Conspiring with a Rogue (36 page)

Cursing and frowning, Drake raced his carriage across town to Johnnie-boy’s residence. It had been easy enough to find out where the man lived, once Drake described him to a few of the drunken patrons still lingering at Madam Brouchard’s. It seemed Johnnie-boy frequented the Madam’s place often, and if the whispers were to be believed, the dandy never left with a woman.

He departed, at least two nights a week, with a certain gentleman who went by the name of Murray Talbot. According to Madam Brouchard, Murray never left with a female guest either. Madam Brouchard had chuckled as she told Drake she suspected Johnnie-boy and Murray were “special” friends. Drake had not asked what she meant by “special.” He had not needed to.

The conversation left him feeling worse about Whitney than he already did. There was no sense of triumph at having seduced her into his arms once again.
Let me love you.
Had he really used those beggared words?
Forever
, she had relented. His fingers clenched tightly around the horse’s reins. She would let
him
love
her
forever, but she did not love him in return. His need for her was a poison in his blood. He’d heard the sadness in her voice, seen the pity in her eyes. She felt bad for him.

To his horror, he realized he shared more with his father than his dark hair and dark eyes. He had not been reduced to begging for money as he had always feared: he had been driven to beg for love. He was a beggar, and he would have pleaded until he had no breath if he thought it would have gained him Whitney’s love.

She meant everything to him. He didn’t know how to exist without her, but he had to make himself try. He had to salvage his pride. Something his father had never had the strength to manage. The first step was Johnnie-boy.

Drake was going to honor his commitment to helping find Lady Lillian, but then he was going to leave London and Whitney in peace. Before he could commit himself to forgetting her, he had to make sure she was not throwing her life away on some charlatan who only wanted to use her for her money or for the protection a marriage would offer him. The thought of Johnnie-boy leaving Whitney in their cold, unused marriage bed while he sneaked out to seek other men’s company made Drake shake with fury.

He rounded onto Regent Street and entered Golden Square. Whitney’s residence was to the right, but according to Madam Brouchard, Johnnie-boy lived at Six Golden Square, not twenty feet from Whitney’s doorstep.

The atmosphere from the street to Golden Square changed immediately, as if he had entered another world. Musicians and painters loitered in the park, and closer to the red-brick building, the notes of a piano filtered down through an open window. Tobacco smoke filled the air from a group of rough-looking gentlemen gathered around a statue. A dirty street urchin with disheveled brown hair and frazzled pants squatted beside one of the men.

Drake drew the horses to a halt, jumped down and withdrew a coin. He held it up in the air so the boy could see it. The lad’s eyes grew round at the sight of the coin glittering in the sunlight. He rose to his bare feet, a question in his gaze. Drake motioned him closer, then tossed the coin to him when he drew near enough to catch it. “Secure the horses and guard the carriage till I return, and you’ll get two more of those if you do a good job.”

“
Two more?” A wide grin spread across the child’s face. “I’ll do a good job, you’ll see.”

Drake’s heart tugged at how happy the gold coins made the street urchin. Dismissing the boy, Drake turned toward the townhomes.

“
Maybe you need a permanent tiger?” the boy called.

Drake glanced back and frowned at the eagerness and hope written all over the young lad’s face. The last thing Drake needed was a tiger, especially since he had no intention of staying in England longer than necessary. But damn if he didn’t see his ten-year-old self in the boy.

Drake knew what it was to be dirty, starving and praying someone would give him some meager job so he didn’t have to stand on the street by his drunken father and hold out a tin can to beg for a few coins to buy some bread.

He sighed at his inability to turn away. “Perhaps I do need a tiger.” He walked back over to the lad.

The boy danced from foot to foot, the horses snickering as they sensed his excitement.

Drake held up a cautionary hand. “What of your family?” He couldn’t just whisk the boy away from his parents, however much he might be improving his circumstances.

“
My mum’s dead, and my pa…” The boy shrugged. “Not sure really. I’ve not seen him in over a year.”

Drake knelt down to look the lad in the eye. A protectiveness stirred inside him. If he ever had children, they would know safety and love and pride. Everything he had built had been in the hopes of providing a better life for himself and his family. He couldn’t imagine ever having a family without Whitney. A rock of sadness lodged in his throat. “Would you like me to help you find your father?”

“
No.” The lad’s face twisted into a taut expression. “Last time I seen him, he knocked out my tooth cause I didn’t want to swindle no one.” The boy poked at the gap in his teeth, then looked down.

Drake nodded in understanding. He’d swindled many innocent people in his life. He’d had to play the part of the cripple or his father would beat him fiercely. The shame of what he had once done burned his face. He’d never told anyone about that part of his past, not even Whitney. “My da used to force me to dupe people,” he said simply.

“
Really?” The boy leaned in as if Drake had just admitted the most amazing secret.

“
Oh, aye,” Drake drawled, taking on the Irish accent he had once mastered so well. He had been a perfect eight-year-old immigrant who needed money to feed his dying sister. “Stay with my horses, and if you still want to come with me when I leave, you can.”

“
I’m coming,” the lad said without hesitation.

As Drake stood he smiled down at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“
Daniel. But you can call me Danny.”

“
Well, Danny, you’ll have to work to earn your keep. Honest work, sometimes backbreaking. No swindling and no handouts. In return for sweat and learning your studies, I’ll give you a bed, food and clothes. And we’ll work out a bit of pay. Deal?” He stuck out his hand.

“
Deal,” Danny crooned, sliding his small, warm hand into Drake’s and pumping enthusiastically. “You gonna be long?”

“
I hope not.”

The boy looked at him knowingly. “Then you ain’t here to see no lady bird, huh?”

“
Hardly. I’m looking for Mr. Jonathan Ramsey.”

“
He’s home. I saw him go in a bit ago, but he ain’t come out yet.”

Eagerness filled Drake. Now, he would get to the truth of Johnnie-boy’s preferences, even if he had to beat it out of the man. “I’ll be back,” he called, striding to the front of the building and up the stairs until he reached the third floor. Once there, he hesitated a moment.

What the hell was he going to do if he learned the man was using Whitney? That was easy―he’d demand the man stay the hell away from her or risk Drake’s hands around his neck. He raised his fist to pound on the door. Shuffling came from the other side, then complete silence. In an effort to remain patient, he took on the ridiculous exercise of counting to twenty. The least he could do was try to give Johnnie-boy time to make the right decision.

A rattle commenced on the other side, and Drake swore. He should have known better than to be charitable. He scrambled to shove open the door, convinced Johnnie-boy was attempting to lock it.

“
Blimey,” came a curse from the other side. The door shoved back at Drake with such force he nearly lost his balance.

Anger exploded inside him. He leaned his shoulder into the wood and with a groan pushed until the wood creaked under his force. A woman with silver hair and bright blue eyes peered from around the corner of the hallway.

“
What’s going on?” she demanded as Drake struggled to open the door Johnnie-boy was obviously doing his best to keep closed.

“
Ramsey,” Drake grumbled, deciding if the man had the bollocks to try to defend himself, Drake could at least call him by his given name. “Shall you tell Mrs.…?” Drake threw her a questioning glance.

“
Mrs. Carter.” She scowled in his direction.

“
Shall I tell Mrs. Carter your secrets, or do you care to let me in?” Drake said between clenched teeth.

The door released and Drake stumbled forward into the townhome. Ramsey stepped past Drake and bowed to Mrs. Carter. “My apologies, madam. He—”―the fop waved his hand behind him at Drake—“is merely a dissatisfied customer.”

Customer?
What the blazes?
Drake glanced around the townhome. Canvases littered the main room, sheets—splattered with paint—covered the hardwood floor, and bright sunlight glittered over a canvas centered before the window.

Drake moved toward the canvas, leaving Mrs. Carter’s reply for Ramsey to handle. What the man told his neighbors was his own damn problem. The sticky, sweet smell of fresh paint lay heavily on the air the closer Drake drew toward the window. He stilled as the painting on the canvas came into clear view.

Something crumbled inside him as he viewed Whitney captured so exquisitely and so very naked. Every curve, every shadow, every square inch of her beautiful body that had singed itself on his memory had been painted in bold strokes for all the world to see.

The worshipful look in Whitney’s eyes twisted his gut. She could not have been lying when she had claimed to love Johnnie-boy. Her luminous adoration-filled gaze hurt to see. The impotent fop could be the only man she had been staring at.

Drake clenched his fists to keep from ripping apart everything in the room. He hated Johnnie-boy with a ferocity that layered the room in a glaze of red. The door clicked shut behind Drake and footsteps tapped across the hardwood floor, the noise stopping inches from where he stood.

“
I had to promise her all sorts of things to get her to pose nude for me.”

Drake’s control snapped. He whirled around, grabbed Johnnie-boy by his shirt, and slammed him backward against the wall. As the man struggled, Drake shoved his arm up under the cad’s throat. “I should kill you.”

“
You should?” Ramsey’s words were a strangled question.

“
Damn you.” Drake released the coughing man and turned in a circle. He settled on stalking back and forth, but it was not doing the trick. He felt like a caged animal, the need to destroy something building in him. If he could not destroy his love for her, he had to destroy something. He grabbed at the painting nearest him. A man, naked at that. Were all Ramsey’s portraits nudes? Drake raised the portrait into the air, determined to smash it over his knee.

“
Stop, please,” Ramsey cried before racing toward Drake and snatching the painting out of his hands. The man pressed himself against the wall, the painting wrapped in his arms. “Any of them but this one,” he said in choked voice. “I couldn’t bear it.”

Drake shook his head in disbelief. “She loves you, and you love who?” Drake jerked Ramsey’s arms wide and grabbed the canvas. Horror twisted the man’s face as he scrambled toward Drake.

“
Who is this?” Drake demanded hoarsely, shaking the canvas. “Does Whitney know about you, who you prefer as a bed partner?”

“
Please.” Ramsey reached for the painting, a pained look twisting his features.

“
How can you live with yourself?” Drake growled.

The man’s eyes glazed. “Give me my painting.”

“
Give me some honest answers, or I’ll tear it to shreds.”

The man’s hands fell to his side as he nodded. “What do you want to know?”

“
Why Whitney?” Drake’s unsteady voice made him cringe. “Did you seek her out because of her money?”

“
God, no. We met at the tailor’s when she first moved here. It was obvious to me she needed help.” Ramsey shrugged. “Strangely enough, I instructed her on how to act like a man.”

Drake lowered the canvas, confusion clouding out some of his anger. “I don’t understand. Didn’t she leave me for you?”

“
No.” The man regarded Drake warily before reaching for the painting.

“
Here. Take the damn painting.” Drake was tired of fighting, tired of hurting.

Ramsey pressed the painting to his chest. “I know what she’s told you, but we’re not in love.”

“
You mean you don’t love her.” Bitterness filled Drake

“
No, you bloody fool.” Ramsey padded over to a chair and sat. “I mean she’s in love with you. As to why she’s pretending otherwise, I couldn’t say. She has refused to confide in me, though she knows all of my secrets. Bloody one-sided friendship.”

Drake stood frozen for a few seconds, registering everything the other man had just said. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“
Because there is no benefit in my lying.”

The man had a point, but Drake was wary to allow himself to trust Ramsey.

With a shake of his head, Jonathan sighed loudly. “If you still don’t believe me, I’ll go with you and repeat everything I’ve said in front of Whitney.”

Surprised at the unexpected offer, Drake stared at the man. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”