If You Give a Rake a Ruby (9 page)

And the devil take him if he should know why he cared if she said it at all.

She glanced up at him, the last remaining traces of passion clearing from her eyes. He cleared his throat. “That was the wager.”

“And you won.”

“It wasn't entirely fair…” he began.

She shook her skirts out. “We didn't place stipulations. I honor my bets, and I'll tell you.”

He stepped closer, longed to take her in his arms again. “Fallon, you do not have—”

A quick rap sounded on the door, and it opened to reveal a tall, blond man. Warrick could tell from Fallon's reaction that she recognized him. Warrick was no judge of male beauty, but this man appeared to be the sort that ladies tended to swoon over. He had thick golden hair, clear blue eyes, a straight nose, prominent cheekbones, height, breadth, and all the rest. “I'm told you want to speak with me. Is there a problem with the services you received?” His voice was low and melodious, and Warrick got a sense this was a man who did not enjoy being summoned.

“We need a moment of your time,” he said, but Gabriel was looking at Fallon. Fallon noted his interest as well and moved closer to Warrick. He shouldn't have brought her, he thought, belatedly. He should have left her safe at the ball.

“Do I know you?” Gabriel asked her, his look positively predatory. “You seem familiar.”

“I'm the Marchioness of Mystery, one of The Three Diamonds,” she said, sounding remarkably confident, despite what he knew to the contrary. “You might have read of me in the papers.”

Warrick rather doubted this was the sort of man reading the
Morning
Chronicle
. More likely, he remembered Fallon from an earlier time. A time when she'd been called Maggie.

Gabriel was already shaking his head. “No. That's not it.”

“We've actually come to ask you about Lucifer,” Warrick interrupted.

Gabriel raised an amused eyebrow. “Are you with Bow Street? I already told them I don't know where he is.”

“I'm certain you were extraordinarily helpful, but I'm not with Bow Street, and I'm rather more interested in Lucifer's Diamonds. I want to know to whom he sold them.”

Gabriel looked bored. “I know nothing about any diamonds. I merely managed Lucifer's establishment. I didn't involve myself in his personal affairs. Now, if that is all—”

“No, that's not all,” Warrick said, “because you haven't answered my question.”

Gabriel spread his hands. “Because I don't know the answer.”

“Let me see if this reminds you.” He pulled a pistol from his great coat and leveled it at Gabriel. “Remember anything yet?”

Gabriel's face turned ugly. “You're going to pay for this insolence. I'll see you flayed alive.”

“Promises, promises. Now answer the question.”

Gabriel crossed his arms over his broad chest. “I don't think so, and if you kill me, you'll never get the answer you seek.”

Warrick pulled the hammer back. “I don't have to shoot to kill.” He lowered the pistol and aimed it at Gabriel's knees. “What do you think, Fallon? Right or left?”

“Leave me out of this.”

“Too late for that. I think… left.”

“Wait!” Gabriel took a step back.

Warrick raised a brow. “Remember something?”

“I have heard of the diamonds, but I don't know how Lucifer received the spies' names or whom he sold them to. I suspect he blackmailed some official who owed him money for losses incurred at the tables.”

“Tell me something I don't know.”

“Would you have me concoct lies? That's as much as I know. Lucifer's mistress stole the information before I saw it.”

Warrick sighed, narrowed his eyes at his target, and shot Gabriel in the foot. Fallon screamed, and Gabriel swore and fell to the floor clutching his bloody boot. “Fallon,” Warrick said calmly. “Lock the door.”

She gave him a wild-eyed look. “What?”

“Lock the door before someone comes to investigate.”

She moved to do so, skirting around Gabriel, and slid the bolt into place. “You're mad,” she said. “You are completely mad.”

“That's right,” he said, keeping his gaze on Gabriel. “Now are you going to cooperate or do I shoot the other foot as well?”

“You shot one of my toes off,” Gabriel seethed.

“Only one? I'm a better shot than I thought. Tell me about Joseph Bayley.”

“Who?”

Warrick sighed again, and Gabriel held his hands up in surrender. “All right! All right! Bayley bought one of the diamonds.”

“Why?”

“How the bloody hell do I know? Gah, this hurts like the devil.”

“Speculate, Gabriel. Why would a crime lord like Bayley turn to international espionage? Why would he want one of the Diamonds in the Rough dead?”

“Because he could collect a sizable bounty for killing the spy.”

“That's right. Who is offering the bounty?”

“That I do not know. You can shoot me a dozen times, and I couldn't tell you. I don't think even Lucifer knew.”

Warrick considered this. “Where can I find Bayley?”

Gabriel snorted. “Do you think he advertises his whereabouts? I'm sure he has a hole somewhere, but even if you find it, you won't get in. Now she… wait a moment. Bayley.”

Fallon shrank back from Gabriel's keen gaze, but it was too late. He'd recognized her.

“I knew I'd seen you before. You were with him. This was… years ago. You were his daughter, and he was trying to sell you to Lucifer.”

Fallon was shaking her head. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, I never forget a face or a name. But your name wasn't Fallon back then, it was Margie. No, Melanie. Wait, I'll think of it.”

“Gabriel, stay focused,” Warrick said. “I want to know where Bayley is.”

“Why? So she can have another go at killing him? Maggie! That's it. You were Maggie Bayley. You tried to kill him. You'd better stay away from him, little girl, or you might just get a spanking you'll never forget.”

“Fitzhugh,” she said, her voice full of warning. “I'm ready to leave.”

“Very well. And if Gabriel doesn't know where I can find Bayley, I suppose there's nothing to stop me from killing him.” He reached in his pocket and took out another pistol. Always handy to have two so he didn't have to waste time priming a second.

“I can send him a message!” Gabriel said quickly. “Some of his men frequent the club.”

“Now that's cooperation,” Warrick said nodding. “I knew you could be reasonable. Tell Bayley if he wants to find Warrick Fitzhugh, to come to The Merry Widow in Seven Dials tomorrow at midnight.”

Gabriel was shaking his head. “That's too soon. Give me two nights.”

“Very well.” He took Fallon's hand, edged toward the door, and pulled the bolt. “And Gabriel, if I have to come back…” He opened the door and pushed Fallon out. “You'll lose a body part far more vital than your toe before I kill you.” He stepped out the door, closed it, then grabbed Fallon's arm, and started to run. “Hurry. I don't relish being flayed alive.”

“Why did you shoot him?” she cried as they burst into the main room. He arrowed for the tunnel through which they'd entered.

“Because he didn't think I would.”

“And now he's going to kill us!”

“He has to catch us first.” He heard shouts behind him and the sounds of pursuit. “Run!”

Fallon fell twice in the tunnel, but he hauled her back to her feet and pulled her along. The darkness made it difficult to navigate but also concealed them from their pursuers. Unfortunately, the pursuers had lamps with them, and when Warrick made a check of their progress, he saw the light bouncing off the wall just behind him. “Damn it!”

“What now?” Fallon asked, her voice full of exasperation.

“They're gaining.” He saw a fork ahead and angled for it. “This way.”

“This isn't the way out,” she argued, pointing to the clearly worn tunnel path they'd been following.

He pushed her into the smaller tunnel ahead of him and hissed, “When are you going to trust me?”

“Oh, I don't know,” she said, working to keep up with him. “When you cease putting my life in danger. Ouch!” She bent, panting. “My rib. I don't think I can go much farther.”

“You don't have a choice.” He pulled her along, deeper into the darkness as the sounds of pursuit faded. But Gabriel's men would double back, and he needed to find somewhere to hide when they came looking. The tunnel was manmade, but this fork was obviously an afterthought. It was rough and damp, crudely carved out of rock and soil. But it was very dark and one of several forks he'd seen as they made their way into The Grotto. It would buy them time. Warrick stumbled over something and thrust his hands out, touching rock. He felt the wall before him and realized he'd reached the end of the tunnel. Fallon stumbled after him, and when he bent to help her to her feet, he felt metal. A chain. He tugged it and felt a door in the floor open. So this was the purpose of the tunnel. A hiding place for God knew what.

“What is it?” Fallon asked. “Why aren't we running?”

“Because I found where we're going to hide.” He felt around the area and found several digging implements. He could pile those on top of the door, concealing it. He just needed to get the tools arranged, then get inside the door, before reaching up to pull the tools into place.

“There's a trapdoor here,” he told Fallon. “We're going down through it.”

“A door in the ground?”

“Don't argue, and don't ask questions. Just trust me.” He guided her to the door and said, “I felt a ladder. Hold my hand until you have your footing.”

“I don't want to do this,” she said tightly.

“Just trust me.”

“As if I have a choice.” And then she was in the hole, and a moment later she released his hand. Warrick arranged the tools then lowered himself into the hole. He opened the door a sliver and pulled some sort of mallet over the top. And then he allowed the door to shut and descended into the black.

Fallon stood in the utter blackness and seethed. How were they going to get out of this? She really did not want to spend the rest of her certain to be short life alone in a hole with Fitzhugh.

Something rustled somewhere behind her, and little feet scampered along the ground. She clenched her fists and glared silently at God.
That
did
not
mean
I
wanted
a
mouse
companion!

Fitzhugh jumped down beside her and grasped her arm to steady himself. She shook him off. “Do not touch me. I hate you.”

“No you don't.”

If there was one thing she hated, it was being contradicted.

“Yes I do. Look at us! We're in a hole in a… hole! I could be at Alvanley's ball right now. I could be drinking champagne and eating his famous apricot tarts. As it is, I'm in mouse-infested hole with
you
.”

“You were bored at Alvanley's.”

He was doing something. She could hear him moving about.

“I was content. There is a difference. Not everyone needs to be chased every moment of the day. And now I shall spend the next several weeks trying to control the damage you did to my reputation when you carried me off over your shoulder.”

He didn't respond, and she heard something scrape over the floor. It was too big and heavy to be a mouse.

“I was happy with my life,” she moaned, doubting he was even listening now. “It was a nice life.”

“You weren't happy,” he muttered.

“Yes, I—”

She heard a thudding sound, and his arm came about her waist clumsily. He got his bearings and covered her mouth then bent close to her ear. “Not a word. Not a sound. They're coming this way.”

She glared at him in the darkness. How she hated this! She hated the unsettled feeling in her rolling belly. She hated the tightness in her chest. She hated the way her hands shook slightly.

She hated the way her heart thrummed in anticipation.

Damn him! He was right. She had been bored. She hadn't been happy. Not really happy. But she didn't love this life either. It was too familiar, and the memories it conjured were not pleasant.

The thudding sharpened into footsteps and grew nearer. The men were searching the passage. If she and Fitzhugh were found, they'd be killed or worse. Fitzhugh was probably going to be killed anyway. There was a price on his head, and for some reason he thought her father—her dead father—was the one who hoped to claim the reward.

The small room where they crouched shook as the men clomped directly above them. Small rivulets of soil trickled down over her face and onto her lips. She brushed it away and held her breath. She could hear the murmur of voices, the rattle of coins in someone's pocket, and Fitzhugh's breathing. It was slow and steady, unlike her own fast and uneven gulps.

Gabriel's men stood directly above them, and Fallon clasped her hands together in prayer.
Please
don't let them find us. Please.

The men above them shuffled, and one of the implements Fitzhugh had laid over the door clattered. She could hear the sound of it being righted. And now the man who lifted it would see the door, pull the chain, shine a light into the hole…

She closed her eyes tightly. This was it. She should have drunk more champagne. She should have eaten all those slices of cake she refused so her gowns would fit. She should have allowed herself to fall in love.

The footsteps thumped again and then withdrew. Fallon's breath leaked out slowly. They were retreating! They hadn't seen the door! Fitzhugh gave her a squeeze to remind her to stay silent. Finally, after what seemed an hour of silence, he whispered, “We're safe for the moment.”

For
the
moment
. What were they going to do now? They couldn't stay here indefinitely.

“I found a lamp and a tinderbox.” He was rummaging about again, and a moment later light flared and then went out again. It was enough for her to get a sense of the space they occupied. It was rough and small, a little room fashioned of wooden boards and housing several crates. Light flared again, and this time Fitzhugh managed to harness it and light the lamp.

The room glowed, and Fallon counted over ten crates stacked on one side. “What are those?”

“Something Gabriel doesn't want anyone to know about,” Fitzhugh said, turning to her. “If the men knew about this room, they would have searched it and found us.” His dark hair was dusty with soil and a streak of grime ran across one cheek. His clothes were wrinkled and dirty, and the sleeve of his coat was torn. She looked down at her own gown. It was ruined. Yet another gown he'd ruined.

“So what now?”

Fitzhugh eased himself onto one of the crates. “I knew you were going to ask that.”

“Then you should have a ready answer.”

“Give me a few moments to think.” He glanced up at her, and for a moment the look reminded her of the way he'd looked at her when he'd been touching her and kissing her in Gabriel's room. She felt the shiver of anticipation and looked away. She didn't want to remember what had happened between them. She didn't want this attraction to him.

“Unless you have an idea you'd like to share,” he said.

She scowled at him. “Very funny.”

“I'm not being facetious. You have quite a bit of experience getting yourself out of dangerous situations. I'm open to suggestions.”

She shook her head. “That was years ago.” But it was all coming back now. It had been slowly coming back since she walked into her bedroom and found him lying on her bed. The edges of her awareness prickled and came alive. A part of her mind she hadn't relied on in years began to search and strategize. If this room really was Gabriel's secret, then he would want to have a way to access it without anyone seeing him. She couldn't see him getting down on hands and knees to jump into a dark hole. As her own clothing and that of Fitzhugh's attested, that was dirty work. Gabriel was fastidious about his appearance. “There has to be another entrance,” she said slowly. “I don't think he'd come in the way we did. That's the escape hatch.”

Fitzhugh appeared to consider what she said. Fallon had to admit, it was nice to have a man actually think about one's words and ideas without dismissing them outright. At least Fitzhugh pretended to think about her suggestions before making his own supposedly better ones. “You're right.” He jumped off the crate. “Let's look about for a concealed entrance or exit.”

Fallon blinked at him. “I'm right?”

He was bending over, inspecting the wall behind the crates. “I don't know. Help me search.”

When she simply stood there, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Is there a problem?”

“I'm surprised you accepted my idea so quickly.”

“Why? Because you're a woman?”

“No.” But that was the reason exactly. She'd never known a man who took suggestions or advice offered by a woman so easily. “Well, yes, actually.”

“When you've done the kind of work I've done and survived,” he said, pushing one of the crates aside, “you learn to put aside societal prejudices. You're an intelligent woman who's had experience finding her way out of difficult situations. Your suggestion makes sense.”

Fallon nodded. He was right. He was exactly right. Why didn't more men think like he did? Of course, if they did, she would still be relying on the Sinclairs to support her. Men wanted to save her and protect her. They paid her expenses and gave her lavish gifts to make themselves feel needed and wanted. She wouldn't be one of The Three Diamonds if there weren't societal prejudices. She began moving a stack of spades and other digging supplies from one corner in order to search behind it. It was slow work because she didn't want the metal to clang. Across the small room, Fitzhugh continued to move crates. “There's got to be a hidden door somewhere,” he muttered.

She continued moving the spades, quietly and carefully. The rusty metal against the skin of her hand felt familiar. She could remember holding a spade much like the one in her hand now when she was little taller than the tool itself. She remembered shivering as she walked behind her father in the dark night with the fog swirling about the hem of the dress she'd outgrown and now showed her ankles. The bubble of fear lodged in her throat when she saw the graveyard, and she wanted to run away, run back home. But home wasn't any safe haven. She was better off with the dead than the likes of her brothers, who would just as soon cuff her or kick her than welcome her with open arms.

“What are you thinking about?”

Fitzhugh's voice shook her, and the fog cleared. She wasn't in a graveyard at all, and she wasn't certain if she might not have preferred it at the moment. “I was remembering carrying a spade like this,” she told him.

He nodded. “One of your father's jobs?”

“He was a resurrection man.”

“Of course. Dangerous business but profitable if you aren't caught.”

She shuddered. “Gruesome. I'd rather steal off the living than the dead any day. But I was too young to make much as a pickpocket yet.” She could see it in his face—the way his brows came together slightly and he swallowed. She knew that disapproving look. “You think to pass judgment on me?” she said quickly, going back to her work. “I'm not the one who put us here.”

“It's not you I'm thinking of,” he said quietly. “I'm wondering at the kind of father who brings a child with him to dig up dead men and steal from their graves.”

“The kind of father who tries to sell his daughter to Lucifer a few years later.”

“Is that why you tried to kill him?” The comment was made so offhandedly, in such a conversational tone that she might not have noted it. He was good. Fitzhugh was very good. There was no question he had made an excellent spy.

She set another spade down. “Is it time for me to tell the story? Is that what you want to hear right now?”

He shrugged. “It seems as good a time as any, seeing that we should soon meet with your father.”

“I told you, my father is dead. And if he were alive, why would he want you? Killing a spy? An elite spy?” She leaned back against a stack of crates. “That wasn't his style. That wasn't the kind of job he took. He wasn't smart enough to be successful at something that requires that much planning.”

“That's why he needed you.”

She ran her hands over her eyes. They burned, and she longed to close her heavy lids and sleep for days. She wanted to forget Fitzhugh and her father and the first fifteen years of her life. “Do you want to hear the story? It's nothing new, the same story every street urchin probably tells.”

At his encouraging nod, she went on with a sigh. “I was a girl. Not only did I commit that sin, but I was an unwanted girl. My father had three boys, and those were his bread and butter. I don't know if they were really my brothers. I don't know if my mother bore them or some other woman. Perhaps they all had different mothers. He always liked women.”

“But he didn't give you up, didn't throw you in the Thames or leave you on the step of a foundlings house.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for small mercies, but if you think he kept me because my mother had some sympathy for me, think again.” She ran the palms of her hands against the rough wood of the crate she leaned against, feeling the splinters prick her skin. “She didn't treat me any differently than she did the dog, and she generally kicked whatever mutt latched onto us out of her way.”

“She was a prostitute.”

Fallon nodded. “My father brought men home, and she serviced them. There was a thin curtain between her bedroom and the rest of our small house so I knew what was going on. And when I got a little older, my father started looking at me the way he looked at her. I knew what was coming.”

“He was going to sell you too.”

She nodded. “I didn't want that. Above all, I didn't want my mother's life. By the time I was eight or nine she was sick with the French disease. Horrible way to die.” She shut her eyes, trying not to remember the sores on her mother's body, the mental confusion, the screams at night. “I'd already been stealing for my father, picking pockets, grabbing food from vendors' carts. Do you really want to hear this?”

“Yes.”

She straightened at his empathetic tone. “I don't want your sympathy. If you're going to feel sorry for me, then I'll stop right now.”

“I don't feel sorry for you.”

She narrowed her eyes, studying him in the dim light. “No, I'm sure you're gloating over your perfect childhood.” She didn't know where it came from, this defensiveness. She supposed it had lain latent for years as she moved through the
ton
and adopted their ways. But she'd never been one of them. Deep down, she'd always known that. Fitzhugh was going to make certain she didn't forget.

“I can't complain. I did have a rather idyllic childhood, but it was far from perfect and nothing to gloat over. I certainly haven't overcome what you have. I haven't made myself into the kind of person you have.”

Fallon studied him for a long moment. Had that been respect in his tone? She could have heard him incorrectly… “In any case, I started taking more chances, stealing bigger items, going with my brothers—actually, by that point, one was in prison and one was dead, so it was
brother
—on his schemes. We made a good team.”

And it had been through Arthur that she'd met Frankie. But Fitzhugh didn't need to know about Frankie. She didn't have to give him that.

“But it wasn't enough.”

“No. My father was a greedy bastard. Sorry.”

He held a hand up. “Don't apologize to me. I'm sure he deserves far worse.”