Earls Just Want to Have Fun (20 page)

“I apologize,” he said, his voice muffled by the hand over his face. “As you can see, I'm no gentleman.”

She laughed, and he drew his arm away to peer at her. “You find that amusing?”

“Yes. You are the most…gentlemanly gentleman I have ever met. I push you away, and you stop. I didn't even have to use my knee.”

He raised a brow. “You've had to do that often?”

“Of course. Sometimes a man drinks too much and forgets I'm not the gang's dell, or one of the cubs thinks he needs to show off to the others. I make sure they remember what's what.”

“I see.”

“But you! You haven't even tried to touch my bubbies.”

“Bu—your bosom?” His gaze slid to it now, and she felt that prickly heat again.

“Most men grab for my bubbies right away.”

He raised his brows. “It's not because I don't want to grab them, I assure you. I am exercising enormous restraint.” His brow darkened. “Despite repeated temptation.”

“And that's why you're a gentleman.”

He made no response, simply lay still on the bed beside her, staring at her for a long, long moment. She began to feel as though she must have a wart on her face, because he looked at her so long. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you confuse me, Marlowe. You're naive one moment and seemingly full of experience the next. I could swear you've never been kissed, but you tell me men paw you routinely.”

She flipped onto her knees and glared down at him. “I'm not a bawd. If a man touches me, he gets the benefit of my fist.”

“But you didn't hit me.”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. She had not seen that argument coming. Why hadn't she hit him? “I liked the way you kissed me,” she said slowly, the revelation coming to her as she spoke.

He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Are you ill?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not in the way you mean.”

He didn't speak again, and the silence lengthened. She sat back on her heels, thinking about the difference between Dane and the other men who'd—as he put it—pawed her. He was a gentleman, it was true, but it was more than that. “When you kiss me, I feel a spark,” she said.

He opened his eyes. “You said something about sparks in the garden. And a man named Gideon. Is that your lover?”

“
No.
He's a friend.”

“A thief?”

“A crony. Me and him, we watch out for each other.”

“And he spoke to you of sparks?”

Marlowe ducked her head. She didn't want to talk about this. Why had she even mentioned sparks? She must have something wrong with her head to talk to him like this. “We kissed a few times,” she admitted. “When we were younger.”

Dane sat. “I see. And?”

She shrugged. “Gid said there was no spark. We made better friends. Besides, Satin would have killed us if he found us prigging.”

“And have you ever, ah, prigged?” Dane asked.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “That's a rather personal question.”

“You don't have to answer it.”

“I told you I'm no bawd,” she said, notching her chin up.

“Then you're a virgin.” He passed a hand over his face. “What am I doing?” he muttered.

But Marlowe felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable. “What about you? Are you a…a virgin?”

He looked up at her. “We're not talking about me.”

She gave him a push then set her hands on her hips. “I told you.”

His mouth crooked in a sort of smile. “I suppose fair is fair.”

“Exactly.”

“No, I'm not. But I'm no rake. I don't debauch virgins.”

“I suppose you have a rum-blowen set up somewhere for your convenience.”

“A mistress? No. If I did, I wouldn't be half as frustrated,” he muttered.

“I didn't come in here to kiss you.”

“No. You want my brother, as does every other woman in the city.”

She didn't try to understand him. “I need a Bow Street Runner.”

“Why?”

She held up a hand. “I told you—”

He grabbed her wrist. “And now I'm telling
you
. If you want my help, you'd better tell me something. You can start with who did this to you in the garden.” He gestured to her throat.

“You want to know who did it?” She was angry now. Why did the idiot man have to be so difficult? “It was Satin. He found me, and he knows where you live, and he wants to crack this house with my help.”

Dane stared at her, his expression one of shock.

“I don't want to help him, but I'm dead if I don't. So I figure I have one chance.”

“Which is?”

“I get him before he can get me.”

Dane stared at the girl sitting on his bed in her white night rail and flimsy robe. She'd forgotten to cover her neck again, and he could see the red marks Satin had left on her pale skin. It was clear, even in the dim light, the marks were in the shape of fingers. He hadn't seen that earlier. That might be for the best, because if he had, he might have gone after the bastard and killed him.

If the bastard hadn't killed him first. This Satin was obviously fearless. He'd had the gall to accost a woman attending the Duchess of Abingdon's ball, despite the threat of both discovery and harsh reprisal. And why should he fear? What reprisal would there be? If he'd been discovered, all he had to do was reveal Marlowe was not who she seemed. The gentlemen might have made some attempt to protect her in the moment, but no one would protect her tomorrow or next week or next month.

Dane looked at her again, noted she'd washed her hair, washed the blood out. The dark tresses tumbled down her back, and he'd felt the dampness weighing it down. He hadn't actually thought she'd use the bath he'd ordered for her, but now that she had, he could smell the scent of the apricot soap she'd used. It teased him enough that he wanted to lean closer and sniff it, bury his lips in her neck and allow the sweetness to surround him.

He shook his head, uncertain how he'd come to this place. He'd been going about his life, living it the way any titled man would, and then she'd been dropped in without his invitation. He should have had nothing to do with her. She was Brook's concern, not his. But Dane found himself thinking of her far too often. He found himself desiring her more than was wise. He found her kneeling in his bed in the middle of the night, wearing little more than a thin linen wrapper. And what were they speaking of? Destroying a crime lord.

How he missed his old life. He didn't waste time thinking about the plight of the poor or the plans of crime lords. Dane's life had been staid and respectable. It had also been tedious and predictable. He'd done the same things, day in and day out. Saw the same people. Attended the same events. He could have played his part in his sleep.

Now he was awake, and he wasn't certain he liked it. But how did one go back? How did he forget about the poor and the orphans and the thieves? How did he resign himself to that familiar, banal existence? He'd wanted adventure. That was why he'd gone with Brook on that fateful night when they'd taken Marlowe. And now he had an adventure.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Might you repeat that last bit?”

She rolled her eyes. He didn't blame her. He would have rolled his eyes if he'd been her. He sounded like such a prig. “I said, I'll get Satin before he can get me.”

He did not want to ask the next question, but he couldn't find a way around it. “Are we speaking of murder?”

She gaped at him. “I'm no killer. Besides, how would I mill Satin? I don't have a weapon besides my knife, and he'd just knock it out of my hand.”

“Then you want me to…mill him?”

“What?
You?
” She started laughing, and Dane frowned. His frown turned to a scowl when her laugh continued. And continued.

“Why is the idea of me killing Satin so amusing?”

She pressed her lips together and attempted to look serious. “Right. It's just…
you
? Mill Satin?” She dissolved into giggles again, falling over on his bed, weak from laughter.

“I have pistols,” he said defensively. “Hunting rifles too. I can shoot.”

“And the moment you stepped into Seven Dials, Satin would know you were there. You don't exactly blend in. You'd never get close enough to mill him. But my plan isn't to kill him, at least not that way. I told you, I need your brother or a thief-taker like him. Maybe one whose hands have a little dirt under the fingernails.”

“Why?”

“Because I want him to tow Satin out, convince him to go in on a racket, convince Satin it's too prime to pass up. And then he can catch Satin in the act and sell him like a bullock in Smithfield. Lock him in the stone doublet.”

He supposed the
stone
doublet
referred to Newgate. “The Bow Street Runners would never do something like that. We stamped out that sort of corruption three or four years ago.”

Marlowe laughed again, but this time it was a brittle, harsh laugh. “Oh, they do the trick all the time, and they get away with it too.”

“But the Home Office conducted an inquiry. The offenders were caught and transported.”

Marlowe shook her head, probably amused by his naiveté. And he'd called her naive.

“Why work for your bread when you can trick some young cub into stealing for you? Then you're a hero for catching the thief, and you collect the money from the nobs. Everyone wins. Except the cub.”

“My brother would not participate in such a scheme.”

“Never said he did, but plenty do. My question is will your brother help me? It would mean catching the arch rogue of the Covent Street Cubs. I need someone good, because Satin will know if he's being gulled.”

Dane nodded and was silent. She was clever. He'd known that, but he hadn't known quite how clever until this moment. Her plan could actually work, but not if they employed Brook in the manner she suggested.

“So will you contact your brother, or not?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“Bastard!” She jumped off his bed and stormed toward the door. At the last moment, she turned. “I knew I shouldn't have trusted you. I was a fool to think you'd ever help someone like me.”

“Marlowe.”

“I'm leaving. Don't try and stop me.” She grasped the door latch.

“Marlowe, stop yelling, or you'll wake the house.”

“I don't care.”

“I do, and if you want my help, you should keep our meeting tonight between the two of us.”

Slowly, she turned to face him, her hand still on the latch. “I already told you how you can help. You refused.”

“Because your plan won't work.”

“And what do you know about it,
Lord
Dane? You've done a lot of scheming, have you?”

“No, but you said yourself that Satin will be suspicious if you send a Runner.”

“I said if the Runner isn't convincing.”

She was listening now, and Dane slid off the bed and crossed to her. “If you know about these ploys the Runners use, then Satin knows too. Would you ever trust a Runner, no matter how convincing?”

She stared at him, her mouth set in a hard, thin line. “No.”

“And you think Satin will?”

She slumped. He could see her shoulders collapse. “No.” She shook her head. “Bloody hell. That was my last hope. I'm done for.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes round and suspiciously shiny. He wondered how much strength it took for her to hold back the tears. “
You're
done for.”

“No, I'm not. I said I wouldn't fetch my brother. I never said I wouldn't help you.”

“I'm listening.” Her hands fisted on her hips in a show of skepticism he didn't appreciate.

“I'll convince Satin to go in on a—what do you call it? A racket?”

She closed her eyes. “It will never work.”

“Why?”

“Because he'll know who you are.”

“How? He might know this is the house of the Earl of Dane, but he's never met me. I could be anyone. I could be the younger son of a duke who wants a share of the old man's blunt. And perhaps I need Satin's help for that.”

She didn't speak, which he took as a good sign.

“You said yourself I'd never fit in if I showed my face in Seven Dials. So I don't try to fit in. I go as a gentleman and make it known I'm looking for a thief to do a job for me. When Satin takes the bait…” He paused. That was the extent of his plan.

Marlowe's lips relaxed slightly. “We can figure that part out.”

Dane smiled, but it was short-lived. “
We?
”

She stepped away from the door. “If you want to make sure Satin bites, then we go to him directly. Otherwise, chances are he just sends Gideon or Beezle to strip the ken. I wouldn't mind seeing Beezle dangle, but the other cubs don't deserve that. I'll take you to Satin. I'll tell him I have an even easier game than pilfering this place.”

“How do we make certain he doesn't send one of the, ah, cubs to do the dirty work?”

“I make the racket sound so prime that he'll want it all for himself.”

“You think it will work?”

“It has to. We don't have much time, though. We figure out the details and see him tomorrow night.”

“Fine. In the meantime, we sleep.” He yawned to punctuate his suggestion.

“How can I sleep? I have plans to make. You had better hire additional footmen, in case Satin decides to heave a cough without warning.”

Dane waved. “I'll take care of it in the morning. Now, we sleep.” He headed back to his bed and reached for his trousers before he realized she was still standing by his door. “Are you staying?” he asked. He almost wanted her to say yes. He
did
want her to say yes. He might have tried to convince her if he didn't know taking her to bed was the absolute worst decision he would ever make.

Well, the second worst decision. He was probably going to get himself killed going after this Satin. Dane sighed. He'd wanted adventure.

“I'm not staying. I just wanted to…”

When she didn't continue, Dane raised a brow. “Catch one more glimpse of my magnificent body?”

She rolled her eyes. “No.”

“You wanted a kiss good night? I'd be more than happy to oblige.”

“No. Never mind! I would have said thank you, but I forgot how much I hate you.” With that, she pulled the door open and stormed out. Dane shook his head. She'd probably woken half the servants. He glanced at the clock—well, she'd woken those not already up and starting their day.

“You're welcome,” he muttered, stripping down and climbing back into bed. But it was a long time before he slept. A long time before he could no longer detect the lingering scent of that apricot soap or hear the echo of her voice.

The next morning—very well, afternoon—he rose, dressed, and considered asking Crawford to send her to his library. But then Dane didn't need the butler to tell him where she was. He knew already. Dane made his way to the dining room, well aware it was too late for breakfast, especially if his mother and sister had eaten then departed at dawn. But when he opened the door, there she was. No surprise, the cook had made certain she was fed. A plate was piled high before her, and from the littering of crumbs around her, he deduced that was not her first serving. Crawford himself stood in the corner, playing his favorite role of silent sentinel.

“Good morning,” Dane said to Marlowe.

She scowled at him and stuffed anther sausage in her mouth. So much for his attempt at politeness. Dane took a seat at the head of the table, and Crawford approached. “Tea, my lord?”

“Coffee this morning, Crawford,” he said.

“Very good, my lord.”

“Did the countess and my sister leave any parting words for me?” he asked. He didn't really want to know, but if his mother had left a message, he was going to have to hear it at some point.

“Yes, my lord. Her ladyship said”—Crawford straightened as though about to give news of the utmost import—“she will not return until that vulgar woman has been removed. I am to send word when Lord and Lady Lyndon have rejected her.”

Dane glanced at Marlowe. She'd stopped chewing for a moment, but now she swallowed and took a bite of toast. Her table manners were still quite appalling, though not quite as bad as when she'd first arrived. He supposed she was no longer starving.

“And if Lord and Lady Lyndon do not reject her?” Dane asked.

Crawford sniffed. “The countess left no instructions in that case.” He poured Dane coffee and retreated to his corner.

Dane sipped the coffee. He wasn't fond of the taste, but he was still weary from the long night without much rest. He did not expect to rest any more until this ordeal with Satin was quite over. He did not know if Marlowe had slept at all last night either. She was wearing the same dress she had on the day before, and her hair had been brushed and pulled into a simple tail. Either she hadn't allowed the maid to dress it, or she hadn't wanted it pinned up. He liked her with her hair down. She looked more feminine and less like she might knee him in the groin at any moment.

“Miss Marlowe,” he said for the benefit of Crawford, “I suppose you and I should have a discussion about the arrangements going forward.”

“The…what?” she asked.

Dane rose. “If you would, meet me in the library when you have finished breaking your fast. Crawford, might I see you for a moment?”

Crawford gave Marlowe a suspicious glance, then said, “Yes, my lord.”

Dane led the way to the library and closed the door. “I want you to hire several additional footmen. Only men you trust. Perhaps those we have used when we needed more staff for a ball or some such thing. You can find a few men?”

“Of course, my lord.” He puffed up his chest. “May I ask why? Nathaniel and Jimmy are quite capable of seeing to anything you need.”

Dane took a seat at his desk. “I'm not questioning their skills, but I want men to patrol the perimeter of the house for the next few days.”

“Do you fear a theft, my lord?” He glanced back toward the dining room and Marlowe.

Dane did not want to tell Crawford the truth. The fewer people who knew of his plans with Marlowe, the better. “At the ball last night, several of our neighbors mentioned having their homes pilfered. I believe there may be a gang of thieves targeting the area. Until they are apprehended, I want more security.”