What a Rogue Desires (19 page)

“Vivian.” He gave the tiniest shake of his head. “That’s not the problem.”

She paused, wary. “No?”

“No.” He pushed his hand through his hair in that gesture she secretly loved, the one that made him look a bit tousled and wild. “They think I’m doing it.”

It was so shocking, she couldn’t even frown in response. “That’s the bloody stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she blurted out.

“Isn’t it?” he said wryly. “Unfortunately, it’s true.”

“No, it’s not, it’s a mark of lazy Runners,” she snapped. “Why, you haven’t left London in over a month!”

“I told them that. I have no proof, though.”

“I can prove it,” she declared. “Haven’t I seen you here every day?”

“Yes, but.” He sighed. “You can hardly march down to Bow Street and tell them. At best they’d think you were my mistress and not trustworthy, at worst they’d begin to wonder who you really are.”

That shut Vivian’s mouth. Oh, dear. That was a problem. It would hardly help David if people learned he was harboring a thief in his house. And it wouldn’t do her any good, either.

“I can’t let you risk that,” he added. “And they’re no doubt watching the house even now, to track me if I should leave.”

“That’s no problem,” she said automatically. “If you want to leave, there are ways to get around the charleys.”

He looked at her sideways. “Where were you when I was young,” he muttered, then shook his head. “Just leaving the house isn’t the question. They’ll want to collect as much evidence as they can before arresting me—I do have friends, and Marcus would likely take down the government if he were here. They won’t do anything until they are absolutely certain.”

“But they won’t hang you,” Vivian said. “You’ve got funds. It’s true enough that a man with five hundred pounds is a man who won’t hang.”

He shook his head. “They might as well hang me if I have to live the rest of my life as a suspected highwayman. Society is not very gracious to those who take from them. I want to prove that this time, this
one
time, I am completely innocent. I intend to find the real Black Duke.”

Vivian pursed her lips and said nothing.

“Will you help me?” he pressed, taking her hand and cradling it between his.

She tugged free. “Are you certain you want to? Flynn will hardly stroll into the magistrate’s office with you and confess.”

David laughed. “No? I was counting on that.” She rolled her eyes, and he stopped laughing. “Of course he won’t. But if I catch him wearing the ring, in the act…” He paused significantly as Vivian’s mouth fell open in shock.

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” she gasped. “He’s like to shoot you if he sees you again, just so you can’t finger him to the constables.”

“I wouldn’t go out looking like this,” he said. “I’ll be a country farmer. You say he’s not a bright fellow; he’ll never guess it’s I.”

“Being a bloody idiot doesn’t mean he’s not observant,” she argued. “He’d have been left to rot in chains and irons long ago if he hadn’t kept his eyes and ears open, at least while doing a job.”

“How else can I prove I’m innocent?”

Vivian paused. “Well, they must be out to catch him—the Black Duke, that is. Just wait. Sooner or later the constables will get him. Then all will know it wasn’t you.”

David rocked back in his chair, beginning to look impatient. “Wait! Wait, while Bow Street becomes certain I’m the culprit. Wait, and hope the constables around London suddenly grow determined and vigilant. Oh, yes, and pray Flynn’s fool enough to keep robbing coaches in the same area under the same guise. If he decides to decamp to York or Wales or Ireland tomorrow, they’ll never catch him and I’ll be suspect forever, if not arrested and convicted.”

“If Flynn goes away, there’ll be no more robberies,” Vivian pointed out. “How could they arrest you then?”

“It will be better if I point them in Flynn’s direction, or better yet, bring him to them. They may take me off to Newgate at any time. It’s much harder to persuade people of one’s innocence from inside the prison walls.”

“You’re daft,” she insisted. “’Tis a daft idea.”

“You’ve no love for Flynn,” he said, puzzled. “Wouldn’t you like to see him in prison?”

Vivian ran her finger up and down the spine of the book, avoiding David’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“How?” He reached out and tipped up her chin, so she had to look at him.

She didn’t want to tell him. Secrecy was so ingrained in Vivian, it felt physically difficult for her to open her mouth and explain that her brother was with Flynn, and that she’d die before she did anything to put her brother in prison. Flynn could rot there for a hundred years for all she cared, but not Simon. “There’s others besides Flynn,” she muttered. “I don’t hate them all.”

“Ah.” He sat back. “The big man, and the boy.”

She flinched at the last word, but merely nodded.

“All the more reason to go out looking for them myself, then,” David said. “I only want the ring back, to put an end to the Black Duke. I wouldn’t mind seeing Flynn sent to Botany Bay, for what he’s done to you if nothing else, but if he just leaves off calling himself a duke and gives back the ring, I’ll be satisfied.”

Vivian closed her eyes and frowned.
For what he’s done to you
. Simon was the only man she could ever recall being protective of her, and he was too young to be much protection. It made her heart ache all over again. “Flynn…He’ll be angry to lose that ring. He’s bull-headed, see, and has a temper, and he’ll…” Her frown deepened into a scowl. “He’ll take it out on the boy.”

After a moment, the puzzlement faded from David’s face, to be replaced by something more compassionate. He leaned forward. “Who is the boy, Vivian?”

She looked up fearfully. “He’s my brother,” she whispered. “My younger brother, Simon.”

David’s eyes closed. He nodded once, slowly. “I see now. You’ve been protecting him all this time.”

“And I won’t help the charleys to him now, no matter what!” she declared. “You can hand me over to them if you want, but leave Simon al—”

“All the more reason to go ourselves,” he said as if she had not spoken. “We’ll retrieve both my ring and your brother.”

Vivian paused, her mouth still open in mid-sentence. She could only stare at David, dumbstruck, as he went on with growing enthusiasm.

“If Flynn’s as you say, the boy—Simon, you called him?—Simon should be all too happy to come away with us. I’ve no ill will toward him.”

“You might remember Simon’s the one who gave you a great clout on the head,” she said.

David waved it away. “And why shouldn’t he? He likely thought I was about to maul your unconscious person.” Vivian was so startled at the thought that she laughed. She choked it down at once, then sat quietly thinking. Perhaps this mad plan would work. What he proposed
was
definitely mad, but it was also quite tempting. Waiting until the constables caught Flynn with that blasted ring would have the unfortunate effect of leaving Simon to the constables as well. And Flynn certainly was fool enough to keep robbing coaches in the same area; how else was he to enjoy his new fame? Vivian would have wagered every farthing she had that Flynn went around to all the local pubs to drink and enjoy the recounting of his latest adventures, possibly even adding to them himself. It was doubtless only a matter of time until Flynn got caught.

“Will you help me find them?” he pressed her again.

“Do you give your promise not to turn Simon over to the constables?” she asked. “I can’t help send my brother to prison.”

“I wouldn’t ask it of you,” he said quietly. “I swear to do everything in my power to keep Simon from the constables.”

Vivian stared at him, heart thumping. She felt completely at sea. It had always been her duty to look after Simon and keep him safe, or as safe as possible. Now she’d gone and put his fate in the hands of this man who…who…She managed a wobbly smile. It was done; she was committed now. “Then I’ll help you find them.”

David spent the next two days plotting. He stuck to his normal routine, going to Exeter House every morning, watching from the corners of his eyes to see if anyone followed him. Once he thought he spied the fellow, a man in a brown coat who looked a bit too aimless even for London. David took great delight in stopping in a dozen exclusive shops, where he knew the man couldn’t possibly follow without being obvious. Of course, he had to justify his presence in so many shops, so he found himself buying gifts for Vivian. He bought hair ribbons and lace, a fine paisley shawl, two silk fans, and books. It made him ridiculously happy just to picture her expression when she opened the packages.

At Exeter House he rushed through any necessary work and sent Adams off to complete it. As usual with something new and urgent—and best of all, clandestine—David threw himself wholeheartedly into planning how he would find this Black Duke. Vivian was certain it was Flynn, and David saw no reason to doubt it, either. She knew Flynn, and declared he had taken a fancy to that ring and wouldn’t sell it to another thief who could then be posing as the Black Duke. Flynn was a miserly man, she said, who was also extremely cocky and brash. Calling himself a duke of any color or sort would please him immensely.

David didn’t want Bow Street to follow him, nor know of his intentions. He didn’t like being accused—of something he hadn’t actually done, that is—and didn’t want any overzealous Runners wreaking havoc on his plans. David simply didn’t trust them not to grow suspicious and blunder in to ruin things.

It didn’t take long to decide that the best place to find the Black Duke was where he was last seen: on the roads to London, near a stagecoach. Vivian would be able to guess with some accuracy which coaches Flynn might select. They would simply purchase seats on those coaches and eventually, their path was certain to cross Flynn’s. Then it would be a simple matter to follow Flynn and the others, and present a business proposition. David would ransom back his ring, buy Simon’s freedom if necessary, and that would be the end of the Black Duke.

His planning became a bit more urgent when the duke of Ware called on him again. Ware’s suggestion that Sir James Percy was behind Bow Street’s visit had likely been correct. Through discreet inquiries, Ware had learned that Percy had been heard to rail against the recent rash of highway robberies, singling out the Black Duke as one particularly worthy of loathing. Not only was thieving illegal and wrong, Percy had declared, but to appropriate the title of a noble duke was nigh sacrilege. Percy was agitating for an immediate arrest.

“I hardly think I’ve done anything worth this,” David muttered.

Ware smiled, a flicker of the roguish grin David suddenly remembered from years ago, when he and Ware had run in the same wild crowd. “His son, I hear, has gambled away a small fortune this year.”

“He didn’t lose it to me.”

“Percy believes he lost most of it in your company.”

That might be true. David sat back in his chair and frowned. “So I should expect Bow Street to call on me again soon.”

“That would not be a surprise,” Ware agreed. “I wasn’t able to learn of any additional evidence they may have, but if they were to arrest you, even house arrest, it would cause a stir in the papers. People would begin to speak of it with more interest. Once a bit of mud accrues to a man’s name, it’s inevitable that more will follow.”

David swore under his breath. He would be savaged if word spread that Bow Street was about to arrest him for highway robbery, and even worse, it would drag his family’s name through the dirt in the process. It was bad enough the men at White’s were wagering on how extravagant his ultimate disgrace would be, and calling him a counterfeiter among themselves. Trevenham and the others would descend on him with malicious glee if Bow Street took action, and that would be the end of whatever scraps of respectability David still possessed.

“Of course, Percy cannot press for your arrest too obviously, and he has no information that names you as the culprit,” Ware added.

“Since when has that mattered to the gossips?”

“True.” Ware nodded. “Have you made any plans yet?”

David glanced at him warily. “Plans?”

“Come now.” That old smile crossed Ware’s face again. “I cannot believe you intend to sit and wait for Bow Street to sort matters out.”

“Er…Perhaps.” David left it vague on purpose. Ware seemed to understand. His grin widened.

“I knew you would not disappoint.” He got to his feet. “Someday, I do hope you write your memoirs. No doubt it would make very enlightening reading.”

“Alarming reading, you mean.” David ran his hands over his hair ruefully. “I should be declared a terrible example to all young bucks. It would kill my stepmother.”

Ware grinned. “No doubt. But I should enjoy reading it all the same.” He took his leave, and David went back to his plans.

They left London during a pounding rain, with Anthony Hamilton’s help. Of all his friends, David judged Hamilton to be the one who could keep their departure secret. He had never been entirely certain Bow Street was following him, but it seemed wise not to take the chance. So David arranged for Hamilton to drive them to a posting inn on the outskirts of London where he had hired a carriage. From there they would set off on their search.

David realized Hamilton was studying Vivian with interest, though conversation was limited due to the rain and she said almost nothing. At the inn he jumped down into the rain and handed her down from Hamilton’s carriage, directly into the one waiting for them. Hamilton stepped down beside him as his driver retrieved the luggage.

His friend’s eyes followed her. “You once told me it would end with me facing a vicar or a pistol.”

“The vicar is no longer a possibility,” David told him. “Not with her.”

Something that could only be a smirk spread across his friend’s face. “Ah.”

David nodded. “My thanks for your help.”

“My pleasure,” said Hamilton, sounding amused.

David just shook his head as he handed up the traveling valises packed with his and Vivian’s things. Thoroughly drenched, he paused only to clasp Hamilton’s hand for a moment. “Best of luck,” his friend said.

David grinned. “Thank you.”

“No one ever needed it more,” Hamilton added as David stepped into the hired carriage.

David shook his head and closed the door, falling into the seat as the carriage lurched forward. Vivian gave him a questioning look, and he flashed a confident smile. He hoped they were lucky, but either way, they were off.

Vivian had marked four roads as the most likely places to find Flynn. The countryside was unfamiliar to David; usually he drove straight through on his way to or from London, or was driven through while he slept off some revelry. Vivian had a better sense of the land, but even she admitted her knowledge was thin, for a reason.

“We always move around, see,” she explained to him over dinner the first night at a busy inn. “It wouldn’t do to be recognized. Public houses won’t allow known thieves and vagabonds to congregate, or they lose their license to operate. The tavern owners would call the constables on us as quick as anyone.”

“But you did more than one robbery on Bromley,” he said.

“Aye, and it was a damn foolish thing to do.” Her brows drew together in an annoyed frown. “Flynn refused to move on, just because I suggested it. Folk begin to talk when there’s more than one job. And now, no doubt every night watchman and lamplighter will be looking for the Black Duke. Flynn might as well have posted notice he wants to be hanged.”

David shrugged. “That wouldn’t bother me a bit, as long as we discover him before they do.”

Vivian nodded, thinking again of Simon. It wouldn’t bother her to see Flynn hang, either, but he’d probably take Simon to the gallows with him. Any pretense of gallantry or nobility would come to an end the instant Flynn realized he was doomed. They simply
had
to find the gang first.

“Tell me about Simon,” said David as if he could read her thoughts. “What sort of lad is he?”

“He’s sixteen,” she said, picking up her spoon and going back to her dinner. Her stew was getting cold while she sat here and moped. “A good boy. He always has been. You mustn’t think too ill of him; I’m the one who took to thieving, not Simon. He’s dreadful at it.”

“Indeed. What is his role in this scheme?”

“Well, he’s mostly Flynn’s dog,” she said apologetically. “He’s got charge of the horses. I suppose he might have stolen one or two. He goes with me to set up the jobs, and then takes word back to Flynn and Crum. Crum’s the big man. But he’s a good heart, Simon has. It’s my fault he’s in this mess.” She sighed.

“Why is that?” David leaned one elbow on the table, watching her with dark attentive eyes.

Vivian flushed. “He was only a child when our mum died. I wanted to keep him with me, and the only way I could do that was to steal. Mother Tate agreed to take Simon in, too, so long as I stole for her. What chance had Simon then, raised by a fence and a pickpocket?”

“Are you sorry you kept him with you?” David asked. “Do you ever wish you’d handed him over to an orphanage?”

“No,” she said before he even finished speaking. “Never.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Then you can’t blame yourself. You did the only thing you could.”

She ducked her head and nodded. Yes, she’d known it was the right thing to do, just because she couldn’t have done it any other way. “Luckily I was good at it—picking pockets, I mean. I’m certain Mother Tate wouldn’t have kept him for so long if I hadn’t been quick-fingered. It was clear from the start that Simon wasn’t so good. She sent him out, too, but he couldn’t do it. More than once I had to toss his stealings into the river or into an alley and help him get away. He was so bad I almost had to go with him and do it for him.” Realizing just how much she was confessing to, for both herself and her brother, Vivian glanced up. “You gave your word not to give him over to the charleys,” she said.

A trace of smile bent David’s mouth, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I did,” he agreed. “Did you think I had forgotten?”

“No.” Not really. She was just reassuring herself that it had truly happened.

“It will be a pleasure to meet your brother,” he said, as if they were going to take tea with Simon tomorrow. “I’ve never met an incompetent thief.”

“You met me,” she pointed out.

He laughed. “You, my love, are the most competent of the lot.”

“Let’s hope I can manage to find them, then.”

“Of course we shall,” he said. “I have great confidence in you.”

It flustered her, this confidence of his. It ought to please her, but somehow it seemed wrong. He was wrong for this, a fine gentleman out looking for thieves. He ought to be back in London, attending the theater instead of helping a pickpocket track her horse thief of a brother. “We must work on your accent,” she said to change the subject. “You sound too proper.”

David leaned back in his chair, propping one booted foot on the opposite knee. “Nonsense. I shall just grunt and mumble.”

“What if you’re required to speak? One sensible word from you, and all in hearing will know you’re a gentleman.”

“Oh, come now,” he said, still obviously not concerned. “How difficult can it be? I’ve been told for years I don’t speak like a gentleman.”

“You don’t sound like a country farmer, either.” Vivian scooted to the edge of her chair and swirled the crust of her bread around the inside of the wooden bowl to get the last bit of stew. “This is just another lark to you, isn’t it?”

David laughed. “Worried about me? How kind you are.” Vivian wiggled her shoulders noncommittally. “Then come here, my vagabond,” he said, hooking his boot around one leg of her chair. With a sharp jerk of his foot, he turned her chair to face his, then took hold of the chair arms and dragged it closer. “Teach me.”

“Aye, I’ll teach you,” she muttered with a sharp look. “What do you wish to sound like?”

“Any sort of country bumpkin will do.”

“It’s an important question,” she said tartly. “Do you wish to be Irish?” She let her vowels swell into an Irish lilt. “A Welshman? Cornish farmer? Kentish drover?” With each query she mimicked the accent she spoke of. “Your accent will determine how people treat you, so mind your choice.”

“I say,” he said admiringly. “That’s quite a useful trick.”

Vivian grinned. “Isn’t it? The only useful thing to come out of living in St. Giles.” Thieves came from everywhere. It wasn’t hard for Vivian to hear any number of accents in the rookeries and pick them up for use when she needed them. An Irish maid might steal the apples, but when the outraged merchant caught up to her, he’d only find a Derbyshire farm girl come to sell her own apples in the market.

“I see I’m in the presence of a master.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. His face was only inches from her own. “Teach me, then.”

Flustered, Vivian shifted in her chair. It was hard to think with his dark eyes fixed on her so intently, and so near. “Say ‘ta.’”

“Tuh.”

She shook her head. “No, shorter. Ta, not tah.”

“Tah.”

Vivian took a deep breath and let it out. “Don’t you hear the difference? Thou want a shorter sound.” To emphasize, she said it in strong Yorkshire dialect.

“You sound like a completely different person,” David murmured, his eyes on her lips.

“Aye, that’s the point, love.”
Ey, tha’s th’ pooint, luv.

For a moment he was silent. “I haven’t got a chance at this, have I?”

“Yes, you have,” she said. “Just listen and say it. ‘One ticket to London, please.’”

“Woon ticket tuh Lundon, plase.”

She sighed. “Folk will think thou a pillock.”

“Hm.” His eyes never left her mouth.

Vivian tried to ignore that look and keep her mind on the matter at hand—namely, trying to disguise him even the tiniest bit. Perhaps if she could just get him to clip his words…People wouldn’t be able to identify his dialect, but they wouldn’t think him a London dandy, either. “Try this. When you speak, stop the words short in the back of your throat,” she said, laying her finger on his neck to illustrate. “Try to close your throat here—”