The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs) (17 page)

He kissed her again, slowly, knowing they had the rest of the night. The crowds didn’t leave Vauxhall until close to dawn most evenings. No need to rush. Plenty of time for her to change her mind.

Though she might think this time they shared would last forever, he knew differently. The future held nothing for them. She was destined for a very different life than he. It did no good to imagine what might have been if they’d been different people. She was the daughter of an earl. He was nothing and no one.

He couldn’t marry her. He couldn’t even give her food or drink without stealing to obtain the funds.

But he could give her this. He could give her one last night of pleasure.

He slid his hand under her skirts, cupping the soft skin on her calf. She inhaled sharply when he brushed against her scraped shin. “Does it still pain you much?”

She shook her head. “Only when I bump it. It doesn’t hurt to walk.”

“Just a scratch then.” He slid his hand higher, over her knee and then between her thighs. He knew what she looked like without the ill-fitting dress and the layers of petticoats and shift. He’d seen her on the table at Des’s, and she’d been magnificent. He thought of her long, lean legs now, ran his fingertips up and down them until she shivered and trembled.

Her hands gripped the base of his shirt, yanking it up and diving beneath to stroke his back. He’d been touched by many women, but never like this. Never with tenderness and reverence. Her lips pressed against his jaw, his neck, and her hands smoothed over his buttocks, squeezing lightly.

He used his mouth to yank her bodice down, to take one firm nipple in his mouth, to work it as his hands inched closer to the burning heat of her. Her legs quaked with need, and he slid over the soft curls, drawing a gasp of pleasure from her.

Her hands slid to his hips and then stroked over his hard cock, while his fingers tangled in her curls, circling and teasing. Her hips rose, and he slid a finger into her sleek folds. She was wet and warm and ready for him.

He tried to forget the hand wrapped around him, tried not to imagine the slim fingers stroking from root to head. He slid two fingers into her, his thumb teasing the small nub that would make her come. He could give her that and leave her virtue untouched.

Her hand stilled, then moved deftly to unfasten the fall of his trousers. Suddenly his cock was free and encased in the warmth of her hand. “Susanna,” he said in warning.

“I want this, Gideon.”

Her hand moved up and down in long, languid strokes, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His fingers moved faster, and her hand stilled as the muscles around his fingers clenched.

“Take me, Gideon,” she murmured.

“I won’t be able to stop myself if you keep talking like that.”

“Good. I want you. I want… Yes. Oh,
yes
.”

His thumb brushed against that pulsing bud again, and she opened to him then closed like a vise. A strangled sound of pleasure escaped into the night, muted by a distant thunder. He looked up and into a burst of light as the first fireworks exploded above them.

“Seems appropriate,” he murmured.

“Very.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing their bodies together so his cock rubbed the heat of her entrance. She pulled his head down and kissed him as more fireworks burst above them. Slowly, he slid into her, into the tight wetness. She closed around him, and he had the urge to thrust deep, bury himself in that warm, moist place.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I’ve heard it can hurt the first time.”

“You’d never hurt me,” she murmured. “You feel so good.” Her eyes strayed to the sky above them and then back to his face. “It’s beautiful. Perfect.”

He slid deeper, and she stiffened slightly when he reached the first resistance. His arms trembled with restraint as he waited for her to relax again. Her eyes locked on his, her gaze intent. Gradually, her muscles slackened, and her eyelids lowered.

He inched inside her, deeper into her tight sheath. She gasped with pain, and he forced himself to stop. He was so close. So close to burying himself in her. “I can stop,” he panted. “If you want me to stop, say it now.”

“Don’t stop.” She locked her ankles around his back. “Don’t ever stop.”

He buried himself to the hilt, eliciting a small cry of pain from her. She was tight and stiff, and he kissed her neck and her shoulder in apology. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A burst of red from the fireworks above illuminated her face, and she was so beautiful. Everything about her was impossibly beautiful. She smiled up at him, kissed him gently.

“I’m yours now. I’ll always be yours.”

He moved slowly and gently inside her. He could feel her arms stiffen around his neck, and he whispered, “Relax.”

“It feels… It hurts. The pain is not intense, but it’s more than discomfort.”

He pulled back, almost withdrawing. “It’s an invasion,” he murmured. “You have to welcome it. You have to take me in.” He slid in slowly, filling her completely, inch by inch. “Relax.”

“Yes.” Her head fell back, and some of the tension left her arms and her legs.

“Let me take you. Give yourself to me.”

He slid into her, withdrew, thrust again. She moaned, and he stilled. “Did I hurt you?”

“It doesn’t hurt so much anymore,” she murmured. “I can see how it might feel good if you weren’t so large.”

He laughed, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

Orange light burst above them, lighting her hair until it appeared aflame.

“Was that the wrong thing to say?” she asked.

“That was very right.”

She shifted, clenched around him, and he felt a jolt of pleasure. “Susanna,” he choked out.

“You liked that.”

She moved her hips, thrust up, taking him in deeper.

“Sweet Jesus. I don’t want to hurt you. Slow down.”

She clenched around him again, and his vision went dark. “I. Can’t…”

“Then let go.”

Green light burst above them, then red and orange and yellow as he drove into her, driving until the pleasure spiraled and coalesced. He withdrew just in time, holding his cock and spilling his seed on the grass beside them, throwing his head back in a vain effort to mute the cries of pleasure.

He collapsed beside her, raised his hand, and saw the blood on his fingers.

What the fuck had he done?

* * *

Susanna watched the fireworks for a moment, trying to memorize every sight, every detail—the feel of him inside her, the look on his face when he’d climaxed, the acrid smell of the fireworks mixed with the oil from the nearby lamps, the thud of blood in her ears.

She wasn’t a virgin any longer. It felt as though a burden had been lifted. She could never go back to the life she’d had before. She could never go back to the scared, rigid girl cowering before her mother. She’d been irrevocably changed.

And she’d been the one to make the decision.

She turned on her side, curled beside Gideon, and stared up at the bursts of light still filling the sky. A few days before, she would have been appalled at the thought of lying in the grass. The idea of lying in the grass with a man, a half-naked man, would have shocked her. And she hadn’t even known about the rest—about the pleasure or the way a man felt when he buried himself inside her.

She’d been that sheltered girl, and she’d been so eager to break free of the constraints. She’d wanted to see the world, to explore outside the borders of her bejeweled cage.

Now she knew.

Was this what her mother had sought to protect her from? Susanna shook her head. No. Not this. Her mother had sought to protect her from what was coming. She’d lose Gideon. She knew that much. He wasn’t the sort of man a woman like her could keep. Duty, honor, title—those were the ties that would bind a man to her. And bindings they would be without love.

She’d been a fool to fall in love with him. Her heart was already breaking at the knowledge she’d lose him. All this time she’d hated the way her mother dictated every aspect of her life. Now she saw it in a different light. Perhaps her mother wanted only to shelter her from this pain.

“Are you hurt?” Gideon asked, twining her hair around his fingers absently. She wondered if he knew what those small gestures of affection meant to her.

“No. I’m fine. A little sore, perhaps, but it was worth it.”

“Next time will be better.” His voice hitched. “Not that I would…”

She rose on her elbow and put a finger on his lips. “Don’t turn into a gentleman on me now.”

“You’re a bad influence on me.”

She sighed and lowered her head to his shoulder again. “If only you knew how often I’ve been told that,” she quipped.

She felt his chest rumble with laughter and pressed her cheek hard against him. She would think of this moment, of his strong chest and the way it felt under her cheek, when she was old and dying. She’d remember what it felt like to be young and free. For once in her life, free.

“What now?” he asked after the fireworks’ show ended and the orchestra began to play again. He’d dressed again and helped her with her gown. But they hadn’t left their secluded spot. She felt as though this was their private world. She wished she would never have to leave.

But that was the question she’d known would come. Everything had to end.

“I should take you directly to Derring House, give you the necklace. You’ve more than fulfilled your end of our bargain.”

He didn’t argue. She’d wanted him to argue that it wasn’t about the necklace, but of course it was. Had she really thought he’d say, “What necklace? It’s you I care about”?

“But if I return home now, I’ll never come back here. And how many people get to visit Vauxhall in the daylight?”

He flicked his hand, and Robert Southey’s card appeared between his fingers. “We do have an invitation. A first for me.”

He probably meant it too. How strange that his admission he’d never before been invited anywhere made her want to embrace him. “But we need somewhere to sleep,” she said. “I don’t suppose we can stay here.”

“No. The constables clear everyone out at closing, but there are lodging houses along the road and in Lambeth.”

“And will you lighten someone’s pocket so we might stay the night?”

He flicked his fingers, and the card disappeared again. He was capable of picking pockets until they could have afforded a room at the Pultney. She had little doubt of that.

“I have a few shillings. I can bribe a groom to let us sleep in the stables.”

He pulled her to her feet, and she winced at the soreness between her legs. She tried to hide her expression, but when she glanced at Gideon, his face was tight. He’d seen, and he was almost certainly angry at himself. Who would have imagined he possessed such morals?

He took her hand and led her along The Dark Walk, turning onto a lit path and passing under one of the arches set at the walks’ intersections. The crowds grew thicker here, men and women strolling and talking. In one of the arbors, she heard the clink of glasses as people toasted. In another, a harpist played and a woman sang. In yet another, people cheered for a boy who performed tumbling tricks. Susanna paused to watch him, amazed at how high he flew when he flipped backward.

Gideon finally pulled her away, toward the Grove, where the orchestra played and men and women danced or reclined on benches, holding thin slices of ham and all manner of drink. They paused beside the trunk of a tree to watch the dancing, and when she looked down, she saw his foot tapped in rhythm.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked.

He dug his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know the steps.”

“I could teach you.”

“I don’t think you could.” He didn’t look at her, and she felt her eyes sting with tears. Would he say good-bye to her like this over and over again until they finally parted?

She didn’t want to watch the dancers any longer and allowed her gaze to rove over the patrons. It occurred to her she might know some of the revelers. She doubted anyone who did not know her well would recognize her in this disheveled state, but it was certainly a risk.

Perhaps her renewed vigilance was the reason she saw him. Or perhaps it was because he moved with purpose while everyone else around them strolled leisurely.

Her hand tightened on Gideon’s arm, and he looked at her, leaning close. “What is it?”

“My brother Brook is here.”

She didn’t move. She didn’t dare breathe. She watched Brook march along the path, his hands in his pockets and his eyes sharp. He hadn’t seen her yet. The tree obscured them, but given a few moments’ more, he would have a direct line of sight.

“Where?” Gideon’s lips barely parted on the word.

“Directly across from us. In the blue coat, hands in his—”

“Damn it. He’s looking for you.”

“How could he possibly know I was here?”

“How the hell did he know where Marlowe was hiding?”

That was a good point. Brook reminded her of a hunting dog. He sniffed out prey. “We have to leave before he sees us.”

“I’m in complete agreement. Unfortunately, he’s about to pass in front of the Proprietor’s House. That’s the way out.”

“What if we circle around, follow behind him, and exit when he’s past?”

“Good plan, if we can circle around without him seeing.”

And if he doesn’t circle back the way he came
, Susanna thought. Brook could be unpredictable, but now was not the best time to mention that.

Gideon clasped her hand, his arm rigid, indicating she should wait for his signal to move. Brook grew closer to the point at which they’d be visible, and her breath quickened. Her heart hammered, and her mind repeated,
He’ll see us; he’ll see us
.

At the last moment, Gideon tugged her arm, and she walked away from their hiding place. She didn’t dare look at Brook. If he sped up even slightly, he’d have a clear view of them.

“Slow and steady,” Gideon cautioned. “Go for a stroll.”

She wanted to run. If Gideon’s timing was off even slightly, Brook would see them. Gideon’s firm hand holding hers kept her in check. When she finally dared look over her shoulder, she didn’t see Brook.

“Look ahead,” Gideon said pleasantly. “You’re not worried about being followed.”

They circled the Orchestra, maneuvering around dozens of people and waiters and constables. At any second she was certain Brook would appear in front of them, scream, “Aha!” and grab her. It seemed hours passed before they reached the last stretch of paving before the Proprietor’s House.

“There.” Gideon nodded to the place they’d stood. Brook studied the tree she’d leaned against, and she dug her nails into Gideon’s arm.

“How does he know?”

Gideon tugged her into the house, which was quite large, boasting a ballroom and two parlors that she could see. She looked up at a soaring ceiling, ornamented with paintings, barely visible in the dim light. It was a shock of grandeur and almost imprisoning after the openness of the gardens.

“He’s good,” Gideon said. “All we need do is keep one step ahead of him.”

* * *

The lodging house was called the Three Ducks. It was not the sort of place her mother would have ever allowed her to stay, and she had no more than a peek inside a dark window before Gideon spirited her out to the stables. After a quiet discussion and an exchange of coin with a groom, Gideon settled into an empty loose box with a horse blanket on top of straw.

Susanna sank down into the straw without comment. Gideon wondered if she would have seated herself in the dusty straw so easily a mere two days ago when he met her. He wondered where he would be at the moment if he hadn’t. Far away from London, much farther than Lambeth.

And yet, he couldn’t wish himself anywhere else at the moment.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right back, just outside. If you need me, call out.”

She gave him a tired smile, her eyes warm when they met his. The love he saw felt so close to the surface it made his heart pump faster. He didn’t deserve that love.

Perhaps that was why it was such an incredible gift.

He stepped outside, moved away from the door of the stables and out of the lamplight. Full dark surrounded him like a warm blanket. Crickets and other insects chirped, but otherwise the countryside was eerily quiet. So accustomed to the sounds of the city was he, that the silence unnerved him. He loosened the fall of his trousers and peed against a tree, whistling a tune he’d heard at Vauxhall that night.

When he was done, he turned back to the stables and almost smacked into the man standing behind him.

“Harrow.”

Gideon balled his fists and pulled his arm back. Sir Brook Derring stepped easily aside, obviously expecting the attack. The absence of a target caused Gideon to stumble, and Brook caught him by the wrist and neatly twisted his arm behind his back. A moment later, the rough bark of the tree dug into the flesh of Gideon’s cheek.

“Where is she?”

“Go to hell.” Gideon forced the words through compressed lips.

“Is she hurt?”

“I didn’t touch her.”

“Bollocks.” Derring yanked him back and slammed him into the tree again. “You expect me to believe that?”

Black sprinkled with white pinpricks dimmed Gideon’s vision for a moment. He shook the pain off. “I didn’t do anything she didn’t want.”

“I should kill you,” Derring growled into his ear.

“Go ahead. If you don’t, Beezle will.”

“You have a knack for making enemies. Too bad. I saw so much potential in you.”

Gideon tried to twist his neck to see Derring’s face. Potential? What the hell did the man mean by that?

“I also know my sister. She’s done larking about. My mother has taken to bed with worry. Bring me to her.”

“No.” Gideon growled when Derring yanked his arm up painfully. “Break my arm, but I won’t tell you.”

“Then I’ll search the lodging house and the stables, turn it upside down, until I find her.”

“No you won’t.” The air whooshed out of Gideon’s lungs as Brook pressed his forearm against the back of Gideon’s neck. “
Bluff!
” Gideon wheezed.

“You bloody bastard. I should break your neck.”

“Too much honor,” Gideon choked out, hoping to God it was true. The pressure on his neck eased. Gideon knew when he had the advantage. “If you kill me, you’ll still have to go in and fetch her. Then everyone will know Sir Brook Derring’s sister, Lady Susanna, was alone with a cove like me. You might as well announce it onstage at Drury Lane.”

If there was one thing Gideon knew about the gentry, it was that they prized their gentry mort’s lily-white reputations. Sir Brook wouldn’t ruin his sister any more than he’d kick a dog.

Gideon took three breaths in the long silence while Derring considered. Finally, the man shoved him hard and said, “It goes against every fiber of my being, but you’ve left me no choice except to trust you.”

“Careful you don’t break your teeth on those words.”

“You betray that trust, and you betray not only me but Marlowe. You remember Marlowe?”

The words were like a punch in the balls. Gideon grunted. Derring knew he’d never let Marlowe down.

“Have Lady Susanna back at Derring House by noon tomorrow, or Beezle will be the least of your worries. Marlowe will come for you, and if she doesn’t scare you, think about this: every Bow Street Runner in the city will be looking to slit your throat.”

“Every Runner?” Gideon snorted. “You think you have that much power?”

Derring released Gideon’s arm and swung him around. “I may not be a Runner, but I have their loyalty. They consider me one of their own, and the Runners protect our own. Susanna is my sister, and by extension, the responsibility of every Runner on Bow Street.”

“I’ll have her back.”

Brook gave him a long look, searching for something in Gideon’s face. Finally, he looked away, lip curled with disgust. “Do you need blunt?”

Gideon snorted. “I don’t want your chink.”

Derring released him with a shove. Gideon’s head hit the tree and bounced back.

“Get out of my sight. I look at you and feel sick. You could have been one of us.”

Gideon’s ears rang from the impact with the tree. The jolt must have affected his hearing. “One of who?”

Derring leaned close. “A Runner.”

Gideon gaped at the man. “Don’t make me laugh, thief-taker. I’d never be one of your cronies.”

Derring backed away. “No. You wouldn’t, would you?”

The darkness closed around Derring, and Gideon leaned against the tree until his vision returned and the hammer in his brain ceased slamming against his skull. Finally, he made his way back to the stable.

Susanna lay with one arm curled under her cheek, her eyes closed, and her breathing regular. He stood above her and watched her sleep until the first rays of light turned the darkness beyond a slate gray. He’d risked everything for her—his future, his life. He wanted to believe it was for the necklace, but it had always been her. The first moment he saw her, he’d lost the battle.

Come what may, he didn’t regret it.

A few more hours and he’d return her—back to the life she’d been born to, the life where she belonged. Back to the bosom of her family and all those who loved her.

And he’d go back too—back to life as a rook in Seven Dials, a thief, a faceless cove no one cared about.

* * *

She woke wrapped in Gideon’s arms. He was so warm, and she felt incredibly protected pressed against his chest. He smelled of hay and horse, the scents reminding her of Northbridge Abbey, her family’s country estate. She’d always loved it there. Returning to London for the Season always felt like stepping into a gutter. She smelled the city long before she ever saw it.

She wrapped her arms around Gideon, buried her face in his coarse shirt. With her ear pressed to his chest, she could hear his heart thumping slowly and steadily. She parted the collar of his shirt and pressed her lips to the warm skin of his throat. His heart thumped faster, and his hands closed on her sides, pulling her closer and firmly against his hard member.

Heat rushed to her belly and pooled lower, making her very aware of the ache between her thighs. She rubbed against him, molding her body to his. He moaned and buried his lips in her hair, brushing against her ear. She shivered and slid her body against his.

“Are you attempting to seduce me, Lady Susanna?”

“Yes.” She angled her hips. “I think I have succeeded.”

His hand cupped her breast, his palm circling the nipple until it grew hard and ached for his touch.

“We’re not alone. A groom might come in at any time.”

“Then we should be quiet.”

He chuckled. “Wanton girl.”

He bent his head and took her breast with his mouth. She arched up, biting her lip to keep from crying out. His warm tongue on her skin sent shivers of pleasure through her. She wrapped her legs around him, making no secret of what she wanted from him, where she wanted him to touch her.

His mouth still on her breast, his hand cupped her ankle then slid up to tickle her calf. When his fingers brushed lightly against the back of her knee, she caught her breath and suppressed a moan. Finally, his hand moved deliberately over the sensitive skin of her thigh, skimming over the place where she ached for his touch. She bowed into him, parting her legs when his fingers delved into her slick flesh.

When his fingers entered her, she hissed in a breath of pain.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled back, his hands off her in an instant. “I hurt you.”

“Shh.” She put a finger over his lips and kissed him gently. “I wasn’t expecting the soreness. Touch me again.”

The wary look in his eyes, the meaning behind it, slayed her. He
did
care about her. He didn’t want to hurt her. Did that concern extend only to her body, or did it also encompass her heart?

“I don’t want to cause you pain.”

“If you do, I’ll tell you. You’ll stop.”

His eyes darkened into that dangerous look that made her forget to breathe. “You think it so easy for me to stop? When I touch you, I don’t ever want to stop.”

“Then don’t.” She kissed his cheek, his lips, the scar slicing through his eyebrow, his temple. “Don’t ever stop.”

His hands were everywhere, his fingers gentle as they teased her body into a feverish state of arousal. When his finger entered her again, she barely noted the soreness, only that the extra sensitivity made her more eager for that hard length of him to slide between her legs.

“You’re ready?” he said, sounding surprised. “Let me…” He bent, presumably to take her with his mouth, but she stopped him with a hand on his cheek.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I want to join with you, feel you move inside me.”

His eyes were the dark green of an ancient forest. “You say it so sweetly, so properly. Somehow you make it more erotic than vulgar speech ever could.”

“I don’t know the vulgar terms,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat, as they always did when he pointed out her näiveté.

“I don’t want you ever to learn them.” He pushed the hair back from her temple, cradled her face in his hand. “If I hurt you—”

“You won’t.”

“—I’ll try to stop. God help me, I’ll find a way.”

He slid into her, slowly and with exquisite tenderness. She felt a slight discomfort but no real pain. Her body accommodated him, closed around him, welcomed each careful stroke. He moved deliberately and with great skill. She hadn’t known there was skill in this act, but the way Gideon knew exactly when to press forward, when to draw back, when to rock into her was definitely skilled.

His gaze never left hers, and he seemed to read her needs in her eyes. If she felt a flicker of pain, he slowed, and when a frisson of pleasure raced through her, he quickened. The pleasure built and built, coalescing into exquisite torment. She angled her hips up, taking more of him.

“Let go,” he murmured. The intensity in his eyes undid her. She flew over the edge, the pleasure knocking her over like the fierce wind of a storm. It lifted her up, spun her around, drained her of all resistance until she couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything so wonderful again.

And then Gideon was gone, his withdrawal almost painful. He spilled his seed in the straw beside her, heaving in great gasps. The arm supporting him trembled, and his head hung down, his dark hair a damp tangle on his brow.

“Why do you do that?” she asked quietly when he’d righted his clothing.

He gave her a bewildered look then blew out a breath. “I forget what an innocent you are.” He pushed his hair off his forehead. “I don’t want to get you with child.”