by Shana Galen
“It’s yours?” she asked, flicking a gaze at him. With her hair away from her face, her eyes looked even larger and bluer. Now that they were alone together, he was even more aware of what an alluring woman she was. He couldn’t help admire her neck, bared as it was by the upsweep of her hair. Dane noted it was quite a long, graceful column. Perfect for kissing. A surge of desire swept through him, and he fought to hold it at bay.
“It is for everyone’s use, but I generally occupy it during the day. I work here.”
She snorted. “You work?” She tossed him another glance. “That’s a sham.”
“It’s not a sham. I have estates to manage, both mine and those of my wards, parliamentary affairs to see to.”
She turned to him. “Parliament? Where they make the laws?”
“Yes.” The gown Susanna had given her did not hug her curves like the trousers and shirt she’d been wearing, but it did distracting things to her bosom. A man might wonder what she’d look like in an evening gown, when a bit of décolletage was allowed.
“That explains it,” she said, and then she scowled at him. “Now you look at my bubbies. Why couldn’t you have done that when your sister was here?”
By sheer force of will, Dane bit back his reply. He’d been caught looking, like a naughty boy, and he jerked his gaze back to her face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” And when had he become such a complete prig? He deserved the eye roll she gave him. “That explains what?” he said, grasping at their earlier conversation, at anything to turn the topic from her “bubbies.” He cleared his throat. “You do not approve of Parliament?”
“What’s it ever done for me?”
“Quite a lot, actually—”
“Pish,” she said, waving her hand. “You don’t care about the likes of me. You care about them Frenchies or your fancy country houses. What about the orphans? What about the bawds selling their bodies to feed their brats? No one cares about them.”
“That’s not true. There are plenty of men acting on behalf of the lower classes and less fortunate.” Not that he was one of them. “Look at William Wilberforce and the Slave Trade Act.”
“Never heard of him.”
Dane was not surprised. “You speak of orphans or fallen women. There are places of refuge—”
“Ha! Workhouses? You think anyone can survive in a place like that? Better to stay on the street, where at least you’re free.”
“Then the lower classes deserve their fate. The government cannot help those who don’t want it.” There was the prig again.
“True enough. I don’t want the kind of help you’re offering.” She turned away from him, but Dane caught her elbow and turned her back. He forced himself to restrict his touch to her elbow.
“What kind of help do you want, Marlowe?”
She tugged on her arm, but he didn’t release it. Susanna hadn’t given Marlowe gloves either, and he could feel her silky skin under his fingertips. Amazing that a woman who had lived such a hard life managed to possess such silky skin.
“Let us assume, for the moment, you are not Lady Elizabeth. In which case we—or Brook, at least—owe you something for the inconvenience of abducting you and holding you here.”
“About time you realized that.” She yanked her elbow again, but Dane only yanked back, pulling her closer. That was a mistake. His gaze wanted to drop to her generous breasts again.
“What is it you want? Blunt? How much? Five pounds? Ten? That’s a fortune for someone like you.”
She stared at him. He was close enough to see the exact color of her eyes now, so impossibly blue. “Books,” she said simply.
Dane dropped her elbow. He’d been so certain she would want the blunt. “Books? Why? You can’t read.”
She scowled and walked away from him. “You wouldn’t understand.”
But he did. He might be a bit slow today—dazzled as he was by the transformation in her—but he was not a complete and utter fool. “You want to learn to read?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Perhaps Susanna might teach you.” He sauntered over to one of the library’s bookcases. “Which book to begin with?” he wondered aloud.
“I know the one I want,” she said, surprising him.
“What is it?”
“Your sister has it in her room. It’s Shakespeare.”
Dane felt his brows rise higher. “That seems a bit…challenging.”
“That’s what I want to read.”
The sound of footsteps outside the door made both of them turn. Susanna pushed it open farther, and said, “Here we are!” She held a pair of leather half boots in her hand. “Try these.”
Marlowe’s eyes widened. “Those are too fine.”
“Put them on.” Dane watched as Susanna handed them to her, and Marlowe sat on the chair before his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and pulled on a boot. She was displaying quite a bit of ankle and calf, but he tried not to look. Tried not to imagine tracing the slope of her calf with his tongue. He cleared his throat. “Susanna, Marlowe tells me you have a volume of Shakespeare in your room.”
She blushed. “Oh.” She looked down. “I know Mama doesn’t like me to read Shakespeare, but—”
“I don’t care what you read. Marlowe was hoping to learn to read it.”
“Really?” Susanna’s face brightened, though Dane was not certain if the change was because he approved of the Shakespeare or because he’d given her a task to complete.
“You don’t have to teach me,” Marlowe said, switching legs and sliding the other boot on. “I didn’t win the bet.”
“What bet?” Dane asked.
“Nothing,” Susanna said quickly. “I would have given you the book anyway. Oh, do stand up, so we can see.” She gestured to Marlowe, who rose and pushed a toe out. Dane had little interest in women’s boots, but he would admit Marlowe looked very well in them. A pretty gold necklace, a smart hat, some gloves, and she would look like any other lady of his acquaintance. Astounding. He would never have imagined the dirt-covered urchin he’d hauled into the kitchens last night could look so lovely this morning. Almost like one of them.
The door opened, and Crawford entered.
“Oh, Crawford, I am glad you are here,” Susanna said. “Would you ask one of the chambermaids to bring down the volume of”—she looked about, probably to ensure her mother was not near—“Shakespeare beside my bed?”
“Yes, my lady. My lord, your brother has returned.” He did not add prodigal, but Dane did it for him.
“Thank God.” Dane started for the door. “Where is he?”
“He retired directly to his room, my lord. He asked not to be disturbed.”
Dane glowered. “Oh, he did, did he? We’ll see about that.” And he stomped out of the library.
“Dane!” Susanna called. “May we use the library?”
“It is at your disposal, dear sister.” Dane took the steps two at a time and did not pause to knock on Brook’s door. He pushed it open and walked in on Brook’s valet, who was collecting Brook’s soiled clothes from the royal-blue-and-gold Aubusson rug. “Where is he, Hunt?”
“In his dressing room, my lord. Shall I fet—”
Dane strode into the room, where Brook stood in a dressing robe. His blondish-brown hair was slicked back from his forehead and dripped onto the robe’s collar. “I think the blue coat today, Hunt,” he said, turning toward Dane. “But you’re not Hunt.”
Dane glowered further, if that was possible. “No, I am not. Where the bloody, goddamn hell have you been?”
Brook raised a brow. “Rough night?” He moved toward the door and gestured for Dane to follow him. Dane trudged after him.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. You left that little hellion here under my care.”
“Hellion?” For a moment his brother appea
red confused. Dane was going to strangle him. “Ah, Lady Elizabeth.” Brook glanced at his valet, who appeared quite absorbed in his task of folding clothes over and over. “Hunt, I think the blue coat today.”
“There’s very little of the lady about her.”
Brook nodded. “She is a bit rough.”
“A bit rough? The chit almost killed me last night. She had a dagger in her boot, and I woke with it pressed to my throat.” Very well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but there had been a dagger, and she might have pressed it to his throat, given a few more minutes.
Brook frowned. “Was she sleeping in your room?”
“Where was I supposed to put her? In Susanna’s room?”
“What about one of the guest rooms?”
“Then we would have awakened to find her gone, and the house robbed of everything not nailed down.”
“Ah.” Brook had the gall to look thoughtful. Thoughtful! After the night Dane had spent! “She is resistant to the idea that she’s Lady Elizabeth.”
“What gave you that idea? When we had to abduct her? When we brought her kicking and screaming into the house?”
“Where is she now?” Brook asked as his valet returned, arms laden with clothing. Brook handed his man the dressing gown and pulled on breeches. It occurred to Dane that Brook was very possibly dressing to go out.
“Where the devil are you going?”
“Bow Street. I have an important piece of information regarding one of my investigations.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Dane said. “I forbid it. You will deal with that woman first.”
“I have dealt with her,” Brook said, accepting his valet’s help with his shirt. “I sent word to Lord and Lady Lyndon’s town house.”
“And? When will they be here to collect her?”
Brook raised his chin as Hunt tied his cravat. “I cannot say. Their knocker had been removed, and when the man I sent inquired of the servants, the butler informed him that the marquess and his wife were in Scotland, hunting.”
“Scotland?” Dane felt the floor drop away beneath him. He swayed.
“Yes, annual trip, it seems. I will send word to their hunting lodge in Scotland, of course, but—”
“That will take days to reach them,” Dane finished. Not to mention the days it would take for them to journey back, and that was if they left immediately.
“It’s the height of the Season. Who the hell goes hunting in Scotland?”
Brook shrugged. “Apparently, this is the time one stalks roe deer bucks.” He stuck an arm into his coat, followed by the other. Hunt struggled to pull the tight garment into place.
“If you think you’re going somewhere without Marlowe—Lady Elizabeth—think again. I am not her guardian.”
“Fine. I will take her with me. How much trouble can she be?” he said with an eye roll. “You act as though she is a dangerous criminal, rather than a defenseless girl who is the victim of such criminals.”
Dane stared at Brook. “Whatever that girl is, she’s no victim.”
“Where is she now?” Brook asked, starting for the door of his bedchamber. “I’ll fetch her and be on my way.”
“In the library,” Dane said, following. Why the hell was he always following his brother? It should have been the other way around. “Susanna is teaching her to read Shakespeare.”
“Ah, dangerous criminal activity. Shakespeare. I shudder to think what might come next. Byron? Say it isn’t so.”
“Stubble it,” Dane said, a warning in his voice. The two brothers were halfway down the stairs when they heard the commotion. Dane merely frowned at the sound of a man speaking rapidly to Crawford. Brook hurried forward. But as Dane approached the scene, he saw why his brother had been concerned. The man standing in their vestibule—well, leaning against a side table, if one was to be precise—clutched his ribs and dripped blood on the floor.
“Farquhar? What happened, man?” Brook asked
“Just a scratch,” Mr. Farquhar said in a scratchy Scottish accent. “But you are needed immediately, Sir Brook.”
“Of course. I’ll come directly.”
“Oh, no, you won’t!” Dane yelled even as Brook assisted Farquhar through the door Crawford held open. “You’ll bring that little thief with you!”
Brook threw a scowl over his shoulder. “No time for that now, Dane,” he said in a tone that implied this should be patently obvious. “I’ll come back for her in an hour.” And with that, he crawled into a carriage behind the wounded man and was gone.
Dane stood staring at the street, and then he looked at Crawford. “He won’t be back within the hour, will he?”
“No, my lord.”
“We are stuck with her, aren’t we, Crawford?”
“Yes, my lord.”
And that was when they heard the scream.
Seven
“What is the meaning of this?” the Countess of Dane demanded from the entrance to the library. Marlowe did not jump, only because she was accustomed to such unexpected outbursts from Satin. Poor Susanna leapt almost a foot in her chair. They’d been seated behind Dane’s desk, the book of poems laid out before them.
“Mother!” Susanna jumped to her feet. Marlowe did the same, figuring that imitating Susanna was probably wise at this point.
“What is that—that person still doing here?”
“She—” Susanna began.
“And why is she wearing one of your gowns, Susanna?”
“I should hardly think it proper for her to wear trousers, Mama,” Susanna stuttered. Marlowe noted Susanna was shaking all over, her hands trembling, and a subtle quake vibrating through her thin body.
“And what is this?” the woman asked as she strode forward and snatched the book from the desk.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Marlowe said, snatching it back. But the countess had seen.
“Shakespeare? You are reading Shakespeare? That is highly inappropriate for a young lady such as yourself. And you”—she gestured to Marlowe—“how dare you pull that book out of my hands? Who do you think you are?”
“Who do you think you are?” Marlowe shot back. “This is my book. She gave it to me.”
“This is it. The end!” Lady Dane said with a whirl. Just then Dane and his butler barreled into the room.
“Mother, what happened?”
“Do not Mother me,” Lady Dane replied, pointing a finger at him. Apparently, no one was free from her censure. The butler quickly slipped away, and Marlowe wished she could do the same. “I have had enough of this person and her antics. Where is your brother? He must take her away immediately.”
Dane glanced at her, and Marlowe felt a shiver of unease crawl up her spine. Now where were they going to keep her?
“About Brook,” Dane began.
“Oh, never mind!” Lady Dane said with a wave of her imperious hand. “If she will not leave, we will. Susanna, have Maggie pack your things. We will go to Northbridge Abbey.”
“The country?” Susanna asked, her brows high. “But it is the height of the Season.”
“I do not care if the king invited you to dine, we will not spend another minute in this house with that person.” She pointed at Marlowe again, and Marlowe stuck her tongue out.
“Marlowe!” Dane warned her.
“Yes, Mother,” Susanna said, sending Marlowe a regretful look. Marlowe sighed. So much for her chance to have a female friend.
The door opened again, and the butler cleared his throat. “The Duchess of Abingdon is here. Shall I show her to the drawing room?”
“Her Grace?”
Marlowe marveled at how quickly the countess’s red cheeks lost all of their coloring and her skin turned deathly pale.
“It is our at-home day,” Susanna said. Marlowe did not know what that meant, but apparently it ha
mpered the plan to run away before Marlowe could infect them with her undesirability.
“How could I have forgotten? You”—she pointed to Marlowe—“stay here. If the duchess sees you—”
“Must I be kept waiting all day?” an imperious voice intoned from the vestibule. “Or do you possess a drawing room where I might at least sit down?” A woman dressed in dark purple appeared behind the butler. She was short and round, but the most regal woman Marlowe had ever seen. She tapped the butler with her walking stick and stepped into the library. Her gaze swept over the company. “This is quite the gathering.”
“Duchess!” the countess said, hastily moving to block the woman’s view of Marlowe. She bent her knees—what was that thing called again?—and made a show of fawning over the older woman. “We are so delighted by your call. Please, do allow me to show you to the drawing room. Crawford, ring for tea. Susanna!”
Susanna raced to her mother’s side, eager to follow the countess’s orders. But the duchess did not move. Her gaze rose until she was looking at Dane in the face. He came forward, bowed, and kissed her gloved hand. “Duchess.”
“Lord Dane, how lovely to see you. Come, you must sit with us for a quarter hour. It will not be too much of an imposition, I hope.”
“Not at all, Duchess.” Dane gave the woman a smile Marlowe did not think she had seen him use before. She did not know how to term it, except extremely charming.
“And who is this young lady?” the duchess asked, gesturing to Marlowe.
“No one!” the countess said at the same time Dane said, “A distant cousin.”
The duchess’s brows rose. The countess pressed her lips together and said stiffly, “She is a distant cousin come to visit for a very short while. You will be quite well in the library, will you not, Miss…”
“Marlowe,” Susanna supplied.
“Rubbish.” The duchess waved an arm. “She must join us for tea.” The woman led the countess and Lady Susanna out of the room, while Dane stayed behind, presumably to collect Marlowe.
Marlowe shook her head when the duchess was through the door. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered.