Earls Just Want to Have Fun (21 page)

Crawford's eyes widened, an indication he was shocked. “A gang of thieves, my lord? In Mayfair? I have heard nothing about it.”

Of course he hadn't. Dane had made the whole thing up. “The Bow Street Runners do not want the thieves to know they are on to them. I rely on your discretion, Crawford.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

Dane ran a hand over the top of his kidney-shaped oak desk. He'd sat here so many hours that every grain of the wood was as familiar to him as his own hands. He knew every ink stain, every scratch, every nick. “There's one more thing, Crawford.” Dane looked up.

“Miss Marlowe, my lord.”

“Yes. Now that my mother and sister have removed, it's quite improper for the two of us to be living here alone together.” No matter that the house had a full complement of servants. Society would see Marlowe—or Lady Elizabeth, if that's who she was—and Dane as being quite alone together. “Even if Brook were here, and God knows where he is of late, it would still be improper. I rely on you to keep this situation from becoming public fodder.”

“I will do my best, my lord. Is there no where else the girl might go?”

“Crawford, if she is Lord Lyndon's daughter, we owe her our hospitality. I won't turn her out.”

“Of course not, my lord.”

A tap on the door drew Dane's attention. “Thank you, Crawford. That will be all.”

Crawford nodded and opened the door to Marlowe. With a sigh, Dane beckoned her inside.

***

Marlowe couldn't have said why, but Dane looked different sitting behind the desk. More earl-like. Perhaps she had become used to seeing him lying in his bed, half-dressed. She actually preferred him that way, which was a thought she did not want to consider too closely.

The butler, his face pinched as usual, passed her and closed the door behind him, leaving her and Dane alone. “He doesn't like me much,” she said, stating the obvious.

“He doesn't need to like you,” Dane said, rising as she came forward. “But if he did, he would be your most valuable ally. As it is, I have instructed him to hire more footmen.” He gestured to a chair on the other side of the desk. Marlowe blinked at it.

“Good. But if Satin wants to dub the gigger, he'll find a way. You can't be on guard forever.”

“True, but if all goes according to plan, we won't have to be.” He frowned at her. “You do realize that as long as you stand, I am obliged to stand?”

She hadn't realized that. No one had ever stood when she entered a room before she'd come here. “Sorry.” She took the seat across from him, and he lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. “This feels stiff,” she said.

“Perhaps that is a better arrangement for us. We tend to become…distracted when conversing in less formal situations.”

Kissing. That was what he meant by
distracted
. She would never understand why he didn't just say what he meant. He talked around everything so much it made her head spin. “I've been thinking about our plan,” she said, rising and pacing. Moving about always helped her to think more clearly. “There's a tavern right across from Satin's flash ken. You and I can get a room there. We'll be close enough to the gang to know what they're up to.” She looked over at Dane and realized he was standing again. “Oh, sorry,” she said and took her seat again. With a tight smile, he took his place behind the desk.

“And the name of this establishment?”

“I wouldn't exactly call it an
establishment
. But it's called Rouge Unicorn Cellar.”

“Interesting.”

“I know the husband and wife who own it. They have no love for Satin, but they won't double-cross him either. We'll have to be careful.”

“Always. And what happens after we have our room?”

“That's where we plant the seed.” She rose and walked to the bookshelves, wondering how anyone could have possibly read all of the volumes it contained. How did anyone have time? She barely knew a few words, and it took her a painfully long time to piece those together. “Satin will come when he hears I'm back. Then you tell him the story about the duke. You have to make it sound bang-up prime.”

“I'll do my best.”

She turned. He was standing again, but she couldn't be bothered to sit. “And you can't show any interest in me.”

“What do you mean?” He came around from the desk now, and she almost wished he'd stayed behind it. He looked so handsome in his buff breeches and dark blue coat. His boots were polished, and that cravat of his tied perfectly under his chin. As a thief, she had an eye for quality. As a woman, she had an eye for a rum duke. And the Earl of Dane, with his hair falling over his forehead and his deep brown eyes, was most definitely handsome.

“I mean, you can't act like you care about me. Not that you do. Care about me, that is.”

His brows rose. “You think I don't care about you?”

She shrugged. “I just mean that if Satin sees any sort of weakness, he'll exploit it. So no kissing.” She turned back to the bookshelf, feeling her face heat. She did not know why the discussion should make her insides flutter. Perhaps the sausage had been bad.

“No kissing. I understand.” He was behind her now, rather close behind her if his voice was any indication. “What else should I not do?”

“Don't stand up for me. If he calls me names or kicks me, you can't intervene.”

Dane blew out a breath, and she felt the warm air on the back of her neck. “I cannot guarantee that.”

She turned and almost stumbled back against the bookshelf. Dane was quite close. “You have to. He's not going to hurt me. Not yet, anyway. He still needs me. I'm safe while he needs me.”

Dane raised his hand and cupped her cheek. “What you must have been through, Marlowe.” He ran a thumb over her cheek. “I wish I could take it all away.”

What a strange thing to say. The touch of his thumb made her skin heat further. Her heart was pounding now, and she feared she really was not well. “You can't do that,” she said, her voice far more breathless than she had intended.

“Do what?”

“Touch me like this.”

“I see. It's more indication that I care about you.”

“I didn't say that. I just said you can't appear like you care. Not that you do care.”

“And what if I told you I
do
care? What if I told you I care
a
great
deal
about you?”

She shook her head. She didn't know the game he was playing, and she didn't want to understand it. She wanted to get away. Of course, if she'd wanted to move away, there was no reason she couldn't. He wasn't in her path. Her legs simply refused to move.

“You wouldn't believe me, would you? No one has ever cared about you.”

No one had, not like this, at any rate. Gideon was her friend, and he'd done what he could to protect her, but he protected a lot of the cubs.

“Why would they?” she said. “I'm no one. I'm worse than no one. I'm a thief.”

“I can't answer for the foolishness of everyone else who has ever met you, but I can tell you why I care about you.”

He was standing far too close, and his thumb was making delicious circles on her cheek, dipping down to her jaw. She wished he would move away. If she cast up her accounts on his shoes, he would not feel nearly as tenderly about her. For some reason, she wanted to keep his good opinion. “Why?” she asked, knowing she should not ask, and unable to stop herself.

“Why do I like you? Oh, I've a weakness for intelligent women. I don't meet many.” His thumb dipped down to her neck, brushing over the flesh until she shivered.

“Y-you think I'm intelligent?”

“Perhaps cunning is a better word.”

She frowned. “I can't even read.”

“You'll learn to in no time. Do you know what else I like about you?” His fingers stroked her neck, feathering down to her shoulder. “I like that you're unpretentious.”

“Is that good?”

“Very good in my world. And, unlike most women I meet, you have an appetite.”

“You mean I'm hungry?”

“Exactly.” His hand slid down her arm and encased her hand in his warm one.

“But Crawford said I have the manners of a swine.”

Dane laughed. “And you didn't strike him?”

“He moved too quickly.” She smiled back.

Dane inhaled slowly. “And, of course, there's that.”

“That?”

“Your smile. You're beautiful when you smile.” He squeezed her hand, and she looked down at their linked fingers.

“If you're to convince Satin you don't care about me, you shouldn't do that.”

“Hold your hand? What about this?” He released her hand and wrapped an arm about her waist, drawing her closer to his broad chest and the warmth of his body. He smelled faintly of soap and a musky spice.

“Not a good idea.”

“No?” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, her eyelid, her nose, her cheek. “I shouldn't do that either.”

“Definitely not.”

“And this”—he brushed his lips over hers—“is a very bad idea.”

She murmured something incomprehensible, because she could no longer think. His lips, like his body, were warm and tasted slightly of coffee, sugar, and cream. His hand on her back flattened, and she felt thrilling little zings where his fingers pressed into her flesh. His mouth claimed hers, his tongue dipping inside to tease her and make her want more. When he broke the kiss, they were both breathless. “It's helpful to do this now,” he said. “Just so we're clear on the rules.”

“That was definitely against them.”

“No kissing on the lips. Understood. What about here?” He touched her neck then brushed it with his lips. She almost jumped from the sensation.

“Def—”

But she didn't finish before his lips skated up her nape to tease her earlobe. And then he slid back down again, kissing her tenderly in the hollow at the base of her throat. “Is that allowed?” he asked, his breath feathering lightly against her skin.

“No.”

“Shall I stop?”

“No.” That was the wrong answer. She should have said yes, but she couldn't think. Her head was muddled with the mystery ailment, and she couldn't seem to make wise decisions. His lips felt so pleasant against her skin, so warm and delicious. She really didn't want him to stop.

He bent lower, his lips teasing the modest neckline of her blue day dress. His fingers caressed the small pins holding the bodice in place, and he looked up at her. His brown eyes were large with desire, but there was a sense of the playful too. He reminded her of a mischievous cub.

And then he withdrew the first pin.

She felt her own eyes widen.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as he withdrew another pin. His gaze was on her, not on the work of his fingers, but she could see the line of flesh he exposed, could feel the material dip where it had been secured over her breasts.

“I…”

Another pin fell victim.

“Yes?”

“W-what are you going to do?”

“Kiss you.” Another pin opened, and the bodice folded over. “Nothing more.” He reached up and pushed the material down from her bosom. She was still dressed. She wore stays and the chemise under the gown, but she was quite aware that the stays pushed her bubbies up so they swelled over the top of the chemise. And now they were aching uncomfortably. They felt heavy, and the points were hard and sensitive.

His warm hands slid down, curving so they rested on either side of her chest, just on her ribs and directly under her breasts. “May I?” he asked, ever the gentleman.

Yes
, she thought. Whatever he was asking, the answer was yes. “May…” She could not seem to utter a word. Her tongue felt clumsy in her mouth.

“May I kiss you?” One of his thumbs extended, brushing over her hard point. “Here?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said. “I think I might have died if you'd said no.” He lowered his lips and brushed them against the swells of her flesh. Her skin tingled, and she felt a shot of heat in her lower belly. With his tongue, he traced a path to the other side and gave her tiny, torturous kisses. At some point she'd grabbed his arms, and she dug her fingers in now, using his strength to keep herself upright. Her legs felt wobbly. Judging by her list of symptoms, she probably had the plague.

He dipped his tongue in the crease between her cleavage, and she let out a low moan. Inexplicably, she arched her back, pushing herself toward him.

“More?” he asked.

She should say no, but she wanted to see what else he would do. “If Satin suspects—”

“He's not here,” Dane said, his breath warm on her flesh. “And I want to see you. May I see you?” His gaze was on her again, and he waited ever so patiently for her response. Marlowe knew if she told him no, he would stop. He would never have forced himself on her, though he was strong enough to overpower her. Not that he would have needed much strength, considering her current condition.

“Yes,” she heard herself say.

“Thank you,” he said simply. She almost wanted to smack him for his politeness, and then he reached up and tugged her chemise down, revealing her. She thought he might push his face into her chest, as she'd seen men do to the bawds at the Rouge Unicorn Cellar, but Dane didn't move at all. He merely looked at her, and he looked for so long she began to think there might be something wrong.

“I know they're big. Too big,” she said. She moved to tug her chemise back, but he caught her hand.

“They're perfect,” he said. His gaze met hers again. “You are perfect.”

“No, I'm not. And they're not perfect. They're a nuisance, especially when I need to look like a boy.”