by Shana Galen
“These people aren’t a problem. They are people. Just because they weren’t born in Mayfair doesn’t make them any less human.” She turned, giving him her back. She didn’t want to hear his rhetoric at the moment.
“You’re right,” he said simply.
She turned back, her eyes widening. “What did you say?”
“You’re right. They are humans. They deserve to live with dignity and respect. And the children—” He shook his head. “Ghastly that children should have to live this way. I should help feed them.”
She blinked at him. “Are you feeling well?”
“No, not particularly. The stench is awful, I could use a good brandy, and I’m angry. Something should be done to address this.”
She stared at him, unable to speak for a long, long moment.
“And if I survive until tomorrow, I will draft a bill to that point.” His gaze met hers. “You’ve changed me, Marlowe. I look at you, and I imagine you as a little girl on these streets, and I want to protect you. I want to help you.” He looked about. “I want to help all of them.”
She might have kissed him in that moment. If they hadn’t been in the middle of Seven Dials and her dressed as a boy, she might have done it. She loved him so much in that moment—not for how he made her feel when he looked at her or touched her or kissed her, but for who he was. She’d seen the kindness, the goodness inside him. She’d seen it in others and always thought it a weakness. But now she saw it could be a strength too. Perhaps he—they—really could affect a change.
And then she shook her head. What did she have to do with it? She didn’t even know how to read more than the most basic words. He wouldn’t want her help. He might have enjoyed her body, been intrigued by the differences between them, but it wasn’t as though he wanted a partner, a…wife. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel elated that he’d been changed by her words. That he respected her enough to listen when she spoke, to take her words to heart.
A movement behind her caught her eye, and she took his elbow. “We should keep moving.”
He nodded, his walking stick thumping the ground beside them. “I think first the issue of honest work must be addressed. And wages. We can’t forget that.”
She was listening with only half her attention. She’d seen the boys they’d passed earlier move closer, and now that she was leading Dane away, the boys had begun to follow. That was not a good sign. On her own, she could have lost them. She could have made for the flash ken and had the whole gang at her back. But how could she lose them with Dane to look out for? The gang wouldn’t fight for a swell. They’d leave him to the dogs.
“And orphanages. We need more.”
“No, you need to reform those you have. Speak to Gideon on that subject.”
“Your friend?” he said, slowing his steps. “He knows something about it, then?”
“Dane—”
“I suppose I could conduct an inquiry.”
“Dane.” Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest. She didn’t dare look behind her, because she knew the moment she did, the boys would pounce. Dane was still talking, obviously completely unaware of the danger.
“But should it be an official inquiry?”
“Maxwell!”
“What on earth is wrong?”
She took his hand. “Run!”
***
She yanked him so hard he almost protested, but that was before he heard the yell behind him. He tried to turn and see where the noise originated.
“Don’t look. Run!”
And so he ran. He could not remember the last time he’d run. It had been years, and his legs were unaccustomed to the movement. But he was no stranger to exertion—whether it be on horseback or in the fencing studio—and he had no trouble keeping pace with her. He was certainly not as graceful as she. She darted around stray dogs, jumped over broken furnishings littering the streets, and deftly parted the small groups of ubiquitous beggars and children. And still the feet pounding behind them did not slow. No one offered to help. Indeed, most of Seven Dials seemed not to notice or care about the two people being chased by three young boys.
They rounded a corner, turning onto another street, and Marlowe lost her cap. She reached for it, but her nimble fingers missed for once, and it went rolling into a fetid pool of stagnant liquid. She let it go, and as Dane raced by, a child eagerly snatched it up. This street was a bit more crowded with carts and wagons, and she had to slow. She glanced over her shoulder, obviously didn’t like what she saw, and cut down a narrow alley. Dane followed her into the dark passageway and glanced up at the buildings crouching above. The structures were so bowed they blocked out what little light managed to penetrate the gray clouds.
“Quick!” she said, pausing with hands on knees to catch her breath. “We can slip out the other side and lose them.”
Dane was breathing too hard to speak, but he squinted his eyes down the dark alley. A pair of yellow cat eyes blinked back at him. He saw no exit through the darkness, but she knew the terrain better than he. She reached for his hand, and they linked fingers. Dane had the urge to look down at their joined hands. Hers was small and streaked with dirt. His was larger, darker, and had a few questionable smudges as well. But for the first time, he felt as though he was part of something. It was a strange feeling, one he realized he’d always sought but never found. Not at school, not at home, not in Parliament, not in the lofty gentlemen’s clubs. How strange to feel it here, with her, in the middle of the slums.
But it was oddly right. The two of them together against the world—or at least their current pursuers. She tugged at him, urging him forward, and he met her gaze. With her dark hair tumbling about her shoulders, and her cheeks flushed from the run, she was breathtaking. He would have followed her anywhere. They started down the alley, startling another cat, who hissed at them then darted under a refuse pile. Behind them, he heard voices and knew their pursuers had found them.
“Almost there,” Marlowe said. “These streets are like a rabbit’s warren. They twist and turn. We can lose them.” She rushed forward, and then came to a sliding stop.
“What the—” But Dane didn’t need to ask. He saw the man step out of the shadows. He whipped his head back to look behind him, and the three boys—where had this one come from?—stood blocking the exit. They were trapped.
“Beezle?” Marlowe said, her voice incredulous. “What are you doing?”
He moved forward, and Dane had the impression of a youth of middling height. But unlike the boys behind them, this one had some brawn. His hair was dark, as were his eyes, and Dane didn’t particularly like the sneer on his thin lips. “What Satin should have done a long time ago.”
Dane peered behind them. The three boys had slowed to a walk now, but they were steadily advancing. Marlowe kept her gaze on the one she’d called Beezle. “If Satin didn’t send you, then you’d best let us pass.”
“Why? So you can lure him into yer trap? He might have fallen for your cock-and-bull story, but I won’t.”
“Jealous because he left you out?” Marlowe crossed her arms. She didn’t appear concerned at all. The woman was quite obviously daft.
“Marlowe…”
“If you touch me,” she said to Beezle, “he’ll hear about it, and then they’ll be fishing you out of the river.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Beezle moved forward. “It’s worth it to get rid of you.”
She shrugged. “You’re welcome to try.”
“Or”—Dane stepped between them—“we might come to some other sort of agreement. Perhaps Marlowe and I might pay for our passage.”
Beezle shook his head. “I think I’ll kill you first.”
“You’ll have to go through me.” She moved quickly, darting to the right and catching his boot with her foot. He wavered but didn’t go down. She was behind him now, and Dane had thre
e behind and Beezle in front.
“Run!” he called to her. This was her chance to escape. “I can take them.”
She rolled her eyes—annoying habit, that—and jumped on Beezle’s back. “Get them,” Beezle ordered his cronies, and the three boys charged. Dane raised his walking stick, and the lads paused. Dane waved it about menacingly, keeping the boys at arms’ length. He peered over his shoulder and saw Beezle had backed against a wall and was ramming Marlowe, who was still on his back, into it. For her part, she had her arms wrapped so tightly about his neck, his face was turning a deep shade of crimson.
“Certain you don’t want to take the money?” Dane said to Beezle.
“And trust the likes of you?” he wheezed, slamming Marlowe back again. Dane winced. “Find another bubble.”
Dane felt a tug on his walking stick and yanked it back, only to find one of the lads had a firm grip on it. Dane shook his head. “I didn’t want to have to do this.”
He pressed a small lever at the handle, and the sheath detached. The boy stumbled back, and Dane brandished his sharp rapier. One of the boys charged him, and with a deft slash, Dane cut a neat slice through the material of his shirt. Another boy came at him, and Dane lopped off a lock of his long brown hair. The boys assessed the damage, then looked at Beezle. Dane didn’t take his eyes from the lads, but he could hear the sounds of struggle behind him had ceased.
“What are you waiting for?” Beezle yelled hoarsely.
“’E’s got a porker!” the boy with the newly trimmed hair shouted.
“And do not doubt I know how to use it,” Dane said calmly. “Years of fencing training. I can carve you like roast lamb. Or you can run away now and live. The choice is yours completely.”
The boys looked at the sword then looked at Beezle, and as one, they turned and ran. Dane swung around and pointed the rapier at Beezle. He still had Marlowe pinned to the wall, and she still had her arms wrapped around his neck. “Let her go,” Dane said.
“She’s got me,” he wheezed. Dane took a step forward, pointing the rapier’s tip at the spot on Beezle’s neck where Marlowe’s arms intersected.
“Release him, Marlowe.”
Slowly, her hands dropped away. Dane took a step back. “Now, Mr. Beezle, you move forward. One step. That’s right. Another.”
Marlowe slid out from behind him, and Beezle tried to grab her, but Dane pressed the sword tip against his throat, and the man ended up backing into the wall, his neck craned high. Dane cut his gaze to Marlowe. “What would you like me to do with him?”
She was staring at him, her expression unreadable. “I’d like to say skewer him.”
“Very well.” He dug the blade in deeper, until a trickle of blood meandered down Beezle’s dirty neck.
“But,” Marlowe interjected, “I’m not a miller, so maybe we tie him up and leave him here until our business tonight is done.”
“Very good,” Dane said. “And what should we use to tie him?”
She moved toward him, and he felt her hands at his throat. His cravat came loose and tumbled down his shirt, and she pulled it free. “You realize I haven’t another with me?” he said.
“You’ll have to make do without.”
He sighed.
“I know,” she said, shaking the fine linen out. “The horror of not being properly dressed.” She motioned to Beezle. “Turn and put your hands behind you.”
Dane moved the sword back a fraction of an inch, and with a look that would have melted ice, Beezle turned, pushing his face into the wall of the building. Marlowe took his hands and tied them tightly. “You’ll pay for this,” he said, his voice muffled. “One way or another, I’ll make you pay.”
“You’re lucky I don’t have him bloody you a bit more. I can think of a few choice appendages he might slice off.”
Wisely, in Dane’s opinion, Beezle didn’t reply. Marlowe pushed him to his knees and moved to Dane’s side. Dane nodded. “Appendages. Nice word choice.”
She grinned at him. “I’m learning.” She glanced up at the sky, ostensibly to check the time. Dane didn’t know how she could ascertain anything, as the sky looked as gray and overcast as it had before, but she said, “We’d better go, or we’ll be late to meet Satin.”
Dane moved to fetch the sheath for his walking stick, fitted it back into place over his blade, and straightened his coat. “After you.”
She led him out of the alley, without a backward glance for Beezle. When they were strolling on the street, past public houses rapidly filling with patrons, he said, “I’m certainly glad you didn’t make me cut him. I shudder to think how Tibbs would have removed the blood from this coat.”
“You’re concerned about your coat?”
He didn’t have to see her to know she was rolling her eyes.
“That, and I feel queasy at the sight of blood. Not a very manly thing to admit, but there it is.”
She glanced at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a tilter?”
“A rapier? You never asked.”
“Is there anything else you’re hiding?” She arrowed east, toward the river and the docks.
“A gentleman never tells.”
Seventeen
Marlowe could feel the heat of Dane’s body as he crouched beside her behind a short wall hidden in the shadows near the dockside warehouse where they would soon meet Satin. They were close enough to the river that if she looked up, the sky was blotted out by the forest of masts on the Thames. Elsewhere, she could hear the rattle of the night coaches and the clang of a ship’s bell. The River Police were apt to be patrolling nearby, and she kept her head down and her voice low. They’d been there over an hour, and the bells of St. George in the east had just rung eleven times. One more hour, and then Satin would be gone. The man who had dominated her life, dominated her, would be safely in prison.
If Sir Brook made an appearance. Had Gideon been able to reach the inspector, or were she and Dane shivering in the cold for no reason? Well, Dane wasn’t shivering. He felt perfectly warm. She had the urge to lean into him and steal some of that warmth, but she resisted. She needed all of her wits about her now as she peered into the darkness, hoping to see Sir Brook. All would be lost if he made an appearance at the wrong moment. And if Satin arrived early, as he very well might in order to look at the place, she did not want to be taken by surprise. Marlowe knew once she succumbed to Dane’s warmth, she would forget all about the game.
It wasn’t simply that she enjoyed being kissed by him, being pressed against his lovely body, or being held. It was more. Ever since she’d watched him wield that tilter in the alley, she felt that strange fluttering in her belly. Dane had said it was arousal. If that was true, she was still aroused. She hadn’t known a man could look like that when holding a tilter. She hadn’t known Dane could look so powerful. For once she had dropped her defenses. She’d never been able to trust another person to defend her, protect her. Of course, Gideon had saved her many times, but he’d left her to fend on her own plenty, too. She’d always taken that as a compliment. He knew she could defend herself. But was it not a compliment that Dane had defended her? And why shouldn’t she desire a man who could steer her through the fanciest ball and keep her safe in the seediest alley?
She definitely desired him. She desired him more than she ought. She was still in love with him. She’d thought it was her climax that had made her mistake lust for love, but she hadn’t been in the throes of passion in that alley. Why then should her heart swell and tighten in a feeling she could identify only as one she’d so very rarely felt? Love. Even now her heart soared when she caught a glimpse of Dane from the corner of her eye. He was here, with her, and she never, never wanted to be apart from him.
Dangerous thoughts, considering the two of them came from very different worlds. They had no future, even if she was Lady Elizabeth. Dane would marry a woman who could m
ake him a respectable countess, not a woman who had been—who might still be—nothing more than a light-fingered rook.
“Something moved over there,” Dane murmured close to her ear. His breath heated her skin, and she tried to ignore the shiver that radiated out from the point of contact.
“Where?” It was probably a tibby, but she could not afford not to be cautious. She peered behind her, at the drag and prancer Dane had managed to procure.
“No. This way. Two o’clock.”
She glanced at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “It can’t be half-eleven. I just heard the bells.”
He gave her a long look. “No, the movement was at…do you know how to tell time?”
Her cheeks burned, because even though she did not clearly understand him, she understood there was yet another area where she was lacking, and he had discovered it. “I can hear the bells on the church towers. I can count.”
“But you can’t read a clock,” he murmured. “I shall have to rectify that. Look to the right.” Keeping his hand low, he gestured. “Right about there.”
She followed the angle of his fingers and squinted. Nothing there, not even a cat. And then one of the shadows shifted. If she hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she took in a sharp, silent breath.
It could be anyone—Satin, Sir Brook, a constable, a passerby. Whoever it was did not want to be seen, and that was likely a bad sign.
“Do you see it?” Dane whispered against her neck. Oh, how she wished he would stop doing things like that. She had to focus! She nodded and turned to press her lips to his ear. He smelled lovely, clean despite where they were and where they’d been.
Trying not to breathe too deeply, she murmured, “Stay here. I’ll have a look.” She slinked to the side, but Dane grabbed her ankle and hauled her back. She tossed him an angry look, but he bent over her, leaning close. How could she help but think of the position they were in? He was leaning over her, weight braced on his elbows, his body but inches from covering hers. She took a shaky breath. This mix of arousal and danger was distracting.