Earls Just Want to Have Fun (22 page)

“But I don't want you to look like a boy,” he said. “You have the body of a woman with all of its curves.” One hand caressed the slope of her heavy flesh, warming her. “And softness.” He cupped her and squeezed gently. “And the hardness too.” One of his thumbs brushed over her distended peak, making her gasp. “I like your nipples most of all,” he said. “They're hard and pink and waiting for me to kiss them. May I kiss you here?” His thumbs caressed her nipples, and she thought she might die from the pleasure of his touch.

“Oh, yes.”

He smiled and looked down at her chest again, at her nipples. “First I will kiss you here.” He traced his lips over the swell of her bubbies and then around and down underneath. She trembled as he repeated the gesture on the other side. And then his thumb brushed against a nipple again, rolling it in a circle, while his wet, warm mouth closed on the other. At first his tongue teased her flesh, swirling around and flicking her until she was breathless. And then, even as his finger plucked at her exposed nipple, his lips closed on the other, and he sucked gently.

A shot of pure pleasure ripped through her, and she moaned despite herself. He'd pushed her up against the bookshelf now, and she could feel the spines of the volumes cool and hard against her warm back. He licked her again, and then his thumb replaced his tongue, and he took her other nipple into his mouth. It felt even better than the first, and she couldn't stop her head from lolling back until it pressed the books deeper into the shelf.

“You are so lovely,” Dane said, lifting his lips. She opened her eyes and saw he was looking up at her. “You cannot know how much I want you right now.”

“Show me,” she said, her voice husky as his hands cupped her again.

“I would like to, but I'm not going to take you here, against a library shelf.”

She closed her eyes then opened them again, trying to clear her head. What was she doing? She was no bawd. She didn't want a swollen belly or a brat to care for. “We can't do this.”

He didn't argue. He merely nodded and released her. With care, he pulled her chemise back into place and tried to adjust her stays. She pushed his hands away. “I'll do it.” She hadn't noticed when he'd set the pins on the shelf, but now he gathered them and wordlessly handed them to her. Then he showed her his back, she assumed to give her privacy while she righted her dress. Her fingers shook when she tried to pin the material in place, but she finally managed it. By then her cheeks had cooled and she wasn't quite so breathless.

“We should probably discuss our plan further,” he said, still giving her his back. “I assume the sooner we start, the sooner this will be over.”

She wanted to ask him what he meant by
this
. His dealings with her or the ordeal with Satin? But she didn't. Instead, she said, “You may turn around now. If you're ready, we can leave as soon as I tell you the game.”

Two hours later, Dane stood outside the Rouge Unicorn Cellar and decided he was daft. He supposed he had been to Seven Dials once or twice on some business, but he'd never been the sort of gentleman who liked to visit the rookeries. He knew young bucks who enjoyed that sort of thing. They liked the danger or the change of scenery or the knowledge they were defying their parents' wishes. Dane liked comfort, a good brandy, and to keep the peace.

It was too late to keep the peace. His mother had left Derring House in a huff, and Marlowe had been disrupting his life since the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. One look at the Rouge Unicorn Cellar, and he rather doubted he would have either comfort or good brandy inside. But he'd never been one to shirk his duty. He couldn't leave Marlowe to deal with this Satin by herself, and Dane couldn't risk his house being pilfered again, especially when his mother and sister might be home. Satin had to be stopped, and Marlowe thought she knew how to do it. Dane wasn't entirely clear about her plan, either, but he knew his role. He was the youngest son of the Duke of Yorkshire. As far as he knew, there was no Duke of Yorkshire, but Marlowe hadn't seemed concerned about that. She said the title sounded important and wealthy, and Dane doubted this Satin was the sort to read Debrett's.

So here they stood, outside the public house in Seven Dials. She had paused to take stock of things, she said, and he gazed about him and resisted the urge to press a handkerchief to his nose. The stench was foul. Raw sewage lay in the streets wherever residents tossed it out windows. Piles of dirt and trash provided obstacles or convenient seats for the residents of the rookery. And Dane had the feeling every resident of the place was out of doors. Children were everywhere, swarming the streets, sitting in doorways, crawling in dirty alleys. Men and women alike sat idle on stoops or on the side of the street, appearing, for all intents and purposes, to simply be resting wherever they had fallen. He'd been propositioned by prostitutes at least half a dozen times since they'd walked past the large pillar that marked the entrance to Seven Dials. Marlowe, who was now dressed as a boy in trousers and a loose shirt, shooed the women away, sometimes calling them by name. The most recent altercation, with a woman Marlowe had called Cal, had almost come to blows. Marlowe had showed her dagger, and the woman backed down, grumbling all the way.

Dane wondered what he would have done if Marlowe had not won the day. Would he have been obliged to couple with the fearsome Cal? He shuddered. She'd had about three teeth in her mouth, something moving in her stringy hair, and open sores on her face. He did not think he could have completed the act if she'd been the one paying him.

He'd had his pocket picked several times too, and he wasn't certain if he still possessed his handkerchief. After the first pickpocket lifted his purse, Marlowe had gone after the lad and retrieved it. She hadn't given it back, either. The next few times, she'd just shooed the children away before he even knew he'd been targeted. So many children were begging and thieving. He should have looked around and felt vindicated. Wasn't this what he argued in Parliament? The rookeries were breeding grounds for crime, full of lazy men and women who'd rather steal than do an honest day's work. But he only felt sick as he looked around him at the sheer numbers of those suffering. It was overwhelming. England was supposed to be the greatest nation in the world. Why were these people allowed to live like this in the nation's capital? And why hadn't he ever cared before?

“Come on,” Marlowe said finally, gesturing toward the door of the public house. “Everyone's asleep right now, but Satin usually posts a lookout. If we've been spotted, we'll not be alone for long.”

Dane followed her into the dark tavern, stooping to pass through the low transom. Cheap candles burned inside, filling the room with the odor of tallow, but it was still difficult for him to see where he was stepping. “It doesn't look like everyone is asleep,” he said, referring to the half-dozen men in the tavern and the prostitute looking to advertise her wares. “The streets were teeming with life.”

Marlowe shook her head. “Just wait until dark. In a few hours, the crowds will be so thick you'll have to jostle to pass through. Let me speak to Barbara and secure a room.” She moved away, leaving him to stand alone in the center of the tavern.

The prostitute was on him like a flea on a dog. “'Ello, guv.” She reached out and stroked her hand over his coat. “You look like a gent what knows how to have a good time. Marge here is a very good time.” She licked her lips in a way he supposed was an attempt to be lascivious, but the girl was painfully thin and younger than his sister. She looked healthier than the one Marlowe had called Cal, but not much.

“Have you eaten today?” he asked.

Marge's thin brows rose. “Hopin' a penny from you might buy me somethin' to eat, guv.”

“Order whatever you like,” he said. “I'll pay.”

Her eyes immediately turned suspicious. “And what do I have to do in return?”

“Nothing. I'm not interested in your services. You just look hungry.”

“I'm 'ungry too, guv,” the man at a nearby table said.

“And I'm thirsty,” a large man with a thin layer of dirt on his clothes called out. “Maybe you could buy us all a glass of Blue Ruin and a plate of meat and potatoes.”

Dane saw he had made a misstep. If he refused, the men would surely not take it kindly.

“He's not buying anyone anything,” Marlowe said. Somehow she was at his side again, and this time she'd brought an older woman who wore a clean dress and apron. “He's with me, and he doesn't have a cent on him. I saved him from a gang outside St. Giles, who pilfered everything but the clothes on his back.”

A few of the patrons muttered curses, and Marge spit on his boots before Marlowe gave her a look that sent her running.

“What are you doing?” Marlowe hissed at him. “Are you trying to get your throat cut? We're here to meet Satin, not attract every mort and rogue in the area.”

“My mistake,” Dane said, spreading his hands. “Just trying to help.”

“Don't.”

The woman beside Marlowe cleared her throat, and Marlowe turned to her. “Lord Maxwell, this is Barbara.”

Barbara made a passable curtsy. “Your lordship. I'm right honored to have you in my establishment. Marlowe says you need a room.”

“I do. Do you have any available?”

“Course. I'll give you the best room in the house, I will. Just let me wake that lazy husband o' mine. Once he's up, it's all yours.” And off she went.

Dane blinked. “Does she mean to give us her own room?”

Marlowe shrugged. “It's probably the best one they have. Don't worry,” she said, gesturing to an empty table. “We won't be here long enough to inconvenience them, and you're paying them for it. I wouldn't chouse Barbara. She's a friend.”

Dane put his hand on the table and then lifted it again, rubbing his newly sticky fingers together. “What do we do now? Wait?”

She nodded and leaned back in her chair, looking as though she was quite accustomed to waiting. With the cap covering her long dark hair, and the boys' clothing, she didn't look at all like the woman he'd danced with at the Abingdon ball just last night. Her vivid blue eyes were shadowed by her cap, and she kept them down, seeming to know they might give her away.

Had he ever thought she would make a charming countess? Perhaps he hadn't voiced the idea aloud, but the notion had crossed his mind. She was the first woman he'd ever met who aroused any interest beyond a night of fleeting pleasure. He genuinely liked her, and seeing her in this environment, he respected her. It could not have been easy to survive under these conditions, but she'd done it. She was fearless, confident, and cunning. He'd never met a woman like her, and he didn't think he ever would again.

His thoughts ended abruptly when the man covered with a fine layer of dirt and stinking of something rotten took the empty chair at their table.

Marlowe looked up. “Go away, Bentoit.”

“Why? I'm just being polite. Haven't seen you around for awhile, Marlowe. Found a new game?”

“That's not your business.”

“Maybe your friend can help me with my business. Maybe he has friends who need the services of a man like me.” Bentoit gestured to Dane.

“No, he doesn't.”

Dane cleared his throat, which itched from the smoke in the room. Finally, a man who was engaged in labor. Dane felt he should take an interest. “What sort of work do you do, Mr. Bentoit?”

His chest puffed up. “Resurrection man, my lord. The best there is.”

“Resurrection man?”

“He's a grave robber,” Marlowe interjected. “The worst of the worst. I don't know why Barbara allows you in here. Why don't you go to the Fortune of War with the rest of your kind?”

Bentoit sniffed. “Stinks too much.”

“You stink too much,” Barbara said, coming up behind them. “Off with you.”

Grumbling, Bentoit shuffled off. Barbara curtsied again. “Your room is ready, my lord.”

“Thank you.” Grave robbers? Pickpockets? Dane felt as though he'd stepped into another world. He supposed he had. He rose and followed Marlowe and Barbara into an even darker section of the building. Barbara held a candle, or they would have been plunged into utter darkness. At the end of a long hallway, she opened a door and revealed a small room with a hastily made bed, a chair piled with clothes, and a scarred wardrobe.

“'Ere it is then,” she said, looking pleased with herself. “If you need anything, just call.”

Marlowe stepped inside, but Dane hesitated. “Is there a lamp?”

“No,” Barbara said, “but you can 'ave me candle if you want to pay extra.”

“No,” Marlowe said at the same time Dane said, “Yes.” He gave Marlowe a look. “Yes,” he reiterated and took the candle from Barbara. She left, shutting the door behind her, and Dane held the candle aloft then quickly lowered it again. Better if he didn't see the room closely. “Do you think we might at least request clean sheets?”

Marlowe shook her head. “It's your coin.”

“I don't like filth or darkness.”

“Get used to them,” she said. “Seven Dials has more than its fair share of both, and not much else.”

“How did you live here?”

She shrugged, pushed the clothes off the chair, and sat. “It's not so hard if you don't know any better. The things you have—your food, your beds, your”—she seemed to flounder—“your carpets. I didn't know people lived like that. I'd been in houses when Satin gave me a better-racket, but they were nothing like your house. Now I wonder how I'll go back.”

“You're not going back,” Dane said. “After we rid the world of Satin, you're never coming back here.”

She stared at him for a long time. “You mean if Lord and Lady Lyndon claim me.”

No, that was not what Dane had meant at all. “I said never, and I meant never.”

“Oh, really? And where will I live? With
you
?”

Dane realized he had not thought this out. He'd spoken from emotion rather than logic, which was not like him at all. “I am certain I could find you a place to live.”

Her brows rose. “As your mistress? I'm no courtesan, and I'm not going to be paid to bed you or any man.”

“That's not what I meant. You must know I would never suggest that.”

“And you must know I have no choice but to come back here and live as I was.”

Now he was annoyed. “You prefer thieving to honest work?”

“Honest work? How much do you pay your maids annually? Six pounds? Eight? I can make that in a month—in a night, if all goes well. I could make more than that as a beggar. Why do you think so many take to the streets, begging? Because honest work is hardly honest when the only one profiting is the rich man who owns the workplace.”

She was right. Dane knew it, and he hated to accept it. Even if she had been a man, she had no skills, and without those, she could hardly expect to find decent employment. His opponents in Parliament had often argued as much, but he'd drowned them out or turned a deaf ear. He couldn't ignore the truth any longer.

“I have no other choice,” she said, finally.

“We will find you another choice.”

A soft knock sounded on the door, and Dane looked at Marlowe, who already had her dagger in hand. “Who is it?” she asked.

“A friend.” It was a man's voice, which made Dane nervous. Barbara was supposed to fetch them if and when Satin or one of his cubs arrived at the public house.

Marlowe did not seem troubled. Her face broke into a beatific smile that all but stunned Dane, and she rushed to the door. She flung it open and then threw herself into the arms of the man on the other side. Dane immediately wanted to kill the swine. Perhaps the man felt some of Dane's animosity, because his gaze met Dane's. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and threadbare clothes. His skin was rather dark from either dirt or being outdoors a great deal, and he had a vicious scar across one temple, dipping into a dark eyebrow. He looked young, though not as young as Marlowe.

“Gideon, I presume,” Dane said.

The man sneered at him. “What do you know about it?” Marlowe had stepped back, and he looked down at her. “Who's this gentry cove? A new bubble?”

“No.” Marlowe glanced back at Dane, and he noticed she didn't move out of the other man's embrace. Dane had the urge to snatch her back. He did not like to see the other man's dirty hands on her. “I can explain, but we'd better go somewhere we can talk.”

Dane gestured inside. “You can talk here.”

Marlowe and Gideon shook their heads, and Dane felt heat rise to his face. “If you wish to be
alone
,” he said, “I can take a walk.”