I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (3 page)

“She did. Once.”

“And now?”

Brook pulled the collar of his coat up to shield his neck from the cold. “And now I need someone to show me all of Beezle’s hidey-holes. You’re the man for the job.” And he started for Seven Dials, trusting Dorrington to follow.

“You’ll get us both killed,” Dorrington called after him.

“You have something better to do today?”

Dorrington grumbled, but a moment later he caught up and, with a curse, pulled Brook down a dark alley and into hell.

Two

Lila could hear the men talking. They would kill her. They were probably plotting how to do it right now. She didn’t understand why they hadn’t killed her yet. When the man who’d slit the gentleman’s throat had caught her, she had thought that was the end.

But instead of slitting her throat, he’d dragged her back down to the dark cellar and left her. He hadn’t bothered to tie her hands this time, but she’d heard something that sounded heavy scrape across the floor above. She imagined an enormous obstacle blocked the door. She’d never escape.

Perhaps that was the idea all along.

She was so thirsty. Perhaps they’d leave her down here to die of starvation.

She’d never thought she’d die this way. She hadn’t wanted to die like her mother, delirious with pain and coughing blood. But at least her mother had died in bed with her family around her.

Lila would die alone.

She didn’t know how much time had passed. In the darkness, she could judge only by the violence of her hunger, but that came and went. Her thirst was a constant. She didn’t sleep, but she had nodded off a time or two, waking when she began to slide to the ground. She did not want to lie on the ground. Not yet.

She rested her head on her knees and then lifted it again. Where were the voices? Had the men left her? Cautiously, she stood and strained to hear again. All was silence.

No, wait. That wasn’t quite true. She heard the creak of a board, the thump of a footfall. Someone was still up there and moving about.

She began to sink back down when a man grunted and something heavy slid across the floorboards.

They were coming for her.

Lila slunk away, into the deepest shadows of the cellar, and then clenched her fingers and moved back before the staircase. Was she so much a coward that she’d cower in a corner? It would buy her no more time.

The door rattled, and she bit her already bloody and parched lips. She would not scream or cry or beg for mercy.

The door opened and a weak shaft of light penetrated the gloom. In that light, she saw the form of a man. She knew instantly it wasn’t one of her captors. This man was solid, not bone thin.

“Lady Lillian-Anne?” he whispered.

Lila’s parched throat would not allow her to answer. She made a croak, and he stepped onto the first step. He held no lamp, not even a candle. She didn’t know whether to trust him—not that she had many other options.

“Yes,” she finally managed. “I’m here.”

“Come on, then.”

She hesitated, uncertain whether to trust this man. His accent was not much better than that of the men who’d taken her. How did she know he didn’t have something worse planned for her?

“Are you tied up?” he asked. “Can you walk?”

“Yes, but—”

He sighed with impatience. “Always introductions with you gentry morts,” he muttered. “I’m with Sir Brook Derring. We’re here to save you.”

“Brook Derring?” That was a name she had not thought about for a long, long time.

“He’s entertaining Beezle and the cubs with a Banbury story at the moment, but they’ll be back and nab us both if you don’t hurry.”

If her muscles hadn’t been so cramped from hours of disuse, she would have run up the steps. As it was, she moved quickly and the man at the top took her elbow. He pulled her into the kitchen, then paused to shove the battered wardrobe in front of the door.

He winked at her when he was done. “That might give us some time.”

He took her elbow again and led her confidently through the building and out a door that led into a narrow alley. So narrow was it that she had to turn sideways to fit. The ground sloped inward and the smell was that of human and animal waste. Lila tried not to breathe as she followed the man along the wall. They’d gone perhaps twenty yards when he yanked on one of the doors that opened into the alley and disappeared inside. A moment later, he poked his head back out.

“Coming?”

She followed him through a twisting maze of back alleys, dark buildings, and even over rooftops. A thick fog shrouded everything, and she wasn’t certain if it was day or night. She was glad for the fog. It kept them hidden. Still, she jumped every time she heard voices, afraid they’d been found. Finally, her leader stopped in the middle of an alley that led onto a busier street. She could see men and women walking by where the alley opened, and the movement had dispersed some of the fog.

“Stay here,” the man said to her. She couldn’t see his face. He wore his hat too low on his brow.

“No!” Like a child, she grabbed hold of his arm. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be back, and I’ll bring Derring.”

“Can’t we send someone else to fetch him? One of those women?” She gestured to three prostitutes leaning against the walls of the alley and watching them curiously.

“Raise yer skirts and do the deed already!” one of them called. All three cackled.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Stay here, and don’t talk to anyone.” He moved away, then came back. “Don’t even look at anyone.”

Lila hugged herself and pressed her back against the wall.

He’ll be right back.

And if he wasn’t, she was free now. She could walk right out of here, hail a hackney, and go home. She might have no idea where she was, but she was still in London. She couldn’t be too far from home.

The prostitutes at the end of the alley called out to the man as he walked past them. He answered back, jesting with them in the strange cant the lower classes used. She didn’t understand them, and she didn’t want to.

Brook Derring.
Sir
Brook Derring. That honor had been bestowed after she’d known him. The king had given it to him for his service to the Crown. Lila wasn’t certain what the service had been, but she knew Brook was known now for finding people who had been abducted. She didn’t go out as much as she had when she’d known him, but she’d heard him spoken of at dinner parties now and then. He was nothing short of a national hero. He’d found the son of a baron or viscount. Poor man had been languishing in an opium den in Brighton, or had it been Bath? And Derring had found a woman too.

That was why he was here. She was the one who had been abducted this time. Her father must have gone to him and asked for help. Lennox must have bruised his pride, going to Derring, especially after the way the duke had treated him.

After the abominable way they’d both treated Sir Brook.

She knew only moments had passed, but it seemed hours. Perhaps Sir Brook would leave her here. Was that his revenge? But if he’d wanted revenge, he could have left her in the cellar.

And why would the other man lead her in circles if only to abandon her here?

He’ll be right back.

Now that she wasn’t moving, she was cold again. And thirsty, so thirsty. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.

“You just going to stand there all night?” one of the prostitutes called.

The three of them had grown bored of calling out to passing men and turned their attentions on her.

Lila didn’t answer. Derring’s man had told her not to speak. She wouldn’t speak.

“Wot’s wrong?” one of them, dressed in a low-cut reddish blouse, asked. “Cat got yer tongue?”

“She don’t know wot to do wit’ ’er tongue.” That was from the youngest of the three. Lila thought she looked little more than a child.

The first, short and with thinning hair, approached her. “This ’ere is our place. Get out.”

Lila looked up at her and immediately back down again. The woman had skin like leather, and the stench of her rotting teeth made Lila want to gag. The prostitute leaned down, her dark, greasy hair brushing against Lila’s sleeve.

“I said, get out.”

Lila shook her head. Oh, where was Derring’s man?

“She wants to stay, Rosie.” That from the buxom girl in red. “If ye stay, dearie, ye have to earn yer keep.”

Lila stared at her slippers, black with God knew what.

“That’s right,” the young one chimed in. “Ye pay us a fee. I’ll take that fancy coat.”

Lila tightened her arms, but it was no use when two of the women grabbed her and forced her pelisse from her back. She fought back, but it was three against one. She received a slap and a punch in the stomach for her pains.

The girl in red snatched at the combs in her hair, and the short prostitute snapped the necklace from her neck. Lila blinked back the tears from the sting of the hair that had been ripped out, then pushed the women away.

“Take them and leave me alone.”

“Oh, now, listen to ’er,” said the short one, who Lila was beginning to think was the leader. “Don’t she sound all ’igh and mighty.”

“
Take ’em and leave me alone
,” the youngest one mocked her, nose in the air, chest out. She strutted about, fluffing her new pelisse.

“I know wot will bring ’er down a peg or two. A good rogering will show ’er wot’s wot.”

The prostitutes grabbed her by the arms, and though Lila dug her heels in and tried to shake them off, she was dragged inexorably forward. She kicked and writhed until she was knocked in her already-sore lip. The sharp pain made her forget about the rest until the women had dragged her onto the street.

“Boys, lookee ’ere. Fancy a tumble? You pay ol’ Rosie ’ere a ’alf crown, you can ’ave ’er the ’ole night.”

“No!” Lila struggled, only to be knocked in the teeth with an elbow.

“Want a poke? Try ’er out for a sixpence.”

“Let go!” Lila finally pulled free, only to stumble on her skirts and fall to her knees. She looked up and into the gleam of a pair of shiny, black boots.

The man held his hand down, offering it to her. The small gesture of kindness took her off guard and, before she could think the better of it, she took it. He pulled her to her feet, and when she looked into his face, she caught her breath.

Brook.

After all these years, she still knew him. As though her touch burned him, he pulled his hand out of hers and pushed her aside. The man who’d led her from the cellar was there, and he took her arm and started walking.

“’Ey, now! Ye can’t just take ’er. She’s ours. Ye ’ave to pay.”

The man beside her never stopped moving, but she heard Brook Derring’s voice clearly. “You want me to pay? How about I do you a favor? How about I don’t throw you in Newgate or have you transported for kidnapping?”

“Aw, come on, guv. We was just ’aving a bit o’ sport.”

“Take your sport back to the hole you crawled out of.”

A moment later, he was beside her. His arm came around her back. “I have her now.”

The other man released her, as though transferring ownership.

“Thank you,” Lila said, looking up at him.

He gave her a puzzled look and pushed her forward. “Don’t stop until I say.”

“If Beezle isn’t down, he will be soon,” the other man said.

“All the more reason for you to disappear now. I have her. Get out of here before Beezle sees you.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” And the other man slipped into the fog and was gone.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as he continued to push her along.

“Stop talking.”

“I remember you being nicer,” she said as they moved around a group of men throwing a die. Several of them eyed her curiously. Without her pelisse, she wore only her lilac silk ball gown, and though it was wrinkled and stained, it was still finer than most of them had seen.

“I’m surprised you remember me at all.”

“If you despise me so, why did you rescue me?”

He glanced at her, and she knew before he even spoke the words would be cutting. His dark brown eyes glinted like hard agate.

“I like charity cases.”

Lila looked away. She knew what his words implied. She wasn’t well liked among the
ton
. No one would have minded too much if she were to disappear. No one would have troubled too much to come after her.

“What, no rejoinder?” Sir Brook asked, raising his arm to catch the attention of a jarvey sitting on the box of a hackney. “Where’s that silver tongue, Lady Lila?”

In the grave with my mother
, she thought.

Before handing her into the hackney, he draped his greatcoat over her. It wasn’t until the warm wool, infused with the scents of bergamot and brandy, enveloped her that she realized how cold she’d been. The first gusts of a wintry wind swept the fog away and cut through her right down to the bone. The coat, still warm from Derring’s body, was like an embrace.

She shivered and lowered her nose into the collar.

After giving the jarvey the address, he handed her into the hackney—that and the coat told her he could still be chivalrous—and seated himself across from her, taking the less desirable position. Lila could only stare down at her ruined gown and shoes and wonder just how awful the rest of her looked.

Not that she cared what Sir Brook thought. Not that she cared what anyone thought.

She was away. She was free. Lila considered, for the first time in hours, that she might not die today. She should have felt elated, but all she felt was the pounding in her head and the burning in her eyes from lack of food and sleep.

“Once we reach your father’s home, you’ll undoubtedly be whisked away, so let me ask my questions now.”

Lila raised her eyes. She’d thought they would sit in silence.

“What time is it?” she asked, her tongue thick in her mouth, making her words come slowly.

“Half three,” he said. “In the afternoon. You’ve been gone for a night and a day.”

Sir Brook had removed his hat and, though the last vestiges of fog still covered the world in nebulous gray, she could make out his features now. He’d always been handsome. Not handsome in the way his brother, the earl, was. The earl was smooth and polished and had the charming good looks to match his charming personality.