Earls Just Want to Have Fun (18 page)

“That was a kiss,” she said, her voice breathy. “Do it again.”

“
No.
” He held out a hand, as though to convince his body his mind meant what it had ordered his lips to convey. “We've already been away too long. We should make our excuses and return home.”

“Your home.”

“Yes. My town house.” He saw now he'd mussed her hair. The careful coiffure was ruined, pieces of hair beginning to spill down her dress. He doubted she knew how to fix it. Perhaps it would be better for him to make both of their excuses, fetch her wrap, and escort her out without going through the ballroom. There would be talk enough without adding to it by presenting her with a disheveled appearance. He bent to lift his gloves.

“And what happens when we return to your home?”

“We go to bed,” he said, pulling the gloves on. “Alone,” he added quickly. “Marlowe, this was a mistake. It cannot go any further.”

“Do you think I want it to? I'm not your ladybird.”

“No, you are not.” He tugged the last glove into place. “I will fetch your wrap and make our excuses. Do you mind waiting here? I'm afraid I've damaged your coiffure.”

“My what?”

“Your hair.”

She touched it. “Oh. You don't want them to know you were kissing me.”

“I don't care who knows, but it would be better for your reputation if we kept this between us.”

“Liar. You're terrified I'm not really Lady Elizabeth and everyone will know you were dancing with nothing but a thief from Seven Dials.”

The accusation stung, not least of all because there was truth in it. Dane straightened his coat. “I will return in a few moments. Stay here.” He turned and walked away from her, cursing because he had no one to blame but himself. He'd known he should not kiss her. Hell, he'd known he shouldn't allow Brook to bring her into Derring House. This was the inevitable result—an attack on his character from—

Damn it! She
was
a thief from Seven Dials. Even if she was Lady Elizabeth, she was a criminal as well. Was he supposed to ignore that fact? Was he supposed to forget he was an earl with the responsibility to uphold his family name? Was he supposed to pretend he'd never been held up by highwaymen or had his home ransacked? But he couldn't blame her for his lapse tonight. She was not the one with responsibilities to consider. He was treading a fine line with her, and he'd best remember which side to stay on.

Marlowe stood in the garden, feeling chilled now that Dane was walking away. She was a numbskull, forgetting for a moment who and what he was. It was the spark that had done it. She didn't know that kissing could feel like that. She felt sick to her stomach and shaky and terrified all at the same time. It was like suffering from a particularly awful ague, except she didn't want it to go away.

Something was definitely wrong with her. She wasn't thinking clearly. Why had she let him kiss her? Why had she asked him to kiss her again? She knew he didn't want her. She knew better than to let some swell paw at her, though he hadn't exactly pawed. He'd been tender and gentle, and that had been its own form of persuasion. If he'd grabbed her or been rough, she might have fought him. How did one fight against tenderness?

How did one remember he was a nob and she would never be anything but a villain? If she let him, he would use her, and then she'd end up with a swollen belly and a brat she couldn't care for. She'd be selling her body on the streets like every other bawd who'd been weak enough to listen to a man's charming words.

Marlowe wasn't a pigeon, easily duped and cheated.

“Well, well, well…”

Marlowe's back prickled, and she inhaled sharply before turning. She knew that voice, but he couldn't be here. She had to be imagining this. Satin stepped out of the shadows and gave her a low bow. “Don't you look like a frigot well rigged.”

She looked down at Susanna's gown and swallowed. A thousand questions filled her mind. How had he found her? How had he managed to sneak inside the garden? What did he intend to do to her now?

“Satin,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Let me see you, Marlowe.” He made a motion with his finger, encouraging her to turn for him. She stood rooted in place. “Turns out you're a rum blowen. Didn't think you had it in you, but you were hiding these looks under all that dirt.”

“How did you find me?” But she knew. The cub who had spotted her on the walk back from Hyde Park had snitched on her, sold her for a song, she was certain. And why not? In his place, she would have done the same. Satin was a powerful ally.

“The real question, Marlowe,” Satin said, leaning close and giving her a whiff of his fetid breath, “is why didn't you find me? Thought you were well rid of me, didn't ye?”

“No.” She shook her head. She'd never thought that, not really. She'd known he would find her, but she'd allowed herself to pretend she was safe.

“And don't tell me you were planning to bring me into this racket. I weren't born yesterday.”

“It's not a—” But she stopped herself. Satin would never believe her if she told him the truth, and it didn't matter anyway. He'd found her. The game was spoiled. “I didn't want to bring you in.” She had to leave here before Dane came back. She didn't want Satin to see him. Or maybe she didn't want Dane to see Satin. She was amazed at what only a day or so could do. Suddenly, Satin looked impossibly filthy. She'd always thought him a bit cleaner than the rest, but now it seemed he stank to heaven. “I've done the trick, and the game is over now.”

“Is it?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

She gestured to her gown. “We can sell this for a small fortune. The cubs will have full bellies tonight, and you'll have a bit left for yourself.” She'd have to find a way to make sure the gold necklace was returned to Susanna. Satin had seen it. He never missed a trick, but she couldn't let it be sold with the rest.

“And why would we sell it? You look like a pure to me. Looking like that, we could bilk some swell out of ten times the cost of that gown.”

Marlowe clamped her mouth shut and clenched her fists. She'd die before she became Satin's buttock and file. “I never took you for a cock-bawd. Have you turned pimp?”

“Not yet, but you're like to make me consider it. I've been considering something else too.”

“What's that?” Oh, she did not want to know. Truly, she did not.

“Why you're so eager to claim the game is over. Ye're livin' in one of them fancy houses in Mayfair, and all you got is this frock? There's more where that came from.”

Oh, yes, there was much more. So much more that Satin's eyes would probably pop right from his head if he saw it.

“There's more, but the cove is down,” she lied. “I have to get out now.”

“He suspects?” he asked, picking his teeth with a long fingernail.

“Yes.”

Suddenly, his hand was around her neck. She staggered until he pushed her down on a stone bench, where he leaned over her. Her vision dimmed, and when she forced her eyes open again, his face was an inch from hers. And still she prayed Dane stayed away. She didn't want him to find her like this. Worse yet, she worried what Satin would do to the man if he interrupted. “Then make them unsuspicious,” Satin said. “Ye're a good liar, Marlowe, but you can't fool me. You and me, we row in the same boat. You understand?”

She tried to nod.

“I can't hear you.” He lifted her head and slammed it back on the bench. Now she saw stars that had nothing to do with the foggy sky above them.

“Y-yes.”

“You and me, we're going to devise a racket. You're the plant. You look at the place, and then we're going to crack it together. You got that?”

“Yes, but, Satin, this isn't just any swell. He's an earl. If we're caught—”

“We hang. At least we're going after something worth hanging for. Tomorrow night, you meet me in the back of the garden by the shrubs. You know the ones I mean?”

She did. And she hadn't imagined seeing movement there. Satin had been watching her. He shook her by the neck. “I can't hear you, girl.”

“Yes.”

“When the clock chimes two, you'd better be there, or I'm coming in to get you.”

“I'll be there.”

“And don't bring me any cock-and-bull story. You have a game, and you come alone. You cry beef, Marlowe, and I'll see you nibb'd with me.”

Just as quickly as he'd grabbed her, he released her. She lay on the bench, blinking the pain and tears away. Damn tears. She would not cry. She sat, watching as Satin brushed his ragged coat clean of the imagined dirt from his attack. “A pleasure doing business with you, Marlowe.” He tipped his hat. “Until we meet again.”

Before she could protest, he wrapped his fingers under the gold chain and yanked it off her neck. “No!” she cried, rising.

He held up a hand, and she flinched back. “There'd better be more where this came from.” Whistling to himself, Satin dropped the necklace in the pocket of his coat and strolled away, hands tucked in his trouser pockets. Marlowe closed her eyes and sank to the bench. She had precious few options. She could run away, but Satin would still go after Dane. He had the idea now, and he wouldn't let it go easily. She could warn Dane, but would he even believe her? And if he did, he was more likely to have her thrown in gaol than to let her escape.

And if she did escape, what would happen to Gideon and the rest of the cubs? Satin knew she and Gid were close. He'd punish her friends if he couldn't hurt her. And even if she figured Gideon could take care of himself, even if she managed to get away, what then? She didn't have any skills or any references. She'd be back to the game to stay alive, and once she started the buz again, Satin would find her. Pickpockets knew one another, and Satin had a wide range of friends and accomplices.

“Marlowe?”

Her head jerked up at the sound of Dane's voice, and she hastily tried to straighten her hair and gown. He stepped into the little garden nook. “There you are—what the hell happened to you?”

Damn it. She must look worse than she thought. “I f-fell. I couldn't see in the darkness, and I tripped. I must look awful.”

He wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. “Let's see you home.”

She almost laughed.
Home.
It was not her home, nor would it ever be. He led her back toward the house and inside through a different door. “If we take this route, we avoid the ballroom.” He turned to look at her, and his eyes gave away nothing. Perhaps she did not look as bad as she thought. With his hand firmly on her elbow, he led her to the vestibule. Guests were still arriving, and Dane shielded her with his body, leading her outside and setting her in the shadows. They had to wait for what seemed an eternity for the coach, and when they climbed inside, the vehicle moved at a snail's pace. The lanterns inside the coach had been lit, and Marlowe kept her face averted. Dane sat across from her, arms crossed, not seeming interested in chatting. Finally, she darted a glance up at him and noted he was staring out the window.

Except that the drapes had been closed. He was on to her. She could sham Abram and pretend to be sick. That was probably her last chance. “I don't feel very well,” she said. “I think I may be ill.” She clutched her belly and doubled over, tilting her head so she could see his face.

Slowly, he glanced at her. There was no trace of sympathy on his features. “I imagine those bruises on your neck are rather painful.”

She forgot her supposed stomach ailment and brought a hand to her throat. It did feel tender. Satin, that bloody cockchafer! He shouldn't have marked her. But she knew exactly what had happened. Dane had believed her story about falling until he'd seen her in the light from the house. She hadn't thought to cover her neck, and the marks must have been clear.

“Will you tell me what happened, or continue to lie to me?”

“I can't tell you,” she said.

“Did one of the guests assault you? Give me his name or a description. I'll issue a challenge within the hour.”

She blinked at him. “One of the guests? No. I…do you mean you'd fight a duel?”

He merely looked at her.

She gaped. She knew it was unladylike. She knew if the countess had been here she would have ordered her to shut her mouth, but Marlowe could not seem to help it. “You would duel over
me
?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes!”

He merely cocked his head. “Because?”

“Because I'm no one. Nothing. Not worth dying for.”

“They don't know that. We introduced you as my cousin.”

Marlowe felt a sharp blast of cold pierce her heart. “So this is about your honor, not mine. You can't have one of your own treated like a common thief from the rookeries. Well, you needn't issue your challenge, Dane, it wasn't a guest from the party.”

“Then who was it?”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter.”

He was beside her on the seat in a matter of seconds. The coach had seemed spacious mere moments before, but now everything was far too small and cramped. “A man does this to you”—lightly, he angled her chin up, and she yanked it down, not wanting him to see the injury—“and you tell me it doesn't matter.”

“You can't help me.” The coach finally picked up speed, and she bounced, hitting the back of her head on the seat. The squabs were soft, but she still winced. Immediately, Dane's hand went to the back of her head. She hissed in a cry of pain as his fingers probed the knot forming there. Dane pulled his hand away and stared at the tinge of blood on his fingers.

“You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

She shook her head. “You're a spoiled, pampered lord. You have everything you could ever want. I doubt you could even imagine what my life has been like, much less solve any of my problems. Stick to your books and your balls and your”—she gestured to his neckcloth—“cretins.”

He cleared his throat. “It's a
cravat
.” He moved back across the carriage.

“Oh, do forgive me, my lord, for mixing up yer fancy words.”

Dane pinched the bridge of his nose, then lowered his hands and looked up at her with those deep brown eyes. “I want to help you, Marlowe. I
can
help you, but you have to let me in. When you're ready to trust me, let me know.”

The rest of the ride home was made in silence. When they arrived at the town house, Dane went straight to his room, but he must have issued some orders before he retired, because just as Marlowe donned a robe and dismissed Jane, the servant returned and apologized as two footmen carried a hip bath and buckets of water into the room.

“What is this?”

“I'm sorry, miss, but his lordship asked us to bring it.” The poor girl looked terrified, and Marlowe decided to hold her anger. There was no point in taking it out on the slaveys, who had worked so hard to haul all of that water to her room.

“Thank you,” Marlowe managed to grit out.

Jane let out a breath she must have been holding. “His lordship said you'd want to wash your hair. Shall I help with that?”

“No!”

Jane jumped back.

“I mean, no, thank you. I can do it myself.” The last thing she wanted was an audience while she bathed. Or rather, didn't bathe. It had been only a few days since she'd taken her
last
bath!

Finally, the bath was ready, and Marlowe was left alone. She'd very rarely been alone in her life, and the sensation was strange and not entirely welcome. But at least she could worry about Satin in peace. She sank down on the floor and buried her head in her hands. No solution jumped out at her, and she found herself shivering on the cold floor. How quickly she'd gone soft. She moved closer to the fire, which meant closer to the bath. She could feel the heat from the water, and she trailed her fingers in the warm liquid. They came away smelling sweet but pleasant. Perhaps if she dipped her feet in the water, it would warm her.

Hiking her night rail to her knees, she balanced on the edge of the tub and dipped her feet into the soapy water. She was instantly warmed, and she might have relaxed if her head and neck didn't pain her so much. She touched the back of her head gingerly and felt the matted hair where the blood had dried. She could wait for it to harden and fall out on its own, or she could wash it out.