Always a Scoundrel (23 page)

“You’re becoming quite clever at all this, aren’t you? Very well. I sent one of my men to Canterbury’s office. Just yesterday he returned with our special license.” Cosgrove showed his teeth in a smile. “We could be married tomorrow. We could be married by sunset today.”

In the distance a church bell chimed eleven o’clock, mocking her. Isabel’s arm was probably bruised, Rose held it so hard. But she couldn’t let go. If she did, she would collapse to the ground. “I will not marry you,” she finally ground out.

“Not even to preserve your family’s reputation? I could put them out of their home, you know.”

He didn’t seem at all concerned, and that worried her further. “You’ve given no guarantee that you’ll leave them be if we
did
marry.”

The marquis gazed at her for a moment. “So clever,” he finally murmured. “There is one other thing to consider, Rose.”

She refused to ask what that thing might be. Instead, she clamped her jaw shut and glared, hoping her shaking wasn’t bad enough that he would notice it. If she were a man, she was fairly certain she would have pulled out a pistol and shot him.

The marquis seemed to know everything she was thinking. His smile deepened. “I should keep it a secret from you,” he finally said, “but I hate when my friends don’t have all the facts necessary to make an informed decision.”

“Keep it to yourself,” she threw back at him. “I don’t care what you say. I will not marry you.”

“I have proof that Lord Bramwell Johns is the Black Cat burglar.”

Rose began to retort that he was mad and desperate, but at the same moment Isabel gasped. Not in surprise, but in horror.
Oh, heavens
. It couldn’t be. She’d begun to decipher him, and this was…it was too much.

“If you don’t agree to announce our marriage in four days and to marry me in five, I’ll have him arrested. And then I will use every shred of influence I have to see him hanged.” He reached out, taking her chin in his fingers. “Do you understand?”

She pulled away. “You are wrong about Bram.”

“Don’t make me angry, my dear,” he murmured, “or I’ll marry you
and
end Bramwell Johns.” Cosgrove sketched a shallow bow. “Good day, ladies.”

Rose stared after him as he strolled calmly away. In just a few sentences he’d halved her days of freedom, caused her to reconsider her plan to flee, and announced
that the man she’d begun to find…irreplaceable was a notorious housebreaker. It was beginning to seem that she had no way to escape at all.

Isabel grabbed her hand. “Come on,” she said, and began pulling Rose toward the far end of the park. “I need to tell Sullivan what’s happened.”

Balking, Rose stopped. “Cosgrove was telling the truth, wasn’t he?”

“Rose, I—”

“You
knew, and I didn’t.”

“You need to ask Bram about all that. But come along! You don’t have much time.”

No, she didn’t. Neither she nor Bram did. And that meant it was time for some…some damned answers. From the man who clearly knew far more than he’d been saying.

“What do you think?” Bram asked, biting back his impatience.

Mr. Pagey-Wright lowered his magnifying glass. “It’s authentic,” he said in a reverent tone, picking up the vase and turning the item in his hands again. “Hellenistic era.”

“As I said. What’s it worth to you?”

“How can you bear to part with such an exquisite piece?” The tobacco merchant faced Bram, pausing as he turned to glance at the Egyptian ceremonial scepter mounted on the study wall.

“The more you compliment it, the higher the price I’m likely to ask.”

“Oh. Oh, dear. Yes, of course.” Pagey-Wright chuckled thinly. “I’m able to offer you fifty pounds for it.”

“Make it a hundred, and the scepter’s yours, as well.”

The merchant stuck out his hand. “Done and done, my lord. Thank you so much for contacting me when you decided to sell.”

Bram shook his hand. “I’d heard you had an interest, and I’m a bit tired of the dust they gather.”

With his reputation for doing as he pleased, he could get away with selling off a small part of his collection and still avoid rumors that he had run out of blunt. He’d been pushing his luck a bit even so, but his standing was dented enough that no one would notice a few more nicks.

“I’ll have the money for you by three o’clock, if that’s acceptable.”

“That’s fine.” Bram made a show of pulling out his pocket watch. “And now if you’ll forgive me, sir, I have an appointment.”

“Of course. Thank you again, my lord.” The merchant preceded him into the foyer. “And if I may, I had heard of your collection, but I was a bit…reticent to approach you. I’m glad to say that my impression of you was incorrect.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bram answered, nodding at Hibble. The butler pulled open the front door. “But this is Tuesday. I’m embarking now on a path to future sainthood.”

“Oh.” Pagey-Wright chuckled uncertainly. “Oh.”

Once the merchant was gone, Bram retreated to his office. He’d barely slept in three days, but taking his latest transaction into account, he had nearly six thousand pounds in cash to hand. With more money now he could make larger wagers—risky, but he had only nine days remaining. And knowing Cosgrove, at the
last moment there would likely be a charge of interest, and he damned well meant to be prepared to cover that, as well.

Hibble knocked at his half-open door. “My lord, you have a caller. A female.”

“Which one?” Bram queried automatically, keeping his attention on his accounts. He could sell Titan back to Sullivan, he supposed, but that would leave his friend short of cash.

“She didn’t say, my lord.”

“I’m not in, regardless. Send her away.”

“Yes, my lord.” With a bow, the butler vanished again.

August hadn’t been willing to loan him ten thousand pounds, but perhaps he would be more amenable to five thousand. There was one other place he could go to ask for money, of course, but he had no intention of doing so. Ever. It was bad enough that he had to rely on a monthly stipend from the duke, when Levonzy felt like handing it over. If not for that, he would have made certain he never had to set eyes on the old bastard again. Damned families.

His door rattled again. “My lord? She is insistent.”

“So am I. I’m finished with chits calling on me, Hibble.” And surprisingly enough, he meant it. Somewhere over the past few weeks, he’d become a one-woman man, whether he could ever have that one woman or not. “Get rid of her.”

“I attempted that, sir. She threatened to kick me.”

Bram glanced up. “Still no name, then?”

“None, my lord.”

Damnation
. “Well, what does she look like?”

“Rather plain, especially for your taste, my lord,” Hibble returned with his usual haughty expression. “Reddish hair and freckles, even.”

Bram shoved to his feet so fast his chair went over backward. Wordlessly he strode past the startled butler and down the hallway to the foyer. It was empty. And so was his ill-used morning room as he passed by it. “Where is she?” he barked over his shoulder.

“On the front step, my lord. I wouldn’t let her in without your perm—”

Bram yanked the door open.

Rosamund stood just outside, biting her lower lip and looking supremely uncomfortable. “Come in,” he said, glancing at the busy street beyond her. She’d taken a very large risk, calling on him. Whatever was afoot couldn’t be good.

“Do you always make callers wait on your front steps?” she snapped, hurrying past him. She removed her bonnet, practically throwing it at the startled Hibble. “That’s rather rude, don’t you think?”

“Extremely so,” Bram agreed, trying to assess what might be wrong. Rosamund seemed supremely frazzled, and angry. “I’ve lately taken to refusing female visitors. I didn’t expect you, so I didn’t think to inform my butler that there was an exception.”

Stripping out of her gloves, she continued down the main hallway. “Where can we speak?” she asked in the same tight tone.

Bram gestured at the door nearest to her. “My office. Do you wish some tea or something? Coffee? Claret?”

“I won’t be staying.” She vanished into his office.

Torn between worry and bemusement, Bram gestured
for Hibble to approach. “I don’t care if God or the devil comes calling at my door. I am not to be disturbed.”

The butler inclined his head. “I shall see to it, my lord.”

As soon as he entered the office, he closed and locked the door behind him. Clearly Rosamund’s reputation didn’t concern her today, and he would likewise keep his attention on her visit rather than its larger ramifications. “What can I d—”

“You’re wearing your ring.”

Damnation
. When logic failed to serve, though, he would always opt for bravado. “It’s my ring.”

Rosamund flung her hand out. Bram caught it just before it connected with his face. Keeping her hand captive in his, he pulled her closer, glaring into her meadow green eyes. “Don’t hit me.”

“You’re the Black Cat! How dare you come to me, swearing you’ve changed and that you mean to do good evermore, and all the time you’re stealing from people!”

“I have never used the word ‘evermore’ in my life,” he retorted, releasing her before her anger could change to panic. She’d been threatened and bullied enough. “And why does the recovery of my ring make me the Black Cat?”

She stalked back up to him again. “Do not dissemble with me, Bramwell Lowry Johns. I’ve put my life in your hands.”

He contemplated her for a moment, seeing fury buried beneath deep worry. And hurt. Hurt he’d caused her. “Very well,” he said slowly. “Yes. I’m the Black Cat.”

“Why?” she wailed, tears rising in her eyes. “You don’t need to take from anyone!”

Bram frowned. Giving up an old life and explaining it were two very different things, he was beginning to realize. “Have a seat.”

“I do not want to sit! You tell me what—”

“I will,” he interrupted. “It’ll take a moment. I’ve been stupid for a very long time.”

With another suspicious glare she plunked herself into the seat closest to the door, probably so she could escape more easily. Bram didn’t like that, but he could certainly understand it. He took the chair beside hers and turned it to face her before he sat, as well.

“I have to go back a bit, or it’ll make even less sense. So bear with me, will you?”

Rosamund swallowed, then nodded briefly. “Very well.”

“Thank you. I’m not accustomed to confession.” And he badly wanted a drink, however little that would help. “When I was sixteen,” he began, “I did something that displeased the duke. I don’t recall precisely what it was—a fight at school, I think. At any rate, my conduct embarrassed him, and he called me down to London to tell me my exact place in the family. I’d been born only because he needed a second son, in case something should happen to the first.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, Bram, but that’s hardly unusual.”

“I know that,” he snapped, then tried to pull his own temper back. “I’d known it practically since I was born. But August had just married, and I was never much for rules. ‘A handful,’ I believe tutor number eight called me. It was the way the duke said it. That once
August produced an heir I would be completely useless, as opposed to the mostly useless state I’d previously achieved. The analogy he gave was that I was the pair of boots he disliked, that he kept beneath the bed on the off chance his good pair of boots should be wrecked beyond repair.”

“That was unkind,” she said, her tone calmer.

“I thought so. My reaction was to decide to become a pair of boots that was so dark and dastardly and large and full of thorns that it would prick him from beneath the bed, keep him awake nights, no matter how hard the duke tried to ignore it. Two days later I tracked down Kingston Gore and told him precisely that. He agreed to mentor me.”

“You took up with him at sixteen?”

“Willingly so. I chewed my way through all the deadly sins and most of the frowned-upon ones.” He shrugged. “It did get the duke’s attention, which I suppose was the point. Levonzy began threatening to cut me off or disown me or force me into the army. He managed that last one. And considering that I had one friend, and that he joined as well to keep me from blowing my own head off, and that we both met Phin Bromley there, I suppose it did correct my course a little.”

“Sullivan Waring?”

“Yes.”

“But that was several years ago. The Black Cat’s only been striking for a few months.”

Bram eyed her. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

“I have to be.”

“First I need your word that the next bit I tell you will stay between us. Do what you will with my nonsense, but this concerns my friends.”

She looked at him for a moment. “Very well. You have my word. About your friends.”

God, she was stubborn. “When Sullivan returned from the Peninsula he discovered that his mother’s paintings had been stolen from him. With me informing him when and where I found the various pieces, he stole them back. You weren’t in London then, but I believe the papers dubbed him the Mayfair Marauder.”

“Good heavens.”

“You’ve heard the name, then.”

“Yes. Mama refused to let us come to Town that year, because of the thefts.”

“Well, he doesn’t do it any longer. Last year, though, Phin left the army to aid his brother. For reasons I won’t go into now, he rode about Sussex disguised as a highwayman.”

“You have…interesting friends.”

“Yes, I do. At any rate, their actions gave me the brilliant idea to let myself into the homes of some of the duke’s friends and relieve them of a few baubles. And then I told the duke precisely what I was doing. Hence me not at the moment having the money to hand to pay off Cosgrove for you.”

“That’s why he cut you off.”

“He would have cut off my head, if he could have found a way to do it without causing an uproar. But if it matters, I’ve stopped. I went one last time, last night, to recover my ring, and that was the Black Cat’s last appearance.”

“Why did you decide to stop?”

“Because I encountered someone with a legitimate reason to despise her own family, yet who insisted on remaining loyal to them long past when she should have,
simply because it was the right thing to do. Made me realize I was being an idiot, and that I’d turned myself into the waste of breath I’d been accused of being.”

Color touched her cheeks. “I would like a glass of something now. What is it that you prefer? Whiskey?”

“It’s the nastiest.”

“Yes, that will do.”

Wordlessly he went to his desk and pulled a bottle and two glasses from the bottom drawer. Filling them, he handed one over and took his seat again. “I recommend one fast, generous swallow. Don’t hold it in your mouth.”

She did as he suggested, then began coughing furiously. Bram took the glass from her fingers and set it on the desk before he drank down his own. It would be impolite to allow a lady to drink alone, after all.

“Good…heavens,” she choked out. “You make it look much easier than that.”

“Practice.” He waited until her coughing subsided. “Do you hate me?”

It was an idiotic question, but that didn’t explain his immense relief when she shook her head. “If I’d been a man, and younger, when all this happened, I’m not certain I would have acted any differently.”

“Yes, you would have,” he countered. “You’re a better person than I am.” He touched her arm, then dropped his hand again. “What gave me away as the Cat?”

“Cosgrove did. He must have seen you last night,” she said, abruptly paling again. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have waited until now to make his new threats.”

Bram blinked, every sense suddenly alert. “I’m afraid you need to catch me up a bit,” he said, as calmly as he could. “What new threats?”

“He found me this morning, walking in St. James’s Park with Tibby. He said that he had proof you were the Black Cat, and that if I tried to escape, he would have you arrested. And he’s sent the betrothal announcement to the
London Times
. It’s to appear on Saturday.”

“Saturday?
” All the blood left Bram’s face. Four days. That left him only four damned days.

“With the marriage to take place the day after that. He said he already has a license from Canterbury.”

He would, too. Cosgrove didn’t forget details. Bram pushed to his feet. “We need to get you out of London. Now.” Striding to the door, he pulled it open. “Hibble!”

The butler appeared from down the hallway. “Yes, my lord?”

“Have my coach readied.”

“Right away, my lord.”

Rose watched, torn between terror and something her mind wouldn’t quite let her put words to, as Bram shut the door again and went once more to his desk. “You’re taller than Alyse, but Tibby or Beth might have something you can borrow until you get somewhere safe.” He pulled a billfold from a drawer and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“Just under six thousand pounds. I have another few hundred coming in, but it’s a bit scattered at the moment. It should see you nicely settled somewhere. If you’re careful enough with it, perhaps invest some of it, you won’t have to find work.”

“What about you?”

“Cosgrove’s probably having the house watched. He’ll know you’ve come to see me. I’ll provide a dis
traction while you take the coach to Bromley House, get some necessities and a maid, and go.”