Earls Just Want to Have Fun (14 page)

He'd run after the jack, in the direction Joe had indicated, but there had been too many coaches. He didn't know which one or the direction it had gone. He'd returned empty-handed to the house they'd marked. The noise had alerted the residents, and Gideon had called off the racket. Satin had been furious, not only to lose the cargo from the racket, but also one of his rogues. And not just any cub—his best filching mort.

Why the hell would someone in a jack take Marlowe? Had she dived in the wrong bubble's pocket? Had a Brother of the Gussit seen her and decided she'd make a good addition to his bawdy house? Gideon hoped not. Marlowe didn't have the first idea how to play pretty and coy. She'd never survive a brothel.

It didn't make sense, and the more Gideon searched for Marlowe, the less sense it made. He'd even considered that Satin might be behind the abduction. Gideon knew the upright man had plans for Marlowe. Was this one of them?

Gideon had been one of the first cubs in Satin's gang. He'd been about ten when he'd joined, and he'd joined willingly—unlike Marlowe, who Satin had brought in a year or so later. Gideon was old enough to remember his parents. He could remember the shabby room where he'd lived with them and his grandmother. His mother and his father worked, and his grandmother kept watch over him. There wasn't money for school, but she'd taught him how to read and write. She used to tell Gideon stories of when she'd been a girl, and how she once saw a parade where the king waved to her from his coach.

Gideon had been hungry sometimes, but he was well cared for. He didn't see his mother or father often. They worked too much, but he knew they loved him, though his father cuffed him a bit more than Gideon liked. And then there'd been a fever, and it had taken his mother and grandmother. Gideon's father had not dealt with the loss well, and he started drinking heavily. The cuffing grew more frequent, turning into beatings.

And then one night his father hadn't come home. One of the men his father drank with knocked on the door and told him his father had been killed in a fight in a public house. Gideon was an orphan at seven. He'd gone to an orphanage, but life there had been unbearable. The food was disgusting, and he'd been hungry all the time. He'd been tall for his age, and he'd learned to fight by defending himself from his father, so Gideon held his own against the bullies who ran the place.

But when he'd run away, for the sixth or seventh time, and he met Satin, he didn't hesitate to join the gang, even though his mother had always taught him filching was wrong. It had to be better than life in the orphanage. And in some ways it had been. Satin was a cruel man, but he was generally predictable. He didn't attack without cause or warning. Gideon could live with that.

He'd been thinking of how to accuse Satin of taking Marlowe without
sounding
like he was accusing Satin, when he remembered what Marlowe had told him about the bubble she'd seen on Piccadilly, the one who'd called her Elizabeth. The one who worked for Bow Street. Now Gideon knew Bow Street Runners. Most were corrupt, or at the very least, worked exclusively for the swells, who could pay for their services. He'd worked with a few Runners. He'd steal a few valuables and then negotiate with the Runners to set a high ransom. When the nob paid the ransom, he'd give a portion of it to the Runners. They were getting the better end of the deal, because they'd collect not only a portion of the ransom but also the fee from the nobs for “finding” the stolen items.

Gideon had also seen other gangs decimated when Runners convinced a few fool cubs to attempt a better-racket, then caught the cubs in the act, thereby collecting the reward. The cubs went to the stone pitcher and hanged.

Gideon didn't trust Runners, and for good reason. He'd taught Marlowe not to trust them either. She wouldn't have willingly gone with a thief-taker, and Joe had said she'd been kicking and screaming…

Someone tapped on the door to the flash ken, and Gideon's eyes snapped open. He didn't move or give any other indication he was awake, though. Satin and Beezle had been murmuring for the last half hour, planning something Gideon would have to carry out, no doubt. He'd tried to listen, but their voices were pitched too low. Now both men ceased speaking, and Beezle went to the door. So it wasn't anyone Satin was expecting. If it had been one of the cubs, he would have given the code word, then knocked and come in.

Beezle reached the door, then peered back at the sleeping cubs. Gideon closed his eyes again, pretending to sleep, though he doubted Beezle could see much in the dark of the flash ken. Slowly, he opened his eyes again and watched as Beezle opened the door, his knife at the ready. Whoever was outside said something Beezle thought Satin needed to hear, and the cub returned and motioned for Satin to step outside.

Gideon waited until the door closed behind Beezle and Satin, then rose and made his way silently and deftly around the sleeping figures. He crouched beside it and put his ear to the wall. The walls of the flash ken were so thin, the building so poorly constructed, he could easily hear the conversation taking place outside.

“You saw her
where
?” Satin asked.

“Mayfair,” the cub said. “I was out for a walk—”

“Sure you were,” Beezle said with a laugh.

“Hey, if Dagget finds out I came to see you, he'll slit my throat. Do ye want to know or not?”

“Shut it, Beezle,” Satin growled.

Gideon swallowed. Dagget was the arch rogue of a crew of rogues in Fleet Street. Gideon had seen the man a time or two. As far as he could tell, the cubs in Fleet Street didn't have it any better than the Covent Garden Cubs. Their boys had to have spines of steel to bilk right in the shadow of the gallows. It was like seeing yourself hanging there if you made one wrong move.

“Go on,” Satin said.

“She were dressed all fancy-like, and her hair were all…” He must have made some gesture, because Satin grunted in response. The cub had to be speaking of Marlowe. But why would she be dressed like a rum mort and walking in Mayfair? And if she was, why wouldn't Satin know about it? She didn't have something on the side. Gideon would have been in on it.

“She looked like a right proper lady, and she were walking with a swell.”

“Tell me about him,” Satin said.

“Looked like any other swell. Fancy dress, nose in the air.”

“Did you find out his name?”

“No.”

“Useless,” Satin said. “How am I supposed to find her?”

“I know where he lives.”

Silence descended. Gideon held his breath.

“Where?”

Silence again. Finally, “That information will cost ye.”

Gideon shook his head. The cub's information better prove useful, or Satin would go after him personally.

“Beezle, give the man a shilling.”

“Two,” the cub said. “This is good information.”

“If it's not…” Satin said. He didn't need to finish. The threat was clear.

Gideon heard the clink of the shillings, and held his breath.

“Tell me,” Satin said.

The cub rattled off the number and name of a street in Mayfair. Gideon wasn't as familiar with the area as he was with St. Giles, but Berkeley Street had to be near Berkeley Square. What the devil would Marlowe be doing in Berkeley Square?

“And you're certain I'll find her at this house?”

“I saw her go inside meself.”

Gideon didn't wait to hear the rest. He crept back to his spot on the floor and lay down again, closing his eyes just as the door opened, admitting Beezle and Satin. They went back to murmuring, and now Gideon knew what they planned. He had to find a way to reach Marlowe first.

Marlowe drew back her fist, ready to strike. If Lady Dane made one more insulting remark, she would bash her so hard she landed on her arse and slid out the door. Something of her intent must have shown on her face, because Lady Susanna threw her a worried look. Marlowe lowered her fist and took a deep breath. She gave Susanna a tight smile and returned to listening half-heartedly as Lady Dane enumerated all of the myriad rules she must follow at the ball.

Marlowe had already heard it three times. Did the countess think she was an idiot? Satin told her something once, and she was expected to remember it. She did not need to be told three times how to address a duchess, or that she should ask for the
ladies'
retiring
room
instead of saying “Where can I take a—”

“Are you attending me, Miss Marlowe?”

Marlowe ground her teeth. “Yes.”

The countess raised her brows.

“Yes,
my
lady
.”

“Good.” The countess clasped her hands behind her back and began another circuit of the room.
Marlowe's room.
It wasn't her room, in truth. It was the room Mrs. Barstowe had given her when she and Dane returned from their walk the day before. Marlowe had never had a room to herself. She had never had a space to call her own. A family of six could have lived in the room where she alone had slept last night. At least she'd tried to sleep.

All of her life she had dreamed of having a full belly and a warm bed. She'd had both last night, and yet sleep eluded her. She'd lain on the soft bed, the soft covers pulled to her chin, dressed in a soft night rail, and stared at the ceiling. She was used to the sounds of the flash ken, and this room—this house—was too quiet. The fire crackled, and she had propped herself on her elbows to catch a glimpse of it. She was not used to the sound of a fire crackling in a hearth. After what had seemed like days, she rose, pushed her feet into the slippers Lady Susanna had given her—what an extravagance—and strolled about the room.

She'd had a look at it earlier, tallying the worth of every little bauble and trinket. She could count pretty high, but she didn't think she could count as high as the blunt she'd make if she fenced all of these goods. She stopped at the door and tested the handle. The door opened easily, and Marlowe peered into the dark corridor. The house was chilly away from the fire, and she hastily closed the door again. But it was still unlocked. She could leave at any time. She could walk right out the door, down the stairs, and into the street. No one would stop her.

One of the slaveys kept guard at night, but Marlowe did not think he would or could stop her. She could handle one man.

But she hadn't left. She'd stayed all night, and she'd even fallen asleep at some point on the soft bed.

Something inside her had to know who she really was. Marlowe or Lady Elizabeth? She wanted the truth. She wanted to know her parents. She wanted to have a choice about the life she would live. A choice—that was the true gift. She'd never had a choice about anything in her life. She did the jobs Satin gave her. She ate what was put in front of her. She slept where she was kicked. She wore whatever clothes she could find.

Now Marlowe glanced at the bed and the lovely ball gown that had been placed there. It was the most amazing shade of violet. Marlowe had never seen anyone wear such a color. The fabric was the finest satin. When she'd tried it on earlier, it had glided across her body. The underskirt was lavender, which was also quite lovely. Marlowe did not know how she dared wear the dress. It had been made for Susanna, but the girl assured her she'd never worn it.

“It didn't suit my coloring,” she'd said earlier. Marlowe had gaped. Did people actually choose clothing based on color? And they didn't wear clothing simply because the color didn't flatter them? At times she really wanted to knock these swells down for their selfishness.

“Miss Marlowe!”

Marlowe snapped her gaze from the gown and scowled at Lady Dane.

“Are you attending? And do
not
look at me with that frown on your face. You must compose your expression into a pleasing and serene half smile.”

Marlowe cocked a brow, and Lady Dane sighed dramatically. Marlowe clenched her fist again.

“Susanna, show her, please.”

Susanna immediately pushed her mouth into the most ridiculous grin Marlowe had ever seen. She burst out laughing, and Susanna could not help but follow. The two girls laughed for several minutes before Lady Dane threw her hands in the air. “I surrender! Make a fool of yourself, if you must. Do not say I did not try to help you.” And she swept out of the room, her skirts swishing.

Susanna stopped laughing, and her eyes grew wide. “Oh, dear. I had better go after her.”

“Go ahead,” Marlowe said, “and tell her not to worry about me.” Though Marlowe didn't care if the countess worried or not. The words were for Susanna. “I have been imitating my betters for most of my life. No one at the ball will think me out of place.”

“Of course not,” Susanna said, squeezing her arm. Marlowe looked down at it. The girl was always hugging her or putting a hand on her shoulder. It was jarring. “And try not to be so hard on my mother. The more frightened she is, the more dictatorial she becomes.” Susanna ran to the door, opened it, and chased after her mother. But a moment later, she stuck her head back in again. “I'll send Jane to you in a little while. She can help you dress.” And then the girl was gone again.

Marlowe slumped into a chair and stared at the fire. Lady Dane was frightened? Ha! Perhaps that was why Satin was such a bully. He was probably frightened too. She wanted to laugh. Some people were just born to be cruel, and though Lady Dane's cruelty wasn't punctuated with kicks and slaps, her words cut more than Marlowe wanted them to.

She felt like the ugliest, clumsiest, most ignorant person ever to have walked the earth. Lady Dane found something wrong in every single thing she did, which only made Marlowe more determined than ever to succeed. She would go to the bloody ball, and she would—how did the countess put it?—conduct herself with aplomb. And, God willing, she would meet Lord and Lady Lyndon soon and put an end to this whole farce. She would know, once and for all, who she was and where she belonged.

Marlowe stood, too restless to sit for long, and paced her room again.
Her
room.
She could hardly believe it. Part of her did not believe it. Part of her waited for the whole charade to come crashing down. She had thought it might topple last night. She'd been pacing like this and stopped to open the curtains and peer out. She'd never lived anywhere with curtains or a window, and she found she liked looking out. The view of the small garden was endlessly fascinating to her. Marlowe went to the windows now, and looked out. She would have preferred a view of the street, so she might see who was coming and going.

Her gaze was drawn to a small clump of rose bushes at the back of the garden. In the daylight, it looked smaller than it had last night. She'd imagined shadows in that clump of bushes, imagined she saw something move. But Satin couldn't have found her. Not yet. Unless the cub…

She bit the pad of her thumb and pushed the thought away. Even if the arch rogue found her, how would he reach her? The house was guarded. She was safe inside. Except she knew Satin, and she knew when he wanted something, or someone, he got it.

Marlowe wondered if she should tell Lord Dane about her suspicions. He would probably say she had been imagining things. Although, in truth, she did not know what he might say. She did not know him very well at all, and he'd seemed to have forgotten about her completely. She hadn't seen him at all after their walk the day before. The slaveys had informed her he was dining at his club, and the ladies were taking dinner in their rooms. A mopsqueezer had brought Marlowe a dinner tray, and Marlowe had eaten by herself. When she'd gone down for breakfast the next morning, Dane hadn't been there either. Strange that she should have been disappointed. She must have eaten too much of the rich food to imagine that she wanted to see him. He annoyed her more than anything else.

He was a bang-up cove. That much was true, but she'd known other handsome men. She could not think of any at the moment…oh! Of course, Gideon was a rum duke, though he was more of a brother to her than anything else. She thought she might understand now what Gideon meant about sparks when kissing. Marlowe imagined she would feel all sorts of sparks if Dane ever kissed her.

Of course, that was a foolish girl's fantasy, and Marlowe was no fool girl. Dane was never going to kiss her. She'd probably give him a black eye if he did. But perhaps she might let him kiss her first, just to see what it felt like…

Marlowe pressed a fist to her belly. It felt fluttery and tingly. She must have eaten too many tea cakes.

There was a knock on the door, and the mopsqueezer Jane entered, bobbing a slight curtsy, which though not nearly as deep as those she gave Lady Susanna or the countess, still surprised Marlowe. “You don't have to do all that bowing and bobbing with me,” she said. “I'm the last person to deserve it. Or want it.”

“His lordship asked us to treat you as we would one of the family,” the girl said.

Marlowe blinked in surprise. Why would he have said that? Because there was a small chance she might be Lady Elizabeth? “I don't want to cause you any trouble, but please, no more bows.”

“Of course, miss.”

“Marlowe. I'm no
miss
.” Marlowe sighed. “Come on, then. Let's get this over with.”

Several hours later, Marlowe was half-asleep in her chair as Jane shoved yet another pin in her hair. Marlowe was beyond impatience and had drifted into pure boredom. She had new respect for these rum morts of society. They must have nerves of steel to sit through this sort of thing day in and day out. A knock at the door made her blink, and Jane said, “Do you want me to answer it?”

“No. I must have fallen asleep. Come in!”

Susanna peered around the door, and her face broke into a huge grin. Marlowe couldn't help but smile back.

“Look at you!” Susanna said. “You look like a princess!”

Marlowe glanced in the mirror and blinked at the girl staring back at her. It was her, only her face looked…different.

“Stand up. Let me see!” Susanna said. Marlowe rose obediently, feeling the satin dress pool around her. The material was so light, she felt as though she wasn't wearing a thing. It whispered across her flesh in a way that made her shiver. The neckline was low, and her arms bare, so she felt almost naked as it was. The foolish part was that Jane had insisted she wear gloves past her elbows. Her hands were covered, but her bubbies were hanging out!

Susanna let out a satisfied sigh and clasped her hands together. “You look beautiful. That gown suits you so much better than it ever did me. It's almost as if it was made for you!”

Marlowe looked down at the gown. “Jane had to shorten it.”

“Just a bit,” Jane admitted, “but it was nothing.”

“And your hair!” Susanna exclaimed. “It's so lovely. Jane, I had no idea you were so talented. You must dress my hair sometime.”

“Not likely,” Jane said. “Maggie would have my head.”

The two women laughed as Marlowe turned to look in the nearby mirror to catch a glimpse of herself. For a long moment, she simply stared. She was used to seeing herself in a fancy gown now. She'd seen herself all day in Susanna's, but this gown was far more—what was the word Susanna had used?—elegant than the one she'd worn earlier. This gown seemed to shimmer. And the rich violet color was far lusher than she was used to. She'd spent her life in grays and blacks and browns. Never had she imagined wearing purple. It made her eyes look so much more blue, a deep blue. They were almost too large for her face, and her face looked quite large with all of her hair pulled back and up. She didn't realize she had quite so much hair. Jane had coiled it in a thick rope and wound it around the back of her head in a style Marlowe thought was almost artistic.

“Do you like it?” Susanna asked, and Marlowe realized they had ceased speaking and were watching her.

“Your hair is all the same length, but I could cut it if you'd like fringe,” Jane said.

“No!” Susanna said quickly. “She looks perfect as she is. Well, almost perfect. I brought you this to wear.” She held out her hand.

Marlowe turned away from the mirror and watched as Susanna opened her fist to reveal a small gold necklace. Marlowe could feel her jaw drop. She could not stop herself from stepping forward. The necklace was so small and delicate—so beautiful. She shook her head. “I can't wear that.”

“Why not?” Susanna asked. “With the neckline, you need something, although you look lovely with no adornment. Still, I would be honored if you'd wear it.”

“But what if I lose it?”

Susanna shook her head. “You won't.”

Marlowe didn't know what else to say. She turned and allowed Susanna to fasten the chain around her neck. When she looked in the mirror again, the gold shimmered and sparkled. She touched it reverently. She had never worn anything so beautiful. She had never worn anything worth such a fortune. No one had ever thought her worthy of it before.

“Thank you,” she said simply, feeling as though the simple sentiment couldn't possibly be enough to express how moved she was.

“You're welcome. We'd better go down. I don't want to keep Mama waiting. Crawford has a wrap for you.”

Of course he did. Susanna had thought of everything. Marlowe followed Susanna out of the room, her insides beginning to tremble. She hadn't been apprehensive about the ball before, but now that she was on her way, she could not help but worry. What if she said the wrong thing? Did the wrong thing? What if she forgot her accent and sounded like she ought to be out on the streets?