The Love List (14 page)

The last thing she wished was to look away, however, despite the ugliness and the misery and the fear they inspired in her.  She wanted her eyes wide open.  She wished to bear witness to a side of London that she had long heard of, but never experienced.  She needed to see, to know these things in a way that her father, with all of his talk of the downtrodden and his self-professed care for the masses, never would.  Still, she wasn’t a fool.  She was more than happy for the protection of Aldmere’s strong arm.

And more thankful still when she caught the eye of a startlingly dirty man lounging against a barrel just ahead.  She stared, sickly fascinated with the wicked knife he spun on its tip atop the barrelhead.  His interest grew as they drew closer and she was unable to avert her gaze.  As they came abreast he straightened, and the knife shifted like lightning into his hand and a more functional position.

Suddenly it felt as if were not a man, but a wall she leaned against as Aldmere tensed.  The rock hard tightening of his arm and chest distracted her, even as whatever bristly, male warning he silently communicated did the trick.  The dirty man paused, considered, then slowly sank back down.  The knife began to spin again as they passed.

“Lean your head against me,” Aldmere instructed.  “If we look like a harmless pair of absorbed lovers, we’ll be less likely to attract that sort of attention.”

Obediently she tilted her head against his arm.

“Relax,” the duke breathed. 

“I can’t,” she answered miserably.  She was too horribly aware of a hundred small things at once.  Of the misery in the streets all about them, of gazes lighting on them and slinking away.  She was acutely, wretchedly aware of the duke’s height and strength, of his firm touch warming her through the thin fabric of her gown, of her body’s excited and untimely reaction to it.  And of his utter lack of a similar response.

“The more intimate we look, the better this will work.”  He blew out a breath.  “Tell me something.  A secret, perhaps.  That will help.”

She could think of nothing less likely to help.  “No,” she said firmly.  “It won’t.”

“Yes, it will,” he said cajolingly.

“I cannot tell you a secret,” she insisted.

“Of course you can.  I’m the besotted fool who is going to take you away from all of this,” he gestured.

Despite herself, she shifted and laughed up at him.

“That’s better,” he said with a grin.

It was the male satisfaction in his smile that wiped hers away.  He didn’t even know what he was asking.  For months she’d been working to pick herself up, to reform her identity, to make herself strong and competent rather than weak and helpless.  And now she was to make herself vulnerable?  To this man, who admitted all of his concern in this mess fell only toward his brother?  Her every experience had taught her the extreme folly of such a thing.  She lifted her chin.  “You tell me a secret.”

He sighed.  “Very well.  What would you like to know?”

Brynne pursed her lips.  “Tell me . . . was your father a cold man?”

He stiffened against her.  “I beg your pardon?  No, absolutely not.”

“Hmm, his father, then?”

“No.”  He relaxed a bit.  “In fact, my grandfather kept a secret stash of sweets in his drawer, just for when Tru and I visited.”  He frowned down at her.  “I’d prefer not to discuss my family, however.”

“Very well.  Tell me . . . when you last smiled.”

He didn’t blink.  “Nearly thirty minutes ago, when you decided against that transparent bodice.”

Brynne refused to blush.  “You know that’s not what I meant.  Before that.  When was the last time that you were truly happy?”

He tensed again.  “I don’t know.  That’s not the sort of secret we need, in any case.”

“Well then,” she pursed her lips.  “I shall keep trying.  Tell me why you no longer take your place in the House of Lords.”

He frowned.  “I do indeed attend the House.  Why would you think otherwise?”

“Forgive me.”  She bit her lip.  “It was just a bit of gossip.  I must have misunderstood.”  Frowning, she continued.  “Was it that you no longer speak in the House?  I understand you were once quite a gifted orator.”

“That was a long time ago.”  His expression had gone blank.  “Clearly you don’t understand what I meant when I mentioned a secret.  We need something interesting, a tale to keep us occupied.”  His step hitched suddenly.  “Miss Wilmott—look ahead, do you see the woman selling rags from her basket?”

Straightening, she looked.  “Yes.  What of her?”

“She just made a movement with her hand.  The same one that the shop girl made when she heard you mention Hatch’s name.  Jenny, was that her name?  She repeated the same motion twice, very deliberately.  It must be a signal of sorts.”

“And you saw the same one just now?  Is that what set that boy off at a run?”  Brynne asked, her heart sinking. 

“It did rather look like cause and effect.”  He frowned.  “At university there was always a new secret society forming.  They’d develop special passwords and hand signals like that.  The masons make use of them, I’ve heard.  I’ve seen reports of gangs of pickpockets developing similar ways to communicate with each other in a crowd.”  Pausing, he glanced down at her.  “The shop girl might have been testing you, waiting to see if you gave the signal back.”

“And I failed to give it, so she went—where?  To report us?”

“Is this Hatch so organized, do you think?”

“Hatch is extremely efficient when it comes to both information and violence,” she answered with a sigh.  “So do you think news of our presence has been sent on, then?”

“I’d say the chances are high.”  

“We’ve no chance at a surprise, then.”

“It’s no matter.”

“A signal.  You’d think Letty would have given us that particular scrap of information,” she said bitterly.  “The vengeful chit.  She’s hoping we fail.”

“Or get ourselves killed.  Either way, we’ll have to disappoint her.  I think I’ve got the basic sign.  We’ll use it if we have to.  In the meantime, listen and I’ll tell you something that will help you feel better.”

She leaned her head against him again.

“Would it surprise you to learn that this is not the first time I’ve been in danger of getting my gut slit?”

She thought for a moment.  “It would.”  She’d imagined his background to be one of titled ease and privilege.  She blinked.  “Wait, is that what’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“It should,” he said with surprise.  “I’m still here, aren’t I?”  She could hear the smile in his voice before he grew serious.  “The first time, I was sixteen.”

She bit her lip.  “So young.”

He sighed.  “I suppose we’ll have to discuss my family after all.  You’ll have heard perhaps that Russell men are prone to gambling—and to all the difficulties associated with its excesses.”

“No.”  The only gossip she’d heard had pertained to his icy reserve and his brother’s good looks.

“It doesn’t infect us all, thank goodness.  In fact, my grandfather spent a lifetime restoring the depleted coffers and estates.  But my uncle, the next duke, lived his life in thrall to the throw of a dice or the stumble of a horse.  It took him only a few short years to see everything a shambles again.”

“And your father?” she asked.  She shifted casually beneath his arm.  She did feel safer here, cocooned in the midst of his strength.

“My father was the younger son, a scholar and the best of men.  But his brother was badly bitten and their cousin, by all accounts was worse.  When my uncle and parents were lost in a fire, the cousin found himself suddenly and unexpectedly several steps closer to the dukedom.  That’s when he decided to take the biggest gamble of all.”

Brynne frowned.  “What was that?”

“He gambled that he could rid the world of two boys who stood in his way.”  His tone hardened.  “Thank the fates that he started with me.”

She gasped, startling a young woman sitting outside an open doorway.  A sign propped behind her advertised: 
Gin.  A penny a pint
.  The girl watched the corner ahead.  A crowd had gathered, drawn by an argument between two carters in the street.  Brynne barely glanced their way.  “What happened?”

“He cast out a lure and I grabbed on with both hands.  I suppose that makes it partly my fault.”

“What was the lure?”  She imagined a woman, perhaps.  Something adult and forbidden.

“Freedom,” he breathed.  “A taste of adventure and a chance at an escape.”  His fingers flexed against her shoulder and he pulled her to a halt before they mixed with the lingering spectators.  “I thought it was meant to be a few days worth of independence.  Turned out my cousin meant it to be a permanent vacation.”

It was not the answer she’d expected.  Silently she considered.  They were at two ends of the spectrum when it came to wealth, gender and standing.  How could it possibly be that they both felt trapped?

She looked the long way up to meet his gaze.  “How did you escape?”

He squeezed her arm.  “A friend helped.”

She hesitated.  If their positions were reversed, she wouldn’t want him to ask.  But curiosity had got a hold on her.  And a much-needed sense of empowerment.  So she asked.  “A friend in a bottle green coat?”

He stilled.  “Yes.”

But Brynne froze as well—for the briefest moment as she caught a flash of movement behind him.  There.  It came again. 

Her eyes widened, and abruptly, deliberately, she loosened her stance and slid out from under his arm.  She lowered her shoulders and looked up at him again.  Coyly, this time and through her lashes.  “Turn toward me,” she said, allowing one side of her mouth to twist up into a smile.

“What?”

“Just do it.  Now.”  The crowd at the corner had grown larger.  It shifted and surged as one of the carters threw down his whip in challenge.  Aldmere was jostled and Brynne took advantage of the fact to pull him closer to her and a few steps away from the stragglers in the back of the group.  She slid her hands up against the broad expanse of his chest.  She felt his heart beat, strong and steady, and her own, tripping and stumbling its way to a gallop.

“Now bend down,” she ordered with what she hoped was a sultry glance.

Apparently not.  The duke was staring at her as if her wits had gone begging.

“Bend down,” she insisted, slipping her hands inside his coat.  “You’ve become a target, and I don’t believe it’s random.”  Lord, but he was warm.  Her fingers skimmed the heat and hardness of him, up and over his shoulders, then down to circle around to his broad back.  “Act as if you were going to kiss me.”

She saw the moment he understood.  Felt it beneath her fingers.  His eyes flicked around them and then fastened on her face.

That look cleaved her in two.  Part of her caught, held in thrall as his eyes darkened and her breath grew short.  The other part strained to catch what was happening behind him, struggled to ascertain the most precise timing.

Movement again, sly and quick.  She tensed and grabbed his shirt, forcing him lower.  “Good heavens, your Grace, is it such a hardship?” she hissed.  “Just kiss me, damn you.”

His head lowered, even as he laughed.  But the atmosphere quickly charged.  So easily he captured her with his darkening gaze, she had to struggle not to be consumed.  Their eyes locked, they fought a silent battle of wills—and then he was kissing her. 

Not hovering, not about to be or pretending to be—he captured her completely with just the touch of his mouth.  Pressed his lips to hers with a firmness that tasted of conspiracy and suspense and perhaps just a bit of amusement. 

She went rigid.  It was too much.  She was overwhelmed.  Closeness and heat and the catch of her breath.  Fear and excitement.  And then all at once she gave way.  Nearly entirely.  She shuddered, went soft even in her hard places, and practically melted against him. 

And everything changed.  The taste and flavor and mood of the kiss shifted, intensified.  Aldmere didn’t seem to mind.  He gathered her close and his mouth moved over hers, soothing and easing.  But she didn’t need soothing.  Her life was about her own choices now.  Though it might be for a variety of reasons, this moment—this heated and glorious moment—came by her choice.  She felt strong and competent and courageous, so she kissed him back.  Let loose the hum of desire that had been coursing through her all day.  Asked for the magic that a first kiss deserves.

He responded.  Ran his hands over her back and sent want whispering all along her limbs. It didn’t seem possible that he could get closer, but he did.  And she tasted something else on his lips—something that lifted her heart and made it sing, something that tightened her nipples into needy points. 

Desire.  She wasn’t drowning alone.  He wanted her with the same slippery silver urgency that was coloring her vision.  It was the last thing she saw before she snatched, grabbed and swung away from him, holding on tight.

“Le’ go!”  The howl rose up between them.  “Get off!”

Brynne clapped her other hand around the thin arm she’d caught in the act of lifting the duke’s purse.  It was attached to a hissing, snarling spitfire of a girl.

Another shriek split the air.  “Le’ go o’ me, you great, stinkin’ whore!”

Aldmere stared, appalled.  Brynne glanced over at the rowdy crowd.  No one had turned yet, but the child’s foul and vigorous protests were going to attract attention.  “The sign!” she hissed.

The duke glanced at her, startled.

“The signal!  Show it to her!”

“Oh, yes.”  He stepped close, drawing the girl’s eye and lending a new desperation to her struggles.  Brynne’s heart wanted to break even as she held tighter.

Aldmere stopped.  Made the signal, quick and clearly visible at chest level.

And the child quit fighting.  Just like that.  Though she continued to scowl up at Brynne even after she carefully released her.

“Hatch sent you?” Brynne asked, trying to catch her breath.

A sullen nod.  “I’m to bring you in.”

She glanced at Aldmere and flushed.  “And were you to pick the gentleman’s pocket?”

There was no answer beyond the scuff of a bare foot.

Brynne sighed.  “Hungry, are you?”