The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs) (20 page)

Gideon clenched his fists. “We’re wasting time. The note said before dawn, or he moves her and we wait for another message. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want her near Beezle another minute, much less another day.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“And I don’t like you. But I will save your sister.”

Derring nodded to Sawyer. “Call for Joyce, Baker, and MacKenzie. Then I’ll tell you my plan.”

Gideon rose to his feet. “No. Seven Dials is my territory.
I’ll
make the plans.”

* * *

Susanna huddled in the damp cellar, her arms around her knees. A thin, long-legged boy who couldn’t have seen twenty yet paced in front of her. He was the one Gideon had called Racer. Upstairs was the other, the one they’d hit with the candlestick. She didn’t know his name.

But she knew Beezle.

She was afraid of Beezle, and now she realized her mistake was leaving Vauxhall to go with him. She should have known she was the bait to trap Gideon. Why hadn’t she had faith that Gideon never would have allowed Beezle to catch him?

She hadn’t been thinking. She’d wanted to see Gideon again. She’d been willing to pay any price. Now she would. Before the night was over, Beezle would probably kill her.

Gideon wasn’t coming for her. He wasn’t even in Town. She’d tried to tell Beezle that, but he’d told her to shut her potato hole. Was she a fool for hoping that Gideon might come? That she still had a last chance to see him?

She was a fool.

If Gideon came for her, Beezle would kill them both. She stifled a sob.

Racer turned his head sharply to study her, then went back to his pacing. Susanna shifted positions on the cold, hard floor. She wished she had a chair. More than that, she wished she had a weapon. She felt so helpless sitting here, waiting for Gideon to come.

And what of her mother? Her poor mother. They’d just begun to build a relationship. The past week had been the first in her life that she hadn’t stiffened when she heard her mother coming. Lady Dane had been almost a different person. She still occasionally ordered Susanna to sit up straight, but she also embraced her without warning and kissed her on the forehead when Susanna retired for the evening.

She’d never thought she’d want her mother, miss her mother, but she did. Beezle would kill her, and then she’d never see her mother marry Mr. Southey—her father. She’d never embrace her mother again. Or Dane. Or Brook. Or Beauty.

Poor Beauty. Who would scratch her behind the ears, the way she liked?

The cellar door creaked open, and Racer shot to attention. “All’s snug?”

“Talked Barbara into two glasses of ale. Beezle just stepped out. If you hurry, you can drink it down.”

Racer took the steps two at a time. At the top, he glanced down at her and hesitated. He must have decided she wouldn’t try to escape, and he slipped out the door. Susanna lowered her chin to her knees just as a loud scrape sounded behind her. She scrambled to her feet, looking for a weapon. She’d heard rats scurrying about the dark recesses of the cellar, but if that had been a rat, it would be the biggest rat she’d ever laid eyes on.

She heard the scrape again, and this time she could locate it. The crates stacked in one corner moved! As she stared, the crates moved again. Susanna pushed herself against the steps, sliding into the shadows. She’d worn a dark green silk dress to Vauxhall with a matching cape. Thank God she hadn’t chosen the cream or pink. She would have been easily visible.

The crates moved again, and the edge of a door appeared in the wall. Finally, a bald head poked in. “’Ello? Lady Susanna?”

“Corker?” she whispered.

His eyes found hers, and he grinned. “It’s me.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Found her.”

At that moment, something thumped in the public house above them, and a man cursed. Glass shattered, and Susanna cringed as the ceiling shook with more thumps.

“Right on time,” Corker said with a smile.

“I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you.”

Another thump and a crash. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon.”

“That’s Lighter, Jonesy, and Dab upstairs, making mischief to keep yer lookouts busy so we can rescue you.”

She didn’t understand it. Corker and the other men she’d met at Stryker’s ken being here made absolutely no sense. And she didn’t care. She pushed away from the staircase, lifting her skirts to hurry across the floor. “If Lighter, Jonesy, and Dab are upstairs, who is with you? Mill?”

“No,” said a voice she knew well. Gideon stepped into the cellar. “I am.”

Susanna’s feet refused to move forward. She could hardly believe he was really here, really standing before her.

He looked beautiful. She didn’t know how else to describe him. She supposed some might have seen only the jagged scar across his temple and said he looked dangerous, but to Susanna it was a mark of all he’d endured and survived.

He’d shaved, and though his wavy hair still brushed the collar of his coat, she could see it had been combed. She lifted her hand before she realized she couldn’t touch his smooth cheek, couldn’t run her fingers through his hair, tousle it the way she liked.

She gripped the fabric of her dress in her hands instead and tried to think what to say, what to do.

“Did he hurt you?” Gideon asked.

She shook her head.

“Will you come with me now? I don’t know how much time we have.”

Another crash from above and the sounds of shouting from someone who obviously meant to quell the unrest. Gideon looked up then back at Susanna.

“Not much, I wager,” Corker commented.

“You came,” she whispered, her voice not entirely under her control. “I thought you’d be far away by now.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “I should have been. But I couldn’t seem to leave London. Not when I knew you were here.”

Susanna stepped forward then gasped when Corker grunted and fell to his knees. He pressed a hand to his head, and it came back covered in blood.

Gideon swung around, a knife in his hand, but Beezle was ready for him. He stepped out from behind Corker and slammed the metal bar against Gideon’s wrist. With a shout of pain, Gideon dropped the knife. Beezle kicked it across the room, and it clattered against the stairs a few feet from Susanna.

Beezle gestured with the bar for Gideon to move into the cellar. “That’s far enough,” he said before Gideon could reach her side.

Susanna trembled, tasting blood in her mouth where she’d bitten her lip in fright. They were all dead now. Beezle would kill her and Gideon and maybe Corker too. And it was all her fault.

The cellar door opened, and Racer and the other rushed down the steps, cutting off Susanna and Gideon’s exit. Beezle smiled, his teeth yellow and rotten in his thin-lipped mouth. He slapped the metal bar in his hand.

“Gid, you and me have unfinished business.”

His breath whooshed out of him at the first stroke of the metal bar. Beezle had gone for the breadbasket. It didn’t cause much damage, but it hurt like hell. Gideon doubled over then staggered to his feet as Beezle raised the bar again. If the bastard thought he would stand here and take a beating, he’d be unpleasantly surprised.

“Grab him,” Beezle ordered Stub.

Gideon rounded on the short, stocky cub. “Touch me, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Watch out!” Susanna screamed.

Gideon lunged to the left, and the bar hit him solidly in the back of the shoulder. Pain, like hot fire, lanced through him. His legs crumpled and he fell, rolling just in time to avoid the smack of the bar on his head as Beezle brought it down. He scurried back, helpless as Beezle approached, bar raised high.

“If you kill me, you’ll never have the necklace.”

“I’ll take it off yer dead body.”

Gideon scooted back again, losing sight of Susanna as she shifted to the left. Good. He didn’t want her to see his head bashed in.

“You think I’m an idiot? I don’t have it on me.”

Beezle paused, but only for a moment. “I don’t care.”

Fuck.
Beezle wanted Gideon dead more than he wanted the necklace. It was the betrayal, not the theft, that angered the arch rogue most. When Gideon had gone over the hasty plan with Derring, he’d known Beezle might find him before he could free Susanna. Gideon had counted on the arch rogue wanting the necklace enough not to kill him before Susanna could escape.

He’d guessed wrong.

Beezle raised the bar high. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long, long time.”

Gideon heard Susanna scream, and the shuffle of feet, but all he could see was the black arc of the metal bar. It swung down and clattered to the floor beside him. Behind Beezle’s bent body, Susanna stood with her hands high and her eyes wide.

Beezle rose up and reached for Gideon’s knife in his back.

Susanna had grabbed his knife and stabbed Beezle with it. She backed away just as Beezle wrenched the knife free.

“No!” Gideon shouted as Beezle went for Susanna.

Gideon lunged forward, smacking into Stub, who cuffed him hard enough to send him sprawling. The cub pulled him to his feet as Beezle advanced on Susanna.

“You want to play with knives?” Beezle asked, voice thick with pain. “Let’s play.” He raised the knife, and Gideon closed his eyes.

* * *

The blur of white streaked across the dim cellar, rising before her just as Beezle raised the knife. Suddenly dog and man tangled together on the floor.

“Beauty! No!” Susanna leaped forward, halting when she heard the dog’s high-pitched squeal of pain.

Beezle shoved the limp animal off him and rose to his feet, the bloody knife still in his hands. She ran to Beauty, knelt down beside the warm animal, saw the blood on her fur.

“Get up,” Beezle said, gesturing with the knife.

Susanna stood, glancing at Gideon, now behind her and still wrestling with Beezle’s man. She wanted to see his face one last time. When she turned back, Beezle hissed at her. His black eyes reflected pain and fury. She watched in horror as he slid the knife into his boot and pulled a pistol from his coat.

She heard an exclamation of fear from Racer, and Corker lifted his bloody head.

“I’m through playing,” Beezle said, cocking the pistol.

He raised it, pointing the weapon at her. Susanna’s heart hammered in her chest so loudly it blocked out all sound. Her vision dimmed until all she could see was Beezle’s grin.

And then suddenly she slammed into something hard and unyielding. Her head struck a flat, solid surface, and everything spun. She heard the shot of a pistol, felt a slice of pain, and saw nothing but red.

* * *

The force from the slug knocked him back on his arse, and Gideon grunted in pain. He could add this injury to his long list of scars and wounds.

If he lived.

The way his breath caught in his chest made that seem unlikely at the moment.

He tried to crane his neck to catch a glimpse of Susanna. He couldn’t find her. He tried another angle, wincing at the pain when he moved.

Derring had come at just the right time. He’d burst through the door, shocking Stub enough to distract him. Gideon had broken free of Stub in time to reach Susanna, shove her aside. But she’d gone down hard. Now he couldn’t see her. Had he hurt her?

Derring knocked the pistol out of Beezle’s hand and instructed one of his men to grab the arch rogue. Beezle yelled something, fought, but Gideon couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open to witness the outcome.

“Susanna,” he said, his voice hoarse and quieter than he wanted.

But Derring heard him and bent down beside him. “Some rescue this is. You’re shot.”

“Susanna,” Gideon forced out. “Is she hurt?”

“A moment.” Derring stepped away. Gideon tried to rise, to see where he went, and the pain sent him spinning into darkness.

* * *

“Susanna. Open your eyes, Susanna.”

She tried to open them, but she would have much preferred to sleep longer. She was so tired, so weary.

“Young lady, open your eyes this instant or the doctor will give you another of those foul-smelling tonics, and you’ll sleep for another three days.”

Three days? Doctor?

Gideon.

Her heavy eyes opened, closed, and opened again.

“Mama,” she whispered.

“Thank God! For once, you obey me.”

Susanna blinked and shifted her gaze. She was in her room, the drapes pulled, but daylight was visible through the thin muslin and lace. She tried to sit, but the room spun, and her mother put a hand on her forehead.

“Slowly, darling.”

Darling.
Then it hadn’t all been a dream—her mother and Mr. Southey, Beezle and Vauxhall Gardens, Gideon.

Where was Gideon?

“I have to see him,” she said, trying to rise again. “He was shot.”

Her mother frowned at her, concern clouding her gaze, then nodded. “I’ll help you sit.”

Susanna tried to use her legs to push herself up, even as her mother hooked her under her arms. But her legs were tied down or useless. She couldn’t even feel them. “Mama, my legs. I can’t move them!”

Instead of looking horrified, her mother pointed a finger at the bed. “Get off, fleabag.”

Inhaling sharply, Susanna rose on her elbows as Beauty raised her head then set it down again. The dog had draped herself over Susanna’s legs.

“Beauty!” At Susanna’s words, the dog’s ears pricked up, and she licked Susanna’s hand. Susanna dislodged her legs and rose on her elbows. The dog’s pink skin showed on both edges of a large, white bandage situated around her middle.

“I had the doctor treat her before she could drip blood all over your room. The dog wouldn’t leave your side.” Her mother’s voice was annoyed, but her eyes were on the dog, and they shone with something like admiration. “She’ll heal soon if she’ll lie still. She’s not supposed to walk up and down stairs, but since she whines and cries incessantly if she’s not with you, I’ve had to assign Jimmy to carry her up and down when she needs to eat or go out. I am sure the man will tender his resignation any day at the indignity. Carrying a dog!” Her mother huffed, but Susanna could see beyond the hard outer shell now. Her mother was beginning to like Beauty. She’d always respected loyalty.

“Thank you, Mama,” Susanna said, taking her mother’s hand. She squeezed, and Lady Dane looked down at her.

“Why do I have the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me?” Susanna asked. “Is it Gideon? He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Blackness hovered at the edge of her sight. She’d seen him fall. She’d heard the pistol discharge. He’d taken the pistol ball for her. He’d died to save her.

“If you’re referring to that thief, the answer is no. Probably would have been better for you if he had died—”

“Oh, there I beg to differ.” Brook rapped on her door. “I heard voices,” he said by way of explanation before he stepped into her room. “If he’d died, the city would have one fewer Runner for the force, and I can always use a good man. If I can convince him to join.”

“Runner,” her mother scoffed, moving aside so Brook could stand beside the bed. “He’s a thief.”

“That thief saved your daughter’s life.” Brook glanced at Susanna. “He was shot, but he’s recovering.”

“He’s alive?”

“At the moment. Do you want to see him?”

Yes. No.
She didn’t know the answer.

“Does he want to see me?” she asked.

Brook gave her the sort of look he’d given her when they’d been children and she’d asked him to play dolls with her. He took her hand and pulled her out of bed, a bit faster than she might have liked, but she was on her feet. Maggie, her maid, immediately covered her night rail with her wrapper and cinched it tightly closed.

“You are not allowed to become that girl,” Brook said, his voice teasing. “I can’t tolerate a woman who doesn’t think for herself. The question, the only question you need ask is, do
you
want to see him?”

Susanna felt her chest tighten with anticipation, fear, lust, and yes, love. Brook was right—he was always right, annoying man. She couldn’t wait for what she wanted any longer. She had to take it with both hands.

She took Brook’s hand. “Where is he?”

* * *

Gideon’s side hurt like the devil had prodded it with his pitchfork. Burning heat shot up his flank, and icy cold slid back down. Gideon forced himself to walk the length of the small, plain room and endure the discomfort. Even though he winced with every step, he couldn’t afford to lie still. Beezle, that bastard, had escaped. So much for Derring and the Runners. If Gideon had his way, he’d hang them all.

The door opened, and Derring filled it, face long with disapproval.

“What the fuck do you want?” Gideon ground out. Three more steps until he reached the wall. Two…

“Some men know the benefit of rest after an injury,” Derring said.

Gideon snarled. “Those men don’t have a price on their head. Beezle will be back, no thanks to you.”

Derring’s face grew longer and stonier. Unless Gideon missed his guess, Derring was none too happy at the men’s failure. One Runner had rushed to Susanna’s side when she’d fallen. The other two had gone for Beezle, but he’d managed to escape, wounding both of the men with a knife he’d hidden.

“You’re safe here for the moment.”

“All the same,” Gideon panted, reaching the wall and leaning his shoulder against it for support. “I’m eager to go and give your slaveys the room back.”

Derring had put him in the servants’ quarters. Gideon didn’t know why that should rankle. Derring could have left him for dead. He could be crawling his way across the filthy ground floor of the Rouge Unicorn Cellar instead of this room, which smelled lightly of lemon and wax.

Gideon didn’t even deserve the servants’ quarters, but he didn’t like to be reminded of his station.

Far, far below Susanna.

“How is your sister?” he asked, stalling before he made the trek across the room again.

“Ask her yourself.” Derring moved aside.

Gideon’s world tilted, and when he righted it, Susanna stood in front of her brother, her face pale and her eyes wide. Seeing her beautiful and whole after the ordeal washed the last vestiges of pain away. He couldn’t feel anything but the pounding of his heart when he looked at her.

“You’re hurt!” She crossed the room in three strides and put her hands on both his arms. She smelled, as always, of flowers and clean linen. Her unbound hair tumbled in waves down her back, one curl falling over her shoulder and brushing lightly against his hand. A wave of desire slammed into him, and he staggered back against the wall.

“You should lie down. You’re not well enough to be up and about.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. He was desperate to touch her bare skin, kiss those pale pink lips. He flicked a glance at Derring, standing like a sentry. Gideon would never touch Susanna again.

“Another turn about the room, and I’ll have my strength back. Then I’ll be out of your house.”
And your life
.

“No!” She tugged him toward the bed, and he followed without thinking. “You must rest. You cannot possibly think to leave. Brook, tell him.”

Gideon raised a brow at Derring. “Yes, Brook, tell me.”

“The doctor says you need another two or three days to recover. You are welcome until then.”

Susanna pushed at his shoulders, lowering him to the bed. Gideon sat, wiping the sheen of sweat from his upper lip. “Forgive me if I’m eager to take my leave.”

Susanna glanced at her brother and then back at him. When her gaze met his, Gideon thought,
Look
at
me. Only me.

“A moment,” she said to Gideon, holding a finger up.

She spoke to her brother in quiet tones. Derring shook his head, and Susanna’s rapid whispers grew more heated. Gideon would have listened, but without Susanna’s touch, the pain in his side returned and bloomed, blocking almost everything else out. He’d kill Beezle for shooting him, watch him dance at Beilby’s Ball, the noose tight around his scrawny neck.

The door clicked shut, and Susanna leaned against it. With a start, Gideon realized they were alone. “Isn’t your brother afraid I’ll ravish you if he doesn’t stand guard?”

“You’re in no position to ravish me at the moment, more’s the pity.”

Gideon jerked his head back. What the hell did she mean by that?

She pressed her hands against the door and filled her lungs. Her breasts, beneath the thin wrapper she wore, rose and fell, and Gideon realized, quite suddenly, her feet were bare. Her pink toes peeked from beneath the white hem, so clean and pretty.

“I was afraid you were dead,” she said.

“Not yet.”

“Brook told me you gave him the necklace. You never fenced it. Never left Town.”

Gideon didn’t speak. Three, four steps at most separated them, but it felt like a thousand. He wanted to hold her, bury his head in her hair, pull her down on the bed beside him and infuse himself with the warmth that would make him feel alive again.