I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (11 page)

“How dare you speak to me like that!”

“We’re married.” He moved closer again until she was flush against the wall. “I am permitted to call you Lila in private.”

“That’s not what I meant. You said…about the gutters…”

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he scrubbed his hands over his cropped hair. “Bloody hell.”

His arm came around her, and he hauled her up against him. “Forgive me in advance, Mrs. Derring. I just can’t resist.”

His lips came down on hers, and though she tried to protest, no sound escaped. His warm mouth covered hers, and she couldn’t think of anything but making certain he never stopped.

Seven

He hadn’t wanted to kiss her. God knew he’d teased her enough. But what the devil was he supposed to do when she stood, all prim and proper, in her princess-in-a-tower room and stared at him with that shocked expression.

That
adorably
shocked expression. He didn’t want to find her adorable. He didn’t want to enjoy shocking her, but he couldn’t seem to help it. It reminded him of when he’d been a boy and unable to resist needling his older brother.

Except Lila was nothing like his older brother.

And he hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d been angry because she had no concept of the danger she was in and because she’d taken over the only place that had ever been his alone and—very well—because he’d had to marry her and she was beautiful and he couldn’t stop wanting to kiss her.

Only half of that was her fault.

But when she’d yelled back at him, her spine perfectly straight, her head held high, her hands folded primly before her, he hadn’t been able to resist. He wanted to ruffle her composure, hear her make a sound other than a squeak of disapproval.

And so he’d yanked her against him and kissed her. A quick kiss to show her she didn’t control him. But once his lips brushed over hers, he hadn’t been in such a hurry to pull back. Once he felt the softness of her mouth, he wanted to feel more.

He danced his lips lightly over hers once, twice, three times. On the third time, she opened her lips with a light gasp or sigh—he was not certain which—and he slid his hand up her back and into her hair. He slanted his mouth over hers, angling her head to give him better access.

Her body was rigid in his arms, but she didn’t protest. And as he moved his mouth over hers, she began to melt into him, slowly at first, until her arms came around his neck, and she clung to him as though he were the last lifeline of a sinking ship.

Her soft body pressed against him, her heat making him forget the cold rain and the chill of the hours he’d spent outside. Her scent, which seemed to be a mixture of lily of the valley and laundered linen, teased his senses, making him want more and more. She did not kiss him back, but when he ran his tongue lightly along the seam of her lips, she gave a soft moan.

He rather doubted she’d been kissed much since he’d last kissed her and not by any man who knew what he was about.

Hell, Brook hadn’t known how to kiss a woman properly himself seven years ago.

But he knew now.

He might have deepened the kiss then. He certainly wanted to. His body wanted more than a kiss, but he held back. This path was a slippery slope. Kissing her was only making him want her, and no good could come from that. This sham of a marriage would be over in a few days’ time. Easier for both of them if they made a clean break.

Brook broke away from her, stepping back and releasing her. She clung to him for another moment before realizing she was free and forcing her legs to hold her weight.

Her eyes were so dark they were almost amber. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red as a ripe rose and just as plump. Brook clenched his hands in order to resist taking her in his arms again.

“I don’t forgive you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t accost me.”

He raised a brow. “Accost you? Is that what it’s called?”

“I don’t wish to have you paw at me whenever the mood strikes you.”

Brook’s hands clenched again but not from desire. “I neither accosted you nor pawed you, madam.” He stepped closer to her, but she didn’t back up. Even if she’d wanted to, her back was to the wall. “I kissed you, and you bloody well liked it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I beg your pardon, but your moans and the way your hands clung to my person confused me momentarily.”

Her color rose higher and so did her chin. “Do not kiss me again.”

“I’ll kiss you whenever I want. Someone ought to. You don’t know the first thing about it.”

Her jaw dropped, which had the added effect of bringing her chin down a notch. “Are you implying I don’t kiss well?”

“If you think that was only implied, you haven’t understood a word I said.”

She let out a cry of outrage and rushed at him. Brook wasn’t certain what she would have done had he allowed her to touch him. He had agile reflexes, honed by years in the rookeries, and he moved quickly aside. She stumbled past him with a startled cry.

“Get out!” she yelled.

“This is my flat. You get out.”

She turned toward the door, as though to do just that, and then seemed to reconsider. For all her fury, she wasn’t too angry to think straight.

Slowly, she turned back to face him. “I can’t leave. I have nowhere to go.”

“And a price on your head.”

“A fat lot you care.” She swiped her hand out. “You only want my father’s money.”

“I don’t give a damn about your father’s money. He could give me a hundred thousand pounds, and it wouldn’t be enough to put up with the likes of you. You’re a stubborn, spoiled brat, and you always have been.”

“You’re an immoral, ill-mannered arse!”

He would concede the ill-mannered arse. He could be both at times, but he was rather proud of his morals. “Immoral? What the devil do you know of my morals?”

“I know you have half a dozen by-blows spread throughout the countryside!” She’d positioned her hands on her waist, and her tone was that of one who thinks she has won the argument.

Brook leaned a hip against the dainty escritoire. “This is the second mention you have made of bastards. As I said, I have no bastards. The children you read of in my
private
correspondence are youths I pulled out of the rookeries. These children were orphans who only wanted a better life and asked for my help. I gave it to them by finding them positions as servants in large, well-to-do homes. They’re safe, fed, and well away from the gangs and thugs who would have preyed on them in the city.”

She stared at him, her mouth slightly parted with what he imagined was her next riposte. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed. Color rose in her cheeks again, but he imagined this time it was from shame.

“You helped those children?”

“I’m trying to. Not all of them are children either. Geoffrey is almost seventeen. I would have had to sire him at fourteen or fifteen. I promise you, I had any number of items on my mind at that age and none of them were tossing up a girl’s skirts.”

“I see.” She wrung her hands together. “I suppose I should apologize.”

“Go ahead.”
Now
he was being an ill-mannered arse.

“Very well, I am sorry for assuming the worst about you.”

He would have nodded. The apology was enough for him. He’d actually been surprised she’d made one at all.

“And I also apologize for reading your private letters. I should not have done that, and I really have no excuse.”

“All is—”

“And I probably should not have had your flat refurbished without asking for your permission. That was quite selfish of me and probably a rather underhanded method of punishing you for stashing me away here.” She lowered her lashes and swiped at her cheek.

Did she brush tears away or was it merely an itch?

“It’s unjust of me to blame you,” Lila said. “You are only trying to help me, the same way you helped those children. I do appreciate it, and I beg you to understand that the events of the past few days have been quite a shock. I hope you will forgive me.”

She raised her gaze to his, and Brook tried to remember what he had been angry about. “Who the devil are you?” he asked. “What have you done with Lady Lila?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not attempting to amuse you. Is this apology some sort of jest?”

She exhaled, her expression a mixture of hurt and shock. “I suppose that will teach me to apologize. You don’t even believe me.”

“No, I don’t. I know you, Lila.”

“That’s where you are wrong. I’m not the girl you knew.”

With that, she turned her back on him and flounced away—acting very much like the girl he’d known. With a dramatic flourish, she slammed the door to the bedroom, leaving him alone in the common room.

Alone except for the dinner.

Brook couldn’t argue with those circumstances.

If he was truly the ill-mannered arse she made him out to be, he would have eaten all of the meal Mrs. O’Dwyer had brought. Instead, he left some for Lila to eat if and when she emerged from exile.

His belly full, he lay down in front of the hearth and closed his eyes, opening them again as soon as he heard Hunt’s foot on the steps. Hunt knocked softly, identified himself, and Brook opened the door and took the valise.

He stripped off his wet breeches and pulled on dry ones.

He reached for a clean, pressed shirt, but Hunt produced the shaving kit.

Brook gave him a warning look.

“The landlady is on her way with warm water. What else did you want it for?”

Brook sighed. He might have taken a bath, except that he didn’t have a tub at the flat. Instead, when Mrs. O’Dwyer knocked a few minutes later, Hunt took the warm water, poured some into a bowl to use for shaving, and gave the rest to Brook, who used it and a clean towel to wash the dirt and grime from the last few days off.

Then he sat to be shaved, leaning his head back, and closing his eyes. He could catch ten minutes’ sleep in this fashion and not need to rest for another three or four hours.

“Where’s the missus?” Hunt asked, placing a warm wet towel on Brook’s face.

Brook opened his eyes.

Hunt used the strop to sharpen the razor, continuing his task as though he didn’t see the way Brook glared at him.

“Finnegan and Turner said she’s kept herself, and them, quite busy.”

Brook gestured to the room. “As you see.”

Hunt nodded and proceeded to employ the brush to spread the shaving soap on Brook’s cheeks and jaw. “Much improved.”

Brook pushed forward and glanced around again. “What was wrong with it before?”

“Not a thing.” Hunt waited for him to sit back again and then began sliding the razor in neat strips along Brook’s cheek. “But now it has a woman’s touch.”

“If by that you mean it has an abundance of velvet and satin, I concur. And I have no doubt she’s in the bedroom right this minute planning her next purchase, but I won’t have her using Turner and Finnegan as her lackeys.”

“That won’t go over well with her.”

“She already called me an immoral, ill-mannered arse. It can’t get worse.”

“Oh, yes it can. And you’re not immoral.”

Brook pointed at him. “Thank you.”

For a few moments, there was only the sound of the razor on stubble. “You might give her another chance,” Hunt said, shaving Brook’s neck, which meant Brook dare not reply or even breathe. “After all, she’s attempting to take an interest.”

Brook lowered his brows in question.

Hunt nodded at the nearby chaise longue. “The book on the Peloponnesian War. The one you’ve been reading for three years. She’s reading it now.”

As soon as Hunt had removed the blade, Brook sat and stared at the book open on the longue. He’d noted it before—he generally saw everything—but he hadn’t taken an interest in it. He’d supposed it was one of the novels ladies were always reading, but now he saw it was indeed the book he read when he couldn’t fall asleep at night.

It was boring as hell, but she’d made more progress than he had.

Was she interested in history? He’d never imagined Lila was much of a reader. Perhaps he did not know her as well as he thought.

And why the devil did he care? He didn’t need to know her. He only needed to keep her safe for a few more days.

Hunt dried his face and neck and then helped Brook dress in the clean clothing. “Is it still raining, Hunt?”

“Yes, sir. And it’s dark.” And because Hunt could see Brook still wasn’t dissuaded, he added, “And cold.”

“Beezle can’t stay inside forever.”

Hunt muttered something about dry weather, but Brook ignored it.

“We may very well catch him tonight.”

An hour or so later, Brook and Hunt shooed a prostitute away and took up their old positions. The moll returned though, and Brook couldn’t help but notice she was just a girl, wet and shivering. He reached into his pocket and pulled out several coins. “Half-crown for a bit of information.”

“Go on,” she said. “You call it information if you want. Come back here with me, and I’ll give you
information
.”

Brook nodded at Hunt and followed her, not because he wanted to take her against the wall, as she assumed, but because it would be better for her if she wasn’t seen conversing with him.

In the light from a window above, he saw the girl lean against a wall and open her arms to him. Brook shook his head. “I meant what I said. I want information.” He kept his voice low.

“You want me to snitch?”

“I’ll pay you.” He jingled the coins in his hand. “You answer my questions. That’s all.”

“I don’t lift my skirt?”

“I won’t touch you.”

She stared at the wall, thinking it over. Without the mask of forced sensuality over her features, she looked young and vulnerable.

“You a Runner?”

“Of sorts.”

“Who you after?”

“Beezle.”

“Oh no.” She shook her head and slid several inches away. “He’ll slit my throat.”

“Which is why we’re not standing on the open street.” He jingled the coins again, making sure she saw the crown. “You know where his flash ken is.”