I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) (28 page)

“Should we continue on to London?” Dane asked. “The wedding is over and you and your new bride are not in Town.”

“That’s up to you.” Brook folded his arms.

“What he means,” Marlowe said, “is it won’t be on his head when your mother flies into a rage because we haven’t been to see her.”

“I’m sure Susanna would like to see you too,” Brook added.

“Yes, but I’m not scared of Susanna,” Marlowe said, speaking of Brook’s sister. “We’re closer to London now than Northbridge, and I’d rather go on. If I have to sit in the carriage for much longer today, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Lila saw her chance. “Would it be a terrible imposition to drive Sir Brook and me back to the hovel—I mean, cottage? It’s quite cold for a walk.”

“Of course,” Dane said, gallantly. “I wouldn’t hear of you walking.”

“You may well have to hear of it,” Brook said, rising. “Mrs. Derring and I cannot accept your offer. We’ll walk.” He leveled his dark gaze on her, a silent warning not to disagree. But Lila was in no mood to be amenable. Her wrist ached, her feet were sore from the walk yesterday, and she wanted no part of the cold wind she could hear rattling the shutters.

If she was honest with herself, she wanted no part of this marriage. She might initially have seen it as an inconvenience, a matter to be socially overcome, but now it had become so much more. She’d fallen in love with Brook, and she couldn’t forgive him or herself for that, especially when he made it quite clear he would never return her affections.

When he made it quite clear she was the reason he would never return her affections.

And now she’d met his brother and Dane’s wife, and Lila liked them. She found the countess oddly charming and the earl gracious. They were just the sort of people she would want at her dining table or around her at the hearth on a cold winter night.

Of course, there was no chance of any real relationship with Dane and his wife. She’d be separated from Brook soon enough. And the loss of what might have been a wonderful friendship rankled Lila.

Everything about Brook and their marriage rankled in the cold light of day.

Lila burst out of her seat, her cheeks burning with anger and indignation at the unfairness of the entire situation. “You walk. I’ll take the carriage ride.”

Brook raised a brow. Clearly he thought she was acting daft. “It’s better if the Earl of Dane’s coach is not seen at the cottage,” Brook argued with a patience she imagined he generally reserved for small children. “I chose that cottage because it’s not widely associated with the Derring family.”

“Do you think this Beezle has men watching the cottage?” Lila asked sweetly. She waited for his answer. When he shook his head, she added, “There, then he will never know.” She nodded at Marlowe. “Even the countess said this Beezle doesn’t know the countryside. It will take several hours to walk back, and it’s freezing. Your brother’s coach can have us there in a half hour or less.”

“Perhaps we should step outside and leave you two to discuss this privately,” Dane said, rising and moving toward the door. “Marlowe, come on.”

“Why?” she asked, clearly much more interested in the argument than in politeness.

“No need,” Lila said, “I’ve made up my mind. I will wait for you in the coach, my lord.” Lila swept out of the room.

* * *

Brook had half a mind to stomp after her and drag her out of the coach, but that would only amuse his brother and Marlowe more. Already, Marlowe had a hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

“Perhaps I will wait in the coach with Lady Lila,” Marlowe said.

“Good idea,” Dane said. “She seems so frail and helpless. Best not to leave her alone.”

Marlowe followed Lila, and Brook raised a hand. “Not a word.”

“I wouldn’t dream of saying anything against your lovely wife. She’s quite the breath of fresh air.”

“That’s something considering who you married,” Brook muttered.

“I suppose I always assumed that having a hero for a brother meant your wife would worship the ground you walked on. Did I miss something, or does Lady Lila seem lacking in worshipfulness?”

Brook had the urge to tell his brother Lila
did
worship him. Well, she was in love with him, at any rate. But he refused to rise to the bait. “It’s not your concern.”

“I won’t argue with you there. Do I remember correctly? Isn’t she the girl you mooned over for an entire Season?”

“You do know I fight better than you,” Brook said, a warning in his voice.

“When next you’re in London, we’ll test that at Gentleman Jackson’s,” Dane said, clapping him on the back. “I imagine you’ll be ready to beat someone to a pulp.”

Brook removed Dane’s hand from his shoulder. “Let’s go before Lila decides to leave without us.”

“Then you accept my hospitality as well?” Dane said as the two moved through the common room.

“It’s either that or leave my wife to her own devices while I walk back. I can’t think which is worse.”

* * *

The next night and day were the longest of Brook’s life. All the talk of London had made him yearn to be back. He itched to return to the work he knew waited for him there. Crime in London never took a holiday, and he couldn’t afford one either.

Not that this was a holiday. It was work, and Lila made sure it felt like work. Ever since they’d alighted from Dane’s coach and waved good-bye, she’d been surly and snappish. She’d said more to the mother cat and kittens than she had to him. He’d obviously done something to upset her, and he knew enough of women to determine it was more than suggesting they walk back when she preferred to ride.

He had his first hint that night when he made a comment about retiring to bed, and she informed him he had better not think of touching her. He hadn’t actually been thinking of bedding her—oh, very well, he had been thinking of it. Not seriously. He imagined she was somewhat sore after the night at the posting house.

There were other things they might do, and perhaps if he gave her pleasure, she would cease scowling at him.

He thought about asking what he’d done to upset her, but he’d attempted that with his sister Susanna a few times. Susanna had only become angrier, retorting, “You mean you don’t know?”

Brook had inferred it was better to pretend to know than to ask. Still, he thought as he lay beside Lila that night, she did not act like a woman in love with him. She had pushed herself as far away from him as she could, and though she pretended to sleep, he knew from her breathing that she was no more asleep than he.

Perhaps she did act like a woman in love after all—a woman whose love is unrequited. He’d been clear that he didn’t love her anymore and had no intention of falling in love with her now. Perhaps it was better that she distance herself from him emotionally before he distanced them physically.

She was hurt, and he understood that. He knew all about misery and heartache, but telling himself that didn’t ease the guilt he felt for causing her pain. Because he knew what the torment of unrequited love felt like, he also could sympathize with her suffering.

What could he to do alleviate it? He couldn’t make himself fall in love with her, though the Lila he knew now would have been easy to love. She was as intelligent and witty as she’d always been, but now she was also kind. But what he’d felt for her was in the past. He wasn’t that foolish, lovesick boy any longer.

On the second night, he was rather tired of the heavy silence in the cottage. The weather had been clear all the night before and that day, and they’d both taken advantage of it and spent time outdoors. He’d wandered the length of the property, telling her he wanted to make sure all was secure. Brook had no idea what she did.

Not much, he thought when he returned. The cottage was as untidy as it had been when he’d left in the morning. The bed was unmade, the floors not swept, and the breakfast dishes unwashed. He hadn’t ordered her to do any of those chores, but she might have taken it upon herself as she had nothing else to do but read the bloody book on the Peloponnesian Wars, which she’d done all afternoon the previous day.

He understood she’d always had servants, but he was not one of them.

It was almost dark by the time he entered the cold cottage. He noted immediately the fire in the hearth had all but died out. He stoked it, seeing all the other evidence of Lila’s laziness. He didn’t see her anywhere though. He went back outside and found the mother cat staring at the kitchen building while her two kittens tumbled one over the other nearby.

“She’s in there, eh?” he asked the cat, who blinked her green eyes at him in response.

He couldn’t think why she’d have gone to the kitchens when he’d brought back bread, cold meat, cheese, soup, and tea from the posting house. She need only heat the tea and soup, and that could be done by the hearth in the cottage—if she didn’t allow the fire to burn out.

He strode to the kitchen and pulled open the door, immediately waving a hand to clear the plume of black smoke that billowed out. “What the hell?”

Someone coughed, and he covered his nose with his sleeve and burst inside. “Lila?”

She coughed again. At least he thought it was her. He couldn’t see her for the smoke filling the room.

“Lila!” he yelled.

“Here.” Her voice was faint but strong enough for him to pinpoint. He followed it until he all but tripped over her. He bent and realized she crouched on the floor.

“What are you doing? Get up!”

“They say smoke rises,” she said through coughs. “I thought if I bent down I could see through it to put out the fire.”

Fire? Sweet God in Heaven, give him strength not to throttle her. He dragged her out of the kitchen and sucked in clean air. A quick look at her told him she was uninjured, and he turned to study the building. He didn’t see any plumes of fire yet. He had to put it out before it engulfed the kitchen. The risk that it would also spread to the house was too great to chance.

Brook removed his coat, then, taking a deep breath, dashed back into the kitchen and groped his way through the black smoke. How the hell was he to find the fire when he couldn’t see anything? He finally moved toward the ovens, expecting to be overwhelmed by the heat at any moment. The smoke was strongest in the ovens, and Brook waved the coat to clear it. More black clouds billowed from the oven, and he threw his coat over it, hoping to douse whatever fueled the fire.

Almost immediately, some of the smoke cleared. Brook used his boot to stomp on the soot and ashes, and crush the embers of whatever was burning. Satisfied the danger was over, he emerged, fetched a bucket of water from the well, and returned, dumping the water on the steaming debris in the oven. He left the hiss and steam behind and fell outside, gulping in air.

“Can you breathe?” Lila asked, coming to kneel beside him. “Is the fire out?”

He nodded. He couldn’t breathe well enough to speak yet.

“I don’t know what happened. I was attempting to warm the bread—”

“Warm the bread?” he wheezed. Why the devil did she want to warm the bread?

“I thought it might be a nice addition to dinner, especially after I knew you would be out in the cold, but I couldn’t quite understand how the oven worked, and then I had to look for kindling. By the time I found some, it was already late, but I managed to start a fire. If I’d been thinking, I would have brought a spark from the fire in the cottage, but I didn’t think of that until later.”

Brook closed his eyes. Perhaps it had been better when he didn’t know how she’d spent the day.

“I put the bread inside the oven, but then it began to smoke. I tried to stoke the fire, but that didn’t work. Before I knew it, the smoke was so thick I could barely see.”

That must have been the point at which he arrived.

Brook wanted to be angry with her. The bread was obviously a lost cause now, and she’d almost set the kitchen building on fire. But how could she know the stove’s chimney was probably blocked with old ash and the debris of leaves that had accumulated over the years? Any servant would have thought to clean the stove before cooking, but Lila, in all her ignorance, still did not understand where she’d erred.

She’d wanted him to have warm bread. How could he be angry with her for that?

“Come inside,” he said, hoping she hadn’t ruined all the foodstuffs and they’d have something to eat. He stood and offered his hand, pulling her to her feet. The cat and the kittens trotted in ahead of them, and Brook lit the few candles he’d bought at the posting house. Lila sat in the chair and pulled off her boots, dropping them in the middle of the floor.

“I’m covered in soot and ash,” she said, shaking out her hair—again, on the floor. He supposed she expected him to sweep that up. “I need to wash.”

Brook crossed his arms. “I suppose you want me to fetch water from the well.”

“I’ll warm it for us.”

It was the most she’d spoken to him in two days, and he had to admit washing the smell of smoke off with warm water did sound appealing. With a sigh, he headed for the door again. Before he opened it, he turned back. “Do not start a fire while I’m away.”

She rolled her eyes.

Tired now, his muscles sore from the exertions in the kitchen, he drew water up from the well and hauled the bucket into the cottage. He carried it toward the fire. Unfortunately, he had to pass the table and chair, and he’d forgotten about Lila’s boots. With the bucket obscuring his vision, he stumbled over one of the boots, dropped the bucket, and landed hard on one knee.

“Bloody hell!” he roared. “What the devil are your boots doing in the middle of the floor?”

“I’m sorry.” She swept them up and moved them to a corner where his valise sat. “I’ll move them.”

Brook rubbed his knee and rose to his feet, eyeing the pool of water on the floor where some had splashed over the rim of the bucket. “Good, and while you’re at it, sweep up this soot, mop this water, and wash the dishes. I’m not your servant.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far. Lila’s head rose, her brown eyes burning with the gold of the fire. Her hands settled on her hips.