The Rogue You Know (Covent Garden Cubs) (5 page)

“’Arrow? What do ye want?”

Susanna held her breath. She’d expected a welcome of some sort. Her hand burrowed deeper into Beauty’s fur. The dog seemed to sense trouble, but as yet no low hum of warning rose in her throat.

“Just open the jigger, Stryker. I have a lady with me.” Gideon used his boot to shove the door wider. A gaunt face surrounded by white hair and fuzzed with white bristles stared out at her. Another watery eye fastened on her.

“So ye do.” Stryker’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Ye sure you want to bring ’er in ’ere?”

“No choice.” Gideon shouldered his way inside. “Strawberry?” He jerked his hand at her impatiently.

Susanna lifted one foot, rested it on the first of the three steps leading to the door. Beyond this Stryker, all was darkness. She cut a glance over her shoulder, where the men at the fire near the street watched her with predatory gazes.

“In or out, Strawberry? I’d suggest in, but you can take your chances with them if you want.”

Beauty growled at the men behind her, and Susanna patted her head. She tucked her candlestick under her arm, lifted her skirts, and climbed the rest of the steps. Stryker’s pale eyes shifted to the dog. “That thing stays outside.”

“No.” Susanna pulled Beauty closer.

Gideon closed his eyes as though in pain. “Strawberry, leave the mongrel on the stoop.”

Wordlessly, Susanna shook her head. Where she went, Beauty followed.

“I’m not having that buffer in me place,” Stryker said. “It’s got fleas.”

“Then it should be right at home,” Gideon mumbled.

“Beauty doesn’t have fleas!” Susanna argued, shocked at the vehemence in her voice. “I admit she needs a bath, but I haven’t seen her scratch once.”

Beauty jerked, craned her neck, and bit at her hindquarters. Susanna pressed her lips together and, with her eyes, dared the men to argue with her.

“The dog stays in the entry,” Gideon negotiated. “We’ll only be a moment.”

Stryker emitted a growl of his own and jerked his chin. Gideon moved into the darkness, and Susanna shuffled after, keeping Beauty’s warm body against her thigh.

The door closed behind her, and Stryker snapped lock after lock into place. He held a tallow candle in one hand and pointed a bony finger from the other hand at Beauty. “Down.”

Beauty lowered her haunches and settled comfortably against the door.

“Where’s your gang?” Gideon asked.

“Where else?” Stryker asked with a jerk of his shoulder. “Kitchen.” He stroked the fuzz on his chin and narrowed his watery eyes. “Where’d you find her?”

“Long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“I don’t.”

Gideon lifted the hem of her skirt, and Susanna slapped his hand away.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Showing him your shoes.”

“Them’s shoes?” Stryker asked. He shook his head. “Useless.”

Susanna’s back straightened. The nerve of these men!

“That’s why we want to trade them. She needs a solid pair of boots. Boots that fit so she can walk.”

Stryker scrubbed his cheeks. “Trade ’em? What do I want with ’em slippers? No one in ’er right mind would buy ’em.”

Susanna gasped. “I’ll have you know these slippers were handmade by Madam Durand. If you know anything of fashion, which you obviously do not, you would know she’s one of the finest modistes in London.”

“Mod—what?” Stryker’s face had scrunched into a fuzzy, wrinkled oval.

“Stryker.” Gideon wrapped an arm around the other man’s bony shoulders. “Those slippers are silk.”

They were actually satin, but Susanna didn’t correct him.

Gideon patted the other man familiarly. “The sole is the finest kid leather.”

Susanna saw what he was about now, and slid a slipper out from under her hem so the pretty pink satin was visible. She was loathe to part with the slippers. They matched the gown perfectly, but neither could she traipse across London in them.

“The ribbons are in perfect condition,” she added. “Not frayed or wrinkled.” She had no idea if that was true. They’d been in perfect condition when she’d tied them on. “A lady would pay…” She had no idea what someone would pay for slippers like these. She’d never even seen the bill. “…would pay money for these.”

Stryker stared at the slippers and stroked his jaw. “Problem is we don’t ’ave many
ladies
round ’ere.”

“Plenty of molls.” Gideon said something low and quiet near the man’s ear, and Stryker laughed.

Susanna’s face grew hot. She didn’t know anything about molls or the sorts of things men whispered when women were not present. Her ignorance now reminded her of when she’d been a child in the country, watching her brothers tromp through meadows while she had to stay close to home.

Stryker opened his bony hand. “Let me ’ave ’em.”

Susanna waited for Gideon to nod. When he did, she looked for a chair to sit upon. “Is there somewhere I might sit to remove these?”

“Might as well come into the kitchen.” Stryker slid deeper into the dark entry. “Ye can wait there while I find real shoes.”

Gideon didn’t move, and Susanna waited beside him. She didn’t know what waited in the kitchen for her, and she dared not find out without Gideon beside her. When her legs trembled and wobbled, she reminded herself Gideon knew Marlowe. Marlowe would never allow anything to happen to her. Maybe Marlowe had sent Gideon. Before Marlowe had married Dane, she’d lost a wager and promised Susanna an adventure.

So far, this had been an adventure.

“Who’s down there?” Gideon asked.

“The usual.” Stryker’s voice came from the murky blackness.

“Maybe I’d better wait here then.”

Susanna gave him a sharp look. Did this Gideon have so many enemies?

“Coward,” the voice in the darkness hissed. “If I know Gideon ’Arrow, ye want more than a pair of shoes. Better go down if you think to swindle me out of the rest.”

“I never swindle,” Gideon said, looking very much like offended royalty.

“Right.”

Susanna heard a shuffling sound. Somehow she knew Stryker was gone. She stared into the black corridor then turned in a circle to study the entry. Not a chair in sight. She might be able to hold one wall and balance to remove the slippers, but it wouldn’t be very ladylike.

Her throat was still dry. She desperately wanted a splash of tea.

“You have enemies in the kitchen?” she asked.

“I have enemies everywhere. You?” His green eyes assessed her with an unfamiliar look. Cynicism?

“None that I know of.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. You haven’t lived enough life to make any enemies.”

Susanna was unexpectedly offended by the remark. She couldn’t have said why. It seemed like not having enemies should be a good thing, but Gideon acted as though it, once again, proved her immaturity.

He moved around the entryway, peering into the adjoining room, looking for God knew what. How he could see anything was beyond her. The place had no lamps or candles. Even Stryker’s tallow candle emitted only a weak, pale light.

“I don’t want to live a life that will make enemies.”

“That’s a sad fact.” He moved from one corner to the next, inspecting the empty room. “The only people who don’t have enemies are the ones who don’t have any opinions. The ones who duck their heads and close their mouths to ensure they don’t offend anyone. Them’s the real cowards.”

Susanna did not think she’d ever been more offended in her life. She gawked at him with her mouth hanging open. Beauty growled briefly.

Susanna crossed her arms. “If I’m the coward, why are we hiding up here?”

He paused in his search and crossed to her. “You want to see why we’re
hiding
up here?”

When he put it that way, she didn’t want to see at all. She almost shook her head no, but he’d only look down on her more. And she’d had quite enough of that.

“Take me to the kitchens,” she said firmly. “Unless you’re too afraid.”
Please, please be too afraid.

Gideon took her gloved hand and pulled her into the blackness.

* * *

The moment he tugged her into the darkness, he regretted it. He’d never known a woman so innocent of the world. She was right to be frightened. She’d be even more frightened if she knew how completely vulnerable she actually was. She’d see now, when he took her to the kitchen. He’d protect her as best as he was able, but she’d wanted this adventure. Better before they went on that she knew the risks.

If she took one look at those risks and decided to run home, then his night was that much shorter.

He negotiated the dark floor of the house, leading her toward the steps down to the kitchen more from memory than sight. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, but the house was still damn dark.

The first sounds of the men below floated up from the kitchen, and her fingers tightened on his hand. Gideon pushed down the urge to squeeze her hand back in reassurance. He wanted her afraid, wanted her to give up this quest to travel to Vauxhall Gardens.

“I’d like to be able to use this hand later,” he muttered, shoving the tender part of him down. “Loosen your claws, madam.”

“I beg your pardon.” She attempted to snatch her hand away, but he wouldn’t allow it.

Another part of him wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she was safe. That he’d protect her. He’d slit his own throat before he said something so asinine. He blamed her for his confusion. The gentry mort looked as though a strong breeze would blow her over. She was slim and delicate, her skin pale and almost translucent. She was a doll who belonged in a toy shop, not in St. Giles.

She even had doll-like eyes. They were as wide as an owl’s but a thousand times more beautiful—deep brown with a thick fringe of lashes that swept down and over her cheek when she was embarrassed.

“Careful here,” Gideon said when they reached the staircase. “Take the steps slowly.”

Dim light filtered through the gloom at the bottom of the stairs. The men in the kitchen had heard them coming and quieted. Gideon glanced over his shoulder at her and almost lost his own damn footing. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes dark brown, and her hair…

It looked more copper than strawberry blond in the dim light. She’d pinned it—or one of her slaveys had—in some twisted, coiled, plaited arrangement on the back of her head. The mass had stayed firmly in place, much to his disappointment. He wondered what it would look like down around her shoulders. Was it straight or curly? Soft or coarse? If he buried his nose in the tresses, would the scent match the light, clean fragrance that had tantalized his senses when the breeze blew the right way?

He caught his balance again and led her to the bottom of the steps. The men would take one look at her and eat her alive.

“Well, if it isn’t the cove what bit the cole.”

Gideon bowed to the half-dozen men standing around a scarred wooden table with one broken chair. A low fire burned in a hearth, where a large black pot hung over the flame. A dozen dirty bowls littered the floor and table as well as several empty jugs of ale. In one corner, a cat tore at a bone, seeking any morsel of meat remaining.

Dim light from two dirty lamps danced on the kitchen walls in eerie patterns. The glow illuminated the men’s faces, making them look more like devils than men.

Gideon’s gut clenched. The company couldn’t have been much worse—Rum, Lighter, Jonesy, Dab, Corker, and Mill. Six devils of the underworld.

“Gentlemen,” Gideon said with forced gallantry. “A pleasure as always.”

“Ye’re right about that,” Corker, a bald man with one long eyebrow, said. “This is a pleasure. You got a price on yer ’ead. Don’t know what you filched from Beezle and don’t care. Jonesy”—he jerked his head at the small, thin man who constantly rubbed his palms together—“fetch Beezle.”

Gideon held up his hands. “Now wait just a moment, gentlemen. Is that any way to treat a crony?”

“Crony?” Mill spat a dark, foul juice from his scruffy jaw. “Ye’re no crony to naught but yerself.”

“That’s not true. Mill, last year you and me, we cracked that house together.”

“And you ran off with the clank and sneakers. That were the only cargo worth anything,” Mill said in his high-pitched voice.

This was bad. Gideon did a quick reckoning. He’d crossed all of them in one way or another. “A misunderstanding,” Gideon told Mill.

“What about that time we was cornered by them pigs?” Rum said. His low words slurred together. “I ’ad to dispatch ’em meself.”

“Rum,” Gideon said, his voice and expression one of deep pain. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t climb through that glaze. But look—”

“No,
you
look,” Lighter said, taking a step toward him. Lighter was a giant of a man. He walked in a perpetual crouch to keep from banging his head on ceilings.

Gideon would have stepped back, but Strawberry was cowering behind him. He was cornered. Lighter’s meaty hand wrapped around Gideon’s throat and lifted him. Dangling a foot off the ground, Gideon knew the exact moment Lighter got a look at Strawberry. The murderous expression on his face was snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

“Who’s this?” Lighter asked, voice full of wonder.

Gideon couldn’t turn his neck, incapacitated as it was between Lighter’s beefy fingers, but he rolled his eyes in Strawberry’s general direction. Even holding that blasted glim-stick, she gave a curtsy worthy of the queen.

“Gentlemen,” she said, sweeping those thick lashes down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Lighter’s jaw dropped. Gideon shook his body in an attempt to dislodge his throat from Lighter’s grip, but the man would not release him. The hiss of the lamps sounded loud in the sudden silence. Like Lighter, Mill’s chops hung open. Corker and Jonesy looked like they’d hit their nobs too hard. Mill blinked rapidly, and Rum fumbled to straighten his dirty neckcloth.

Corker recovered first. “Who are you?”

Gideon didn’t know her well enough to deduce whether or not she was nervous, but if she was, she gave no sign. She smiled brightly, and she had the sort of smile that spread sunlight into the darkest reaches of the flash house. “I’m Susanna.”

“Susanna,” Mill squeaked reverently.

“You with
him
?” Lighter shook Gideon by the throat, and the world went black for a moment.

“Through a mutual friend. Perhaps you know her? Marlowe?”

“We know ’er,” Rum mumbled. “She sent Satin to City College.”

“Newgate,” Gideon explained with a wheeze.

“And good riddance.” Jonesy leaned forward to spit then seemed to think better of it and swallowed loudly.

“I don’t know anything about those circumstances,” Strawberry said, moving forward and into the light. Her pale, pink-tinged skin and shiny hair made her look like an angel beside the dirty, dirt-stained men. Mill took a step back.

“I do know Mr. Harrow has agreed to assist me with a personal matter, and”—she bestowed a kind smile on Lighter—“I would be so grateful if you would set him down. He looks as though he cannot breathe.”

Lighter stared at her then opened his hand. Gideon thudded on the floor.

“Thank you. I can see you gentlemen are busy. As soon as Mr. Stryker returns with my shoes, I shall take Mr. Harrow and be out of your way.”

“You can’t ’ave ’Arrow,” Corker said.

Gideon rubbed the aching shoulder on which he’d fallen and rose to his feet. What the devil was this? Why wasn’t Strawberry weeping in a corner or on the floor in a swoon? Of the six devils, she’d charmed at least three. But not Corker. Corker would scare her right back to Mayfair. He wouldn’t hurt her. None of these rooks were the sort to harm a woman, but neither were they cock robins.

“I beg your pardon?” Susanna said pleasantly.

“’E’s got a price on his head. We’re taking him to Beezle.”

“Oh dear.” She looked down, her expression one of grief. Gideon could have sworn tears shimmered in her eyes. If they were authentic, he’d run back to Beezle himself.

She looked up, her brown eyes pleading. “That is dire news indeed.”

“Why?” Mill asked. Rum nodded.

“Because I suppose that means the end of my dream.”

Jonesy pointed to Gideon “’
E’s
your dream?”

She flicked a glance at him. “No, no. Of course not.”

Gideon crossed his arms, offended for some reason. She’d said it almost as though she thought the idea he could be anyone’s dream ridiculous. Gideon could have told her there were any number of ladies—well, not
ladies
exactly, but women—who dreamed about him.

“He offered to take me to Vauxhall Gardens.
That’s
my dream. You see—” She made a show of looking about for a seat.

Dab, who’d stayed in the back until now, rushed forward with the broken chair. “’Ere, miss.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and his face went as red as a hot coal.

Gideon stared. He’d never seen anyone with the power she had. Once, when he’d been young, he’d sneaked in to see a traveling circus. Gideon had never forgotten the snake charmer—the power the man had over the deadly snakes, the way he entranced them and coaxed the serpents into a terrible but beautiful dance.

Strawberry was a snake charmer, and he hadn’t even known it.

Gideon should have been relieved. The six snakes in Stryker’s kitchen were extremely venomous. Instead, he was annoyed. Gideon was starting to think he would actually have to take her to Vauxhall.

Strawberry had seated herself daintily in the wobbly chair. She acted as though it were a throne, arranging her skirts around it and folding her hands together over the glim-stick. “My dream is to go to Vauxhall Gardens. Have you ever been?”

Several of the men shook their heads. Corker and Lighter nodded.

“Was it magical?” she asked, looking first at Corker then Lighter.

“It’s not magical,” Gideon interrupted. “It’s one more place for the swells to show off their finery.”

“I thought it was magical,” Lighter said.

His voice was wistful, and his eyes far away. Gideon wanted to snap his fingers in front of Lighter’s face and say,
Wake
up
.

“Did you?” Strawberry asked.

Instead of elbowing the giant in the gut, the other rooks nodded encouragement for Lighter to continue.

“There was music and dancing. The music was the most beautiful thing you ever ’eard. Sounded like angels singing.”

“
Angels
singing?
” Gideon laughed.

Mill shushed him with a deadly look.

“Go on,” Strawberry said, appearing as though she hung on Lighter’s every word. Dab, who had stayed by her side, looked at her as though he’d finally met his god.

“I ’eard that music,” Lighter said, “and I forgot all about dancing. I stood all night and listened.”

“You didn’t dance?” Strawberry asked.

Lighter looked down at his giant frame. “Who’d dance with me?”

“A big strapping gentleman like yourself? Who
wouldn’t
dance with you?”

Gideon groaned. “Don’t you see what she’s doing?”

“I see ye’re interrupting ’er telling us about ’er dream,” Rum said, his voice a grumble. “Shut yer gob.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve never been to Vauxhall Gardens, and I am sure I would enjoy the music as much as Mr.…” She looked up at Lighter.

“Lighter,” he said.

“As Mr. Lighter did. But you see, I have a more important reason for venturing into the pleasure gardens.”

“What’s that?” Jonesy asked.

Strawberry looked at each of them in turn—Dab, Jonesy, Lighter, Mill, Rum, and the only one who appeared skeptical, Corker. “Love,” she said simply.

“Love?” Corker asked.

“No,” Gideon moaned. “Not you too.”

“Have you ever been in love, Mr.…”

“Corker,” Dab supplied. He pointed to each man in turn and said their names. If she thought they were unusual, she didn’t show it.

“Have you, Mr. Corker?”

“I fell in love at Vauxhall,” Corker said.

Gideon groaned.

Strawberry clapped her hands together. “Really?”

“Love.” Gideon snorted. “Some moll who led you down The Dark Walk for a shilling.”

Corker slammed a meaty fist on the table. The wood whined and shivered.

“It weren’t like that, Gid. She weren’t no buttock.” He looked down at his hands. “Least I don’t think she was.” He laced his fingers together then unlaced them, the sausage-sized digits moving almost gracefully. “She were beautiful and kind.”

Gideon rolled his eyes. Dab moved like lightning, slamming Gideon against the wall. With a muffled curse, Gideon threw him off.

“Ain’t you ever had a dream?” Dab asked.

“Yes,” Gideon said. “My dream is to get the hell out of this place. The hell away from Beezle. I don’t give a damn about music or
love
.” He sneered at Corker.

“Don’t mind ’im,” Mill squeaked. “Everyone knows ’e was in love with Marlowe for years. She didn’t love ’im back.”

“Go to hell!” Gideon lunged for Mill, but Lighter extended an arm, effectively blocking Gideon’s path.

“If yer dream is to go to Vauxhall, then you should go,” Jonesy said. “I’ll take you meself.”

He stepped forward, standing before Strawberry like a knight from the old stories.

“No!” Gideon ducked under Lighter’s arm and shoved Jonesy aside. “I’m taking her.”

Dab advanced. “Not if she don’t want you to.”

“Miss Susanna, I’d be honored to take you,” Rum muttered, approaching Strawberry.

“So would I,” Mill added.

Gideon ran a hand through his hair in frustration. At this rate, half the rookery would be escorting Strawberry, and he’d never get the necklace back. Unless she went with Stryker’s rooks. Then he could sneak back to her house, rifle it, and—

“Gentlemen,” Strawberry said finally, interrupting the argument as to who was better suited to escort her. “I’m afraid I promised Mr. Harrow he could escort me.”

“’Arrow has a price on his pate,” Corker said, his single eyebrow lowering to shade his eyes. “We’re taking ’im to Beezle.”

“And you cannot take him to this Beezle tomorrow? I need him for one night, and then he’s all yours.” She held her hand out, as though serving him on a platter.

Corker’s eyebrow lowered further.

“Please, Mr. Corker. You, of all people, understand about the importance of love. And this dream I have of finding love at Vauxhall Garden, it isn’t for me. It’s”—she gave them all a pleading look that would have put the actors at Drury Lane to shame—“it’s for my mother.”

“Your mother?” Mill squeaked.

“Yes.” She stood. “I’m afraid I’ve been something of a disappointment to my mother. I thought if I could find the man she’d once loved, then perhaps she might love me. Just a little.”

“How could you be a disappointment?” Lighter said, planting his legs apart like tree trunks. “You’re perfect.”

“If only that were true. I’m afraid I’m not as accomplished as she’d hoped I would be. And I can be a bit impulsive and—”

“Stubborn,” Gideon added.

Dab smacked him. “Shut yer potato trap.”

“It’s true. I can be stubborn.” She looked at her toes, still clad in the flimsy slippers.

Gideon blew out a breath. Where the hell was Stryker already?

“But if you will just give me the chance to make this one dream come true, then I will be so very grateful.”

Lighter looked at Dab, who looked at Mill, who looked at Rum, who looked at Jonesy, who looked at Corker. Corker blew out a long, tortured breath. “Go. Live your dream.”

“What dream?” Stryker said from the steps. “It better be a dream about going out tonight and filching me cargo we can fence, or you’ll be dreaming in someone else’s flash ken.” He lifted a pair of mud-caked boots. “’Ere you go. They’re not pretty, but they don’t ’ave no holes.”

Susanna blinked, clearly appalled at the idea of wearing the scuffed, grimy beater cases. She must have thought better of objecting, because she sat, daintily removed her slippers, and took the boots from Stryker’s hand. She slid her feet into them as though they were encrusted with jewels.

She rose, wiggled her toes to check the fit, and handed the slippers to Stryker. “Thank you, sir.”

“I ain’t no sir. Unless I miss my guess, the two of you are hungry.” He jerked a thumb at Mill. “Give them some of that stew.”

Mill hurriedly filled two bowls and set them out with a crust of bread. Gideon didn’t even glance at the food before shoveling it into his mouth.

Susanna balked at the brown glop. “Perhaps I will save this for Beauty.”

“The dog?” Stryker asked. “Gave her some kitchen scraps already. Her belly is full.”

“Oh.” Susanna looked down at the stew. “Then I will eat…this.” She closed her eyes and spooned the stew into her mouth. Gideon was impressed. The stew didn’t taste half as bad as it looked, but he didn’t think she’d be able to stomach it.

Finally, she pushed her bowl away. “My compliments to the cook.”