What a Rogue Desires Page 6

  “I—I was so sorry to see you hurt,” she cried.

  “No doubt. And yet, when I acted on my gentlemanly instincts and tried to make certain you were recovered, no one seemed to know precisely where you had gone.” He put his head to one side, smiling a smile that made Vivian’s blood run absolutely hot with fury. He was toying with her. She wanted to claw his eyes out for it.

  “That was very kind of you, but—”

  “But completely pointless,” he finished for her. “Did it take long to rejoin your accomplices?”

  “I—but—no—” She covered her face with both hands, trying to gather her panicked thoughts. How had he sussed out most of their operation, just from looking at her? She had to get away, had to warn the others that someone was on to them and would be setting the constables on them. It was definitely time to move on, all the way to Scotland perhaps. “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she bleated piteously.

  “There, dear,” he said. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it. Rest your nerves. The answer will come to you soon enough, I expect.”

  Vivian finally decided to resort to weeping, something she only employed in desperate circumstances. It was always useful to keep one weapon in her arsenal in reserve. But these circumstances were desperate, like no others she could remember, and so she scrunched up her face and set to crying in the most pathetic manner she possibly could.

  “A magnificent performance,” he commented after a few moments. Vivian swiped at her eyes, trying not to glare at him.

  “What else can I do? You won’t believe a word I say.”

  “True,” he agreed. “I won’t.” But the carriage was coming to a stop. She risked a glance out the window. If he would get out, or better yet, let her out, she would be gone in a flash.

  Her captor pushed open the door himself and jumped down. His figure filled the doorway. “Come along now,” he said.

  She clutched her reticule in front of her chest. “No.”

  The wretched man’s face didn’t change. Vivian swallowed hard, battling back fear and fury. “I said, come along,” he repeated. “Or I shall make you.”

  What the ruddy hell did he plan to do? Terrible images whirled through her mind. She dug the worn toes of her boots into the carriage floor, bracing herself. “No.”

  He leaned toward her, his hands on either side of the doorway. “Come,” he said in a silky voice that almost sounded seductive. Vivian balled her left hand into a fist. She had to time this just right….

  “If you insist.” Faster than expected, he lunged forward and seized her wrist, dragging her half out of the carriage. Vivian gave a startled little shriek, swinging wildly as he pulled her off balance and sideways. Her fist connected, pretty well to judge by the pain that shot up her arm, but he just gave a tiny grunt and then laughed. The blackguard laughed.

  Now fighting in earnest, Vivian still found herself hauled out of the carriage and held upright against him, his one arm around her waist and his other around her shoulders. He adjusted his hold, and she found herself on her tiptoes. She clawed at his hand, scrabbling with her toes for balance, and his hand came to rest at her throat. He had a big hand. She could feel his fingers sweep lightly across the base of her neck, and she went still, her heart about to burst from beating so hard.

  “You’ve lost the fight,” he whispered in her ear. “I don’t intend to hurt you, so cease trying to hurt me.”

  She swung her feet a little, desperately trying to get some leverage. Her worn half boots wouldn’t do any serious damage, even if she could kick him. “Let me go,” she said between her teeth. “I’ll cry murder!”

  He sighed. “The neighbors won’t pay it any mind, my dear.” With a squeeze around her waist, he lifted her a little higher and proceeded to walk up the steps into a house that looked immensely forbidding to Vivian. In fact, now that she looked around, she realized how deep in trouble she was. This was a fancy neighborhood, with clean-swept walks and wide streets and houses that gleamed in the morning light. As he mounted the steps, seemingly untroubled by her writhing, a man opened the door, his expression completely neutral.

  “Help!” she cried, not having to feign her fear. “He’s hurting me!”

  The man didn’t even look at her. “Welcome home, my lord,” he said, stooping to pick up the hat her struggles had knocked from his master’s head.

  “Ah, Bannet,” said Vivian’s captor, setting her on her feet but keeping a tight hold on her. He sounded a trifle out of breath, nothing more. “Have a guest room prepared at once for…” He hesitated a moment. “My guest.”

  “I won’t stay here,” she shrieked, more, even more terrible, images filling her mind. Good Lord, this must be his home, and he could lock her up and do whatever he wished to do to her. Vivian had heard more than enough about the depraved behavior of upper-class gentlemen. At the realization that he meant to keep her a prisoner, subject to anything he wanted to do to her, she clasped her hands and jabbed her elbow back, right into his side. He gave a sharp hiss of pain, flinching away from her. Vivian lunged for the door, but his grip, though loosened, was still tight enough to keep her.

  “Never mind, Bannet,” he said grimly, dragging her toward the stairs. “She can sit in the dust.”

  “Very good, sir,” said the servant. He hadn’t moved a muscle since picking up the hat, which he still held. He wouldn’t help her, Vivian realized. She would have to save herself. Each step up the stairs seemed another step closer to whatever horror awaited her, and she screamed until her throat burned.

  At the top of the stairs he turned left, jerking her back to her feet when she tried to pretend a faint. “It’s no use,” he said, as he opened a door. “I’m not in the mood to be fooled any longer.” And he gave her a little push, into a large, dusty room.

  Then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock.

  Eyeing him warily, her chest heaving, Vivian took a step backward, and then another. He looked rather dangerous, to tell the truth. His black hair must have been tied back, for now it was falling loose about his face, much longer than most gentlemen wore their hair. His face was pale, but his dark eyes seemed lit by an unearthly light that was much more frightening even than his stance, arms folded across his chest and booted feet apart, like a sentinel at the door. He looked huge and dark and very threatening, and Vivian felt dizzy with fear as she caught sight of a bed, not four feet away from her.

  “That was my broken rib, bloodthirsty wench,” he said. “I promise not to hurt you, but only if you don’t try to hurt me.”

  Vivian licked her lips, inching backward and thinking frantically. “I didn’t know it was broken.”

  “Somehow I think it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  Vivian kept her mouth shut. Of course it would have, she thought; if I’d known, I’d have hit it harder, and sooner.

  “Nevertheless,” he went on, “I shall overlook it. All I want are my belongings. Return them, and you’ll be free to rob and assault any other chap you choose. Do we have a bargain?”

  “I don’t have them,” she said again. “Truly I don’t.”

  He started toward her, his boot heels thudding loudly and ominously. “You’ll just have to get them.”

  She swallowed and backed away. “How could I do that, locked in here?”

  His mouth curled in a frightening hint of smile. “That’s for you to solve, isn’t it?”

  In spite of herself, her temper was getting away from her. “You liar,” she cried. “How dare you say you want me to get you something I don’t have, then lock me up so I couldn’t get it even if I did! I’ll fight you, I will, you won’t have an easy time of it with me—”

  “I’ve managed so far,” he cut her off. Vivian didn’t move, holding her ground but tensed for any action that might be necessary. His eyes were as black as night, and incredulously, she thought they were amused. Her stomach turned; this was all a sick joke to him. “Should you wish to tell me
who has my possessions, and where that person is, I’d be delighted to have someone else do the fetching. And then you’ll be free.” He smiled charmingly. “It sounds so easy, doesn’t it?”

  “You can’t keep me here!” she screeched. “This is kidnapping!”

  He tilted his head, that infernal smile still on his face. How she longed to slap it away. “Shall I summon the authorities?” he asked conversationally. “You can tell them your story. No doubt they’ll be very sympathetic, particularly when you explain how you came to be selling stolen goods to Burddock. And, of course, you can mention the kidnapping.”

  Vivian’s heart thumped and her chest heaved with breathing. She thought furiously, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She didn’t have an excuse for having his belongings, let alone trying to sell them. She caught her breath and held it, then let it go in a little sob. “But I don’t know anything,” she said, screwing up her eyes and trying to conjure up some more piteous tears. “All right—the truth is, someone gave me those things to sell and said he would share the profits with me if I did. Please, sir, please let me go, I don’t know anything about your ring—”

  “You’re very good,” he said admiringly. “I’d wager a guinea you’d shoot me through the heart if you had a pistol. How much did he promise you?”

  “Wha—? Why—” Vivian swiped at her eyes with her fingertips, trying to think. “Five shillings, sir.”

  “Five shillings is small gratitude for selling stolen goods,” he commented. “You really ought to have asked for a percentage of the price, particularly on fine pieces. Why didn’t you bargain with him after you spoke to Burd-dock yesterday?” Suddenly he leaned forward, and Vivian couldn’t repress a small squeak. “Where is it?” he asked softly. His dark hair fell forward around his face, which combined with his lethally quiet question to give him a deadly air. For the first time Vivian felt a shiver of fear, not just for her virtue but for her life. She was alone here, and no one she knew would ever find her if he made good on his threats to lock her up. “Where is it?” he demanded again when she said nothing. She jumped as he slammed his hand against the wall behind her—she hadn’t even realized she had her back literally to the wall—and shrank back as he crowded even closer, towering over her. “Let me be clear,” he said in the same terrifying tone. “I want that ring back, and I shall have it. Whether you cooperate or not.”

  “You’ll never get it back if you don’t let me go.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  He placed his other hand against the wall, trapping her in place. “Then you’ll be my guest here, until you decide to be more cooperative.”

  At that, her temper abruptly overtook her fear, and she pushed at his chest. He didn’t move. “Let me by,” she said through her teeth, “or you’ll sore regret it.”

  His only answer was a slow grin that seemed to dare her to prove her words. She ground her teeth and slipped her hands behind her back. “You’ve made a mistake, mate,” she tried one last time. “I don’t have your ring, and I can’t get it, not stuck here blathering with you. You want it back? You let me go, then you pay another visit to your favorite fence in a day or two. He’ll have the goods, I swear to that. We’ll all be happy then, aye?” And she pressed her little blade against his side.

  He looked down. “In your sleeve, I suppose,” he said. “Damned careless of me.”

  “Aye, damned careless,” she agreed. “Let me pass.”

  He tilted his head from side to side, studying the blade. “Right.” He leaned back, and Vivian stepped sideways out from between him and the wall, keeping the blade pointed at him. “I would, except,” he went on, pausing significantly. Vivian scurried backwards toward the door, stumbling a little on the edge of the carpet. He followed at arm’s length, moving slowly but with his attention fastened on her intently. Too intently. She reached the door and rattled the knob, remembering too late he had locked it.

  “Give me the key,” she said. He rocked back on his heels, and drew the key from his pocket.

  “This key?” Now it was his turn to mock her. “Come get it.” He tossed it in the air and caught it with his other hand, dangling the key from his fingertips.

  Vivian swallowed. Damn him. Damn her for forgetting about the bloody key. She ought to have stuck him at the start and been done with it, even though it was highly unlikely her little blade would incapacitate him. His smile grew wicked. “We seem to have reached an impasse,” he said, examining the key before stowing it back in his pocket. She eyed the pocket, and gripped her knife. If she threw it and hit him, she might be able to get the key and escape. Then again…They’d string her up for attempted murder if she so much as pricked a cove like him. She lowered the knife, glowering.

  “As I was saying,” he said. “I would let you go, but I’ve lost something important to me, something I want back. And like you, my dear, I’m hard-headed enough to stick to my course even in defiance of reason and logic.” He smiled. “Unlike you, though, I shall get what I want.”

  Vivian threw the knife. To her shock he caught it, just caught it, straight out of the air as he ducked aside. Cursing, she scrambled for the window, preferring to be spattered on the ground than at his mercy, only to be caught by the arm and swung around until he had her around the waist again, her back tight against him. She kicked and swore some more as he thoroughly and roughly ran his hand over her, finding the second little knife she had in her stocking. He pulled that one out and held it before her eyes. “Mustn’t be careless again,” he murmured. “Is that all?”

  She snarled at him. He laughed, and turned her loose. Vivian backed away, hating him for blocking her in, like a mongrel dog about to be put down. He picked up her reticule from the floor, took a quick look inside, and dropped it on the bed.

  “Don’t take on so,” he said. “I’ve given my word I shan’t hurt you, although only if you refrain from trying to kill me.” He pointed the knife he’d just removed from her stocking at her in admonishment. “Not very well done.” He paused. “What’s your name, Mrs. Gray?” She glared at him. “Hmm. No matter. You know my terms. When you’re disposed to talk, I’ll be disposed to listen. In the meantime…” He gave a small bow. “Welcome to my home.” And he left, taking both knives—and the key—with him.

  David examined the wicked little blades in the hallway. Cheap, thin metal, barely a handle to speak of, but effective nonetheless. He took out his handkerchief and squeezed it around the cut her first knife had left on his fingers. He could hardly blame her for that, since she couldn’t have expected him to grab it in his fist like a circus performer. That had startled her, he knew, and he grinned again at the memory of her expression. Oh, yes, he liked the mysterious Mrs. Gray. Which was surely proof beyond proof that he was a fool.

  Because…what was he to do with her now? He had expected the young highwayman, or even the older one; he had expected the thief to crumble under threats of being turned over to the Runners. David didn’t especially want to involve the Runners, although he never would have admitted it to his captive. He was quite aware that some of his own activities in the recent past would not reflect well on his credibility, and he preferred to keep a law-abiding distance from anyone with the power to arrest him for misdeeds past, present, or future. It had been a different matter when he’d expected to have his belongings returned and could simply turn the thief over to Bow Street. He wasn’t at all certain they would approve of his methods now, though. The prickly Mrs. Gray had inadvertently called his bluff, and now he had gone and locked her in his own house.

  Well. In for a penny, in for a pound, he told himself. He might as well follow through on his words and keep her a while, to see if he could wear her down and get the ring back after all. David knew he was quite good at talking people into things, particularly when those people were female. And if the opportunity arose to talk her out of her drab old sack of a dress, he would probably sacrifice himself to that task, too. But only as a last resort,
he reminded himself virtuously.

  He glanced back at the door, thinking. Was there anything in there she might use as a weapon or a means of escape? He didn’t think so, just because there was very little in the room at all. His stepmother had made some effort to furnish the house when he first bought it, but that was years ago and no one had bothered to keep it up since. He never had guests, after all. But now he did, and no doubt he’d have to post someone outside the door to make certain she didn’t escape or burn down his house in his absence.

  Punctuating that thought, his footman, or butler, shuffled up the stairs. Bannet was a rather dodgy fellow. He was one of the few servants who hadn’t cut line and left during David’s latest difficulties. That would all change, though, thanks to David’s vow of responsibility and honesty, not to mention prompt payment of wages. He’d already found entries in Marcus’s ledgers indicating his brother had paid his servants twice this year alone—not that it seemed to keep them from leaving without notice at inconvenient moments.

  “Bannet, see to it Mrs. Gray has meals brought to her room, without knives, and take care of her other needs. She’s not to go out, though.” He handed over the key.

  Bannet took the key without the slightest sign of surprise or alarm that his master intended to keep a woman locked up. David gave him a measured look; was that normal? Where had Bannet been previously employed, he wondered.

  But the servant just gazed placidly back at him. “Yes, sir. What shall I serve her, sir?”

  As tempted as he was to say ‘bread and water,’ David restrained himself. That was exactly what she would expect, no doubt. “She’s my guest, Bannet,” he said. “Serve her as you would a guest.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Bannet, unfazed. “But what shall that be? Cook gave notice and left this morning.”

  David only just managed not to curse out loud. Why would Cook quit now, when he was back in town and feeling responsible? “Why?” he snapped. “Why did no one tell me?”