by Shana Galen
“Don’t stand up for me. If he calls me names or kicks me, you can’t intervene.”
Dane blew out a breath, and she felt the warm air on the back of her neck. “I cannot guarantee that.”
She turned and almost stumbled back against the bookshelf. Dane was quite close. “You have to. He’s not going to hurt me. Not yet, anyway. He still needs me. I’m safe while he needs me.”
Dane raised his hand and cupped her cheek. “What you must have been through, Marlowe.” He ran a thumb over her cheek. “I wish I could take it all away.”
What a strange thing to say. The touch of his thumb made her skin heat further. Her heart was pounding now, and she feared she really was not well. “You can’t do that,” she said, her voice far more breathless than she had intended.
“Do what?”
“Touch me like this.”
“I see. It’s more indication that I care about you.”
“I didn’t say that. I just said you can’t appear like you care. Not that you do care.”
“And what if I told you I do care? What if I told you I care a great deal about you?”
She shook her head. She didn’t know the game he was playing, and she didn’t want to understand it. She wanted to get away. Of course, if she’d wanted to move away, there was no reason she couldn’t. He wasn’t in her path. Her legs simply refused to move.
“You wouldn’t believe me, would you? No one has ever cared about you.”
No one had, not like this, at any rate. Gideon was her friend, and he’d done what he could to protect her, but he protected a lot of the cubs.
“Why would they?” she said. “I’m no one. I’m worse than no one. I’m a thief.”
“I can’t answer for the foolishness of everyone else who has ever met you, but I can tell you why I care about you.”
He was standing far too close, and his thumb was making delicious circles on her cheek, dipping down to her jaw. She wished he would move away. If she cast up her accounts on his shoes, he would not feel nearly as tenderly about her. For some reason, she wanted to keep his good opinion. “Why?” she asked, knowing she should not ask, and unable to stop herself.
“Why do I like you? Oh, I’ve a weakness for intelligent women. I don’t meet many.” His thumb dipped down to her neck, brushing over the flesh until she shivered.
“Y-you think I’m intelligent?”
“Perhaps cunning is a better word.”
She frowned. “I can’t even read.”
“You’ll learn to in no time. Do you know what else I like about you?” His fingers stroked her neck, feathering down to her shoulder. “I like that you’re unpretentious.”
“Is that good?”
“Very good in my world. And, unlike most women I meet, you have an appetite.”
“You mean I’m hungry?”
“Exactly.” His hand slid down her arm and encased her hand in his warm one.
“But Crawford said I have the manners of a swine.”
Dane laughed. “And you didn’t strike him?”
“He moved too quickly.” She smiled back.
Dane inhaled slowly. “And, of course, there’s that.”
“That?”
“Your smile. You’re beautiful when you smile.” He squeezed her hand, and she looked down at their linked fingers.
“If you’re to convince Satin you don’t care about me, you shouldn’t do that.”
“Hold your hand? What about this?” He released her hand and wrapped an arm about her waist, drawing her closer to his broad chest and the warmth of his body. He smelled faintly of soap and a musky spice.
“Not a good idea.”
“No?” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, her eyelid, her nose, her cheek. “I shouldn’t do that either.”
“Definitely not.”
“And this”—he brushed his lips over hers—“is a very bad idea.”
She murmured something incomprehensible, because she could no longer think. His lips, like his body, were warm and tasted slightly of coffee, sugar, and cream. His hand on her back flattened, and she felt thrilling little zings where his fingers pressed into her flesh. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue dipping inside to tease her and make her want more. When he broke the kiss, they were both breathless. “It’s helpful to do this now,” he said. “Just so we’re clear on the rules.”
“That was definitely against them.”
“No kissing on the lips. Understood. What about here?” He touched her neck then brushed it with his lips. She almost jumped from the sensation.
“Def—”
But she didn’t finish before his lips skated up her nape to tease her earlobe. And then he slid back down again, kissing her tenderly in the hollow at the base of her throat. “Is that allowed?” he asked, his breath feathering lightly against her skin.
“No.”
“Shall I stop?”
“No.” That was the wrong answer. She should have said yes, but she couldn’t think. Her head was muddled with the mystery ailment, and she couldn’t seem to make wise decisions. His lips felt so pleasant against her skin, so warm and delicious. She really didn’t want him to stop.
He bent lower, his lips teasing the modest neckline of her blue day dress. His fingers caressed the small pins holding the bodice in place, and he looked up at her. His brown eyes were large with desire, but there was a sense of the playful too. He reminded her of a mischievous cub.
And then he withdrew the first pin.
She felt her own eyes widen.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as he withdrew another pin. His gaze was on her, not on the work of his fingers, but she could see the line of flesh he exposed, could feel the material dip where it had been secured over her breasts.
“I…”
Another pin fell victim.
“Yes?”
“W-what are you going to do?”
“Kiss you.” Another pin opened, and the bodice folded over. “Nothing more.” He reached up and pushed the material down from her bosom. She was still dressed. She wore stays and the chemise under the gown, but she was quite aware that the stays pushed her bubbies up so they swelled over the top of the chemise. And now they were aching uncomfortably. They felt heavy, and the points were hard and sensitive.
His warm hands slid down, curving so they rested on either side of her chest, just on her ribs and directly under her breasts. “May I?” he asked, ever the gentleman.
Yes, she thought. Whatever he was asking, the answer was yes. “May…” She could not seem to utter a word. Her tongue felt clumsy in her mouth.
“May I kiss you?” One of his thumbs extended, brushing over her hard point. “Here?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said. “I think I might have died if you’d said no.” He lowered his lips and brushed them against the swells of her flesh. Her skin tingled, and she felt a shot of heat in her lower belly. With his tongue, he traced a path to the other side and gave her tiny, torturous kisses. At some point she’d grabbed his arms, and she dug her fingers in now, using his strength to keep herself upright. Her legs felt wobbly. Judging by her list of symptoms, she probably had the plague.
He dipped his tongue in the crease between her cleavage, and she let out a low moan. Inexplicably, she arched her back, pushing herself toward him.
“More?” he asked.
She should say no, but she wanted to see what else he would do. “If Satin suspects—”
“He’s not here,” Dane said, his breath warm on her flesh. “And I want to see you. May I see you?” His gaze was on her again, and he waited ever so patiently for her response. Marlowe knew if she told him no, he would stop. He would never have forced himself on her, though he was strong enough to overpower her. Not that he would have needed much stre
ngth, considering her current condition.
“Yes,” she heard herself say.
“Thank you,” he said simply. She almost wanted to smack him for his politeness, and then he reached up and tugged her chemise down, revealing her. She thought he might push his face into her chest, as she’d seen men do to the bawds at the Rouge Unicorn Cellar, but Dane didn’t move at all. He merely looked at her, and he looked for so long she began to think there might be something wrong.
“I know they’re big. Too big,” she said. She moved to tug her chemise back, but he caught her hand.
“They’re perfect,” he said. His gaze met hers again. “You are perfect.”
“No, I’m not. And they’re not perfect. They’re a nuisance, especially when I need to look like a boy.”
“But I don’t want you to look like a boy,” he said. “You have the body of a woman with all of its curves.” One hand caressed the slope of her heavy flesh, warming her. “And softness.” He cupped her and squeezed gently. “And the hardness too.” One of his thumbs brushed over her distended peak, making her gasp. “I like your nipples most of all,” he said. “They’re hard and pink and waiting for me to kiss them. May I kiss you here?” His thumbs caressed her nipples, and she thought she might die from the pleasure of his touch.
“Oh, yes.”
He smiled and looked down at her chest again, at her nipples. “First I will kiss you here.” He traced his lips over the swell of her bubbies and then around and down underneath. She trembled as he repeated the gesture on the other side. And then his thumb brushed against a nipple again, rolling it in a circle, while his wet, warm mouth closed on the other. At first his tongue teased her flesh, swirling around and flicking her until she was breathless. And then, even as his finger plucked at her exposed nipple, his lips closed on the other, and he sucked gently.
A shot of pure pleasure ripped through her, and she moaned despite herself. He’d pushed her up against the bookshelf now, and she could feel the spines of the volumes cool and hard against her warm back. He licked her again, and then his thumb replaced his tongue, and he took her other nipple into his mouth. It felt even better than the first, and she couldn’t stop her head from lolling back until it pressed the books deeper into the shelf.
“You are so lovely,” Dane said, lifting his lips. She opened her eyes and saw he was looking up at her. “You cannot know how much I want you right now.”
“Show me,” she said, her voice husky as his hands cupped her again.
“I would like to, but I’m not going to take you here, against a library shelf.”
She closed her eyes then opened them again, trying to clear her head. What was she doing? She was no bawd. She didn’t want a swollen belly or a brat to care for. “We can’t do this.”
He didn’t argue. He merely nodded and released her. With care, he pulled her chemise back into place and tried to adjust her stays. She pushed his hands away. “I’ll do it.” She hadn’t noticed when he’d set the pins on the shelf, but now he gathered them and wordlessly handed them to her. Then he showed her his back, she assumed to give her privacy while she righted her dress. Her fingers shook when she tried to pin the material in place, but she finally managed it. By then her cheeks had cooled and she wasn’t quite so breathless.
“We should probably discuss our plan further,” he said, still giving her his back. “I assume the sooner we start, the sooner this will be over.”
She wanted to ask him what he meant by this. His dealings with her or the ordeal with Satin? But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “You may turn around now. If you’re ready, we can leave as soon as I tell you the game.”
Thirteen
Two hours later, Dane stood outside the Rouge Unicorn Cellar and decided he was daft. He supposed he had been to Seven Dials once or twice on some business, but he’d never been the sort of gentleman who liked to visit the rookeries. He knew young bucks who enjoyed that sort of thing. They liked the danger or the change of scenery or the knowledge they were defying their parents’ wishes. Dane liked comfort, a good brandy, and to keep the peace.
It was too late to keep the peace. His mother had left Derring House in a huff, and Marlowe had been disrupting his life since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. One look at the Rouge Unicorn Cellar, and he rather doubted he would have either comfort or good brandy inside. But he’d never been one to shirk his duty. He couldn’t leave Marlowe to deal with this Satin by herself, and Dane couldn’t risk his house being pilfered again, especially when his mother and sister might be home. Satin had to be stopped, and Marlowe thought she knew how to do it. Dane wasn’t entirely clear about her plan, either, but he knew his role. He was the youngest son of the Duke of Yorkshire. As far as he knew, there was no Duke of Yorkshire, but Marlowe hadn’t seemed concerned about that. She said the title sounded important and wealthy, and Dane doubted this Satin was the sort to read Debrett’s.
So here they stood, outside the public house in Seven Dials. She had paused to take stock of things, she said, and he gazed about him and resisted the urge to press a handkerchief to his nose. The stench was foul. Raw sewage lay in the streets wherever residents tossed it out windows. Piles of dirt and trash provided obstacles or convenient seats for the residents of the rookery. And Dane had the feeling every resident of the place was out of doors. Children were everywhere, swarming the streets, sitting in doorways, crawling in dirty alleys. Men and women alike sat idle on stoops or on the side of the street, appearing, for all intents and purposes, to simply be resting wherever they had fallen. He’d been propositioned by prostitutes at least half a dozen times since they’d walked past the large pillar that marked the entrance to Seven Dials. Marlowe, who was now dressed as a boy in trousers and a loose shirt, shooed the women away, sometimes calling them by name. The most recent altercation, with a woman Marlowe had called Cal, had almost come to blows. Marlowe had showed her dagger, and the woman backed down, grumbling all the way.
Dane wondered what he would have done if Marlowe had not won the day. Would he have been obliged to couple with the fearsome Cal? He shuddered. She’d had about three teeth in her mouth, something moving in her stringy hair, and open sores on her face. He did not think he could have completed the act if she’d been the one paying him.
He’d had his pocket picked several times too, and he wasn’t certain if he still possessed his handkerchief. After the first pickpocket lifted his purse, Marlowe had gone after the lad and retrieved it. She hadn’t given it back, either. The next few times, she’d just shooed the children away before he even knew he’d been targeted. So many children were begging and thieving. He should have looked around and felt vindicated. Wasn’t this what he argued in Parliament? The rookeries were breeding grounds for crime, full of lazy men and women who’d rather steal than do an honest day’s work. But he only felt sick as he looked around him at the sheer numbers of those suffering. It was overwhelming. England was supposed to be the greatest nation in the world. Why were these people allowed to live like this in the nation’s capital? And why hadn’t he ever cared before?
“Come on,” Marlowe said finally, gesturing toward the door of the public house. “Everyone’s asleep right now, but Satin usually posts a lookout. If we’ve been spotted, we’ll not be alone for long.”
Dane followed her into the dark tavern, stooping to pass through the low transom. Cheap candles burned inside, filling the room with the odor of tallow, but it was still difficult for him to see where he was stepping. “It doesn’t look like everyone is asleep,” he said, referring to the half-dozen men in the tavern and the prostitute looking to advertise her wares. “The streets were teeming with life.”
Marlowe shook her head. “Just wait until dark. In a few hours, the crowds will be so thick you’ll have to jostle to pass through. Let me speak to Barbara and secure a room.” She moved away, leaving him to stand alone in the center of the tavern.
&nbs
p; The prostitute was on him like a flea on a dog. “’Ello, guv.” She reached out and stroked her hand over his coat. “You look like a gent what knows how to have a good time. Marge here is a very good time.” She licked her lips in a way he supposed was an attempt to be lascivious, but the girl was painfully thin and younger than his sister. She looked healthier than the one Marlowe had called Cal, but not much.
“Have you eaten today?” he asked.
Marge’s thin brows rose. “Hopin’ a penny from you might buy me somethin’ to eat, guv.”
“Order whatever you like,” he said. “I’ll pay.”
Her eyes immediately turned suspicious. “And what do I have to do in return?”
“Nothing. I’m not interested in your services. You just look hungry.”
“I’m ’ungry too, guv,” the man at a nearby table said.
“And I’m thirsty,” a large man with a thin layer of dirt on his clothes called out. “Maybe you could buy us all a glass of Blue Ruin and a plate of meat and potatoes.”
Dane saw he had made a misstep. If he refused, the men would surely not take it kindly.
“He’s not buying anyone anything,” Marlowe said. Somehow she was at his side again, and this time she’d brought an older woman who wore a clean dress and apron. “He’s with me, and he doesn’t have a cent on him. I saved him from a gang outside St. Giles, who pilfered everything but the clothes on his back.”
A few of the patrons muttered curses, and Marge spit on his boots before Marlowe gave her a look that sent her running.
“What are you doing?” Marlowe hissed at him. “Are you trying to get your throat cut? We’re here to meet Satin, not attract every mort and rogue in the area.”
“My mistake,” Dane said, spreading his hands. “Just trying to help.”
“Don’t.”
The woman beside Marlowe cleared her throat, and Marlowe turned to her. “Lord Maxwell, this is Barbara.”
Barbara made a passable curtsy. “Your lordship. I’m right honored to have you in my establishment. Marlowe says you need a room.”