What a Rogue Desires (3 page)

“The widow,” he said as the constable was preparing to leave. “The highwayman struck her when she said a word in my defense. Is she recovered?”

“Don’t rightly know, m’lord,” said the man. “We’re looking for her, to take her statement, see, but she’s been hard to track down.”

“I’d like to make her a small reward for her effort on my behalf,” David said, thinking of the lone shilling in her outstretched palm, winking sadly against the worn and darned lace of her glove. He told himself it was pity, and chivalry, and honor that prompted him, but he also knew the mention of money would make the constable not only look for her, but report back to David where she was, particularly if a coin or two were in it for himself. And in spite of his vow, David was still curious about her. When he had fulfilled his duty to Marcus, he wouldn’t mind seeing if she were still available. A lovely little thing like her ought not be dependent on inhospitable relations.

“When I find her, sir, I shall inform her, depend on it,” said the constable, ducking his head.

After the man had left, David leaned back again. His head felt a little better. He didn’t relish the idea of staying the night in this inn. The whole reason he had taken a place on the coach was to reach London today, and thus far it had not been worth the trouble. He got up to ring for the innkeeper, trying to decide if he could sit a horse, but had to abandon the idea when he nearly fainted crossing the room. Perhaps his head wasn’t so much improved after all.

The innkeeper came eventually, bringing a tray with food and a bottle of surprisingly good wine. “I remember you favored this wine,” said the innkeeper, setting out the plates. David eyed him askance, wondering how much of his own life he had been too drunk to remember. He had only the barest memory of this inn, but he’d obviously been here a while. The girl who had come to assist in serving the meal kept winking at him behind her employer’s back, wiggling her eyebrows in a suggestive way. David tried to ignore her, not having the slightest memory of ever seeing her face before, but she contrived to linger after the innkeeper bowed his way out of the room.

“Delighted to see you again, m’lord,” she said coyly, bracing her arms on the table and leaning forward, displaying her breasts in front of his face. “What’s your adventure this time? Highway robbery?”

“Er, yes.” He took a long sip of wine, avoiding looking at her. “I was robbed and assaulted.”

“That’s so cruel.” She drew nearer and slid her fingers into the hair at his temple. “Shall I make it all better, like last time?”

He finally looked up into her smiling face. She was fair, a little on the plump side, and rather plain. She was an ordinary country maid who’d obviously fallen into his bed before, and he hadn’t the faintest memory of it—or her.

“I’m sorry,” he said regretfully. “I took a dreadful knock on the head. I can barely stand on my own two feet.”

She giggled. “I can help you stand,” she said. “Not on your feet, but tall and straight enough for a bit of fun. Shall I—?”

“Not tonight,” he said, catching her hand as it dipped toward his lap. He brushed a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her knuckles before tucking her hand into her apron pocket. “To my everlasting sorrow.”

Her face creased with sympathy. “You poor, dear man! Too knackered even for a tumble. Here! Let me tend you.” And she busied herself pouring more wine into his glass, stirring up the fire, and plumping a cushion behind his back. David forced a smile for her as she finally left with another giggling smile, and the room was finally quiet again.

He finished his glass of wine and stared into the now-roaring fire. Good God. No matter how hard he probed his memory, this rustic inn and the plump little serving girl remained stubbornly vague. He must have been here only two or three months past, while he and Percy were jaunting about the countryside avoiding London, Marcus, counterfeiters, and Percy’s overbearing father. They’d meant to go to Italy, but Percy had lost half of his funds on a cockfight and David, of course, had had none. A series of inns and taverns blurred together in his mind, soaked with wine and populated with women like the maid who’d just left. Only…he couldn’t remember most of it. His memories only became clear at the point when he’d returned to London and gotten soundly beaten. That, he remembered with painful clarity; his broken rib was still tender.

But that was in the past. He was determined to do better in the future. Beginning tomorrow, when he would rise at first light and hire a horse for the remaining bit of his journey, no matter how much his body and head might ache. He would devote himself to Marcus’s business, tidy up his own affairs as well, and survive this episode a changed man, reformed and respectable.

And the first order of business was retrieving his ring.

“You bloody idiot!” Vivian Beecham was so furious with her brother she could have hit him. “What the devil were you thinking? Or were you even thinking at all? Sure, and it didn’t look like it to me!”

Simon scowled and hunched further into the corner where he sat. “It wasn’t so bad, Viv. If that bugger of a mark hadn’t been so bull-headed—”

“Then what, you’d have slipped a knife into him and got us all hanged for murder?” She paced back and forth in front of him, her black skirts swinging. “It was a ruddy stupid thing to do and you know it,” she said in fury. “Are you trying to get us hanged?”

“No,” he muttered. His lower lip trembled, and he scuffed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I thought the extra blunt would come in handy. I was only trying to help, Viv.”

She sighed and ran her hands over her head, trying to rein in her temper. The sad thing was, Simon was telling the truth. He
was
only trying to help. He didn’t mean to do everything wrong, he just couldn’t help it. There was no question that her brother was simply not cut out to be a highwayman. “I know, Si,” she said more kindly. “But you’re not to think—you’re just to do what we planned. What good can that ring do us? Chances are, we’ll have to get it melted down to be able to sell it, and we’ll have to find someone who won’t ask questions to melt it for us. It gains us nothing, does it? The watches, the smaller jewels, and especially the money—that’s all we want. Things that can be sold in a hurry, and that won’t be easily traced to us. Because I’d rather not dance at the end of a rope, thank you very kindly.”

“I’m sorry,” her brother whispered, now thoroughly cowed. “I’m just dense, is all.”

“You’re not that dense,” she said with another sigh. “But when I remind you what to do, in the midst of a job, and you shove me to the ground, I’d like to drop a brick on your head.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I ought not to have done that.”

“At least you realize it now.” Vivian closed her eyes, counting as high as she could. She crouched down so her eyes were level with Simon’s. “Look at me,” she commanded. Simon did so, warily. “I’m trying, Si, I truly am,” she whispered. “But you’ve got to follow my lead in this until we come up with something better—”

“I ought to slit your throat, you ruddy fool,” boomed an irate voice above them. Vivian shot to her feet.

“I’ve already scolded him, Flynn,” she said.

The big man glared at her. “For all the good it does. He’s trouble, he is, and I don’t fancy waiting for him to get us all killed. You know they hang people for stealing, don’t you?” he demanded of Simon, as indignantly as a parson might. Flynn’s indignation, though, was for the fact that thieves like him were hanged, and not for the fact that they stole.

“He knows,” said Vivian sharply. She might privately agree with every word he said, and not hesitate to give Simon a brutal dressing down herself, but she would defend her brother to the death before Flynn. Simon would have done the same for her, had the places been reversed, and besides, it was Vivian’s fault Simon had been pressed into stealing anyway.

Flynn’s jaw worked for a moment. “You’re a right lucky bloke,” he said to Simon. “If not for your sister, you’d have already been found belly-up in the river.”

Simon flushed dull red with anger. He wasn’t a child to be cowed by Flynn’s threats anymore, Vivian realized. Her brother would soon be seventeen, a man old enough to give in to his temper and a man big enough to think he could take on Flynn.

“What’s done is done,” she said, trying to end the argument. “You’ll not cut his throat and he’ll not make such a mistake again.”
I hope
, she added silently. Flynn still glared at Simon.

“What about his take?”

Vivian raised her eyebrows. She was not going to let Flynn cheat her out of Simon’s share of the profits. “What of it? He was there, he gets a share.”

“It might have been a larger take if he’d done what he’s told and not gone after that bloke,” said Flynn. Vivian saw he was holding the ring that had caused all the trouble, and was rolling it around in his hand.

“I’ll get rid of the ring,” she said, putting out her hand. “Give it to me. We’re near enough to London, there are a hundred places to sell it unnoticed. I’ll give the usual tale and we’ll have an extra profit. It’s worth a mint.”

Flynn kept the ring. “I don’t know.”

She withdrew her hand. “Then you sell it. Take care to have an answer ready for why a man such as you would have such a thing.”

Flynn scowled. “All right, then. But you take care to get a good price.” He shot another deadly look at Simon. “Or I’ll take it out of his skin.”

Vivian waited until he had stomped out of the room before hitching up her skirts and sitting on the floor beside Simon. The old miller’s cottage was damp and falling down, but no one bothered them when they were here. She heard the squeak of a mouse as she settled herself, and moved aside with a grimace. She hated mice. Someday, when she had her own little cottage, she would have a big fat cat to keep them away from her.

“We’ve got to get out of this,” said Simon, in a low voice so as not to be heard by Flynn and the others in the next room.

Vivian sighed. “I know. Especially you.”

“It’s bad for you, too, Viv,” her brother returned. “You’re the safest of us lot during the job, but then you’re on your own. How many times can you throw a fainting fit and not have to answer any questions? What if some constable puts together how you’re on every stage that gets stopped?”

“That’s why I’m acting a widow,” she said. “No one wants to ask a poor, grieving, young widow any harsh questions.”

“And what happens in a few years?” he pressed. “You won’t be young forever. And Flynn is waiting for you to be less important so he can toss your skirts, whether you say nay or yea.”

“I’ll kill him if he tries it,” said Vivian.

Simon shook his head. “Flynn’s a bad sort. I don’t like him.”

She shifted. Flynn wasn’t her ideal, either, but he kept them fed. And she didn’t know how they would accomplish that if they left the protection of his little band. “It’s so difficult to find honorable highwaymen these days,” she said, hoping to make Simon laugh. Instead he just put his head back against the wall and let out his breath.

“I hate this,” he said softly. “Not the stealing—don’t mind that at all, since there’s no choice except to starve, and any nob what wears a ring like that can afford a donation to the poor. But I hate feeling like we’ll get caught any day, and it’ll likely be my fault. Everything I do is wrong, Viv. I’m going to get us all in prison, or worse.”

That was probably true. Simon had no sense for thieving. Unlike her, he was not a good liar or a good actor. He got nervous. He overreacted. He made mistakes. Today his persistence in taking that bloody signet ring had held up the job, and put them all in danger. They could be sitting in a jail cell tonight instead of in an abandoned miller’s cottage, damp and cold but fed and free.

Wordlessly she took his hand. If only she had a little bit more money saved. She had always hoped to start Simon in a safer occupation, and now it seemed imperative. Their mother wouldn’t be proud of Vivian for leading her younger brother into a ring of thieves and scoundrels. “I’ll take care of everything,” she said. “You keep your mouth shut around Flynn. He’s a blooming idiot for sure, but he’s an idiot with a sharp knife. No one but me would care if he cut your throat, but if he killed you, I’d have to kill him, and then we’d all be dead.”

He was silent for a long time. Vivian heard the skittering of tiny feet and tried not to shudder. “I don’t want to hide behind my sister all my life,” came Simon’s voice at last, thin and plaintive. “I’m a man now, Viv.”

“A young man,” she corrected firmly. “If Mum hadn’t died, you’d still be under her hand, so mind you don’t make me smack you for her.”

He huffed with a reluctant laugh. “Aye, you would. But I should be able to stand on my own two feet.”

“Someday you will,” she promised, hoping it was true. “But first we need to eat, so you don’t take faint and end up lying on your own backside.”

Simon shrugged and got to his feet, then helped her up. Vivian swatted at the black fabric of her dress, hoping no mice had gotten to it. “You go on,” she said. “I’ve got to put away this rag.” Her brother gave her a half-hearted grin and left, pulling the warped door closed behind him. Vivian retrieved the old valise that held her things and set about changing out of the shabby, secondhand widow’s weeds that had been her costume for the day. The widow’s pose usually worked very well for her. Today had been no different. That older woman had all but held her hand on the trip, so concerned for her tender feelings that Vivian had wanted to snort with laughter. Anyone in her supposed penniless state had better not have such tender feelings, not if they wanted to survive. The gentlemen on the coach had alternated between sneaking looks at her bosom and trying to look righteous whenever she glanced their way.

Well, not quite. The rich one hadn’t hidden behind any such look. He didn’t keep the interest off his face. He was a right handsome one, she thought, although not too bright. A clever chap would have handed over the ruddy ring without complaint when Simon pointed a pistol at him. Thanks to him, she’d been forced to abandon her faint-with-fear pose and actually speak up for him in a vain attempt to warn Simon off. And all she got for it was a shove to the ground.

It was doubly galling that he’d only had a pair of guineas in his purse. From the moment he’d driven his flashy carriage into the coaching yard, Vivian had been certain he would be worth their while, a spoiled dandy ripe for the plucking. She saw the way he demanded a horse as if the world should bow to his wishes, and then how he handed over a handful of money for the care of his very fine horses. The bloke was rich, she knew it, and so she’d made her move, dropping her handkerchief in signal to Simon. He’d gone off to alert the rest of the gang, and she’d gotten on the coach. And then the bloody cull only had a few guineas. It wasn’t even repayment for all the time he’d spent staring at her bosom.

She inspected a rip in the elbow of one sleeve of the black dress, and cursed. Now she’d have to stitch the bloody thing. That was not the dandy’s fault, she conceded, pulling on the loose trousers and sturdy shirt she usually wore at nights. Simon should have known better. She didn’t know what had gotten into her brother lately.

Ah, well. What was done was done. She ran a thin cord around the waist of her trousers and knotted it tightly. At least if Flynn tried to grab her bottom she’d have warning and a chance to get her knife before he could get the trousers off. Vivian’s mouth twisted as she folded her widow’s dress and put it away. Simon was right; Flynn was just waiting before he tried anything on her. Now he wouldn’t dare touch her, because she’d leave the band, if she didn’t fight him to the death for it. Vivian was well aware of the importance of her role to them all. It was she who chose their targets, she who rode the coaches as the decoy, and she who provided diversions by fainting or having a fit of hysterics that allowed the rest to get away. Flynn would be reduced to random robberies without her, and everyone knew he wasn’t clever enough to get away with it for long.

But they had worked this stretch of road for too long, and Vivian couldn’t shake the sense that they ought to move on. Simon’s mistake today only made the feeling stronger. Perhaps they should lie even lower than usual for a few days, letting any fuss over the botched job die down, and then pick a better spot. Two jobs in any neighborhood was enough for Vivian, and already Flynn had put them to four in this corner of Kent. If someone recognized her, the game would be up before they knew it.

She packed away the rest of her costume and followed Simon into the other room, where everyone else was already eating. She stowed her valise in the corner and took the bowl of stew Alice handed her. Simon scooted sideways, making space for her by the fire, and Vivian sat. No one said a word for a while; it was the first they’d eaten all day, except for a bit of oatcake in the morning. Vivian ate ravenously, even though the stew was redolent of onions, bringing back memories of the horrid man on the stage who had breathed on her with that wretched leer. It was rabbit again, just as it had been for the last three days. She knew it should be enough that they had meat at all, but one of these days she would shake some coin out of Flynn and buy a chicken for the pot.

Across the circle from her, Flynn shoved aside his empty dish and produced a leather bag from his jacket pocket. Simon and Crum, Alice’s man, also put aside their bowls and sat up straighter, intent on what Flynn poured on the ground in front of him. With the keen eye of a moneylender, Flynn divided the money into five equal piles. Then he plucked a few coins from four stacks and added it to the fifth. That was his, as the leader, he claimed. Vivian gritted her teeth, saying nothing as Flynn shot her a glittering glance. He knew she thought it was unfair that he took more than the rest, but he also knew she had only Simon on her side. Crum was pacified by Alice getting a share, even though poor Alice never participated in their jobs. So Vivian kept her silence, and skimmed a little off the proceeds of the items she sold. If Flynn deserved a little extra for being the brawn of the group, she deserved a little extra for being the brains.

The take was only modest. “Barely four quid,” said Flynn grimly. Again he flashed her a look, as if it were her fault the dandy had only carried a pair of guineas. She’d been sure he would have a nice fat purse, and never would have decided to rob him if she’d known otherwise.

“What else?” Vivian prodded him. He grunted.

“One plain ring of gold, a snuffbox, two pocket watches, one jeweled, and one cravat pin with pearl.” He lined them up.

“And?”

He glared at her, but pulled the wretched signet ring from his pocket. “One signet ring.”

“Of good gold, and thick and heavy,” she pointed out. “That’ll bring a guinea at least.” Beside her, Crum perked up. He had been watching with his customary glumness. Crum never said much, good or bad. He was a big thick fellow, and only in defense of Alice did he show any animation.