As Rich as a Rogue (25 page)

Peter understood that, and while the constable quickly produced some rope to tie up Silas and his boys, Peter looked to the carriage. “Speak up, men.”

Not a word. Damnation.

While Ash lit another lamp, Peter went to the closest perch. The man there was messy with blood, but when he touched the man's throat, a pulse beat steady and strong.

“Alive but unconscious,” he said. “Come on out, Captain, and tell me if you have any skill at physicking.” He hadn't needed to speak. He'd felt the carriage lurch as the captain went to check on his other men.

A moment later, he heard the man's voice from the second perch. “Jones? Jones, man, wake up.”

“Coachman's dead,” said the constable from the other side. “Broken neck.”

Peter cursed under his breath. He shouldn't have waited. He should have stopped the attack before it had begun. But then he wouldn't have known the exact intent of the robbery.

“What?” gasped the boy, who was still cowering inside the carriage. “Tom's dead? What?”

Peter grimaced and turned his attention to Silas. “So you were sent to rob the carriage. By whom?”

“I didn't do nothin'.”

“You killed a man.”

“That weren't me! I was just coming to 'elp.” Then he got a glittering look in his eye. “Ain't no one can say different.”

“I can say different. As can the men all around me.” He leaned close. “You're going to hang, Silas. Unless you talk to me. Unless you tell me exactly who sent you and how you knew to come here.”

The only answer was a string of profanities and spittle. Peter sighed, realizing he was in for a long night of interrogation. He needed to know the full extent of the ring. Was just his father involved? Or were there others? Then a female voice cut through the noise. A strong sound that nonetheless had him shooting to his feet in shocked horror.

“He won't talk,” she said, “but the other one will. That one tied up near the constable.”

Mari.

Mari knew she should have stayed quiet. Hell, she knew she should have stayed at home. Even before that, she probably shouldn't have bribed Tie for the information on the robbery. But she had, and so why should she start doing what she ought now, when disobeying convention brought her so many answers? Albeit with a bit of a risk thrown in.

Fortunately, she'd been smart enough to bring Tie. He convinced her that she'd never get there unseen without him, and he'd been right. They'd slipped through shadows and scurried across roads like tiny mice. He was ten times faster than she—and much less averse to the city's filth—but he'd waited for her and even helped her when she'd needed it. And he'd guided her to a watch spot up the street from where everything had happened.

Then when she hadn't understood what was going on, he'd explained it in a low whisper, barely audible over the clatter of wheels and the shouts of the men. Which was how she'd known when it was over. So when the three largest children, plus Silas, were captured, they'd left their hiding place while Tie continued to explain.

He was the one who'd told her that Silas would never say anything, but Bobby would if they threatened him with his greatest fear. “Tell him you'll cover him in spiders if he doesn't explain,” she said. It was a reasonable statement, and she considered it quite helpful.

Peter, of course, would focus on the fact that she was dressed as a barmaid again and out where she shouldn't be in the dark of a foggy London night. After he said her name—or more like strangled it—he made a quick gesture to Lord Rimbury who spoke gravely, but with an undercurrent of humor.

“Tend to her. I'll…er…cover the boy in spiders.”

Bobby began howling at that, thrashing in his bonds like a demon possessed. But Mari had no more time to consider him as Peter rushed forward, grabbed her by the arm, and wheeled her into the shadows.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“I came to help,” she lied. And what a bad lie it was, because he snorted.

“You know quite well that we didn't need your help.”

True. “I knew about the spiders,” she challenged.

“Tie knew about that. And he already told me.”

Oh. That was disappointing. “Well—” she began, but he wasn't listening. While still keeping an incredibly firm grip on her arm, he squatted down to stare into Tie's face.

“I thought I said—”

“She were going to come anyway. I thought I'd keep her out of trouble.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Apparently, that was beyond both of our abilities.”

Mari smiled. “Glad you understand. I was well out of the way and very safe.”

“There are more dangers in London than just these thieves,” Peter ground out. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

“Yes,” she said softly. In truth, the possibilities had been very present in her imagination, starting about one minute after she'd left the house with Tie. Pride had kept her feet pressing forward. “And none of them happened.” Then she touched his face. “Peter, is it true? Was this…this attack orchestrated by your own father?”

“I don't know,” he said with a growl. “That's why I had to capture them. So I could find—”

“Aye, it's planned by the earl,” Tie piped up in an angry huff. “Silas ain't got the smarts for it.”

Mari winced. His own father the head of a thieving ring. It was inconceivable.

Meanwhile, Peter dropped his voice. “You understand, don't you, Tie? If Silas knows you betrayed him—”

“I'm dead fer sure, but he ain't seen me.” And he'd been keeping his voice low.

Peter exhaled in obvious relief. “Do you know how to get back to Miss Powel's home?”

“Want me to take 'er?”

“I'll escort her. You're the one in the most danger.”

Tie nodded, his eyes wide. He might have ducked away, but Peter kept him still.

“I'll go with you if it would make you feel safer.”

“Nah. I'm faster alone.”

“Very well. If you stay at the Powels' residence, I'll come find you tomorrow and tell you what happened. I owe you for your help. Plus, I have other jobs that might work for you. I'll need a sharp pair of eyes seeing things I can't.”

Tie's expression narrowed. Even in the darkness, she could see he was suspicious. Oh my. Did Peter fear he'd run away now? Disappear back onto the streets? She supposed that was a possibility, but she'd already thought of that.

“And don't forget that I'll pay you in the morning as well.” At Peter's look, she explained. “I offered him a quid for seeing me safely here.”

“Well, he's is becoming quite wealthy off of us, isn't he?” It was a joke.

Peter knew as well as she did that a few pounds weren't going to solve this boy's problems. But at the moment, there were other things to manage. Lord Mooney's chest of coin, for one thing. And the interrogation, spiders and all. Not to mention the questions she had for him. Ones she didn't relish trying to ask while surrounded by people at a ball.

“Go on home,” she said to Tie with a reassuring smile. “I'll have Cook make us some more tarts tomorrow.” If that didn't keep him safe at home, then she doubted anything would.

He flashed her a broad grin, then disappeared, melting into the fog faster than she could blink. She was still admiring the boy's skill when Peter tugged her closer. “You're hurt,” she said as she reached out to stroke a smear of blood off his face.

“Not my blood.”

Thank God.

“Mari, why did you come? Why risk yourself this way?” Then he rubbed a hand over his face. “Your father will have my head.”

“My father will have
my
head, not yours. And…” She might as well explain as best she could. “I feared for you.”

“And coming here put us both in danger.”

“No,” she said. “Just me. You were magnificent, by the way. I've never seen fisticuffs like that. So fast, so—”

“Brutal?”

“So decisive.” She bit her lip. How had she ever thought him banal? The very idea was ludicrous to her now. “I've been so wrong about you for so long, I don't know what to think, except…”

“Except?”

“Except I want to know more. And I want to discover it without everyone watching us.” Then she touched his mouth. She stroked her fingers across his lips, felt the heat of his breath, and knew that this man fascinated her. What she'd judged weak before was only the smallest fraction of him. Only now was she seeing the depths of the man. “Why did you lie to me?”

“Stupidity,” he said softly as he pulled her gently against his body. “And habit. The appearance of power—or wealth—is often as good as the actual thing.”

“But—”

He stopped her mouth with his thumb. “Not here. I need to get you home.”

Behind them, the constable was issuing orders and directing his men in helping Lord Mooney's son with his coin. Lord Rimbury had already left with Silas and the other captives. Perhaps Peter wanted to be there.

“Did you need to join Lord Rimbury?”

“No. I think you had the right of it. We need to talk, you and I. Come this way.”

He slid his hand down her arm, softening enough for her to entwine her fingers in his. Callused skin, big fingers, broad palm. Why didn't this man dwarf her into nothing? Given what she'd seen of his physical prowess, he should seem like a hulking brute to her. Instead, she felt protected and cherished.

She stepped closer to his side.

“Are you cold?”

“No, I'm fine. Where are we going?”

“To talk.” He looked at her. “In my rooms.”

She nodded. “Perfect.”

He snorted. “Dangerous.”

Perhaps. But she found she liked the danger.

They moved quickly through the dark streets. More than once they heard something that disturbed him. On those occasions, he pulled her into the darkest shadow and waited, while her heart pounded in her ears, and his breath slid hot against her cheek. Nothing ever happened. The sounds either faded away, or the people passed without seeing them. But the excitement made her grin in the darkness, and his body made her liquid with memories of the night before.

They made it to his rooms eventually. She ran as quietly as she could up his stairs, then slipped inside his room while he shut the door behind them. Then she leaned back against the wall, feeling her heart race and her breath—

Oh!

He was kissing her. Hot and hungry, his mouth covered hers, his tongue thrust inside, and his body pinned her to the wall.

She didn't mind in the least. She set her arms on his broad shoulders, twined her fingers through his hair, and kissed him with every part of her body and soul. It was wild abandon, and she loved it.

But then he pulled back. His right fist hit hard against the wall near her head while his left hand cupped her face. “I brought you here to talk. To explain.”

She knew. She wanted that too, but those thoughts were so far away when he touched her. She stroked her fingers through his hair. “I don't know why I don't love you,” she whispered. “You're everything I think about. I can't breathe without remembering some moment with you.”

“You do love me,” he said, his words harsh. “Good God, Mari, who else would you wander through the streets of London to be with?”

“Just you.”

“Who drove you to six years of hiding?”

“You.”

“And who makes you want this more than I?” He jerked the ties of her cloak apart before pressing his mouth to the mounds of her breasts above her bodice.

“Just you,” she said as she let her head drop back. His mouth was hot, but it was nothing compared to the fire in her blood.

She felt his fingers on her bodice, unbuttoning her quickly. It wouldn't take long, since she hadn't been able to fasten it all the way. That's why she'd chosen her cloak that had been too heavy for sneaking about at night. But it was off her now. And within moments, her gown parted and slipped away.

“You love me,” he said as if imprinting the words onto her skin.

She loved this. She knew that. She set her hands to his clothing, pushing off his rough coat then fumbling with the buttons on the shirt beneath. Then she pressed her hands to his chest. She felt the wiry hairs, the shift and flex of his muscles beneath, and then the exquisite heat of the man himself.

“I would never be cold around you,” she said, knowing it was an odd comment.

He was kissing her, deep thrusts of his tongue as he pressed against her. She had no room to undress him more. All she could do was explore the feel of his chest as her hands were flattened between them. At least she could rub the edge of her nail against the hard rise of his nipple.

He growled as she did that, by which she guessed he liked it. Suddenly he was gone from her. She was left kissing nothing, her body falling from the sudden lack of support. Then she felt him scoop her up. Before she could do more than gasp, his arm was beneath her legs, and she toppled against him.

“You are mine, Mari. You have to know that.”

Did she? She had promised him that she'd marry him. “You're a fortune hunter,” she said without heat. He was carrying her so easily that she felt like she was floating. Then he set her down on his bed, seated upright with her legs dangling off the side. With quick movements, he untied her corset and stripped her out of her shift. Within seconds, she was naked before him. And far from being ashamed, she reached for his pants.

“You as well,” she said.

“Light a candle,” he said, his chin jerking toward the table as he pulled off his shirt.

She did, her fingers fumbling, but in the end she managed it. And when she looked back, he was naked, his cock thrust toward her, thick and ruddy red.

She loved the sight of him in his full prowess, but her hands seemed to have their own thoughts as she touched his organ, stroking across the velvety head, feeling its girth while slicking her thumb with his moisture. His breath hissed through his teeth, and his neck tightened, but he didn't move. If anything, she thought his entire body had gone rigid as she explored.

“Peter?” she asked, uncertain.

He tilted his head down to her. They weren't a far distance apart, but this motion seemed to come with deliberate tension. He moved slowly, his gaze dark as his fists settled onto the mattress on either side of her hips. She leaned back as he descended, keeping just far enough apart that she could watch the burning intensity in his eyes.

“You said you would marry me.”

She swallowed. “I know.”

“You could even now be carrying my child.”

Her belly fluttered at that, and she bit her lip, both wishing and fearing it was true.

“We have gone too far for you to run from me now.”

She touched his face, needing to soften the hard granite of his jaw. She stroked his cheek and brushed her fingertips into the curl along his temple. “I have never understood a single thing about you, even from the very beginning. I thought you cruel when you were doing a kindness. I thought you lazy when you were building a vision of your future. And I thought you wanted only me, when in fact you want my money.” She swallowed down tears she didn't want to acknowledge. “Do you know how much that confuses me? Do you know how lost I feel?”

He nodded, a measured dip of his chin. And then he extended the motion, meeting her lips with a slow press that steadily grew to a full possession. He pressed her backward as he took her mouth. His fists had opened, and she felt his hands support her shoulders and head as he laid her out on the bed. And when she would have clutched his shoulders, he set her hands to the side and wrapped her fingers around the sheets.

“Hold here,” he said as he began kissing down her neck.