When a Rogue Meets His Match Read online

  Chapter Three

  Soon the tinker realized that he’d wandered from the road and that he was hopelessly lost in the dark wood.

  “Oh!” he cried. “I’ll never see my sweet wife and darling children again.”

  At that moment he saw a light shining up ahead.…

  —From Bet and the Fox

  Gideon woke the next morning to the scent of bergamot and a warm body flush against his side. For a lazy half second he imagined that he was a boy again, crowded against his brother on a thin pallet in some nameless room in St Giles.

  Except the mattress was far too soft, and nothing had smelled as nice as bergamot in St Giles.

  Besides. Eddie had been dead nearly two decades now.

  Gideon’s eyes snapped open to the weak light of dawn glowing in the bare windows.

  He lay in his own bed. A bed acquired only a day before he’d departed for the north of England to fetch Messalina. He’d held Whispers for a matter of months and in that time hadn’t seen the need to furnish it with more than a few basic pieces—he came home only to eat and sleep. But he could hardly bring his wife to a house without an adequate bed.

  His wife.

  Gideon couldn’t help the satisfied curve of his lips. Against all odds he’d succeeded in marrying Messalina. She was his now.

  He sat up and leaned over to contemplate her. She lay curled on her side, her cheeks flushed in sleep, her lips softly parted, vulnerable and sweet. Watching her made him want to lie back down, draw the coverlet up, and doze next to her. Perhaps wrap his arm around her.

  Gideon frowned. And then she’d shriek and accuse him of assault.

  He shook his head. He never slept in.

  Gideon got up. Aristocrats lazed about. He hadn’t dragged himself up from the muck of St Giles by lying abed contemplating what he already had. He’d clambered, clawed, and scrambled his way out of St Giles by keeping his eyes fixed on what he could gain next.

  With that firmly in mind, he unlocked his old trunk. He pulled out a banyan, wrapped it about himself, and, refusing to look back at the bed, left the room.

  His stride was brisk as he made his way down the hall to a room nearly at the end.

  He threw open the door to half a dozen lit candles and Keys yawning widely as he sat at a desk.

  “Mornin’, guv,” Keys muttered. The man’s blue eyes were heavy lidded and his hair flattened to the side of his head. In all the time he’d worked for Gideon, Keys had not accustomed himself to rising early.

  “Good morning,” Gideon replied, tossing aside his banyan.

  A bowl of hot water stood steaming on a dresser next to a cloth. Gideon splashed water on his face before reaching for soap and a wickedly sharp razor lying ready nearby.

  “What news?” he asked as he began to lather his jaw.

  Keys stifled another yawn. A teapot and teacup were at his right elbow, and he poured himself a cup as he consulted a small notebook. “Pea says as ’e still can’t figure what the old man wants you to do in exchange for ’is niece. ’Is boys ’ave asked of the usual people, but if’n anyone knows they ain’t talking.”

  Gideon raised his chin to scrape his throat free of soap and whiskers. “The old man’s keeping it to himself, but I have no doubt that it’ll be something filthy.”

  Keys grunted, whether in agreement or because he’d just taken a gulp of his hot tea it wasn’t clear. “Shall I ’ave Pea continue investigatin’?”

  “No. There’s no point when I’m to see the old man today.” Gideon grimaced. He disliked going into a meeting blind, but there was no help for it. The duke had refused to tell him his task before Gideon married Messalina.

  “Maybe the duke just wants to keep you in ’is pay,” Keys said diffidently. “You’re the only one ’oo don’t piss ’is pants when ’Is Grace gets in one of ’is rages.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that he means to try to keep me,” Gideon said sourly. “The old man doesn’t like anything or anyone slipping through his grasp—particularly anyone he hasn’t first ground beneath his heel—but he’s very pleased about our bargain. I have the feeling that he has something specific in mind for me to do.”

  Keys looked worried at his words, but he turned a page in his notebook without comment. “Staff reports that m’lord Bancroft played deep last night and just about lost ’is shirt. ’E borrowed from Staff to the tune of another two ’undred pounds. Staff wants to know if we keep ’im ’ooked or cut line.”

  “Keep him,” Gideon decided at once. Viscount Bancroft was in a rather powerful cabal in the House of Lords. Gideon wasn’t sure how he might use that now, but it was always good to have a member of Parliament quite literally in his debt.

  Keys nodded and made a notation in his little book. “Mr. Blackwell says ’e wants to talk to you soon as you can.”

  Gideon had met William Blackwell years ago in a gambling den. Gideon had been there for two reasons. The first was to obtain information for the duke. The second was to attend to his own small business: collecting debts for moneylenders and pocketing a portion of the money.

  The two jobs had fit rather nicely together.

  But Blackwell had taken Gideon’s business a step further. With Blackwell’s help Gideon had bought a coal mine in the north of England. Coal was proving very profitable, and Gideon had recently bought another mine. Blackwell handled Gideon’s accounts and his coal mines and was, for want of a better word, his business partner.

  Gideon frowned. “Does Blackwell want to talk about the ledgers?”

  Keys shrugged. “For your ears only.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Gideon sighed. “He probably wants to argue about the coal mines again. He’s like a dog with a bone he won’t let go when he gets an idea in his head. Tell him I’m newly married and busy.”

  “As you say, guv.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The rest is ’Is Grace’s affairs. You’ve been gone nearly a fortnight and things ’ave been moving.” Keys squinted. “Are we still interested in ’Is Grace’s dealings? Thought you was out of that end of the business, now you’re married to ’is niece.”

  Technically Gideon’s pact with the old man encompassed only the one task for the duke. On the other hand, forewarned was forearmed.

  “Best to still keep an eye on Windemere’s affairs.” Gideon splashed clean water on his face, rinsing any remaining soap away, then caught up the cloth to dry himself. “Let’s visit Scratch’s Coffeehouse to break our fast. You can tell me the details there.”

  “And Miss Greycourt?” Keys asked.

  Gideon raised a pointed brow as he donned clean breeches. “Mrs. Hawthorne, you mean.”

  Keys winced. “As you say, guv. Mrs. ’Awthorne.”

  “What about her?”

  “Erm…” Keys had an odd expression on his face. “Well, don’t you want to stay until she wakes? That is”—he blushed wildly—“after your wedding night?”

  Gideon paused, his arm thrust into a fresh shirt, to stare at his man. “Why, Keys, I never knew you had such a romantic soul.”

  Keys opened his mouth.

  “No.” Gideon quickly shook his head, forestalling him. “Mrs. Hawthorne will no doubt need a day of quiet. Be sure to tell Reggie to watch her like a pickpocket with a mark.”

  His tone was sharper than need be, and the realization made him pause.

  For a moment he remembered Messalina’s sweet, soft face as it had appeared this morning in his bed, and a part of him wondered if he should stay. No. He firmly thrust away the vision. Messalina wouldn’t greet his presence with happiness. She’d made that more than clear last night.

  He had work to do, a hard path to follow to reach the goals he’d set for himself. Not even Messalina was worth deviating from that path.

  Decided, Gideon opened the door to find Pea’s worried face. The lad stood holding the arm of a younger boy. “Guv, I’ve something to tell yer.”

  * * *

  Messalina woke much too e
arly, as evidenced by the absence of Bartlett and the fire being dead. She stretched her legs under the covers, pointing her toes and flexing them lazily.

  Then she remembered.

  She turned as quietly as possible, but there was no need. Hawthorne’s side of the big bed was empty. She slid her palm over the sheets. Cold. The only reminder that he’d lain beside her all night was the slight indentation in his pillow.

  Messalina huffed out a breath.

  Naturally she was pleased not to have to face her husband. However, she would have liked to tell him that he wasn’t wanted. His escape from her scorn was oddly disappointing.

  Messalina glanced around the room, at a loss. She planned to leave as soon as she received her dowry portion, but what was she to do in the month until then? Make the house more livable? Write letters to various friends?

  It all seemed so unsatisfying.

  She sighed. She ought to go back to sleep, but she was awake now and not at all sleepy. What if Gideon returned to the room? The thought had her up and searching for her wrapper as protection.

  The door opened and for a second Messalina’s heart raced.

  Bartlett stepped into the room, holding a tray with a teapot, sugar bowl, strainer, teacup, and one piece of buttered bread on it. “Oh, you’re already awake, ma’am.”

  She closed the door with her hip and set the tea tray on the tiny table.

  “You’re a wonder, Bartlett,” Messalina said thankfully as she sat.

  She poured herself a cup and then couldn’t help wrinkling her nose as she sipped the tea. Mostly twigs. Well. At least it was hot.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Bartlett carefully knelt on the grate.

  Messalina froze with the awful tea halfway to her lips. “Whatever are you doing?”

  “Sweeping the hearth,” Bartlett said sturdily.

  “But that’s not your job.”

  “It is today.” Bartlett vigorously wielded a hand brush. “There’s no upstairs maids.”

  “None at all?” Messalina frowned in concern.

  Bartlett shook her head. “Only a young scullery maid in the kitchens, ma’am. She was too frightened to come to your room.”

  Good Lord. She needed to hire maids right away. Bartlett already had a job that kept her busy.

  “But there’s a cook?” Messalina waved the slice of bread.

  “Aye, that we do have,” Bartlett agreed. “But no butler nor housekeeper nor even footmen. I’m afraid the house has barely a skeleton staff.”

  “That is a problem.” Messalina took another sip of her terrible tea and was nearly startled into dropping the teacup by a shout.

  “God save us,” Bartlett exclaimed, looking at Messalina. The voice was loud, but the words were incomprehensible.

  Messalina slowly set the teacup on the table. “What—?”

  Another shout, louder this time, accompanied by commotion.

  Messalina rose and hurried to the door. The corridor was empty, but now she could hear crying coming from her right. She clutched her skirts and near ran in that direction. The weeping sounded like a child.

  Near the end of the hall a door was open, and she rushed inside.

  And then skidded to a stop.

  Hawthorne stood glaring down at a small sobbing boy. The child couldn’t be older than eight.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” Messalina demanded.

  Hawthorne looked up and met her eyes. His were narrowed and so furious she nearly took a step back. “None of your concern.”

  Messalina flinched, feeling as if she’d been slapped. She glanced at the boy. His face was red and tearstained, his thin shoulders hunched. Light-brown hair curled around his ears. He wore a ragged pair of breeches, shoes that looked too big for his feet, and a shirt that might once have been white.

  He was pathetic.

  Rage, hot and intemperate, raced through her. “I think it is my concern if you mean to bully children.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Hawthorne turned his back on her as if the matter were settled. “Sam. Have you learned your lesson?”

  Messalina realized for the first time that there were others in the room. Gideon’s man, Keys, stood to the side, his eyes watchful. Another, older boy was leaning against the wall, looking almost bored, and Bartlett was at Messalina’s elbow.

  “Y-yes, guv,” Sam whispered. He straightened his shoulders. “I won’t never do it again.”

  “Do what?” Hawthorne demanded, his expression still stern.

  Sam swallowed. “Steal from you, guv.”

  “Just from me?” Hawthorne growled. “Not good enough.”

  Messalina scowled. “Hawthorne.”

  No one paid the least heed to her.

  “From anyone,” Sam said quickly, his high voice sounding panicked. “I won’t steal nothing from anyone at all!”

  “Swear,” Gideon demanded.

  “I swears!” Sam said. “On—on me mam, I do.”

  “Your mother’s dead,” the older boy drawled.

  Sam sobbed. “On me mam’s grave, I meant.”

  Messalina’s heart turned over. How could anyone hear this and remain unmoved?

  But Hawthorne stared down at the boy for a moment more, his face implacable—frightening—with that silver scar on his cheek. “Swear on your life. For if I ever catch you again stealing from me, your life won’t be worth a halfpenny.”

  “I swears on me life,” Sam whispered.

  Messalina was speechless with horror. What sort of man threatened to kill a little boy?

  Gideon looked at the other youth. “Get him out of my sight and out of my home, Pea.”

  “Aye, guv,” Pea said, pushing away from the wall. “Come on, you.”

  He pulled the still-weeping Sam none too gently from the room.

  Messalina burst out, “I’ve never seen such a revolting display.”

  Gideon paused and then jerked his chin at Keys. The man nodded and walked to the door, ushering Bartlett out ahead of him. The door shut behind them.

  Leaving them alone.

  “You, madam wife, are sheltered.”

  “What does that mean?” she demanded.

  He turned and finally looked straight at her, the anger still blazing in his black eyes. “You’re an aristocrat.”

  She was…not hurt. “You’re a cur.”

  He stilled, his eyes blacker than sin, as he walked closer to her. “I’ve not let many men call me that—and live.”

  For a moment she was frozen under his gaze, like something small and vulnerable in the sight of a wolf.

  She drew a shuddering breath. His mood turned so swiftly.

  So dangerously.

  She would not fear him. “Then,” she said, keeping the tremble from her voice with effort, “it’s as well that I’m a woman.”

  A corner of his lips lifted before he turned to thumb through some papers on a desk.

  He’d dismissed her without saying anything.

  She wasn’t some weak chit to be pushed aside.

  She pursed her lips. “What did that boy steal from you?”

  “A brass candlestick.”

  “And that was enough to threaten him with death and cast him from your household?” she asked incredulously.

  “Sam committed a crime,” he said through what looked like gritted teeth.

  “He’s a little boy!”

  “You do not know what you are speaking about,” he said so softly a chill ran through her blood. “And now the matter is over.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Messalina shot back. “I’ll not live with a man who is so savage to a child.”

  “You’ll not live with me?” Gideon looked up at that, his face dark. “You’ve given your word, madam. Do you truly wish to have this battle with me?”

  Messalina inhaled, steadying herself. One month. That was all she had to endure before she could leave him.

  “No. But your behavior—”

  “Just because you cannot understand my acti
ons doesn’t give you the right to judge them—or me.” He stepped closer to her, his animal heat radiating off him as he stared at her with narrowed black eyes. “Will you keep the terms of our bargain?”

  She was breathing fast, her heart racing with hatred…or some other emotion. “You have no—”

  “Messalina.” He caught her chin, his hands hard as he leaned close in a parody of a kiss. “Will you keep your word?”

  She did not fear him. She did not. “Yes.”

  She yanked her chin from his fingers.

  For a moment they stood there, she still breathing too fast, he with banked heat in his obsidian eyes.

  He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear slowly. Almost tenderly. “Thank you.”

  Her lips parted as she stared at him.

  His hand fell and he bowed abruptly. “I’ve an appointment. I’ll return tonight to sup with you.”

  He gave her one last piercing look before walking out the door.

  Messalina’s shoulders slumped as the tension drained out of her. Lord. How was she to sit and eat with Hawthorne tonight? Converse as if nothing at all had happened?

  And then it struck her: in one month’s time she’d have to do more than converse with Gideon.

  She’d have to lie with him.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later Gideon climbed the front steps of Windemere House.

  He’d spent the walk here remembering Messalina’s face. The expression of shock and disgust. It shouldn’t bother him. After all, he’d never wanted kind looks before. Never needed them. He didn’t need anything other than his own wits and cunning.

  Still. That expression bothered him.

  He shook his head and rapped sharply at the door. A minute later it was pulled open by the butler, a man named Johnson and one of the witnesses to his marriage to Messalina. The man paused to give Gideon a long look. Gideon couldn’t help a hard, bright smile. He knew what the butler was thinking—in all the years Gideon had worked for the duke, he’d always entered this house by the servants’ entrance.

  Johnson stepped aside, his manner once again that of a rigid upper-level servant.

  Gideon gave his hat to a footman and followed the butler up the stairs and down a narrow hall.