As Rich as a Rogue (19 page)

“Boys he's raised. Big ones. They go everywhere with him as a kind of guard.”

Peter absorbed this information, making quick plans. All he need do now was to wait for Silas to show and tail him. Thanks to Mari, he had a much clearer picture of the situation. If he stood watch, eventually he would find out who the wealthy protector was. And maybe he'd even grab little Tie and figure out exactly what his father's role was in all this.

All thanks to Mari. “You're a wonder,” he breathed against her skin.

“That's what I keep telling myself, but no one else seems to notice.”

“I notice,” he said. He noticed a lot of things about her. Like the way she let him hold her legs and caress the soft swell of her thighs. Like the way her breasts were pressed against him, and she'd even allowed herself to run her hands through his hair. This was more than a proper woman playing a part. This was Mari, who was desperate to escape the harsh rules of proper behavior. And he was just the man to help her do it.

“Kiss me,” he said as he maneuvered her face toward him. “Kiss me like a tart who is about to be paid very, very well.”

Instead of doing as he asked, she arched a brow. “A tart would give you nothing without coin.”

“Whatever you want, Mari. Just kiss me.” There was raw hunger in his voice, a need that burned through his blood and hardened his cock. A desire that he focused on her, and he watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Then she slowly, hesitantly, leaned forward. Her lips touched his. Her mouth parted, and her tongue darted out. Her arms tightened around him, and she pressed her breasts against his chest.

Yes.

He took her mouth. He slanted his across hers and thrust his tongue inside. He might have done a great deal more. He might have flipped the tavern owner a coin and taken her right upstairs to bed. He was that desperate to be inside her. But just then the door slammed open, and a rough voice called out.

“Drinks fer me mates. Drinks fer ever'body, thanks to me new nob friend!”

He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to let anything distract him from the wonder that was Mari. But this was odd enough that he couldn't ignore it. Because anything odd in surroundings such as this was dangerous.

So he broke away, and then he hissed out a curse. There, held roughly by a man who could only be Silas, was his best friend, looking much the worse for wear.

“Oh dear,” murmured Mari. “They've caught Lord Rimbury.”

Mari immediately scanned Lord Rimbury's face and body for damage. He was roughed up, certainly. His jaw had a swelling bruise, and his cravat would never be the same. But he seemed to be standing well enough, though his eyes burned with fury.

The other men had fared worse. Bruises abounded, many were missing teeth, and one was limping. But it was hard to tell whether Lord Rimbury had done it or that was their natural state. Either way, they held Peter's friend firmly by his cravat—using it as a kind of noose—and randomly shook him just to be mean.

It quite made her blood boil.

She started to go to his defense, but Peter's arms tightened about her. “Not yet,” he said in a low tone.

She disliked waiting, but knew he had the right of it. They probably needed a plan, but she hadn't the least idea what.

“At least they haven't seen the footman.”

He glanced her way. “Robin?”

She shrugged and leaned in tight to whisper into his ear. “I never got his name. He brought me your note at the ball and then left to find different clothes for Lord Rimbury and himself.” She shifted on his lap, and his hands tightened, holding her still. “I could step out and find him.”

“No.” The word was curt and cold for all that he nuzzled against her neck. “It's too dangerous. I want you right by my side.”

“So I can protect you?” she teased, even though this was no laughing matter. And yet a part of her couldn't help but soar. Finally, she was having an adventure that would live up to her wayward name.

He growled his answer. Then a moment later, he said, “I'm going to try and buy him. Easiest way to avoid a fight.”

There were so many questions but she didn't have time to ask. Suddenly, Peter growled loudly at her. “He's not that pretty. You sure you want 'im?”

It took her a moment to adjust, but she knew her cue. “I am.”

He gave her a loud smack on the lips, then he turned to the leader. “Me laidy wants to play with yer lordling over there. How much fer a night with the bloke?”

Lord Rimbury's eyes widened in shock. “I am not—”

“Shut up!” Silas said, cuffing him roughly. Mari bolted upright, even though Peter kept a firm hand on her arm.

“Hey! I want him kept pretty.” She made no attempt to disguise her voice beyond a rough accent. It didn't stop Lord Rimbury from recognizing her, and his eyes widened with horror.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed.

Silas wasn't letting him go, though. “He's my toy, and I ain't sharing.”

Peter stood, slouching a bit as he cuffed an arm around her shoulders. “Aw, come now. Ye've stolen his purse, humiliated him in front of ever'body. Why not make a few extra coins on him while you can?”

Silas ground his teeth together, apparently considering his options. Clearly he wasn't a fast thinker. Meanwhile, Peter tossed a coin at the barmaid.

“A round of drinks on me.”

The knot of men around Lord Rimbury cheered, then Peter stepped in front of her. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Let a bloke entertain his laidy.”

“A guinea,” Silas said, his eyes narrowing.

It worked! They were going to get out of here without so much as an ugly look from anyone but Lord Rimbury. Except Peter laughed, his tone almost spiteful.

“Don't be daft. He ain't worth it, and I ain't got it. Two shilling an' no more.”

“Two shilling?” Silas scoffed. “For a night with a lord?”

“Two shilling, and I make sure 'e don't set the constable on ye tomorrow.”

The waitress was handing out tankards of ale as fast as she could. Mari could see the mark of fear in her eyes, and she hoped that as soon as the men got to drinking, they'd think less about Lord Rimbury. They certainly couldn't hold him as tightly with their hands wrapped around their drinks.

Meanwhile, Peter was pressing his point. “Didn't think about the constable, did ye? That there is Lord Rimbury, he is. Right bugger of an idiot, but no one said the nobs had any sense.”

Silas's eyes narrowed as he looked him over. “And 'ow would you know that?”

“'Cause we were set to meet 'im here. Didn't think the bugger'd come dressed like a fool.”

Lord Rimbury straightened up in mock insult. “I came attired as a gentleman ought.”

Peter snorted. “There you go. Now let us be on our way, all nice an' quiet, or there'll be the devil to pay come morning.”

That was enough for Silas's henchmen, especially with the ale on the table now. They dropped like rocks into their seats and tucked into their ale with nary a peep. Not so for Silas, who apparently disliked being reasonable.

“I got a lord in me pocket, and not just a lackwit boy, neither. The constable cain't do nothing t' me.”

Lord Rimbury looked shocked. “I'm older than I look! And I could have you—”

“Shut up!” growled both Silas and Peter at the same moment. Apparently that was enough to make Ash silence his tongue.

“And 'oo is this great nob o' yours?” Silas scoffed. “Some wealthy toff with more money than brains?”

It looked for a moment like Peter was going to answer. Mari could tell he wanted to brag, but knew better. So in the end, he lifted his chin. “Four shillings.”

“I'll pay the damn shillings,” Lord Rimbury snapped as he jerked his cravat free.

“With wot?” Silas asked as he held up Lord Rimbury's purse. It was fine old leather, tooled with the family crest. “This 'ere's me own. Found it just today.” And he showed his foul teeth as he grinned while he thumbed the fine stitching.

It was a mistake.

Lord Rimbury had been resigned up until that point. He'd been battered and outnumbered five to one. But right now, seeing that bastard fondle his family crest was apparently too much for him. He moved faster than Mari thought possible. He grabbed the leather with one hand while the other punched Silas hard in the face.

Everyone was caught flat-footed. Everyone, that is, except Peter.

He was on the lieutenants before they could do more than sputter into their ale. He dropped two with heavy blows to the head, another with a quick shove to his chair that sent him toppling, and the fourth stopped short when he saw Peter's knives.

When had he drawn those? Sharp steel that he held with perfect confidence.

Meanwhile, Lord Rimbury was locked with Silas in a furious battle. They were swinging at each other, the purse still gripped by both men. It was only now that Mari realized the tavern had emptied out except for the eight of them. Which meant that no one else was hurt, except the furniture, as the two beat at each other.

Which was when Mari saw her opportunity. Lord Rimbury twisted around, and suddenly she was presented with Silas's back.

She wasn't as tall as she'd like to be for this movement, but fortunately, she knew how to jump. So she did.

With a tankard of ale in each fist, she jumped high enough to slam both of them down on Silas's head.

Whack!

The crockery shattered. Ale splashed everywhere. But the big man didn't do more than stumble. Goodness, he had a thick head.

Fortunately, it was enough that his hand went slack, and Rimbury got his purse back. Then with his free hand, he delivered such a solid blow to the man's face that Silas went flying.

Which was when the other four attacked. They rushed Peter together. Mari was startled enough to scream. She'd been so busy watching Silas drop, that she didn't see much more than a flurry of movement.

And then she watched as Peter started fighting. But not with his knives. He used his fists as they wrapped around the knife hilts, punching, dodging, even kicking when needed. A few moments later, it was all done.

With a quick flick of his wrists, he sheathed his knives into holsters hidden inside pockets of his loose-fitting pants. Lord, she'd been sitting on his lap, and she hadn't even noticed them.

Meanwhile, he bent to Silas, quickly pulling the brute's face around. The man was out cold.

“Good work,” he said as he began rifling the man's pockets.

“No need,” Rimbury said as he wiped blood off his lip. “I got everything he took from me.” He'd already returned his purse to his pocket.

“A moment,” Peter growled as he drew out a tarnished silver flask. He stared at it a long moment, quietly rubbing his hand over the dented side. Then he grimly put it in his pocket.

“You're robbing him?” Rimbury gaped.

Mari had a similar thought. Whyever would he want such a battered thing, for all that it was silver? Peter didn't answer. Merely continued turning out the man's pockets. He found a purse, weighed it quickly in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder.

Mari spun. She hadn't even realized the tavern owner was standing there, his eyes glowering and his hands clenched into fists.

“For your trouble,” Peter said. “With my apology.”

“I can't take 'is money. He'll kill me,” the tavern keeper said.

“Tell him I stole it.”

The man chewed a moment, then nodded. Meanwhile, Rimbury was crouching down beside Peter, his hand going to the flask. Peter passed it over, likely because it freed up his other hand. Then the air was split by low cursing from Lord Rimbury.

Peter didn't respond, but his expression became more grim.

“What?” Mari pressed.

“I'll answer your questions,” Peter said quietly as he ushered her out the door. “But let's get away from here first.”

At last. They were thinking exactly the same thing at the same moment. It was almost enough to urge her into an impetuous kiss.

She didn't. Not with Lord Rimbury watching through his rapidly swelling eyes. But she did touch Peter's arm, intending to thank him. Before she could get out a word, she saw his face.

Fury.

Peter was flat-out furious with her. This wasn't going to be a comfortable conversation at all.

“Oh dear,” she breathed.

“Just so,” he agreed.

One of the first things Peter learned in India was how to prioritize emergencies. Wounds first. Crazy women second.

Now that they'd run six blocks away from the docks, nearly knocking over Robin where he hovered anxiously by the tavern, Peter was able to grab hold of his best friend and see just what kind of damage he'd suffered.

“I'm bloody fine,” muttered Ash as he wiped at his lip. It was bleeding sluggishly, but in all other aspects he seemed normal. Better than normal, in fact, as he flashed Peter a grin. “I haven't had a good row in ages. God, I love London.”

“You're soft in the head,” Peter answered, though reassured by his friend's cheerful answer. “Are your ears ringing? You're limping a bit. Is that—”

“Bugger off.” He glanced significantly over at Mari. “And exactly how did you come to be here, and dressed like that, no less?”

Peter didn't give her a chance to answer. Just the sound of her voice distorted his focus. “She jumped on the back of your hackney,” he ground out, “then bartered for the clothes.”

“Really?” Ash said, his eyebrows going up. “That's surprising.”

It was bloody brilliant, especially since in ten minutes she'd learned more than he'd discovered in hours. But that didn't change the fact that she was a gently reared woman with no ability to defend herself. She'd wandered through the docks without protection and had joined into a brawl. And she'd been the one to deliver the key blow!

He didn't know whether to kiss her for being brave or throttle her for being reckless. So rather than give voice to the riot of emotions inside him, he kept a firm arm wrapped around her waist and focused on the others. But that didn't stop her from talking.

“I'm experimenting with waywardness,” she said primly.

“Hmmm,” returned Ash. “I'm not sure that was the kind of waywardness Peter meant to inspire.”

Too right.

“Too bad,” she returned hotly. “If I'm going to live up to my reputation, then I get to pick exactly how and—”

“We'll talk about that in a minute,” interrupted Peter. Then, when she opened her mouth to argue, he turned to her so she could see the absolute fear in his eyes. “I'm still terrified by the sight of you clapping those mugs on Silas's head.”

“It was brilliant,” Ash said.

“He could have hurt you and…” Peter swallowed, cutting off his next words.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “Finish your thought.”

“And it would have destroyed me to see that. To be the
cause
of that.”

“The cause?” she said, turning so he had to release her. He didn't. He gripped her even tighter. “I chose to come. I chose to help. If I was hurt, then that's my fault, not yours.”

“Doesn't fadge,” inserted Ash with a wobbly shake of his head. “Might have worked before he went to India, but not now. Peter pays attention. And he takes care of what he sees.”

He watched her absorb those words, her eyes darting quickly between the two of them. Then she frowned. “Me?” she asked in a small voice.

God, what more did she need to get it through her thick head? “Yes, you.” Then he dragged her tight against him and took her mouth with all the ferocity his churning emotions demanded. He was probably moving too fast. Up until now, he'd made sure every step of this dance was slow enough for a virgin to handle. But not now. He was feeling too raw from seeing her wade into a bar fight. Far from being startled, she responded as if she'd been desperate for just this very thing. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her body flush against his, and she nipped at his tongue before thrusting hers into his mouth.

“Pete! Damn it, you can't do that here!”

She fell back, though he kept her from stumbling. And the two of then looked at each other. Her eyes were wide, her lips were dark red, and her breasts were peaked and so damned intriguing that he couldn't get a thought through his head besides a dozen ways to taste them. “Oh hell,” Ash grumbled. “Robin, can you find us a hackney? I've got an eye on them, though I'm not sure I can stop a woman who is bent on ruination.”

Peter stiffened, ready to flatten his best friend for that, but Mari held him back.

“He's right,” she said softly. “I've lost my head.”

Peter shook his head. “No, you're finding yourself. Though why you chose a dockside tavern to do it in, I'll never know.”

She sniffed. “You had to go all the way to India. I suppose I am ahead in this game.”

Ash chuckled. “She's got you there.”

Peter didn't answer, his mind too fuddled with thoughts of her to form a witty response. Fortunately, Robin was quick about his task. A hackney rolled up a moment later. Peter made sure both Ash and Mari were inside, then he stopped to speak with Robin, keeping his voice low.

“Just how well do you know the people around here?”

“I grew up not far—”

“Well enough to find out where Silas runs his boys? Where they meet and work from? What they're planning?”

Robin nodded. “And wait for Tie?”

“There's a waitress here who said she'd send word if Tie shows up.”

Mari poked her head out. “Ellie. She lives right beside the tavern.”

Robin nodded. “I can find out what you need.”

“I'll take care of matters at the house. You know how to reach me?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Don't take any risks. And you come talk to me when you're done.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Peter took a moment to clap the young man on the shoulder. He was sturdier than he looked, and unlike Ash, he was dressed like a local. Spoke like one too. “No risks,” he said as he pressed a coin into the boy's hand. “Be extra careful.”

Robin nodded, then Peter climbed into the carriage and settled himself next to Mari. The footman disappeared like magic into the mists while Ash knocked on the wall to signal the coachman.

“Where are we headed?” Peter asked as he pulled Mari tight against his side. She didn't resist, which had him smiling in the darkness.

“I gave him directions to Miss Powel's residence.”

“No!” she cried. “I still have questions, and you, sir”—she poked a sharp finger into Peter's ribs—“have promised me answers.”

He grabbed her pointy finger and wrapped his hand around hers. Then he drew it to his lips for a gentle kiss. He did this because he needed to touch her, but also because he needed time to think. Unfortunately, she was not going to give it to him.

“I risked a great deal tonight—”

“I know,” he growled.

“And I did it so we could have our conversation. I cannot marry a man who has no focus.”

He dropped his head back against the squabs and took a deep breath, but it was Ash who answered for him.

“You don't understand him at all, Miss Powel.” His voice was soft, and he was the most serious he'd been since coming to London. “Didn't you hear what I said earlier? Peter sees things. He doesn't talk about them. Doesn't prance about. He just sees things and—”

“And I build things,” he interrupted. “Solid foundation, first.”

“—he takes care of what he wants.”

Mari huffed out a breath, lifting her free hand in a gesture of frustration. “I don't know what any of that means.”

“It means I want you, Mari. It means I want to marry you.”

“And do what?”

Make love to her nonstop for weeks. Plant his children inside her. Grow old beside her. Look at her face, argue about nonsense, hold her tight when things got difficult, and then kiss her senseless whenever she wanted. All of those thoughts, plus a thousand more, flew through his head, but none of them made it out of his mouth. They got jammed somewhere in his throat. At least until Ash kicked him hard in the shin.

“Hey!” he cried.

“Jesus, Peter, the one thing you never figured out is that women need to be talked with. You've got to tell her everything. More than what you share with me.”

He knew that. Damn it, he knew! “It's not so easy to put into words.”

Ash sighed. It was a sad sound and painful to hear.

“Miss Powel—Mari—are you determined on this course?” Ash asked. “On him?”

She sniffed, pulling herself slightly away from Peter. “I'm determined to make him explain.”

“Very well.” Ash rapped on the hackney and called out a new destination. “That's my direction,” he said by way of explanation to Mari. “I'll leave you to it, but whatever happens, Miss Powel, I beg you to remember something.”

“What?”

“Peter is my dearest friend, but if it came to it, if I had to choose… Mari, I would choose you.”

Peter felt the impact of those words hit her body. She jolted, but fortunately for him, she didn't lurch toward Ash, she shrank inside herself.

Then she released a mew of frustration. “Being wayward is so much more difficult than I thought.”

Meanwhile, Ash pushed himself forward, grabbing her free hand. He would have taken both, but Peter refused to release her other one. “Surely you've noticed my attention.”

“Of course I have. But…” She shifted awkwardly on the seat. “But you only want me for my dowry.”

This time it was Ash who released a low, bitter chuckle, the sound grating and wrong from Peter's ever-cheerful friend. “If you think that, Miss Powel, then you are as blind as he is mute. Perhaps you deserve each other.”

Mari had no response to that—just a silent cringe—and though Peter wanted to thump his friend hard for speaking so cruelly to her, he said nothing. Ash was right. If she truly thought he wanted just her dowry, then she was a fool. Or perhaps blinded by her father's assumptions. Either way, he could not damn his best friend for wanting her.

Even so, he had no intention of releasing her to follow him. Not yet. Not until he found the words to explain himself to her. Meanwhile, Mari was still struggling to respond.

“My lord…” she began, but there was nothing beyond that.

“Ashley,” he said. “Just once, say my real name.”

“Ashley, you honor me more than I can say.”

“But you want him.” It wasn't a question. And lest Peter feel the joy of that, she immediately crushed his happiness.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what, Mari?” Peter growled out. “What do you want? Who do you want?” And if she said that damned Camden puppy, he was going to put his fist through the carriage wall.

“Do you not understand?” she said, irritation underlying her words. “This is too new to me. You men are encouraged to think of your own wants from the earliest cradle. What will you do today, Master Ashley? Where do you want to go, Master Peter? We women are told what we will do and how we are to think. We are not asked anything, ever.”

“I have asked,” said Peter.

“And so I jumped onto a hackney and clapped a villain with tankards of ale to meet with you. Do you not think I have been daring enough for one night?”

He did. She was. But, oh, how he longed for so much more from her.

Meanwhile, his best friend acted the gallant. “Of course, Miss Powel,” Ash said as he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Just think on what I have said.”

“I will.”

A moment later, the hackney stopped. They had arrived at Ash's lodgings, and when he pushed open the door, Peter got another flash of his friend's swollen face.

“Ash, are you sure you're all right? I can send for a doctor or—”

“Shut up, Peter.” His words were harsh, but the smile was genuine. “Just take care of Miss Powel.”

“You know I will.”

And that was it. They shared a moment of understanding as only two childhood friends could. Then Ash gave a jaunty wave and sauntered away. Which left Peter alone at last with Mari. If only he knew exactly what he wanted to say to her. How to say it. In what way to say it. And…

She kissed him.

He'd been looking back from Ash to her and trying to find the words, but she apparently hadn't wanted any. And the moment her lips touched his, any ability to talk was obliterated.