Midnight Pleasures With a Scoundrel (7 page)

He reminded himself he was playing a role, and that whatever developed between them would be frayed with falsehood and weak with deceptions. His words were flat, never allowed to touch his soul. “He was charged with thievery. Left me an orphan. Like yours, my mother died in childbirth. I was apparently an unusually large babe.”

“That’s how you came to be with that kidsman. Feagan, was it?”

“Yes, I was fortunate he took me in. I had no family. You and I are alike in that regard, I suppose.”

He rowed in silence for several minutes, absorbing the quietness that he’d never really noticed before. He watched as she glanced around, wondered if he’d revealed too much, was curious as to what she might be thinking.

She suddenly closed her parasol and set it in the bottom of the boat. Then very slowly, inch by inch, she began to peel off her right glove, revealing skin that up until that moment he’d only been able to imagine. His body tightened as though she’d loosened the buttons on her bodice. She tugged on one finger, then the next, and the next, and with each tug his mouth grew remarkably drier.

At long last the glove was completely removed, exposing a hand as creamy and smooth as her face, her nails clipped short and well manicured. Hers was the hand of a true lady, one who relied on servants to do the hard work. Leaning over slightly, she dipped her hand in the water and her features took on an expression more serene than before, more so than he’d ever seen on anyone.

“I miss the sea,” she said quietly. She peered at him through lowered lashes. “Do you swim, Mr. Swindler?”

He started to answer, realized his throat had knotted, and cleared it. “No.”

“It’s wonderful. You should learn.”

“I suppose it’s very much like taking a bath.”

She laughed. “It’s so much more. Elisabeth would only run through the waves, but there is a cove near our home where the water is calm, and I would often swim across it. I have not been there since she died. It was where my father found her.” She shook her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to get maudlin and ruin this lovely afternoon.”

”It’s quite all right. I know how difficult it is when you lose someone you love. Even now I often think of my father.”

“Has there been anyone else whom you’ve loved in your life?”

“No.” He wouldn’t tell her about Frannie. His feelings for Frannie, once tender and precious, were for him alone. “Have you ever loved a gent?”

She shook her head. “No.” Lifting her hand, she flicked water at him. “We’re getting very personal here, Mr. Swindler.”

“It’s more interesting than talk of your home. Where is it, by the way?” he prodded, arching his brow, giving her only a glimpse of a teasing smile. She seemed to give it a moment of thought, as though she couldn’t remember. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t expected the question. “It’s to the north, near the sea, as I mentioned. My father’s estate is small, but lovely. I’m comfortable there.”

“To whom will it go now that he has died? I hope you don’t have a horrid distant male cousin or uncle who will toss you out.” Or worse yet, use her for his own gain. Perhaps there was more to her having no one to show her about London than she claimed. She shook her head. “The land was not entailed. So the cottage is mine. His title was not hereditary. It was given to him for services rendered to the Crown. Unfortunately it came with nothing except the title, but my father was not one to complain.”

“You don’t strike me as one to complain either.”

She gave him another impish smile. “I can be stubborn when I set my mind to it.”

He couldn’t see her as stubborn either, although he had to admit that her present course contained a bit of recklessness. What did she truly mean to accomplish by following Rockberry around?

“A cottage by the sea seems like a worthy dowry. Have you an interest in marrying a lord?”

“I suspect they’d have no interest in me.”

He stopped rowing. He dared to skim his gloved fingers along her cheek, cursing the cloth that prevented his skin from touching hers. Her eyes widened slightly, and then darkened, and he wondered if she was imagining what he was: his hands trailing over more than just her cheek. He quickly grabbed the oar before he lost all sense of propriety. “I believe they’d show a great deal of interest if they were to make your acquaintance.”

“But that shall never happen.”

“I could make it happen.”

She seemed as stunned by his words as he was. Whatever had possessed him to make that declaration? He had no desire to see her within the arms of another man, but neither did he wish for her to waste her time in London seeking some sort of petty revenge against Rockberry. Truly, what could she accomplish other than irritating the man? He wasn’t worth her time or attention, and it annoyed Swindler that she was giving Rockberry both.

Seeing her again, he was more convinced that his original assessment of her held true: she was no danger to Rockberry. The man was no doubt reacting to his own guilt over his abhorrent behavior toward her sister. He should be flogged. Swindler was of a mind to flog him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d meted out justice to those who the law considered beyond reach. Was that the reason Sir David had set him this task: not so much to see to the lady, but to the gentleman?

“I didn’t…come here for a Season,” she finally stammered.

“Why did you come here, then?”

“To put a face to a name, to see London, to…what time is it?”

“Judging by the sun, nearly five.”

She seemed stunned by his words. “Do you not possess a watch?”

“No.”

His answer was succinct, to the point, as though he wanted to let the matter drop, and she wondered at the story there. She began to put her glove back on. “Did you bring me on this outing to ensure that I wasn’t at the park at half past five?”

“What is to be gained by torturing yourself with the presence of Rockberry in the park?”

“I’m not sure. Every time I see him, it is like a dagger to the heart.”

“I fear I’ve effectively ruined your afternoon.”

Her smile was soft but reassuring. “Not at all. Rather, I think you’ve managed to convince me that I should enjoy London while I’m here. But it is getting late. I should probably return to my lodgings.”

He winked at her. “If I can determine how to get us back to shore.”

She laughed lightly. “Thank you for the pleasant afternoon, Mr. Swindler. It seems I’m once again in your debt.”

“May I call upon you again tomorrow?”

She gave him a demure smile. “I’d like that very much.”

Chapter 5

A
fter another day in her company, Swindler still didn’t quite trust her not to slip out and follow Rockberry. So after escorting her to her door, he’d ridden the carriage around the corner, hopped out, and ordered the driver to return to Claybourne’s. He then took up his post outside Miss Watkins’s lodgings.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to reveal so much of his past to her. After all these years, the anger over the injustice of his father’s punishment still ripped through him. He didn’t need the fury now. He needed a clear, cool head to deal with Miss Watkins. But that was asking almost too much. What was it about her that intrigued him so? She was innocence, but she also possessed determination. Like him, she sought justice. How could he ignore her need to avenge her sister when everything he did was in the name of his father?

If this were a private matter, if he had been personally hired by Rockberry to spy on Miss Watkins, he could handle things very differently. But as he’d been ordered to follow her, his position required a bit more discretion. He couldn’t simply go to Rockberry’s residence and give him a good flogging.

Swindler waited until darkness descended. He saw the faint light easing between the draperies in her window. He watched her silhouette pass in front of the window and stop. Then it continued on. He wondered if she would comb her hair tonight. If he should stay. He glanced around. No one was about. He shouldn’t be either. He began walking up the street. He would see her again tomorrow. For the first time in a long time, he was anticipating the next day.

Swindler awoke to the pounding on his door. Rolling out of bed, he pulled on his trousers and buttoned them as he crossed into the living area and went to the door. Opening it, he stepped back as Sir David strode by him.

“She followed him to Dodger’s. You were supposed to keep an eye on her,” Sir David said without preamble.

Swindler fought to suppress his yawn. “I watched her lodgings until after dark. She was there when I left. She must have gone out later.”

“What time did you leave?”

Swindler shrugged. “Perhaps an hour after the gaslights were lit.”

“You don’t know what time, do you, because you won’t carry a damned watch. Blast it, man! If you weren’t so good at what you do, I wouldn’t tolerate your idiosyncrasies.”

“If I’m so good, then why give me this assignment that requires none of my skills?”

“Rockberry asked for you by name. Apparently he saw your name in the
Times
for one crime solved or another.”

“But why cater to his whims?”

“Because he is powerful and influential. Now about the girl—”

“I must sleep sometime.”

Sir David plowed his hands through his black hair. He wasn’t much older than Swindler, but already his hair was graying at the temples. “Quite right.”

“Sir David, Rockberry did more than dance with Elisabeth. He trifled with her.”

“It’s unconscionable, but not a crime. He’s certain Miss Eleanor Watkins means him harm.”

“She’s not a danger to him.”

Sir David stilled and scrutinized Swindler. “Are you a hundred percent certain?”

Was he? If he said yes, the assignment might very likely come to an end. And if Rockberry learned that no one was watching her, he might decide to take matters into his own hands. Besides, Swindler suddenly wanted to spend time with her, very much.

“Right then,” Sir David said, as though he’d read all the thoughts crossing Swindler’s mind. “Keep an eye on her, and for God’s sake keep her away from Rockberry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Late in the afternoon Swindler again borrowed Claybourne’s carriage, and the lady was again dressed in pink. He wondered if years from now he would remember her as the lady in pink, for he had no doubt that in his dotage when he reminisced about his most fascinating cases, she would come to mind. Not that he found much to recommend the case itself for further reflection, but the lady was another matter.

She was a bit of freshness in his life, a life that had become stale by all he’d witnessed. He considered asking her about her late night surveillance of Rockberry, had even considered driving by Dodger’s to gauge her reaction, but he was so damned tired of Rockberry being even a hint of a conversation. He selfishly wanted today for himself, for Eleanor. He wanted to give the impression he was a suitor—and a suitor wouldn’t talk of another man. Even though he knew he could never be a true suitor to her, he could have this little bit of time with her.

He loved watching the way she enjoyed the gardens as the carriage rolled through one after another. She laughed when he didn’t know the names of the flowers. She pointed out her favorites, but even if she hadn’t, he would have known. Pinks and lavenders. Pale colors. Softness. Nothing bright. Nothing harsh.

Then she surprised him by asking, “Will you take me through the part of London where you grew up?”

She might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water on him. He’d been considering seducing her, but the filth that had been his life as a boy would make any woman squirm with distaste at the thought of his hands touching her.

“It’s not nearly as beautiful as the gardens,” he said, hoping to dissuade her from pursuing that path.

“But it would tell me a bit more about your life.”

He knew he should have been flattered that she had an interest in his past, might have an interest in him. While he knew he could never leave it behind completely, that it was woven into the fabric of his character, he had no desire for her to actually see the specifics. “Allow me to paint a picture: it was dirty, smelly, and crowded.”

“I’ve noticed that much of London is dirty, smelly, and crowded.”

“Not like the rookeries. It is absent of hope. It is not a place that allows in dreams. It’s drearily dismal.”

She looked at him as though he’d opened up his chest and shown her his heart. “You’re ashamed of your past.”

“I’m disgusted by it, yes.”

Angry at her and his words, he averted his gaze. How had she managed to take control of the conversation and direct it away from where it belonged—with him learning about her?

He was aware of her small hand covering the tight fist balled on his thigh. She squeezed gently. “You rose above your origins, Mr. Swindler. That’s to be admired. While I’ve heard tales of the rookeries, without actually seeing them, I can’t fully appreciate them.”

He twisted his head around to look at her, knowing his eyes and voice held a hard, implacable determination. “That’s my point, Miss Watkins. There is nothing about them to appreciate.”

He wondered what she was thinking as she studied his face, wondered exactly what it revealed. The harshness of the life he’d led? How, as he’d grown older, as he became more knowledgeable in the way of things, he came to abhor the life he’d lived? How the first time he’d felt any pride was when he led a constable to a boy who’d pilfered a money purse in order that the innocent boy who’d been arrested for the offense would be set free? How a gang of other boys had beaten him up for squealing on their mate—and so he’d learned to be secretive in his dealings with the police?

Even the rights and wrongs in life weren’t crystal clear. Compromises were made for the greater good. The problem there was: who decided the greater good?

He’d had the audacity on more than one occasion to believe it was him. Even now as he sought to gain her trust, to discover her plans, he wasn’t certain he’d provide Sir David or Rockberry with any information that could be of any use to them.

“You’re a complicated man, Mr. Swindler,” she finally said.