Lady Rogue (30 page)

Chapter Forty-Two
             
             

The moon had set. The room was dark.
Dawn could see the tip of Garrick's thin cigar shining like a tiny beacon as he sat in a chair by the bed.  It was suffocatingly quiet.  They did not speak, not knowing what to say.  They had been swept away on a tide of longing  neither one of them could deny.  Where were they to go from here?

I love him
, Dawn thought, 
but how does  he feel about me
?  Could he forget what had happened in the past and give her a chance to make him happy?  She was physically and emotionally drained, much too vulnerable to face him now  with questions, thus she took refuge in the darkness and contented herself by listening to the pleasant sound of his  low raspy  breathing.

His lovemaking had deeply affected
her.  Her body would always remember every touch,  every kiss, every caress. It had been the most beautiful moment of her life, a mindless delight of the senses and the heart.  Nothing in the world could have prepared her for such joy.  It was as if she had been starving all of her life and had only now discovered food.  But only Garrick Seton  could whet her appetite.   Now she wanted to be with him forever, to walk beside him, share in his dreams.

A deep yearning rose in her heart, a hope that it was not too late for happiness.  He had wanted to marry her once.  Would he still want that now?  Or would he think her too far beneath him. A tattered little pickpocket.  Would he accept her now for the woman she had become?  And if not
, what then? Could she content herself to be merely his mistress?              

She lay still as stone,
watching him. Did he love her or had he simply assuaged his body’s cravings? When he had entered her, her heart had seemed to swell, full of him, full of love. She had felt like the richest woman in the world.  But what of Garrick?  What was he thinking even now?             

Garrick
closed his eyes with a sigh. Never had he realized that love could be like this, such shattering ecstasy as to be almost pain.    And yet what to do about it?  Marriage?  It was out of the question now.  Or was it? He had proof she was not a whore, but there were other things to answer for. By her own admission she had been a thief.

He was dressed only in his breeches.
He could so easily divest himself of his trousars and crawl into bed with her again.  Yet he held himself back. He clamped the cheroot between his teeth and sprawled in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him.  Sympathy warred with his resentment.  He could imagine what a beautiful child she must have been.  Orphaned and walking the streets.  She was right about the city’s lack of compassion for homeless children.  London was much like an anthill, too intent on industry to give thought to those in need. The poor, the sick and the unfortunate were treated like so much refuse, to be discarded or ignored. He'd condemned such heartlessness.  In her circumstances would he have done any differently?  Was he then in any position to judge her?             

Bloody damn!  Bloody damn
! he swore to himself.   He put his foot up on a low chest at the foot of the bed. Why did she made him feel as if he were the one in the wrong?  Whatever her circumstances, she had set him up to be robbed, that much he knew to be true.  Even now her brother was serving his time in Newgate for his part in the robbery.  How could he hold her totally blameless?

And yet she had looked
as gentle as a kitten as she stood  before him tonight.  Not once had she tried to escape him.  She had known of his anger, sensed his thirst for revenge, but she had returned each kiss, each caress,  "with love," he whispered.

He would never have made love to her tonight if he had really thought
she spoke the  truth about not being a whore  He wasn't the kind of man who enjoyed deflowering virgins.  And yet he had!  Before he penetrated her, she had never known another man. She had told him the truth about her virtue.  That put a whole different light on the matter, made him feel responsible for her.   Despite his common sense, how could he just walk away?

"Dawn, are you awake?" 
He tried to temper his voice, to hide his frustration with himself.

"Yes.  I never went to sleep.  I couldn't."  She suddenly felt the need to talk, to make him understand.  "I would never go back to a life of thieving.   I was miserably unhappy
, only I didn't know it then.   And whether you believe it or not I saved your life that night at the warehouse. When I came back,   it was to free you."

"Ssssh.  I really don't want to talk about it now."  It took every ounce of resolve he had not to go to
her and take her in his arms.

"Do you believe me?"

"I don't know what to believe.  So much has happened tonight that my brain feels like pudding.  I only know that you are not the young woman I thought you to be, either for good or for ill.  I need to do some thinking, Dawn.  Some deep serious thinking.  Until then I can’t say  anything or make any commitments.  Please understand."  He'd fallen in love with a shadow, a dream, a woman who didn't exist. What did he feel about the real woman?

"Garrick...."  She loved him
without question.  Her senses were filled with wanting him. 
Then go to him
, a voice inside her head whispered. Life was so short, so uncertain.  One never knew what the future held in store.  He was here with her now, and she wanted him to make love to her again. 

Rising from the bed, Dawn
crossed the polished wood floor on bare feet.  Leaning towards him, she stroked his neck, tangling  her fingers in his hair.  Garrick snuffed out his cigar and closed his eyes, giving himself up to the rippling pleasure of her touch.

"Make love to me again......"  She leaned forward to brush his mouth with her lips.  That simple gesture said all she wanted to say, that she loved him, that she desired him.  Slowly his hands closed around her shoulders, pulling her to him, answering her shy kiss with a passion that made her gasp. Gathering her into his arms h
e carried her back to the bed.

She gave herself up to the fierce emotions that raced through her, answering his touch with searching hands, returning his caresses.  Closing her arms around his neck, she offered herself to him, writhing against him in a slow delicate dance.  She could feel the pulsating hardness of him through the fabric of his trousers and reached up to pull  his breeches from him.  If that was being overbold and brazen
, she didn't care.

Sweet hot desire fused their bodies together as he leaned against her.  His strength mingled wit
h her softness, his hands moved up the curves of her hips and her waist to her full ripe breasts, warming her with his heat.   Like a fire his lips burned a path from one breast to the other, bringing forth spirals of pulsating sensations that swept over her like a storm.                           

Garrick's mouth fused with hers, his kiss deepening as his touch grew bolder.  Dawn luxuriated in the pleasure of his
touch, stroking and kissing him back. He slid one hand between her warm, silken thighs, then raised himself, holding himself poised above her. The tip of his maleness pressed against her,  then entered her in a strong, slow thrust. He kissed her as their bodies melted together, and from the depths of her soul Dawn’s heart cried out in joy. If only they could forget her past…….if only he could come to trust her, care for her! A flame of yearning ignited within her as he whispered her name. Tightening her thighs around his waist, she moved against him and he responded with a growing sensual urgency.

Garrick
’s passion left her breathless. It was like falling, falling endlessly in exquisite delight and never quite hitting the ground.  Her arms locked around him as she arched to meet his body in a sensuous dance, abandoning  all inhibitions until the boundariesbetween them burst into rapturous oblivion.

Even when the sensual magic was over
, they clung to each other, unwilling to have the moment end.  Dawn was reluctant to have him leave her body. Surely the fire they had ignited tonight wold join them together for eternity. Smiling, she lay curled in the crook of Garrick's arm. They were together.  It was all she had for now.  For the moment it had to be enough.             

"Sleep now," he whispered, still holding her close.  With a sigh she snuggled up against him, burying her face in the warmth of his chest, breathing in the manly scent of him.  She didn't want to sleep, not now. She wanted to savor this moment
, but as he caressed her back, tracing his fingers along her spine, she drifted off. 

Only when she was fast as
leep did Garrick get up.  Gently disentangling himself from her arms, he  rose from the bed and gathered his clothes.  He had to get out of here now, before he succumbed to his heart's pleading.   A long walk in the night air would aid him immensely.  Tomorrow he would make some decisions.  With agonizing clarity he knew something must be done.  By coming here tonight he had unleashed a tiger, and he knew beyond a doubt there would be no taming it now. What was he to do?  He had to  get away before he was completely imprisoned by her beauty. 

Chapter Forty-Three

The bustle of servants going about their morning chores woke Dawn.  Her eyes fluttered open and she stretched languorously.  Sitting up
, she felt the chill of the unheated room against against her skin and realized that she was naked beneath the coverlet. She smiled and  instinctively reached for Garrick, only to be  disappointed when she found  herself to be alone. He had left, then, sometime during the night or early this morning.  Though she was disappointed not to find herself curled up in his arms, she thought that perhaps it was all for the good.  Had he been found there this morning her reputation would have been hopelessly compromised.

"My reputation," she whispered, stiffling a laugh with the back of her hand.  That was the least of her worries
.  How had he found out about her?  What mistake had she made?  It didn't matter.  She actually felt relieved that he knew.  The secret of her past had been a burden that now had been taken off her slim shoulders.  This morning she felt happy and blissfully carefree.

Dawn's
mind relived last night, from the moment he had swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs until the culmination of their lovemaking.  Her breasts were tender from Garrick's caresses and she felt an aching between her thighs, proof it had not been a dream.  And yet she welcomed the sensations.

A flush of color stained her cheeks as she remembered the way she had boldly come to his side and asked him to make love to her again
, yet she had no regrets. She would never be sorry for one kiss, one sigh, one moment.  Now she was Garrick's and he belonged to her.

Marriage?  She pushed away the one thought that could cloud  her happiness.  She could only hope that once Garrick sorted everything out in his mind he would still want to marry her. Hadn't their hearts spoken
for them?   And yet, what would he say the next time she saw him?  She resolved not to worry about it now.  Today was for rejoicing.

Turning her head against the pillow, she realized how deeply she loved him.  There could never have been any other man.  Not for her.  At first he had seemed like a figure out of dream, so far away and unobtainable.  The gent
leman and the ragged pickpocket--an impossible combination.  True, for a time she had wanted revenge, but now she loved him for the man he was. 

Kicking back the covers, she slid her feet to the floor and looked about her.  They had made l
ove in Margaret Pembrooke's bed.  For a moment that gave her pause. Had the dear woman’s ghost been watching? On second thought, it seemed strangely fitting, for it had been at Mrs. Pembrooke's hand that she had been made a lady, acceptable for a man like Garrick Seton.  She remembered the twinkle in the old woman's eyes whenever she had spoken about him, the smile when he was about to call for Dawn in his carriage.  Margaret Pembrooke had known where it would all end up, that the spark between Garrick and Dawn would have a happy ending.

Reluctantly Dawn picked up her undergown and covered herself, just in case one of the servants might barge in
.  She would have liked to spend the entire morning in tender recollection but it was late.  The clock in the hallway was chiming nine times.  Dressing quickly, straightening out the coverlets on the bed, she sought the haven of her own room.

A while later
, when she had bathed and dressed, she went downstairs for a breakfast of croissants and tea.  "Good morning, Douglass.  I hope you had a splendid day yesterday."

"A very fine morning." The butler grinned.  "I went to the theatre with a young widow who works as a cook across the way.  Had a deucedly good time.  Though a fight br
oke out after the second act."

"A fight?"  Dawn remembered the
countless times she'd gone to the theatre with the express thought in mind of nabbing a handkerchief.  In those days the usual drunken brawl that came when someone had too much to drink had been her opportunity.

"A minor fistcuff.  It didn't spoil my evening.  I most thoroughly enjoyed myself.
"  He did seem quite cheerful.

“I'm glad."

"I hope it was not too lonely for you here with me gone, mum."

Dawn blushed to the roots of her hair, wondering if what happened last night might show in her face.  "No...no, I was just fine,
Douglas."

Making herself comfortable on the settee, she read the
Morning Post
,  bringing herself up to date on the latest news and gossip. That Frenchman, Napoleon, was still causing England trouble, denying most of Western Europe any British imports. The Tories, favoring the wealthy were firmly in power.  Beau Brummell was mentioned again and again.  It seemed the wealthy had little to hold their attention except notions of fashion,, a preoccupation with style and appearance carried to absurd lengths.  Garrick wasn't like that.  No preening dandy with lace at his throats and a fear  of grime on his coat.  No, he was special and he was hers.

Putting the newpaper down
, Dawn finished the last of her tea.  The weather was dreary  and yet she felt impelled to make an outing to the ships and bazaars.  She wanted to find something filmy and frilly to wear the next time she and Garrick made love.  Certainly she had not cared for such extravagance before, but now it seemed a pressing matter.  She had few undergarments,  just one undergown, a chemise and two pair of drawers, having thought them unimportant since no one would see them.  Now someone would and she found it strangely  exciting to imagine Garrick slowly slipping each fragile garment from her body.

Bundling up in a coat, hat and muff, she braved the short distance to the carriage. 
Her breath hung  like little clouds of smoke in the cold air.  Charlie, a jolly old fellow who resembled pictures she had seen of Bacchus, had lighted a fire in the carriage house hearth, so she was comfortablethe moment she stepped into the vehicle.

Dawn's senses were heightened. The carriage passed through Fleet Street, passing St. Dunstan's at ten strikes.  It was as if she were seeing the world through different eyes
—the eyes of love.  The colors were more vibrant, the sounds of the city more intense.  Even the air seemed fresher and more pleasant as she drew it into her lungs.  Love?  Indeed last night had made her feel more fully alive.

Her visit to Margaret Pembrooke's seamstress, who lived near Whitechapel, took up most of the day.  It was an endless parade of fabrics and lace. 
By the time they were done, Dawn had decided upon seven night gowns--one for each day of the week, four chemises, and two undergowns.

The streets were filled with
shoppers.  There seemed to be something about cold weather that made one loosen one’s purse strings.  Dawn pushed through the throng of  men and women; pretty and plain, young and old,  smiling and frowning, simpering and scolding—she felt a wave of goodwill towards them all.  The yelling, screeching, swearing and laughing didn't offend her ears.  Her thoughts were somewhere else.

On the way back to Pembrooke House she had the carriage driver take her past Garrick's office
, but her courage failed her. She could not pay him a visit.  Not yet.  Let him come to her.  He would come, of that she had no doubt.  No man could exhibit such tenderness and not hold love in his heart.

It was still light when the carriage rounded the curve of the drive, enough so to illuminate the ornately decorated coach that stood in front of the entry.  A visitor?  For a moment her heart fluttered
erratically. Garrick?  No, it was not his carriage.  Who then?  Visitors?  Or John Barrister perhaps.

Moving towards the vehicle she
felt a pang of disquiet.  She wasn't really up to company.  Whoever it was she hoped they wouldn't stay very long.  Lifting her chin she proceeded towards the front steps, feeling vaguely troubled. Why did that carriage look strangely familiar?

Suddenly it came to her.  It was a magistrate's carriage.  She and Robbie had dodged them many times
in the past.  What was it doing here?

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a young woman nam
ed Dawn Landon."  A man in a dark suit and hat, accosted her.

"I'm Dawn
Landon," she said hesitantly.

"You?"  As she nodded her head
, two men in red waistcoats joined him. "Seize her!" he commanded. 

"
She is a swindler."

"A thief!"

Too late Dawn recognized the Bow Street Runners!  Every nerve in her body urged her to flee, but it was too late, they had her by the arm.

"I beg your pardon.  What is the meaning of this?" she asked, trying to pretend calm.  "Th
ere must be some mistake....."

"You are under arrest for  swindling and thievary!"  None too gently she was pushed into the carriage and Dawn realized with horr
or that she was being taken into custody.

The sun was just setting when Garrick returned to his town house. Strange, but he didn’t even remember telling Vinnie to drive him home, and yet here he was standing in his own hallway. It only proved how jumbled his thoughts were.

It had been a wretchedly hard day. Blast Ollie, he had not come into the office at all. Up to his old ways again, Garrick thought. He’d been certain that being so hard pressed for money Oliver had learned the merits of discipline. Apparently not. Now that his anger had worn
off, he regretted telling Ollie about Dawn’s past. He didn’t want her the target of gossip, no matter what she had done. Hopefully Oliver hadn’t spent the day at his club spreading the story.

The house seemed empty except for the
welcoming smells emanating from the kitchen. Agatha, his cook, made everything from a pinch of this and a pat of that, and yet she worked wonders. Well, he would enjoy his dinner, have a glass of port or sherry, and then think the matter out. He changed his clothes, carefully hanging the garments in the closet, put on a loose-fitting smoking jacket, then immediately returned downstairs. The fire was crackling in the library and he sat for a long while in front of its warm flames. Like a romantic fool he’d spent the day thinking about
her
. A bitter grown escaped his throat. He ws completely, inescapably in love with Dawn Landon. Totally besotted, as Oliver had said.

The situation was rather ironic when he recalled their first
meeting on the docks. He’d wanted to strangle her then; now he wanted to take her into a far different embrace, to hold her and never let her go. At the thought of a life without her he felt an aching emptiness deep within him, a loneliness for which therewasno solace.

His lips twisted in a smile. He had always prided himself on being above emotional entnglements, but he had taken quite a tumble. It was a damning admission and yet an honest one. Damn but he could hardly leave her alone. Even now it took all his self-control not to get back in the new curricle and have Vinnie drive him to her. But he would not.

“Dinner, sir.”

Strange but he, who usually hastened to the dinner table, had no appetite. He found himself remembering what she had
said about the callousness of his social class towards the poor. Certainly
he
for all his talk, had done little to alleviate the poverty in the streets. He’d concentrated on designing buildings for the fashionable parts of London and shunned any projects for the poorer sections.

Walking to the fireplace, he picked up a decanter and poured himself a glass of sherry, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. Except for the kindness he had once shown a little begger girl, he had no claim to sainthood. Tilting his head back, he
drained his drink in a single gulp and threw the glass into the fire

Bloody damn, but he had to admire Dawn Landon’s spunk. To have
worked so hard at her diction as to have fooled him must have taken a great deal of fortitude. She had raised herself up so high he had put her on a pedestal. Now that he thought about it clearly, perhaps that was where she belonged. Margaret Pembrooke had seen a diamond in the rough and given it polish. The creation was astounding.

But marry her
? Somehow he still couldn’t come to terms with what she had been, what she had done. “Allow me to introduce my wife, but please keep a firm hand on your watch,” he mimicked wryly. He needed some time, he thought, pouring himself another glass of sherry. How easily a man could become a victim of his own heart. 
Marry her? Ha
! With cool desperation and grim resolve he tried to keep his emotions in check, returning to the fireplace to stare into the dancing flames as if he would find the answer to his dilemma there.