spencer rolled his shoulders back, and shook out his arms, loosening the tension. He stepped off the curb.

  The detective spotted him before he was halfway across the street. A tilt of the head and a general stiffening of his frame were the only tells. Spencer wouldn’t have noticed, had he not been watching for them.

  A professional then. Good. Less likely the man would do something foolhardy.

  By the time Spencer reached the walkway, the inspector was standing. He nodded in greeting. “Crane.”

  His tone was friendly, but the look in his eyes was not.

  Spencer returned the nod. “Inspector.” With only twenty feet to go, Spencer measured his steps. He looked around as if he was concerned about a trap. Mostly, he wanted to give his team enough time to execute their plan.

  Burke spread his feet wide, and rested his hands on his hips, all the better to reach for a weapon, should the need arise.

  Spencer squared off in front of him, careful to stay out of arm’s reach. “I’m not the man you want.”

  The inspector grinned. “Too true, Crane.” He rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “You’re far better than most. It brings me no pleasure to take you in, but I will.”

  Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets. “You can try. Though I was hoping we could—“

  Loud hissing, like the sound of a breached steam pipe, rang through the small square. The sounds popped up from all different directions, filling the park with high, ear-piercing squeals. Smoke from Edison’s bombs bloomed into the air, filling the area with thick, white fog.

  Then came the yelling, the shouting of directions, and the screams.

  Eyes now flat and hard, Burke watched him. “You’re making this worse than it needs to be, Crane.”

  Spencer sighed. “Most likely.”

  Both he and the inspector coughed as the smoke poured around them, blanketing them in a strange gray fog.

  Spencer heard rather than saw Sweet pulling the refuse cart closer. Briar jostled his shoulder as she broke through the wall of mist, a length of rope in her hands.

  “Peelers are closing in,” Meena said as she appeared. “Let’s get him out of here.”

  Spencer took the rope from Briar and stepped toward the officer. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  Though he was fit and strong enough to put up a fight, the inspector didn’t resist. For that, Spencer was thankful. He simply held out his arms and allowed Spencer to bind them. “This won’t go well,” he noted between coughs.

  Spencer took him by the shoulders, guiding him toward Sweet’s garbage wagon. “I have considered that.”

  Before Burke could respond, Meena tied a soft silk handkerchief around his mouth. They had only seconds before his men would converge on the spot.

  They hustled the inspector across the park to Sweet’s waiting wagon. The loud hiss of escaping smoke cut through the thick air. Sweet had planted another bomb between the wheels. As he swung open the gate at the back of the wagon and rolled the inspector into the hidden compartment, it enveloped them in a fresh cloud of smoke.

  From the outside, the wagon looked as if it were full to overflowing with rubbish. Spencer hoped the cries from the frightened crowd would obscure any noise the inspector might make until Sweet got him away from the park.

  The gate latched, Sweet swung up onto the bench, took the reins, and started the horses clomping sedately down the fog-choked street.

  Spencer shared a grin with Meena as they turned back toward the park. He wondered if his own smile looked as shaky as hers.

  Now that they had the inspector bundled off, he felt the adrenaline flooding his system, making his heart pound and his limbs shake.

  “Good luck.” Meena reached up on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek.

  He nodded, not even feeling her kiss. Now came the tricky part.

  It was his job to act as bait, to draw the inspector’s men away from the park. He and Meena had mapped an escape route through the neighborhood. Once he caught the attention of a few officers, any men left in the area should give chase.

  He took off running, hoping that his urgency would draw attention.

  Two uniformed officers stood at the corner, conferring. Both were stout, with thick mustaches and round bellies. If he couldn’t outrun them, he deserved to be locked up. He veered in their direction. The instant they saw him, they gave chase, yelling to attract their fellow men.

  Once they were a few feet closer, he’d head down the lane in front of his lodging. The change of direction should give him time to—

  A blast to the side sent him clean off his feet.

  He slammed down on his side. The air flew from his lungs, making him grunt. His hip and shoulder were numb from the impact. Spencer fought to gather his legs back under him. He rolled on his back and looked up, trying to see his assailant.<
br />
  His thin form wreathed in the last bits of while smoke, Ramsay’s grinning face loomed over him. “Hello there.”

  As Spencer lay at his feet, trying frantically to clear his head, Ramsay’s smile morphed into a sick, evil sneer.

  “I’d say I’m sorry about this, but—” He spat near Spencer’s shoulder. “I’m not.”

  Spencer rolled to his side. He fought to gain purchase on the slick grass until the cold snick of a pistol being cocked stopped him short.

  Ramsay pointed the barrel straight at his heart. “Officers,” he yelled. “I’ve got him. Over here.”

  Spencer swore. He looked past Ramsay and his damned gun, desperate for a way out.

  Panic flooded him, making his breath come in short, hard gasps that tore at his lungs.

  The rage in Ramsay’s eyes, in the jaw, clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t snap, pinned Spencer to the ground. If he moved, the man would shoot.

  He shook his head as if he could wake himself from this ugly nightmare. It couldn’t end this way. Ramsay couldn’t win.

  He tried to shove the anger—the recriminations—from his mind so he could think, but they battered him with their inescapable logic.

  Retirement had dulled his edge. He should have taken the initiative, should have killed Ramsay at the start. Instead, he’d done what he’d always done, turned his back on the problem, hoping it would fade away.

  Not the best of battle strategies to be sure.

  Certainly not one Meena would approve. Although she might yet approve of the outcome. There was a time she would have welcomed him taking a bullet to the chest.

  He laughed.

  The unexpected sound caught Ramsay’s attention. He squinted down at him, senses clearly on alert. “What’s so bleeding funny then? You won’t be laughing once the peelers get you. Over here!” He yelled again. “Be quick about it now.”

  He took a step closer.

  Maybe just close enough.

  Spencer pressed down hard on the matted grass, preparing himself. Whatever he’d failed to do, no longer mattered. Only one option remained. He tensed, preparing to launch himself at Ramsay.