Viscount of Vice (14 page)

He tried looking away from her chest and wished he had not forced her to bathe. One look at her face made it obvious she was not a boy. The dirt and grime had hid pale, delicate skin, milky white and translucent. She'd stuffed her hair under a cap, but he'd already seen how long it was. Did it fall enticingly about her breasts when she was unclothed?

He'd shaken his head and forced himself to concentrate on the matters at hand. Dane was good at concentrating. He'd been trained to put his own needs and wants second. He was able to ignore her enticing body for several minutes—that was, until she put her hands on her hips, and the material of her shirt rose. Her hips curved the trousers in ways he found incredibly erotic. He could imagine the sweet shape of her bottom, and had the urge to turn her so he could see that part of her as well. Worst of all, one of the buttons on the shirt popped off at her actions, exposing the creamy flesh of her collarbone.

Now she stood before him, looking at him as though he were a wolf and she the sheep. As much as he might reassure her, she was right to distrust him. The entire time he'd carried her in from the kitchen, those soft, full breasts pressing into his shoulder, he had thought of nothing but stripping her naked.

“I'm not going to touch you,” he repeated, more for his sake than hers. “We are just going to sleep.”

She watched him, warily.

“You can sleep in that chair.” He pointed to a comfortable armchair beside his bed.

“Some nob,” she said, “giving a lady a chair.”

“I don't know you're a lady yet,
Marlowe
,” he said. “If it turns out you are Lady Elizabeth, I will apologize profusely.” She could say what she wanted. He was not giving up his bed to some street urchin Brook had abducted in Cheapside.

And he was not going to feel guilty about it.

Not very guilty, anyway.

Damn it! The chair was comfortable! He'd fallen asleep in it a time or two when reading. She'd be fine.

But would he? Or would she wait until he fell asleep, steal the key, and escape? Or worse, would she slit his throat?

He didn't have any weapons in his room, but an enterprising girl like her might find something she could use. The letter opener, for example. He swallowed.

With new determination, he went to the drapes and loosed the cords used to hold them back during the day. Thank God he'd given his valet two days off to visit his mother. In the morning, he did not want to have to explain why he had a girl dressed as a boy tied to his chair.

“What are you doing with those?” she asked, backing up. She backed all the way to the door of his dressing room.

“Give me your hands.”

She shook her head. “No. I don't want to be tied.”

“I can't trust you. I'm only going to tie you to the chair so you cannot escape. I'll give you plenty of slack.”

“No!”

He shrugged. “Marlowe, the easy way or the hard way? I believe we've established I have more brute strength than you. One way or another, I will bind you.”

He could have sworn a tear glistened in her eyes, but she swiped at her cheek, and then nothing was there. Had he imagined it?

She held out her hands, the expression on her face ugly and stubborn, and he bound them together tightly. Then he pulled her gently to the chair and tied her to the heavy table beside it. She wasn't going anywhere. When he put his hands on her shoulders to sit her in the chair, he felt her trembling.

“Cold?” he asked. “I'll get you a blanket.”

“I'm not cold,” she spat. But why else would she be shivering? He found a blanket in his clothespress and covered her with it. She kicked it off, and he shrugged and yanked off his coat. Customarily, he would have asked Crawford to serve as valet, but when the butler had inquired as to whether his services would be required, Dane had told him no. Dane reached for his cravat to loosen it, and realized he had an audience. Perhaps he should not undress in front of her. Typically, he slept in the nude, but how was he going to do so with her sitting there?

He decided to sleep in a loose shirt and trousers, and he emerged from his dressing room wearing that. He had no night clothes to speak of. He'd always felt they were more like dresses than something a man would wear.

He extinguished the lamp and climbed into bed, frowning at how cold it was. No bed warmer. He would be glad when this night was over, the girl was gone, and he had his normal life back. He plumped the pillow and settled down.

But he could hear her breathing. He swore he could hear her shivering, too. “Do you want the blanket back?” he asked, aware she could probably reach it.

“No.”

“If you're cold—”

“Stubble it!” she retorted.

He ought to tan her hide for speaking to him thus, but with her tied to the chair, he had the advantage.

He settled down again and pulled the pillow over his head. He felt as though he needed some barrier to keep her at bay. He was beginning to doze when he heard her moving about. He tried to ignore her. She was probably just getting comfortable.

She moved again, and he heard a distinct thud. Dane sat. “What the deuce is going on?”

“Nothing.”

But he could see she had toppled the chair and was now lying under it. He should have left her there. Instead, he rose and righted it, then lifted her back into it. He held her in his arms for just a little longer than was necessary. She did feel cold, and he had the impulse to warm her. But more than that, her skin was soft against his fingertips, and her flesh was enticingly round where their bodies brushed together. He had the urge to pass a hand over that roundness, but stifled the urge by saying the first thought that came to mind. “Were you trying to retrieve the blanket?”

No answer.

He wrapped the blanket about her as much to hide her lush figure as to keep her warm. This time she didn't fling it off. He could see her face in the light from the hearth, and the flickering made it look almost tear-stained. He paused to look at her.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“That's up to my brother.” He rose because, even though her body was hidden, her scent teased his senses. She smelled clean and slightly floral, and underneath all of it was a scent that was
woman
. That scent drew him, made him long to bury his face in her hair and put his hands on her body.

“I want to go home,” she said.

He opened his mouth to make some retort, and at the last minute changed his mind. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean, what is waiting for you at home? I imagine it is some sort of hovel you share with a flock of pickpockets and thieves. If you are Lady Elizabeth, why go back?”

She sniffed and looked away from him. The gesture reminded him exactly of something a miffed duchess would do. It made him wonder. But if she didn't want to talk, that was fine with him. He was exhausted. She might be light, but it had been taxing to fight her and then carry her.

Silence descended, and he heard the ticking of the clock. He tried to sleep, even closed his eyes.

“You wouldn't understand,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

“Try me.”

“My cronies are my family.”

“And there's loyalty even among thieves, correct?”

“Loyalty, yes,” she said, but he could hear in her voice there was more.

He rose on one elbow, interested now despite his intention of ignoring her and going to sleep.

“Have you considered that if you don't let me go, they might come looking for me?”

“Have you considered they might not care?”

“Oh, they care,” she said, her voice strange and flat. “And if you care about your family and your pretty house, you'll let me go before Satin comes for me.” He heard the hitch in her voice. “Before it's too late for both of us.”

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We hope you enjoyed
Viscount of Vice
by Shana Galen.

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The book you've just finished is a novella in the Covent Garden Cubs series. Book 1,
Earls Just Want to Have Fun
will be available February 2015. In case you missed them, her previous series are Jewels of the Ton, Lord and Lady Spy, and Sons of the Revolution. If you loved
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I want to thank my friends and family for their help and support on this project. Tera Lynn Childs and Gayle Cochrane gave me excellent feedback and never once pointed out how lame my lame first draft really was. Thanks to Sophie Jordan for her help with edits.

Vanessa Kelly, a fabulous author with her own books to write, took time away from her work to help me with research on Bath, suggesting books on Bath and giving me tidbits about Avon Street.

Alison Levy at the Bath Visitor Information Centre also pointed me in the right direction when I queried her about unsavory areas of Regency-era Bath.

Thank you to my agents, Danielle Egan-Miller and Joanna MacKenzie; my editor Deb Werksman; my publicists Danielle Dresser and Amelia Narigon; and all the wonderful professionals I'm privileged to work with at Sourcebooks, especially Susie Benton and Eliza Smith, who gave me such great suggestions for this novella.

Lastly, thank you to my husband and my daughter for all your patience and love.

Shana Galen is the bestselling author of fast-paced adventurous Regency historicals, including the
RT
Reviewers' Choice
The
Making
of
a
Gentleman
.
Booklist
says, “Galen expertly entwines espionage-flavored intrigue with sizzling passion,” and
RT
Book
Reviews
calls her “a grand mistress of the action/adventure subgenre.” She taught English at the middle and high school level off and on for eleven years. Most of those years were spent working in Houston's inner city. Now she writes full time. She's happily married and has a daughter who is most definitely a romance heroine in the making. Shana loves to hear from readers: visit her website at
www.shanagalen.com
, download her free author app for exclusive content and first looks, or see what she's up to daily on Facebook and Twitter.