What a Rogue Desires (5 page)

“Excellent,” he breathed to himself. At last, his shady past had come in handy. Immediately upon his return to London in a hired carriage, David had taken the time to personally visit each and every fence and pawnbroker he knew in London. Thanks to his highly varied gambling history, David knew quite a few fences and pawnbrokers, and all of them had been delighted to do business with him again. But instead of his silver or his pocket watch, this time he had offered them a reward: twenty pounds to anyone who recovered his signet ring, and double if they helped him capture the thief. Thaddeus Burddock, who had once extended David a loan against his best hunter, had had a visit from the highwayman, it seemed.

“Bless you, Burddock,” he muttered. He lay back on the sofa and frowned in thought. It was best, perhaps, not to summon the Runners at once. Not because David feared they would object to his plan, but because they would be noticeable to a practiced thief. David didn’t want to risk giving himself away and letting the thief escape; oh, no. David did not take kindly to being knocked senseless. Without thinking, he flexed the fingers of his sore hand, imagining the pleasure of driving his fist into the cowardly criminal’s gut.

These thieves weren’t entirely stupid, given their efforts to unload their stolen booty as soon as possible. Within a day reward notices could be posted, and robbery victims could hire thief-takers to track down their property. David doubted any had done so yet, for the simple reason that they could only have arrived in London today. Had the thieves’ plan gone off successfully, the stolen goods would have already been sold, and any chance of capturing the thieves would be greatly reduced. David knew it had been a good idea to see to the pawnbrokers first, even though he’d had to postpone a meeting with Marcus’s banker to do it. The banker could wait. David meant to catch those thieves, and smile at the shock on their faces when he did it. And then he would hand them over to Bow Street and applaud at their hanging.

Smiling with grim anticipation, he rang for dinner, his headache miraculously improved.

The next morning David was at the pawnbroker’s shop before it opened. Burddock, still in his nightcap, let him in and showed him into a small office at the rear of the shop. He offered tea, which David refused, and then went back upstairs to his lodgings. By the time he waddled back down the stairs and unlocked the front door, David had already explored every inch of the cluttered shop. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

He settled himself in the back room, but found it difficult to be patient. David shifted his weight and sighed. He’d been here an hour already, but it felt like an eternity. Burddock had assured him the thief would be returning early, but that was all. David was quite tired of waiting in the cramped, dingy back room of Burddock’s shop, which smelled faintly of meat pies and sour ale. He peered through the threadbare curtain again, observed Burddock’s wide backside reposing as indolently as ever on his stool, and cleared his throat.

“Patience,” said Burddock without turning around.

“I’ve had patience,” said David with an edge. “Have you anything else to suggest?”

Burddock glanced over his shoulder. “Have a seat, m’lord. Thieves ain’t the most punctual sort.”

Fair enough. David dusted off the end of the dingy bench and gingerly sat. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers. He couldn’t afford to give in to his urge to go pace the streets until he found the thief and thrashed him. Tracking a criminal into the rookeries was madness, and David knew it; odds were,
his
throat would be in more jeopardy than the thief’s. He had to wait, at least for a while, and see if this plan worked.

But sitting and waiting were almost impossible. The walls of the tiny room seemed to close in on him. The smells seemed to grow stronger and stronger until the air was too thick to breathe. He jumped up and peeked through the curtain again. The shop was still empty. “I’ll wait outside,” he said. “When he comes in, make certain you get the ring, then show him out. I’ll watch for it.”

“As you wish, sir,” said Burddock, who seemed unconcerned about anything but keeping his ample body stationary. David set his mouth impatiently, then let himself out the back door into an alley. He strolled around to the front of the shop and across the street to where his carriage waited. His eyes swept the crowded street, but saw nothing exceptional. He spoke to his driver, who gave a discreet nod and sat back to wait, subtly shifting his position. Still unhurried, David bought a hot bun from a street vendor and leaned against a lamppost to eat it, keeping Burddock’s shop in sight.

He waited a while. Several people entered, and all left alone. He finished his bun and took his time wiping his fingers on his handkerchief. Where the devil was that thief, he thought in aggravation. If Burddock had told him a tale, he would…

David left that thought unfinished. The door of the shop had opened again, and Thaddeus Burddock himself was holding it open for the thief who had just sold him David’s signet ring.

It was a woman. Not just any woman, he realized, his mouth dropping open in shock, but the pretty little widow from the stagecoach. Mrs. Gray, he remembered, the one with the face of an angel.

David snapped his sagging jaw shut. Not an innocent victim after all. He’d stood up for her and gotten knocked unconscious for it, never dreaming she would turn out to be in league with the thief who hit him. She’d played him for a fool—but would not do so again.

He raised his hand and adjusted his hat, the signal to his driver, who nodded once in response. Taking his time, but never letting her out of his sight, David drifted into the stream of passersby. It wasn’t hard to overtake her; his stride must be half as long again as hers. Hard to believe such a dainty little woman was a hardened criminal, but David knew looks never did tell true. She paused at the corner, waiting for a produce cart to rumble past, and he made his move.

“There you are,” he said, sweeping her into the curve of his arm and taking a tight grip on her elbow. “I thought I’d never find you.”

Shocked blue eyes flew to his. “S-sir,” she stuttered, then gasped as she looked at him. “Release me, please,” she continued, masking her recognition well, but not well enough. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else, I fear.”

“I fear much the same thing, but let’s sort it out properly, shall we?” His carriage drew up, and David pulled open the door with one hand and shoved her inside with the other. She braced her arms against the doorframe, trying to resist, but David made short work of that by stepping onto the step, wrapping one arm around her, and bodily boosting her into the carriage as if she were a large sack of wheat. The carriage was off even before he pulled the door shut behind him.

His quarry had tumbled to the floor in a heap of shabby gray skirts, and was struggling to right herself. David watched in dark amusement as she scrambled to her feet, crouching a little in the carriage. She was breathing hard, and her eyes were like saucers. She stared at him for a moment, then lunged for the door. He put his boot on the opposite seat, extending his leg across the door. She drew back as if singed, huddling in the corner farthest from him.

“Mrs. Gray, I believe,” he said easily. She was rattled, and he wanted to rattle her more. “My memory’s not terribly good for names, but being robbed and beaten about the head does tend to impress things even on my mind.”

“Oh,” she said in an odd, choking voice. “Oh, yes—now I remember you. From the Bromley stage.”

He tilted his head. “Only now? I would swear you remembered a few moments ago.”

She licked her lips. She had such a perfect mouth, he thought. What lies would come out of it next? “I—I wasn’t certain. You took me very much by surprise, sir. I certainly never expected to be accosted on the street by someone with whom I’m hardly acquainted.” There was just a trace of stinging censure in her words, which David found highly entertaining. She was a very good liar, it seemed.

But unfortunately for her, so was he, and one liar could always sniff out another liar. He leaned forward, watching her draw back and widen her eyes in alarm. “Ah, but we’ve a much closer bond than that, haven’t we?” She blinked, an uncomprehending angel. “Since it
was
my ring you were trying to sell Burddock,” he clarified.

If possible, her eyes got even bigger. “Oh, no!” she gasped. “No! Your ring? Why, I’ve no idea what you’re talking of! I’m just a poor widow, sir—I have no other means of support than to sell some of my late husband’s things—”

“A tragic tale,” he agreed. “If only it were true. Stealing is a crime. Did you know they hang thieves?” She didn’t move a muscle, her eyes fixed on him. The carriage jerked to a halt. “Ah, excellent. We’ve arrived. Care to tell me the truth? Last chance,” he added with a dangerous smile.

“The truth? But I’ve told you…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes darting to the window. As directed, the driver had gone around to the alley behind Burddock’s shop. The shopkeeper was waiting for them.

Without comment, David pushed open the door, keeping his leg across the opening. Burddock waddled closer, peered into the carriage, and said, “Aye, that’s the one. Sold me this.” He produced a pearl stickpin and a watch ornamented with tiny rubies. David frowned.

“Where’s the ring?”

Burddock lifted one shoulder. “She didn’t bring it today.”

“Oh, sir!” cried the widow pleadingly. “Say you aren’t in league with him! This villain snatched me off the streets and won’t let me go! Please help me!”

Burddock gazed at her with his opaque black eyes, then turned back to David. “I bought ’em both, as you asked,” he said.

David took them, holding his pin up to the light. “Good work. Your compensation will be sent over directly.”

Burddock smirked. “Very good. A pleasure serving you, sir.”

“But the ring?” David prompted. Burddock hesitated.

“She didn’t have it. At least she said she didn’t.” David shot him a dark glance, and Burddock backed up a step, spreading his hands as if to plead helplessness. “What was I to do? I expect you can handle it from here better than I could.”

David turned back to his thief, the lovely, white-faced widow opposite him. “Yes, I believe I can,” he said grimly. He thumped a fist on the roof. “Drive on.”

Her gaze veered from the jewels in his hand to his face. “Release me,” she said, her voice a thin thread of sound. “Please, sir, I beg you…”

“Yes, I expect you do.” He held the watch up to the light. “This was from the Bromley stage robbery, isn’t it? The fat man who smelled of onions, I believe. What was his name?” David turned the watch from side to side, pretending to study it but watching her from the corner of his eye. She was tensed like a cat waiting to spring, her hands curled into the cushions. “No matter,” he said, putting it in his pocket. “I can send word to the constable. He’ll have the man’s direction.”

His companion said nothing, her unblinking gaze fixed on him.

“I expect you’re in it with them,” he went on, as casually as one might discuss the weather. “There’s really no other explanation for how you came into possession of items stolen from passengers on the coach. Fortunately for you, I don’t particularly care. All I want is my ring. And you might as well give back my pocket watch, since I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to track you down. But once you return those things, you’ll be free.”

“I don’t have them,” she protested.

He smiled gently. “You’ll have to get them. Send word to your associates.”

“But I can’t!”

David sighed, still smiling. This was really quite entertaining. “Then you’ll just be my guest until you can.”

She jerked, yet more color fading from her face. “What?”

He leaned forward. “My guest,” he repeated. “I don’t appreciate being robbed, my dear, let alone coshed on the head and left for dead. It was quite a fit of nerves, was it, that you had after that. I heard all about it.”

“I—I was so sorry to see you hurt,” she cried.

“No doubt. And yet, when I acted on my gentlemanly instincts and tried to make certain you were recovered, no one seemed to know precisely where you had gone.” He put his head to one side, smiling a smile that made Vivian’s blood run absolutely hot with fury. He was toying with her. She wanted to claw his eyes out for it.

“That was very kind of you, but—”

“But completely pointless,” he finished for her. “Did it take long to rejoin your accomplices?”

“I—but—no—” She covered her face with both hands, trying to gather her panicked thoughts. How had he sussed out most of their operation, just from looking at her? She had to get away, had to warn the others that someone was on to them and would be setting the constables on them. It was definitely time to move on, all the way to Scotland perhaps. “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she bleated piteously.

“There, dear,” he said. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Rest your nerves. The answer will come to you soon enough, I expect.”

Vivian finally decided to resort to weeping, something she only employed in desperate circumstances. It was always useful to keep one weapon in her arsenal in reserve. But these circumstances were desperate, like no others she could remember, and so she scrunched up her face and set to crying in the most pathetic manner she possibly could.

“A magnificent performance,” he commented after a few moments. Vivian swiped at her eyes, trying not to glare at him.

“What else can I do? You won’t believe a word I say.”

“True,” he agreed. “I won’t.” But the carriage was coming to a stop. She risked a glance out the window. If he would get out, or better yet, let her out, she would be gone in a flash.

Her captor pushed open the door himself and jumped down. His figure filled the doorway. “Come along now,” he said.

She clutched her reticule in front of her chest. “No.”

The wretched man’s face didn’t change. Vivian swallowed hard, battling back fear and fury. “I said, come along,” he repeated. “Or I shall make you.”

What the ruddy hell did he plan to do? Terrible images whirled through her mind. She dug the worn toes of her boots into the carriage floor, bracing herself. “No.”

He leaned toward her, his hands on either side of the doorway. “Come,” he said in a silky voice that almost sounded seductive. Vivian balled her left hand into a fist. She had to time this just right….

“If you insist.” Faster than expected, he lunged forward and seized her wrist, dragging her half out of the carriage. Vivian gave a startled little shriek, swinging wildly as he pulled her off balance and sideways. Her fist connected, pretty well to judge by the pain that shot up her arm, but he just gave a tiny grunt and then laughed. The blackguard
laughed
.

Now fighting in earnest, Vivian still found herself hauled out of the carriage and held upright against him, his one arm around her waist and his other around her shoulders. He adjusted his hold, and she found herself on her tiptoes. She clawed at his hand, scrabbling with her toes for balance, and his hand came to rest at her throat. He had a big hand. She could feel his fingers sweep lightly across the base of her neck, and she went still, her heart about to burst from beating so hard.

“You’ve lost the fight,” he whispered in her ear. “I don’t intend to hurt you, so cease trying to hurt me.”

She swung her feet a little, desperately trying to get some leverage. Her worn half boots wouldn’t do any serious damage, even if she could kick him. “Let me go,” she said between her teeth. “I’ll cry murder!”

He sighed. “The neighbors won’t pay it any mind, my dear.” With a squeeze around her waist, he lifted her a little higher and proceeded to walk up the steps into a house that looked immensely forbidding to Vivian. In fact, now that she looked around, she realized how deep in trouble she was. This was a fancy neighborhood, with clean-swept walks and wide streets and houses that gleamed in the morning light. As he mounted the steps, seemingly untroubled by her writhing, a man opened the door, his expression completely neutral.

“Help!” she cried, not having to feign her fear. “He’s hurting me!”

The man didn’t even look at her. “Welcome home, my lord,” he said, stooping to pick up the hat her struggles had knocked from his master’s head.