Earls Just Want to Have Fun (27 page)

She shrugged. “You're welcome to try.”

“Or”—Dane stepped between them—“we might come to some other sort of agreement. Perhaps Marlowe and I might pay for our passage.”

Beezle shook his head. “I think I'll kill you first.”

“You'll have to go through me.” She moved quickly, darting to the right and catching his boot with her foot. He wavered but didn't go down. She was behind him now, and Dane had three behind and Beezle in front.

“Run!” he called to her. This was her chance to escape. “I can take them.”

She rolled her eyes—annoying habit, that—and jumped on Beezle's back. “Get them,” Beezle ordered his cronies, and the three boys charged. Dane raised his walking stick, and the lads paused. Dane waved it about menacingly, keeping the boys at arms' length. He peered over his shoulder and saw Beezle had backed against a wall and was ramming Marlowe, who was still on his back, into it. For her part, she had her arms wrapped so tightly about his neck, his face was turning a deep shade of crimson.

“Certain you don't want to take the money?” Dane said to Beezle.

“And trust the likes of you?” he wheezed, slamming Marlowe back again. Dane winced. “Find another bubble.”

Dane felt a tug on his walking stick and yanked it back, only to find one of the lads had a firm grip on it. Dane shook his head. “I didn't want to have to do this.”

He pressed a small lever at the handle, and the sheath detached. The boy stumbled back, and Dane brandished his sharp rapier. One of the boys charged him, and with a deft slash, Dane cut a neat slice through the material of his shirt. Another boy came at him, and Dane lopped off a lock of his long brown hair. The boys assessed the damage, then looked at Beezle. Dane didn't take his eyes from the lads, but he could hear the sounds of struggle behind him had ceased.

“What are you waiting for?” Beezle yelled hoarsely.

“'E's got a porker!” the boy with the newly trimmed hair shouted.

“And do not doubt I know how to use it,” Dane said calmly. “Years of fencing training. I can carve you like roast lamb. Or you can run away now and live. The choice is yours completely.”

The boys looked at the sword then looked at Beezle, and as one, they turned and ran. Dane swung around and pointed the rapier at Beezle. He still had Marlowe pinned to the wall, and she still had her arms wrapped around his neck. “Let her go,” Dane said.

“She's got me,” he wheezed. Dane took a step forward, pointing the rapier's tip at the spot on Beezle's neck where Marlowe's arms intersected.

“Release him, Marlowe.”

Slowly, her hands dropped away. Dane took a step back. “Now, Mr. Beezle, you move forward. One step. That's right. Another.”

Marlowe slid out from behind him, and Beezle tried to grab her, but Dane pressed the sword tip against his throat, and the man ended up backing into the wall, his neck craned high. Dane cut his gaze to Marlowe. “What would you like me to do with him?”

She was staring at him, her expression unreadable. “I'd like to say skewer him.”

“Very well.” He dug the blade in deeper, until a trickle of blood meandered down Beezle's dirty neck.

“But,” Marlowe interjected, “I'm not a miller, so maybe we tie him up and leave him here until our business tonight is done.”

“Very good,” Dane said. “And what should we use to tie him?”

She moved toward him, and he felt her hands at his throat. His cravat came loose and tumbled down his shirt, and she pulled it free. “You realize I haven't another with me?” he said.

“You'll have to make do without.”

He sighed.

“I know,” she said, shaking the fine linen out. “The horror of not being properly dressed.” She motioned to Beezle. “Turn and put your hands behind you.”

Dane moved the sword back a fraction of an inch, and with a look that would have melted ice, Beezle turned, pushing his face into the wall of the building. Marlowe took his hands and tied them tightly. “You'll pay for this,” he said, his voice muffled. “One way or another, I'll make you pay.”

“You're lucky I don't have him bloody you a bit more. I can think of a few choice appendages he might slice off.”

Wisely, in Dane's opinion, Beezle didn't reply. Marlowe pushed him to his knees and moved to Dane's side. Dane nodded. “Appendages. Nice word choice.”

She grinned at him. “I'm learning.” She glanced up at the sky, ostensibly to check the time. Dane didn't know how she could ascertain anything, as the sky looked as gray and overcast as it had before, but she said, “We'd better go, or we'll be late to meet Satin.”

Dane moved to fetch the sheath for his walking stick, fitted it back into place over his blade, and straightened his coat. “After you.”

She led him out of the alley, without a backward glance for Beezle. When they were strolling on the street, past public houses rapidly filling with patrons, he said, “I'm certainly glad you didn't make me cut him. I shudder to think how Tibbs would have removed the blood from this coat.”

“You're concerned about your coat?”

He didn't have to see her to know she was rolling her eyes.

“That, and I feel queasy at the sight of blood. Not a very manly thing to admit, but there it is.”

She glanced at him. “Why didn't you tell me you had a tilter?”

“A rapier? You never asked.”

“Is there anything else you're hiding?” She arrowed east, toward the river and the docks.

“A gentleman never tells.”

Marlowe could feel the heat of Dane's body as he crouched beside her behind a short wall hidden in the shadows near the dockside warehouse where they would soon meet Satin. They were close enough to the river that if she looked up, the sky was blotted out by the forest of masts on the Thames. Elsewhere, she could hear the rattle of the night coaches and the clang of a ship's bell. The River Police were apt to be patrolling nearby, and she kept her head down and her voice low. They'd been there over an hour, and the bells of St. George in the east had just rung eleven times. One more hour, and then Satin would be gone. The man who had dominated her life, dominated
her
, would be safely in prison.

If
Sir Brook made an appearance. Had Gideon been able to reach the inspector, or were she and Dane shivering in the cold for no reason? Well, Dane wasn't shivering. He felt perfectly warm. She had the urge to lean into him and steal some of that warmth, but she resisted. She needed all of her wits about her now as she peered into the darkness, hoping to see Sir Brook. All would be lost if he made an appearance at the wrong moment. And if Satin arrived early, as he very well might in order to look at the place, she did not want to be taken by surprise. Marlowe knew once she succumbed to Dane's warmth, she would forget all about the game.

It wasn't simply that she enjoyed being kissed by him, being pressed against his lovely body, or being held. It was more. Ever since she'd watched him wield that tilter in the alley, she felt that strange fluttering in her belly. Dane had said it was arousal. If that was true, she was still aroused. She hadn't known a man could look like that when holding a tilter. She hadn't known Dane could look so powerful. For once she had dropped her defenses. She'd never been able to trust another person to defend her, protect her. Of course, Gideon had saved her many times, but he'd left her to fend on her own plenty, too. She'd always taken that as a compliment. He knew she could defend herself. But was it not a compliment that Dane had defended her? And why shouldn't she desire a man who could steer her through the fanciest ball and keep her safe in the seediest alley?

She definitely desired him. She desired him more than she ought. She was still in love with him. She'd thought it was her climax that had made her mistake lust for love, but she hadn't been in the throes of passion in that alley. Why then should her heart swell and tighten in a feeling she could identify only as one she'd so very rarely felt? Love. Even now her heart soared when she caught a glimpse of Dane from the corner of her eye. He was here, with her, and she never, never wanted to be apart from him.

Dangerous thoughts, considering the two of them came from very different worlds. They had no future, even if she was Lady Elizabeth. Dane would marry a woman who could make him a respectable countess, not a woman who had been—who might still be—nothing more than a light-fingered rook.

“Something moved over there,” Dane murmured close to her ear. His breath heated her skin, and she tried to ignore the shiver that radiated out from the point of contact.

“Where?” It was probably a tibby, but she could not afford not to be cautious. She peered behind her, at the drag and prancer Dane had managed to procure.

“No. This way. Two o'clock.”

She glanced at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “It can't be half-eleven. I just heard the bells.”

He gave her a long look. “No, the movement was at…do you know how to tell time?”

Her cheeks burned, because even though she did not clearly understand him, she understood there was yet another area where she was lacking, and he had discovered it. “I can hear the bells on the church towers. I can count.”

“But you can't read a clock,” he murmured. “I shall have to rectify that. Look to the right.” Keeping his hand low, he gestured. “Right about there.”

She followed the angle of his fingers and squinted. Nothing there, not even a cat. And then one of the shadows shifted. If she hadn't been watching, she would have missed it. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she took in a sharp, silent breath.

It could be anyone—Satin, Sir Brook, a constable, a passerby. Whoever it was did not want to be seen, and that was likely a bad sign.

“Do you see it?” Dane whispered against her neck. Oh, how she wished he would stop doing things like that. She had to focus! She nodded and turned to press her lips to his ear. He smelled lovely, clean despite where they were and where they'd been.

Trying not to breathe too deeply, she murmured, “Stay here. I'll have a look.” She slinked to the side, but Dane grabbed her ankle and hauled her back. She tossed him an angry look, but he bent over her, leaning close. How could she help but think of the position they were in? He was leaning over her, weight braced on his elbows, his body but inches from covering hers. She took a shaky breath. This mix of arousal and danger was distracting.

“I'll not risk you. I'll go.”

She shook her head wildly. He might be good with a sword, but he was too large to move about undetected. “You'll get us both caught.”

“Then we wait for the interloper to reveal himself.”

She understood the gist of his message, and would have protested, if a low whistle she knew well hadn't sounded at that moment. She whistled back, and Dane hissed, “What are you doing?”

“It's Gideon,” she said, pushing Dane back and sitting. She peered cautiously over the wall and saw a familiar form emerge from the darkness of the warehouse. He moved quickly into sight, and she flicked a hand so he would know where she hid. A moment later, he tumbled beside her, pressing his back to the wall where she was similarly seated.

“How dost do my buff?” he asked, giving her the familiar flash greeting.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered. Dane was crouched across from them, his arms crossed over his chest in a disapproving manner.

“And a good evening to you too,” Gideon said. “I'm here to save your lovely arse.”

“Watch your language,” Dane said, voice low and edged with warning.

Marlowe cut her gaze to him. “Since when did you start worrying about my
virgin
ears?”

“It's not your ears he's worried about, it's your arse. He doesn't want any man but himself noticing it. That about right, cove?”

“I'm glad we understand each other.”

“Oh, we understand each other,” Gideon said. “And if I'd known what an arse you were, I wouldn't have gone to so much trouble.” He looked at Marlowe. “I did it for her, not the likes of you.”

“Then you found Sir Brook.”

“I found him. Had to walk right into the offices on Bow Street, but I found him.”

“And he's coming?” Dane asked.

Gideon didn't even look in the other man's direction. “He'll be here. I hope.”

“You're not sure?”

Gideon shrugged. “Are you even sure Satin will be here?”

Marlowe raised a brow. “I can spout court holy water as good as any man.”

“That you can.” He rose on his haunches. “In that case, I'll leave you to it. When word gets out Satin's been nabbed, I want to be there for the cubs. Maybe I can keep a few of them from being gobbled up by other gangs. Not that Beezle will let them go.”

“Beezle might not be as much a problem as you think,” Marlowe said, peering over the wall again in the direction of the warehouse.

“Oh, really? What have you done?”

“Just kept him out of the way for a little while. If there's anything you can do for the cubs, do it. Especially Gap and Tiny.”

“And if I can help, I'm more than willing,” Dane said, surprising her.

Gideon scowled at him. “How would
you
help? Stick them in an orphanage? Most of us were lucky to escape.”

“What if I took them on as stable boys at my country house? They'd be away from London, they'd learn a trade, and I'd even provide an education.”

“Why?” Marlowe asked before Gideon could. His mouth was hanging open, and she figured it would be a moment before he shut it and was able to speak again.

Dane looked thoughtful. “It's not much. I know it's a drop in the ocean, but it's a start. I told you. I will introduce a bill in Parliament.”

Gideon snorted. “You do that. You know where to find us if your lofty ideas don't fade with your lust.”

Marlowe recoiled as though he'd slapped her. Was that what everyone was thinking? Dane was simply lusting after her? Had all of the changes she'd seen in him been merely pretense to woo her into his bed?

“I would call you out for that,” Dane said, voice low and menacing, “but what else should I expect? You're not a gentleman.”

“And never will be,” Gideon said. “I got too much honor to call myself by
that
name.”

Dane lunged forward, and Gideon would have followed if Marlowe hadn't moved quickly. She'd broken up a hundred fights or more, and she had been ready when this one began to brew. She wedged herself between the two men, pushing them both sharply back to capture their attention. It was no good if they started swinging and she was in the middle. “You”—she pointed to Dane—“over there. And you”—she leveled a finger at Gideon—“it's time for you to go.”

“With pleasure,” Gideon said, brushing his trousers off. “But this isn't over.”

“No, it's not,” Dane agreed.

Marlowe gave Gideon a last threatening look, and he gave a short wave and was gone. Dane moved beside Marlowe again, and she shook her head at him before peeking over the wall. “You've now managed to make enemies with the man who was our only ally.”

“It might not have been the best course of action.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then why did you do it?”

He turned to look at her, and her heart thumped hard. There was something in his eyes that made her throat dry. She tried to swallow, and let out a small squeak instead. “Because you're mine,” he said. Even as she shook her head, he gripped her chin lightly with two fingers. “You are. This isn't mere lust, Marlowe. I don't…I don't know what the hell it is, but I won't have your character impugned.”

She squinted at him. “So you were jealous?”

He wet his lips then dipped his head to kiss her quickly. “I'd be a fool not to be.”

***

Gideon cursed under his breath as he made his way through the shadows and back toward St. Giles. He didn't know why he'd even come to the docks. They stank worse than the dirtiest hole in Seven Dials, and he had to maneuver around wharf doxies and sailors three sheets to the wind. Wouldn't they love to get ahold of him and bloody him up for sport? He must have been daft to come. As daft as Marlowe for plotting this whole racket. At least the nob she'd tapped to help her wasn't as much a coward as most of the gentry coves he knew. Gideon wouldn't have minded bloodying the man's nose. Then maybe he wouldn't look quite so pretty.

Not that it mattered at this point. Marlowe had made her choice, and it was obviously not Gideon. He should be glad. He should celebrate now that she had a chance to get away from the rookeries and start a new life, a better life. Then why did he feel so depressed to lose her? Why did his feet feel like they were cased in lead as he made his way back to the flash ken? He'd always known Marlowe would find a way out; the same as he'd known he'd live and die in Seven Dials. But maybe he could save a few of the cubs before he met his Maker.

Gideon hunched his shoulders as he spotted another group of sailors in the dim light of a tavern. The most direct path was right by them, but he didn't want to risk it, and cut behind the building, keeping to the shadows. He still had his head down when something in the dark reached out and grasped his arm. Gideon would have yelled, but he was too busy fighting off the arm around his throat, cutting off his air.

“Hold still,” a familiar voice murmured in his ear. Gideon went rigid. Slowly, the pressure on his throat eased. When he could breathe again, Gideon stepped forward then brought his elbow back with enough force to cause the other man to expel a breath of air and an “oof.”

Gideon bent to look in the man's eyes. “Don't ever surprise me again.”

“Next time I'll just call out,” Sir Brook muttered, straightening. “I'm sure that won't attract any attention.”

“You're late,” Gideon said.

“How would you know? You've never had a watch you haven't stolen.”

“I can tell time, and you're late.”

Sir Brook shrugged. “I'm here now.”

“I told you to meet me by the warehouse.”

“Caught sight of you headed this way and doubled back. Are Dane and Marlowe still waiting for Satin, or is it all over?”

“They're still waiting,” Gideon answered.

“Then why are you over here?”

“Your brother didn't want my help.”

“Then he's an idiot. I thought we went over the plan earlier.”

Gideon scowled. “And I thought I made it clear I'm not working with a thief-taker.”

Sir Brook didn't speak, and Gideon could feel his piercing gaze. The inspector hadn't needed to threaten Gideon earlier, and he didn't need to now. Gideon knew the man could make his life miserable, if he so chose. He blew out a breath. “Fine. I'll show you where they are.”

“Quietly now.”

And that was when they heard the scream.

***

Marlowe heard Satin approach just after the bells tolled a quarter to twelve. He had a distinctive walk, one which she had learned to recognize. When Satin was coming toward her, she moved out of the way. She'd suffered his kicks often enough that avoidance became second nature. Now she forced herself to stand her ground. He was expecting to meet her, expecting to make enough blunt to be able to walk away from the flash ken and his old life forever. She glanced at Dane, who leaned negligently on his walking stick. She could not decide if he was playing his part or really that unconcerned. “He's here,” she murmured.