Earls Just Want to Have Fun (28 page)

Dane straightened as Satin came into view. He tipped his hat and gave the crime lord a sweeping bow. Satin looked unimpressed. “Let's get this done.”

“Not much for chitchat, are you?” Dane quipped.

Marlowe would have rolled her eyes, but she was reluctant to take her gaze from Satin. Something didn't feel right. Bony fingers skittered up and down her spine, and she moved in front of Dane slightly.

“This it?” Satin asked, nodding to the warehouse just a few feet away.

“I believe so,” Dane said with a nod. “We have a horse and wagon over there. You get inside, get past my father's men, and forty percent is yours.”

Satin's eyes narrowed. “It's fifty percent, or I walk right now.”

Dane sighed heavily. “Fine. Fifty percent.”

Satin's gaze shifted to the warehouse. “I don't see no guards.”

“That doesn't mean they aren't there,” Marlowe said, speaking for the first time. “They might be inside.”

“Then you and I will just have to take care of them, won't we?”

Marlowe shook her head. “This is your job, Satin. I'm with Lord Maxwell.”

“You're with me.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a snapper with one hand while grasping Marlowe by the wrist with the other. She let out a surprised scream, but in one quick motion, Satin hauled her against his foul-smelling chest and pressed the cold pistol barrel to her forehead. Marlowe's entire body convulsed in shock. Satin had never had a snapper before. Why did he have one now? Why hadn't she seen this coming?

Satin pulled her back with him, toward the warehouse. Marlowe dragged her feet, trying to slow him even as she cut her gaze to Dane. He held his walking stick at the ready, and Marlowe wanted to shake her head. If he unsheathed the tilter now, Satin might very well kill her and bolt. Of course, if Sir Brook was waiting to apprehend Satin on the other side of the warehouse, she was also done for. Satin's hand was shaking. One false move, and she would be dead.

“Let her go, Satin,” Dane ordered, moving forward but keeping his tilter sheathed.

“Why? Two work quicker than one, and you and me 'ave worked together plenty, haven't we, Marlowe?”

“Yes,” she managed, her voice sounding far stronger than she felt. “Put the snapper away. If you wanted my help that badly, you only had to ask.”

Marlowe hadn't prayed in years—possibly in forever—but she was praying silently now. She didn't ask God to spare her. She figured she didn't matter as much to Him. But she asked God to make sure Satin didn't have second thoughts about pilfering the warehouse. She needed Sir Brook to catch Satin in the midst of the crime. If not, Satin would go free, and she did figure God cared a bit about all the harm and misery Satin caused.

Her gaze never left Dane's, and she could feel the intensity of his stare. The night was dark and the shadows long, but the clouds that had hovered all day had cleared, and the moon shone in the sky. Dane, heedless of his position in the open, stood with his gaze locked on hers. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw more than affection, more than simple concern in his eyes. Yes, she wanted to see evidence that his feelings mirrored hers, but if she was going to die, was it so bad to die getting what she wanted?

“If ye're feeling so helpful,” Satin said near her ear, his breath reeking of onions, “then you go in first.”

Marlowe's gaze cut away from Dane, and she angled her head until she could see the warehouse. It was closer than she'd realized. Her feeble efforts at slowing Satin hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped. Suddenly, he turned her and shoved her up against the warehouse door. There was no one in the warehouse. Marlowe knew that as a fact, because Dane had leased the empty warehouse himself. Satin would see as soon as she opened the door that this was a fob. But getting the door open was quite another matter. Dane had been given a key to the padlock on the door, but she couldn't very well ask him for it. After all, if they had the key, why would they need a thief to break in?

“Open it,” Satin hissed.

Marlowe shook her head. “You know I'm a hopeless dubber. Besides, I don't have my cracking tools.”

“You got a dub. You always do. And you'd better be quiet about it. I don't want whoever's inside getting suspicious.”

Marlowe fumbled in her hair for the special tool, the dub, used to pick locks. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd used it, but that didn't mean she didn't keep it close. Her fingers shook as she pulled it free from the mass of hair she'd re-pinned tightly, and she almost dropped it on the ground.

“Easy there,” Satin whispered. “What has you so jumpy? You're not going to turn stag, are you?”

“I'm no snitch,” she lied. “I'm not used to working with a pistol pressed to my head.” She gripped the dub tighter and fit it into the padlock. She'd seen Gideon do this dozens of times. He always made it look simple. It was far from simple, but she could do it if she concentrated. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the metal of the snapper now warming against her flesh. She blocked out the wild thumping of her heart and the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. She turned the dub, jiggling it this way and that, until she heard one of the pins click. Now she had to manage to unlock the others without clicking that one back into place.

A bead of perspiration trickled down her neck. This was not how she wanted to spend her last moments, and these were her last moments if she opened that warehouse door and Sir Brook didn't step in to nab Satin. What was the inspector waiting for? If he was nearby and watching, he could clearly see Satin—well, she—was cracking it. Why didn't Sir Brook nab Satin now—before he decided to put a pistol ball in her brain?

Another pin clicked open, and Marlowe prayed there was just one more. Deftly, she moved the dub into place and angled her wrist. She had a feel for the lock now. She could picture its inner workings in her mind. She flicked her wrist then eased the dub up just a fraction, and the pin clicked into place. The lock opened, and Marlowe stared at the door. She reached for the handle, her hand trembling.

“Go ahead,” Satin whispered. “Open it.”

***

Gideon shoved Sir Brook back into the shadows of an abandoned building and ducked back himself. “Where the devil is Marlowe?” he muttered.

“Let me take a look,” Sir Brook said, edging toward the side of the building.

“I'll look,” Gideon said, pushing Brook back.

“Out of my way!” Brook shoved Gideon aside and peered out. Gideon slinked forward and squinted into the darkness. There was Lord Dane, looking tense and at attention as he stared at the warehouse he and Marlowe had targeted. But where was Marlowe?

“He has her,” Sir Brook said, nodding to the warehouse.

“Who?”

“The man by the door.”

Gideon narrowed his eyes at the shadows and swore under his breath.

“Is it him? Satin?”

“That's the arch rogue bastard. He has her dubbing the lock. We have to get inside. Once she opens the door, Satin is going to know he was fobbed.”

Brook pointed to a high warehouse window. “If I hoist you up, can you break it silently and crawl through?”

Gideon studied it. “I can mill a glaze in my sleep. How will you get in, or are you playing the diver, and I'm supposed to drop Marlowe down to you?”

“We're not cracking a house, Mr. Harrow.”

“If I was, at least I could count on my cronies. How do I know you won't turn and run once I'm inside?”

Brook shrugged. “You don't. And don't think I'm not tempted to let the lot of you rogues kill each other off.”

“Then why are you here?”

Brook nodded to Lord Dane. “Because he is. Let's go.”

***

The door creaked open, and Dane wanted to shout. He'd had a dozen opportunities to run Satin through with his sword, but every time his hands itched to pull the blade free, he thought about the pistol resting against Marlowe's temple, and he held his ground.

Brook wasn't coming. That much was obvious. Dane was on his own, and as soon as Satin stepped inside the building, Marlowe was as good as dead. Dane would reach the crime lord before he could prime his pistol again, but it would be too late for Marlowe. Still, he couldn't sit back and do nothing. He couldn't lose her.

Marlowe stood and pushed the door open. Satin gave her a shove into the dark warehouse and then stepped into the darkness himself. Dane ran forward and unsheathed his sword.

***

Marlowe stumbled inside the warehouse and immediately cut to the right. It was darker there, and Satin couldn't kill her if he couldn't see her.

“What the devil?” Satin asked as he stared at the empty warehouse. “Ye're dead, girl.”

Marlowe sucked in a breath as Satin turned the pistol on her. Apparently, she wasn't as well hidden as she'd thought, because he was aiming straight for her. She ducked her head, waiting for the blast, and then heard the yell.

***

“No!” Gideon screamed, lunging forward. He'd dropped to the floor of the warehouse just as the door swung open. He looked up, saw the way Satin's mouth turned down, the glint of the snapper, and he ran.

***

Dane saw Satin raise the pistol, and he hefted his sword. He was almost to the doorway when something large and heavy slammed into him, sending him sprawling. The man was instantly on top of him. Dane managed to hold on to his sword, though the other man attempted to wrench it away. Dane swung his left hand, landing a decent blow to the man's chest, just below the throat. “Damn it, Dane!”

Dane pulled his next punch and stared at the man above him—his brother. “What the devil are you doing?”

“Saving you, you bloody idiot.”

That was when they heard the roar of the pistol.

***

“Gideon!” Marlowe screamed. She'd thrown her hand up at the flash of the powder, but she dropped it in time to see Gideon fall. “No!” She rose to her knees, only to be knocked back by the butt of Satin's pistol.

“You thought to bilk me?” Satin screamed. “Me? I'll smash you and then hack you into tiny pieces, you little blackguard.” He raised the snapper again, but Marlowe brought her foot up, catching him in the nutmegs. It was a glancing blow, but enough to make Satin double over. Enough to buy her an extra moment to scurry out of his path. And then he was bearing down on her again. He lowered the snapper, and she rolled to the side, wincing when the pistol smashed into the floor. That was the end of the weapon, at least.

But Satin was not done with her yet. He lunged at her, landing hard and knocking the breath out of her. This was a fight she couldn't win. Satin had every advantage. But she knew how to fight dirty, and she'd inflict as much pain and damage as she could before she met Old Mr. Grim. She let out a scream and went wild, scratching, clawing, and kicking in every direction. Satin landed a shocking blow to the side of her face, and she saw stars, but she didn't stop fighting.

And then suddenly someone was yelling, and she hoped it was Satin. She hoped she'd drawn blood. But his weight fell off her, and she heard another voice from far away. It was a moment before she could convince her body to cease struggling, and then she opened her eyes, and there was Dane.

Marlowe stared at him, her eyes wild and unseeing. And then she blinked and stilled and was back. Dane moved, taking her in his arms. But she wasn't one to be held and coddled. She pushed back.

“Where's Satin?”

Dane nodded to his brother, who was securing Satin's wrists with iron. “We have him,” Dane reassured her. “You did it.”

But Marlowe shook her head and pushed to her feet.

“Your face is bleeding, darling. You'd better rest.”

“No! Gideon,” she said on a sob and staggered forward. Dane cocked his head and then made out the shape of a man on the warehouse floor near the window. Marlowe stumbled toward him, falling to her knees and gathering him in her arms.

It hit Dane as hard as a hammer in the breadbox that she loved the man. His jealousy hadn't been misplaced. He watched, unable to move, as she bent over the man's form and wept. Would anyone have mourned him with so much passion? Would his death have been anything more than a notice in
The
Times
?

Dane rose and forced his legs to move across the floor, to comfort Marlowe. If Dane was second choice, then he would take it. He'd been born to be an earl. He'd always had the best of everything. But none of it mattered if he didn't have Marlowe. Nothing mattered without her.

The man on the floor shifted, and Dane caught his breath. “Marlowe.” But she didn't hear him. Her face was buried in her hands as she wept. “Marlowe, he's alive.”

“What?” She looked up, her tear-stained face incredulous. Slowly, Gideon turned over, groaning loudly.

“Thank God,” Brook muttered behind them. “The last thing I need is a dead body to explain.”

“Your concern gets me,” Gideon muttered, sitting and tapping his heart with his fist. “Right here.”

“Are you hurt?” Marlowe asked as Dane came to stand behind her.

“Just my pride. I hit my head on the floor when I ducked. I don't think I have a slug in me.” He looked down at his chest, seemed to be checking if everything was in its right spot. Marlowe didn't wait for him to complete his inspection; she fell into his arms. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but Dane clenched his hands and didn't interfere. He glanced at his brother, who was hauling Satin away. The sympathetic look his brother sent him was far from welcome. Dane had never been the object of pity before.

Marlowe helped Gideon to his feet, and Dane followed them out of the warehouse.

“Don't suppose any of you could lend me a hand with this thief,” Brook said. “I caught him rifling this warehouse.” He winked.

“I'll kill you!” Satin yelled. “I'll kill the whole lot of you.”

“I'll help,” Marlowe said. She stepped forward, pulled her arm back, and hit Satin across the face. She might be small, but she had a good arm. Satin's head snapped back. He didn't lose consciousness, but she shut him up. She stepped closer to him. “That's for all the times you beat on people smaller than you. I hope you think of me when you drop from that scaffold at Newgate. I can't wait to see your neck stretched.”

“Why, you—”

Brook stepped in front of Satin. “I'll take it from here.”

“Will he hang?” Dane asked.

“With everything we know about him? We'd hang him twice if we could.”

Dane heard Marlowe let out a sigh, and he could see her shoulders slump. It was over for her now. She was finally free.

“I'll go with you,” Gideon said. “I'd like to make sure he doesn't escape.”

Brook raised a brow. “You'd voluntarily enter a prison?”

“I didn't say I'd enter, but I'll see you get there.”

“Let's go, then.”

The two of them started away, and Dane cleared his throat. “Brook?”

His brother turned back.

“Thank you. We couldn't have done it without you.”

Brook smiled. “I know that must have hurt. Sometimes it's not so bad having a hero for a brother.” With a tip of his hat, Brook walked on.

Marlowe looked up at Dane. “I see why you don't like him.”

“He has his uses.”

“That he does.”

Dane glanced down at her hand. She held a gold chain in it. “What's that?”

She smiled. “My last dive.”

All her flash talk was making his head spin. “I have a horse and wagon to return. And then, Miss Marlowe, how would you like to spend your first night free of Satin?”

She shook her head, and Dane resisted taking her face in his hands to have a closer look at the welt on her cheek. She'd have a bruise tomorrow, and her head must be aching right now. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted a bath?”

“No.”

“Well, believe it. You really have corrupted me, Lord Dane.”

Dane took her hand. “That's only the start.”

He ordered her a bath when they arrived back at the town house, and one for himself as well. He had work, details to see to, but it could wait until after he was clean. When he'd bathed and shaved, he dressed in trousers and a linen shirt and made his way to the library, where Crawford waited for him. Dane spent the next hour giving orders and writing missives to his solicitor. He was bleary-eyed and ready for his bed when Brook opened the library door. “Thought I'd find you here.”

“Is Satin in prison?”

“He's under lock and key,” Brook said, going to a small tray where Dane kept several decanters of spirits. He poured a brandy and sipped it.

“Good. And Gideon?”

“He's gone back to”—Brook gestured vaguely—“wherever it is he goes.”

Dane shook his head. “It's a hovel. You should see how they live. Tomorrow I'm for Seven Dials and hiring Marlowe's friends. They can start as grooms or tigers.”

Brook lifted a brow. “We'll be robbed three times over.”

Dane shrugged. “I have to give them a chance.”

“What has gotten into you?” Brook asked. “You were never one for charity or benevolence. What was it you once said? For the poor always ye have with you?”

Dane glowered at his brother. “That was Christ. I said—well, never mind what I said. I was wrong.”

Brook started. “Pardon? Could you repeat that? I didn't hear you.”

“You heard me. I was an idiot before—”

“Go on. I'm listening.” He grinned.

“—but I've changed.”

“I suppose I don't have to ask why. Is she here?”

Dane looked at the ceiling. “She's upstairs. Asleep, I imagine.”

Brook sipped his brandy. “And are you going to ask her to marry you?”

Now it was Dane's turn to register shock. “Are you mad? I can't marry her.”

“Even if she is Lady Elizabeth?”

“Even so. Her life before…the scandal…the past Earls of Dane would rise up from their graves.”

“I never thought you were the sort of man who cared what anyone said about him. But, come to think of it, you've never done anything that would cause anyone to talk. You've been the perfect heir to the earldom. Until Marlowe. I think she's good for you.”

Dane made a face. “She is not good for me.”

“You're right. She's bad for you, and that's just what you need. Why, for the last few years, I've worried every time you gave a speech in Parliament that you might start an epidemic of yawning.”

“I hope you are amusing yourself.”

“I always do.” He raised a finger. “But I have a feeling that whatever happens in the next few days, no one will be yawning.”

Dane pushed past his brother. “I am for bed.”

“One last thing, Brother,” Brook said, causing Dane to pause at the door. “I received word this evening that Lord and Lady Lyndon have returned to Town.”

Dane turned. “That was quick.”

“Apparently, they were already en route to London but hurried their journey to arrive as soon as possible. I imagine they will call in the morning.”

“I'll tell Marlowe.”

“You'd better do more than that,” Brook called after him, “or you will lose her.”

And just what the devil did that mean? Dane wondered as he climbed the stairs, candle held aloft to light his way. He'd almost lost Marlowe tonight, and he wouldn't risk it again. Dane pushed the door to his bedchamber open, momentarily surprised when Tibbs didn't greet him. But, of course, he'd told the man to go to bed. Tibbs had made certain the fire burned in the hearth and set out a glass—no, two glasses of wine—for him. Two glasses?

Dane's gaze traveled to his large crimson-and-gold-draped bed, and he sucked in a breath. Reclining on her side with her elbow propping up her head, was Marlowe. Her hair was down about her shoulders, a rich swirl of chocolate against the white of her linen chemise. Her thin linen chemise. He could see the faintest hints of her skin through the fabric.

“I thought you were never coming to bed,” she said, smiling at him.

“How did you get in here?”

She raised a brow. “I opened the door.”

“Of course.” He was having a bit of trouble thinking with her so close and looking so utterly alluring. “And why did you come?”

“Isn't that obvious?”

“Yes, and thank God.” He crossed to the bed, and before he reached her, she sat and opened her arms to him. He pulled her to him, the heat of her body seeping into him, making him realize how cold he'd been. She smelled of apricot, and her hair was slightly damp from the bath she'd taken. His lips found hers, and she returned his kiss with eagerness. In fact, he found himself struggling to reject the urge to push her onto her back and thrust into her right then and there.

She broke the kiss and looked up at him, her hands pushing his hair back from his forehead. “Do you know how long I've been wanting to kiss you?”

“I had no idea, or I would have come to bed much, much sooner.” He bent to take her mouth again, but she placed a finger over his lips.

“It was when you pulled that tilter—that sword—from your walking stick and brandished it at those three boys.” She giggled. “The looks on their faces! And you, with one hand on your hip, one leg before the other, as though you were ready to duel.”

Dane nodded. “In hindsight, I probably did not need to assume proper fencing stance.”

“No, you did not, but I am glad you did.” Her voice lowered a fraction, and Dane's breath caught in his throat.

“Why is that?”

“Because watching you made me feel incredibly ill.”

Dane's eyes narrowed. “That was not the answer I was expecting.”

She laughed. “But, as you pointed out, what I think is illness is actually arousal. Watching you, I was incredibly aroused.”

“Were you?”

Her eyes darkened to a deep sapphire. “I still am.”

“What shall we do about your…condition?”

“There's only one thing to do.”

“What's that?”

She rose, leaning close to his ear, and whispered in vulgar, quite descriptive terms exactly what she wanted. Dane had never heard a lady speak like that, and at the moment he was quite thrilled that Marlowe was no lady. When she was done, his throat was dry, and he could not seem to speak. Instead, he nodded, then digging his hands in her hair, brought her mouth to his. Her hands fisted in his shirt, and she kissed him hard, dipping her tongue into his mouth so he could taste her. She tasted of the wine and of Marlowe.

His hands found the hem of her chemise, and he ran his fingers along the warm, sleek skin of her thighs as he raised the material to her waist and then to her shoulders. She lifted her arms, and he stripped the garment away, dropping it on the floor and inhaling sharply.

The room at the public house had been dark, too dark for him to appreciate what he saw now. She was lovely. Her legs were long and slender, her hips slim but sweetly curved. Her waist was small. He placed his hands on either side of it and moved them upward to cup her breasts. They were full and heavy, the nipples a dark rose and hard with arousal. He brushed a finger over one, and her head rolled back. He repeated the motion, and she moaned.

She'd told him to take her quickly, but he was not in the habit of following orders—even if said orders were most agreeable. Instead, he lowered his lips to her hardened peak and feathered kisses over the tender skin, making it pebble. He teased her with his tongue, lightly at first, and then flicking her until her back arched. One hand slid behind her, holding her where he wanted her, holding her against him, while the other explored the swell of her hips and bottom, trailing over her skin until he cupped her sex. She was warm, and he took her nipple into his mouth. He sucked gently and felt her grow wet.

His finger slid easily inside the moist heat of her, and he stroked in and out, teasing that small nub at the center of her. Her body moved to match the rhythm he set, and her breathing sped up, punctuated by small cries of pleasure. His own member was hardening. The more he aroused her, the more aroused he became. And yet he could have pleasured her all night and taken nothing in return. This was for her. He wanted to give her everything she desired and more.

Dane slipped another finger inside her, and she cried out again, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

He slicked his fingers over her center again, and she began to tremble. She was close, so close he could feel the first tremors of her climax rippling through her. But he wanted to give her more. He wanted pleasure to crash through her until she was so stunned she could not even think. He wanted her to feel as he did every single time he laid eyes on her. And so at the last moment, he pushed her down on the bed, spread her legs wide, and took her with his mouth. She bowed up, crying out as he teased and sucked and stroked her until she was shaking and pleading that she could stand no more.

He rose on his knees, loosed the fall of his trousers, and her eyes opened. They were half-lidded with pleasure, but she reached out and stroked his hard member. “That's what I've been waiting for. Hard and fast.”