Rejecting the Rogue

by Riley Cole

  How would they prove it?

  Ideas tumbled through his brain, each more outlandish than the last. Set Burke up to observe the blackmail first hand? Get this Chesterfield to give evidence?

  Annoyed with his lack of imagination, Spencer tossed the rag to the ground and stalked back to the supply closet. He tore off the apron, pulled on his waistcoat, and hurried back down the stairs.

  But for two aproned men pushing brooms through the filth on the floor, the gymnasium was empty. White and his crew were on to something else.

  When Spencer made it out onto the street, the sun was close to setting. Dusk blurred the harsh lines of the buildings lining the narrow lane.

  Spencer shrugged into his coat. White’s carriage was gone, nothing but a pile of horse droppings and an oily puddle rimed with garbage to mark the spot. He could head back toward the man’s mansion, but he wasn’t sure what that would gain them now.

  Edison had staked out the townhouse where White kept his latest mistress. Meena and Briar were investigating the man’s social life. Though a bastard by birth, his father had quietly acknowledged him, lending a large amount of social cachet to White’s resume.

  Spencer rolled his head back and forth, easing the tension in his neck. His stomach rumbled. White kept fashionable hours, but he’d been at the man’s home since after breakfast. He knew what the man ate, how he treated his servants, and now he knew when and where he’d be blackmailing another victim.

  He sighed. No use avoiding it any longer. Meena and her cousins could do a great deal with the information. No time to nurse hurt feelings like some silly school girl.

  He could face her.

  He could want her, want her passionate moans, want her deep, contented sighs.

  And he could ignore the rest, couldn’t he?

  He damn well could ignore her opinion of him, Spencer resolved, as the cab stopped in front of the Sweets’ Pimlico home.

  He thrust his bowler on his head and stalked toward the front stairs. Meena didn’t trust him, didn’t even like him, apparently, and she was able to put her feelings aside enough to enjoy their bed play.

  He had more experience. When it came down to it, he was much better at separating sex and love than she. Time to act like it.

  Hapgood had the door opened before he’d reached the top step, whisking his hat and coat away with his usual efficiency. “Family’s in the dining room this evening. Supper’s on the table.”

  The scents of roast beef and fresh baked bread trailed out from the kitchen, urged him on toward the back of the house.

  Meena caught his eye the second he entered. Caught his eye, and moved on to study the walls, the table setting, her potatoes and peas, anything but meet his gaze.

  He’d hoped to see eagerness, willingness, wanting, when he next saw her. But she seemed completely focussed on arranging bites of roast beef just so around a pile of scalloped potatoes.

  Briar, at least, brightened. “Any luck?” She pulled out the empty chair next to her.

  Spencer filled his plate and sat. “Possibly. You?”

  The girl’s lush mouth turned down in a frown. “None whatsoever.” She looked across the table at her cousin. “The neighbors aren’t sure what to make of our Mr. White, are they?”

  Meena shrugged, as if White held no interest at all.

  “The ladies are intrigued.” Briar shuddered. “Apparently his aura of danger trumps his utter repulsiveness.” She pressed a hand to her stomach and grimaced. “We’ve had enough tea to last a month, and we’ve nothing to show for it.”

  A smile lit Meena’s face. “We did get some rather large donations for Mrs. Hapgood’s orphan’s fund.”

  Briar giggled. “We did at that.” She tapped her lips with the back of her fork. “That dreadful aubergine relish dish alone should fund a lovely play area. Maybe three.”

  Mrs. Hapgood bustled into the room, a fresh platter of roast and potatoes in her hands.

  “I’ll get that.” Briar jumped up to take the heavy tray. She set it in the center of the table. “Edison didn’t find much either.”

  The inventor glanced up from his plate. His dour expression told Spencer everything he needed to know. “Man has the usual mistress. Pays his gambling debts promptly. Gets drunk enough to be considered a jolly sport, but not enough so’s to cause trouble.” Edison seized the serving fork and speared a fresh cut of roast. “Absolutely nothing of use.”

  Despite his vow, Meena’s disinterest was starting to itch. Like a damned mosquito bite, soon the itch would burn, no matter how much he wished to ignore it.

  He could bite back. Would, if he could figure out how. “I may have something.” Spencer took care to address her cousins, and the Hapgoods, who had slid into the seats at the far end of the table.

  Mrs. Hapgood froze, the full plate in her hand on its way to her waiting husband.

  “I overheard him planning blackmail. Don’t know what they’ve got on the poor bastard, but I know when and where the meeting’ll be.”

  Meena sighed. “That sounds lovely, but the inspector won’t be able to take your word for it. He said as much.”

  “I agree.” Spencer flicked a glance in her direction. “We’ll need to catch him at it.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. Damn but he was tired. “White’s meeting his mark tomorrow night.”

  Edison swallowed a bite of food. “Where are they meeting? That could be our way in.”

  Spencer searched his memory. “The Flower… No, The Pansey… No.” Damn it, he couldn’t recall.

  “The Black Rose.” Briar slapped a hand on the table. “It has to be the Black Rose.”

  “That’s it.” Spencer eyed her curiously.

  “It’s one of White’s gaming hells.”

  Concern overtook Meena’s carefully constructed indifference. “Who told you that?”

  Briar raised her hands, palms up, as if to ward off judgment. “The neighbors have servants, you know. Some of them quite handsome.” She propped her chin in her hand and sighed. “Extraordinarily handsome.”

  For the first time, Meena met Spencer’s gaze. She set her napkin next to her plate and leaned forward. “Could we get Detective Burke there? If he could overhear himself—”

  Spencer shook his head. Across the table, Sweet was doing the same.

  “They probably know him already.” The inventor set his fork on his empty plate. “Even if he could get close enough to observe, his word won’t count for much more than ours.”

  Meena squinted at him. “But he’s a peeler.”

  Sweet sat back, folding his arms across his chest and grunted. “And this White’s an earl’s son. Who d'you think would win if they went toe to toe?”

  Meena looked as if she’d swallowed a slug of pond water. “You’re right. And we’d only be putting a target on Burke’s back.” She straightened. Inspiration brightened her eyes. “Then we’ll persuade his victim to give witness. He must be a man of some means if he’s worth blackmailing. Surely the police would listen.”

  Mr. Hapgood patted her hand. “That would be assuming the poor man made it to the station alive. And stayed alive long enough to testify.”

  Like a flower low on water, Meena wilted.

  Spencer felt like doing the same. It was late. They’d been on their feet all day.

  And all they had to show for it was knowledge of a blackmail scheme they couldn’t do a damn thing about. They needed clear, unassailable, unimpeachable proof.

  They needed a miracle.

  And rest.

  Meena was slumped in her seat, head pressed back against the chair, eyes closed. Sweet stared down at his empty plate. Work worn hands clasped together across the table, the Hapgoods looked done in as well. Even Briar seemed uncharacteristically solemn.

  “It’s nothing a spot of pudding won’t fix,” Mrs. H announced as she rose from the table. “I’ve got a nice blancmange cooling in the pantry. With berries,” she added, her eyes on Sweet.

  T
he big man beamed. Then he glared across the table at Spencer, his grin dissolving. “Did you make two?”

  “That I did.” The housekeeper set off for the kitchen.

  The inventor sank back into his seat and stared vacantly at the ceiling. As Spencer watched, his expression sharpened, and he squinted, straining his neck upward as if trying to read something etched in the plaster. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile, a smile that stretched into an all out grin.

  Under the circumstances, Spencer wondered what the man found so amusing.

  Sweet laughed. “I know how we can get proof, and I can provide the most reliable witness you could imagine.”

  Spencer blinked. He caught Meena’s eye across the table. She looked as puzzled as he felt.

  She squeezed her cousin’s arm. “You’re certain.”

  “Completely.” He slapped a palm to his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner? I’ve got this machine. We can use it to—”

  Metal, porcelain, glass, all smashed together, as if the entire kitchen were being upended.

  “You old bitch!” The oath was followed by a tremendous crash, then another. “Bleeding hell!” A male voice shrieked.

  “Stay away. You stay away now.” Mrs. Hapgood cried out.

  Spencer flew to his feet. They all did. But before they could run to her aid, the housekeeper stumbled back through the doorway, her eyes wide with fear, her mouth set in an angry grimace.

  Jamison Ramsay followed close behind. Dollops of blancmange slid off his head, plopping onto his shoulders and down his shirtfront. A thick trickle of blood dripped down his forehead.

  One hand around her neck, he shoved her further into the room. The other hand pressed the barrel of a pistol into her side. He let go of her neck long enough to swipe blobs of cream from his eyes, then he clamped down even more viciously.

  More than a smile, Ramsay’s grin resembled a skeletal leer. “You’ll all follow my instructions most exactly now, yes?”

  16

  “You’ll be a dead man before morning.” Mr. Hapgood’s voice quivered with rage.

  “Steady now, Lucius.” For all the heat vibrating through her husband’s words, Mrs. H’s voice was calm, soothing.

  The fire in her eyes was not.

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, and the anger vibrating through the room, Meena smiled. If anyone was going to rip Ramsay’s throat out, her money was on the plump woman a full head and shoulders shorter than her captor.

  All attention was on Ramsay now, every one of them waiting for him to make the slightest of missteps. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Briar snatch up the cut glass butter dish and slip it behind her skirts. Edison’s hand was stuffed in his waistcoat, no doubt fingering some sort of useful device. Spencer’s palms were pressed flat to the table, his fingers white with strain. Mrs. H’s sharpest paring knife rested not an inch from his little finger.

  No coincidence, that.

  He met her gaze over the remains of their evening meal. The steady confidence she read in his expression, in the determined set of his jaw, told her he was ready to fly into action.

  Did Ramsay, she wondered, have the least idea how vastly over-matched he was?

  White blobs of pudding stuck to his head and shoulders, even the side of his beaky nose. Were he not armed, and clearly quite desperate, he would have looked a fool.

  With the pistol still snugly in Mrs. Hapgood’s side, Ramsay surveyed the kitchen.“Well now, that’s not much of a welcome.” He shook his head, pretending dismay.

  Mr. Hapgood lunged at the criminal. “Leave her be, you foul thing.”

  Edison wrapped him in a bear hug and swung him to the side. “Steady on,” he murmured.

  Ramsay jerked the housekeeper back, jabbing the gun into her ribs. “Keep him off me.”

  Her face paled, but Mrs. Hapgood refused to cry out.

  “Next time, I shoot her.” Wide with fright, Ramsay’s eyes seemed to roll around in their sockets, while his nostrils flared. With his thin face and wild eyes, he resembled a terrified horse. “Crane, you and Miss Sweet’ll be coming with me.” His chin jutted toward the front of the house. “Once were out the door free and clear, I’ll send the old woman back in.”

  Meena’s attention switched to Mrs. Hapgood, just in time to catch the tiny nod she gave her husband. Meena was grateful to see she remained her usual levelheaded self. After his initial reaction, Mr. H’s training had taken over. No longer restrained, he stood tall and calm, his formidable attention focussed on the unlucky sot threatening his beloved.

  If Meena knew anything about the man who’d tended to her scraped knees and taught her to defeat a three barrel lock before her adult teeth had come in, she knew his calm was the merest of façades. Given the chance, the older man would tear Ramsay’s pudding-speckled head from his shoulders.

  Sweat trickled down the sides of Ramsay’s face, cutting through the traces of blancmange and blood still clinging to his cheeks and chin. Fear was not a good thing. It may people unpredictable. Especially stupid, weak-willed people like Jamison Ramsay.

  “Let’s move it then.” Ramsay released his hold on Mrs. Hapgood’s neck and waved them toward the pantry. He shuffled to the side, making room for Meena and Spencer to pass them.

  Meena locked eyes with Spencer. He gave her the smallest of nods. The stone cold look in his eyes made her believe Ramsay was but minutes from leaving this world.

  She found she didn’t care overmuch.

  She nodded silently at Ramsay, and threaded her way between the dining table and the sideboard, toward the door to the kitchen. Spencer followed on her heels. She could feel all of them thinking, watching, waiting for the right moment to attack.

  Since she was first in line, the attack would begin behind her. As she stepped through the pantry and toward the back door, she willed her heartbeat to settle.

  Spencer was immediately behind her, and then, she surmised, came Mrs. Hapgood, and finally Ramsay and his blasted pistol. Which left Mr. H, Edison, and Briar to begin the fight.

  A crew she’d gladly stake her life on.

  Her fingers curled around the doorknob when it started. From the whoosh of air at her back, she realized Spencer must have turned on Ramsay.

  A pistol discharged. Pain stabbed her eardrums, bringing quick tears of pain. It was nothing compared to the way her heart slammed against her ribs.

  Had he shot Spencer? Mrs. Hapgood? Fear seized her throat, making her breath come in short, hard gasps.

  Legs trembling, Meena whirled around. But her legs were heavy, clumsy. She tripped over her skirts and toppled against the door. Even over the sound of her own rustling skirts, she heard a loud crack.

  “Fucking hell!” Ramsay screeched, his voice high with pain.

  Something heavy smashed into an immovable object.

  By the time she got her limbs sorted out, Mrs. Hapgood had backed up against the china cabinet and Ramsay was laid out at their feet, pudding-covered face flat against the worn tile floor.

  “Oh goodness.” Mrs. Hapgood pressed a hand to her chest, as her husband charged forward, elbowing Edison and Briar out of the way.

  Spencer moved aside, Ramsay’s pistol swinging from an index finger.

  The only question was how Ramsay ended up on the floor, unconscious. Then Meena noticed the butter dish resting by his shoulder. The last of the butter was plastered to the side of his head, undoubtedly leaking into his ear.

  Edison shoved past the others and bent over him, hauling the unconscious man up by the back of his collar until only the tips of Ramsay’s shoes remained on the floor. He locked eyes with Mr. Hapgood, who has had his long arms wrapped tightly around his wife’s shoulders.“What do I do with this piece of garbage?”

  The older man squeezed his wife tight. “I’d say kill him, but he isn’t worth the bother.” The houseman teased a hank of hair off of his wife’s cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Might make a fine present for our inspector.�
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  “Consider it done.” Edison released Ramsay’s collar. The unconscious man dropped to the floor with a satisfying thud. “I’ll get some rope.”

  Mr. Hapgood disengaged himself from his wife’s embrace. “I’ll hitch up the carriage.” Then he stopped and took her by the shoulders. “You’ll be all right?”

  His wife slapped him on the arm. “It’s all over now but the tidying up now, isn’t it? Of course I’ll be all right, you daft man.”

  The houseman grinned and danced out the back door.

  Ever watchful, Edison stood guard over the body. For Ramsay’s sake, she hoped he didn’t regain consciousness too quickly. She recognized that mix of anger, intensity, and delight on her cousin’s face. He’d cheerfully beat the tar out of the man given the least provocation.

  Briar rushed to the housekeeper’s side, pulling her into a tight hug.

  “Young lady, what have I told you about tossing about the serving dishes?” Mrs. Hapgood’s stern tone was completely undone by her beaming smile.

  Briar squeezed the older woman so tightly she almost lifted her off the ground. “Don’t miss?”

  Mrs. H patted her cheek. “That’s my girl.”

  “You’re all right?” Spencer’s deep voice caressed Meena’s ear. She hadn’t realized he was so close. Not that she could hear much over the ringing in her ears. “I am. You?”

  Spencer stared down at the tips of his shoes. “I wish my heart would stop galloping about in my chest.” He ran a hand through his hair. “There was a moment there, when I was worried that—”

  Meena stepped into his arms and rested her head on his chest. “I know. It worried me too. But as usual, when we all come together things get put to right.”

  Spencer wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. She could have stayed like that forever, surrounded by his quiet strength, the sound of his heartbeat pulsing through her.