Earls Just Want to Have Fun (26 page)

She paused but didn't look back.

“If anything don't feel right, I'll gut you and leave you for dead.” She heard his footsteps as he clomped out of the room, and she stood for a long moment alone, attempting to stifle the hatred coursing through her. She had to leash it for a few more hours, and then he'd be gone.

***

Gideon looked around the small room, counting up the profit he'd have if he filched the glim-sticks, the ink blotter, and the peacock-quill pen. The rug was worth something too, but damned if he knew how to get a rug out from under the noses of the Bow Street Runners.

“Are you done with your inventory?” Sir Brook asked from behind the desk, where he sat with his feet propped on the polished surface. The desk was worth something too, but it would have taken three of the cubs to lift it, and then even if they could have maneuvered it down the stairs, what would they do with it? No one had a cart sitting around.

“For the moment,” Gideon said.

“Your name?”

“Gideon.”

“Do you have a surname?”

Gideon looked down. It had been so long since he'd used it. It was the last vestige of his parents he carried. “Harrow,” he said then looked up. “Gideon Harrow.”

“Mr. Harrow, downstairs you mentioned an interesting name. Can you repeat it now, where there aren't a dozen ears to hear?”

“I said,
Lady
Elizabeth
.”

Derring steepled his hands. “Why?”

“She sent me. Course I know her by another name, Marlowe.” Gideon peered at Derring from under his lashes. “Maybe you know her by that name too.”

“And what do you know of Lady Elizabeth?”

Gideon shrugged. “Nothing. But I know a hell of a lot about Marlowe. I know a lot about your nob brother too, and the both of them in a public house together in Seven Dials.”

Derring's feet dropped to the floor. “What are you talking about?”

“She said to make sure you got the letter. You didn't get it?”

“What let—” He waved a hand, rose, and went to the door leading outside, where a thin clerk, much like the one Gideon had held a knife to, sat.

“Mr. Bowker, did you receive a letter from my brother? The Earl of Dane.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Gideon figured the man must have held it aloft, because Derring stormed out. He could hear their muffled voices, something about nonessential mail. A moment later, Derring strode back into the room, went to his desk, and unearthed a letter opener, breaking the seal. Gideon tilted his head. The letter opener had to be worth a fiver, at least.

“Goddamn it!” Derring swore. “What the devil is he thinking?” He looked up at Gideon. “Do you know what this says?”

“Something about a plan to nab Satin.”

Derring placed the letter opener back in the drawer and closed it with a warning look at Gideon. “Do you know who Satin is?”

“I might.”

“Exactly what is your association with Lady—with Marlowe?”

“I couldn't rightly say.”

“You must be a friend to risk coming here in search of me.”

Gideon shrugged. “I don't have anything to hide.”

Derring laughed. “Oh, I doubt that very much. You should know, Mr. Harrow, that I don't work with criminals.”

“And I don't work with Runners.” He put the same distasteful emphasis on the title as Derring had put on the word
criminal
. “I see you have the letter. I'll tell Marlowe you got it.” He started to walk out then thought better of it. “Will you help her?”

“Do I have a choice? God knows, if I don't save my brother, I'll have to take on the earldom, and I can't imagine a worse fate.”

“Good.” Gideon made it to the door before Derring spoke again.

“And what about you? Will you help?”

“I did my part.”

“But you'll do more. If we're both to be lurking about, perhaps we could…coordinate.”

Gideon crossed his arms. “Isn't that like working together?”

“Not at all. It's much more aloof. Sit down, have a drink, and I'll explain.”

Marlowe hated this time. She hated the lull before the storm. She hated knowing the rain would pour, the streets would become muddy and impassable, and the best-laid plans would have to be set aside. The skies might be clear, but it would rain tonight, and she didn't have the luxury of setting her plans aside. She'd set the trap, and she'd have to spring it.

Marlowe stood outside the room she and Dane shared, reluctant to go inside. It wasn't that she didn't want to see him. She knew he could distract her in ways that were new and altogether quite delicious. But at the moment, she could not imagine being caged in the tiny, dark room. She was tense and edgy and needed to move. Dane must have heard her outside or begun to worry at her absence, because just as she was about to reach for the door handle, the door opened, and he stared down at her.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Is Satin—”

“He's gone,” she reassured him. “I just…I need to walk.”

His brows rose. “
You
want to walk?”

She smiled. “You have corrupted me.”

“I'm coming with you.” He closed the door behind him.

She took a surprised step back. “No, you're not.” She shook her head vehemently. “You have to stay here.”

“Not a chance. Where you go, I go.”

“You'll be going straight to hell when you end up with a knife in your back, lying facedown in a rank alley.”

“Lovely image, but I can hold my own.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. If you want to get yourself killed, then come along.” She gave him her back, muttering to herself about idiot gentry coves.

“After you!” he called, following her. She passed through the public room, which had managed to fill up again rather quickly, considering Satin and she had been talking alone no more than a quarter hour before. Now she nodded to people she knew and eyed others warily, keenly aware that Dane was at her heels, and every man, woman, and child in the place was marking him and hoping for the chance to see exactly how deep his pockets were.

Finally, she pushed her way out into the street and squinted at the daylight. It wasn't a particularly sunny day, rather blustery and gray, but the Rouge Unicorn Cellar was so dark inside, any light took a moment to adjust to. Dane, no fool apparently, was right behind her. “I'd like to take a breath of fresh air, but I don't think it's much better out here.”

“Breathe at your own risk,” she advised, moving around a large pile of rubbish just outside the public house. Her gaze was drawn to the shabby building across the street where the Covent Garden Cubs made their home. It looked like nothing other than a falling down structure, but anyone who tried to step foot inside would find out it was well guarded. Her gaze moved to the doorway, and she caught a pair of eyes peering out at her. Beezle, no doubt. He was always down. She wondered if Gap was sleeping inside and whether Joe was about.

“Do you have a flat?” Dane asked. “Family you want to visit?

“No.” She nodded back at the decrepit flash ken. “The gang lives there, but they're hardly family.”

Dane studied the structure for a moment. She tried to see it through his eyes, and felt her cheeks burn with shame. His home was so lovely and clean, and the flash ken was an eyesore. It listed to one side, was dark, and surrounded by rubbish. What had once been windows were now covered with haphazardly nailed boards. She felt small and ugly and unrefined showing it to him.

“I admire you,” he said.

She blinked at the unexpected response. “Why?”

“Because you survived here. It couldn't have been easy. I couldn't have done it.” He looked at her. “I don't think I have what it takes.”

“You don't know what you can do until you have to,” she said. She began to walk, wanting to be away from the flash ken and the beady eyes watching her. Watching them. Dane came after her, his long legs easily eating up the distance between them.

“So many children,” he said as they passed a maimed little boy holding his hand out. Another few steps, and a girl of perhaps seven cradled a squalling infant. The mother was nowhere to be seen. Several boys about Gap's age stood with their hands in their pockets, watching her pass. She gave them a hard stare, and they quieted as she moved past them. “Where are the parents?” he asked, seemingly unaware of the boys they passed. Probably didn't see them as a threat.

“Parents? We don't have governesses and nannies here. Brats learn to survive on their own, or they don't survive.”

“But surely the mother of that infant back there—”

“Probably a bawd.”

“Oh.” His tone was tinged with distaste.

“You can turn up your nose and give me more of your words about how the lower classes deserve their fate, but you can't tell me that innocent baby deserves to live like this.” She paused and looked up at him. His gaze on her was intent, and she was surprised that he was actually listening to her. She'd thought his prejudice too deep. “I don't know that babe's mother, but I can guess her story. She was an orphan, or her family fell on hard times, and she ended up here. She met a man who bought her a meal, maybe a ribbon, maybe a glass of gin. Maybe they married. Maybe not. He took care of her for awhile, until one night he didn't come home. Or maybe he beat her, and she ran off. Now she has two or three brats to feed. The only way she can make any money is on her back.”

“That can't be the only way.”

Marlowe raised a brow. “Can she take that baby to a workhouse?”

Dane shook his head.

“Will you hire her to clean your fancy house? Take care of your brats? She can't speak French or play piano. She can't even read. How would she teach? Maybe she can sew a little, but with her background, what respectable shopkeeper would hire her?”

“She made a mistake,” Dane said. “And now she pays the price.”

“Now we all pay the price.” Marlowe pointed to the children who seemed to be everywhere. “All of these children pay the price, and then you pay the price, and the city pays it too, because there's nothing for them to do but thieve and whore. While you sit in”—she changed her voice to mimic his accent—“Parliament and
discuss
the problem of the
lower
classes
, the
lower
classes
are just trying to survive.”

He looked at the children, and she prayed he saw their hollow eyes, their dirty faces, their thin bodies.

“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.”