Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel

Chapter 2

The following afternoon Swindler discreetly followed Miss Watkins from her lodgings to Hyde Park. Holding a pink parasol over her left shoulder, she wore a dress of pale pink and a bonnet with matching ribbons. Her attire possessed a touch of innocence. He couldn’t fathom that she had it in for Lord Rockberry-regardless of how annoying he found the man. If the young lady was aware of Swindler’s presence, she gave no indication.

As usual, the park was teeming with ladies and gentlemen parading their wares-their fine clothing, their haughtiness, their steadfast belief that they were better than the common man. Swindler had little tolerance for the upper crust-except when it involved his friends who were moving into the ranks of the nobility with alarming regularity. Several years back they had discovered that from birth Lucian Langdon had been destined to become the Earl of Claybourne. Last year Jack Dodger had taken a widowed duchess as his wife. And Frannie Darling, the only woman Swindler ever truly loved, had recently married the Duke of Greystone. Swindler was sincerely happy for her. He’d always been unselfish in regard to Frannie, but unselfishness came with a steep price. His father had taught him that hard lesson, and Swindler had been paying for it ever since.

While his friends didn’t lord their stations over him, neither did they move around in the same circles any longer. It was the way of things. He didn’t resent their rise from the gutter, but he also recognized that he would always be known as the son of a thief.

He’d loved his father as he’d never since loved any other, save Frannie. Yet his father had left him with an incredible burden to bear. When he was a lad, some nights he’d wept beneath the weight of it. During others the fury had ruled him and he’d destroyed whatever came within his path. He’d lost track of the number of times when Frannie tended his hurts, gently wrapping his bleeding knuckles. His hands constantly ached from the abuse he’d delivered to them. His features had weathered the fights as well, leaving faint scars and a less than perfect profile in their wake. He wasn’t what he’d consider handsome, but he hoped there was at least strength in his countenance.

Not that he ever expected to attract a lady with it. Frannie was the only one he’d ever truly wanted. While she’d recently married, it had been a little over a year since she gave her heart to Greystone. Swindler wasn’t of a mind to seek another lady. He’d given Frannie his heart, and with her, it would remain. All he required now was an occasional woman to satisfy his baser needs. As he was known for giving women his undivided attention and serving up pleasure-even to those who’d never before experienced it-he had no trouble finding women wishing to spend an evening in his company. Even those accustomed to taking coins seldom took one of his.

Of late, while he satisfied women, none satisfied him, his actions more mechanical, derived from habit. He was always left with an ache in his chest-no doubt the result of his no longer possessing a heart. Although God help him, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a woman to bed.

Miss Eleanor Watkins saved him from his own deep thoughts, as she went to stand beside a tree that gave her a clear view of Rotten Row, no doubt awaiting the arrival of her quarry on his fine steed. While Swindler was supposed to be focused on the lady, he’d made a few inquiries regarding Rockberry. He now knew as well as she probably did that Lord Rockberry took a jaunt about the park every afternoon at precisely half past five.

No one seemed to pay any heed to her. The other ladies were occupied seeking to garner the men’s attention, and the men were more interested in the ladies who wanted to be seen, rather than the one who didn’t. It was all part of the ritual of shopping for a spouse. Approaching her might put her reputation at risk, but he was anxious to get on with this job.

Swindler began to amble toward Miss Watkins. He’d given considerable thought to how he would approach her. He would take on the role of interested gentleman, earn her trust, and then discern the reasons for her fascination with Rockberry-as well as exactly what she intended where the poppycock lord was concerned.

As he came up behind her, Swindler was hit with the fragrance of roses wafting from her. He didn’t remember the fragrance from last night. Perhaps it was because it was earlier in the day, the rose water only recently applied. It teased his nostrils as the scent of most women didn’t.

“Miss Watkins?”

She spun around. Her eyes-the shade of a cloudless sky-widened and her plump, rosy lips parted slightly. She quickly regained control. “Why, Mr. Swindler, isn’t it? What a surprise. I’d not expected to see you again.”

Whatever words he’d planned to deliver to disarm her jumbled in his mind like rattled dice within a cup. By the light of day she was an entirely different creature. So much had been hidden from him in the shadows of the night. Her skin was remarkably flawless, creamy alabaster with a hint of blush curving over her high cheekbones. Her eyes held innocence, softness he’d not noticed before. Her hair peeking out from beneath her bonnet was a pale moonlight, almost white. He was staring at the same woman he’d confronted last night, yet she was more lovely than he recalled. Something about her in the daylight managed to give him a sharp blow to the chest, making it difficult to draw in a breath-which he desperately wanted to do if for no other reason than to enjoy her scent once more.

She bestowed upon him a whimsical smile. “You’re not following me about, are you?”

He gave a brisk shake of his head and cleared his throat, giving himself time to regain his wits. Women didn’t have this power over him. Ever. Even the most skilled seductress might turn his body to mush, but never his mind.

“No,” he finally responded, hoping to charm her with one of his warmest smiles. As a child he’d collected a host of expressions that could be brought forth to help him acquire whatever he needed. Sad eyes when he was hungry and hoping for a scrap of food from a grocer or a cook at the back door of a residence, tears when he needed to draw a lady nearer in order to pilfer her hidden pockets. Cockiness when it was warranted. Humility when it would best serve to garner the prize. There were times when he’d decided he was a vast wasteland absent of emotions, except for those in his arsenal that he could conjure upon command. “Well, yes, I suppose I am in a way. I found something that I thought you might like to have. I was in the process of taking it to your lodgings when I spotted you walking up the street. I decided to present it personally rather than leave it with your landlady.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed a folded map of London and held it out to her. “So you might never again become lost.”

Her face lit with surprise and she laughed, a light airy sound that competed with the birds singing in the trees. As she took the map, her gloved fingers grazed his, and his gut tightened with the thought of her grazing something else entirely. He swallowed hard, striving to regain his bearings. She was only a woman, after all. A mark. And his facade had been carefully built just for her-it didn’t reflect his true self. That, he showed to only a select few.

“How very thoughtful.” Her expression was open when she lifted her gaze to his. How in God’s name did anyone think she’d inflict harm on a fly, much less a man? “You must have gone to a great deal of bother to find it.”

He’d gone to none at all. He’d bought it last year, when mapmakers had flooded the city with maps in anticipation of the many visitors who would come to London in order to view the Great Exhibition. He gave her a daring combination of humility and confidence. “Going to the bother was part of the gift.”

He hated the false words he uttered. It had never bothered him before to fool someone into revealing what he needed revealed. But then he feared he wanted more from her than was practical. He wanted her on his arm. He wanted her rising up on her toes as he lowered his head to meet her lips in a passionate kiss. He wanted her sharing his bed, whispering wicked words in his ear-even as he doubted her vocabulary included the vulgar words about which he was thinking. But he could teach her. He suspected she was a quick study.

But more, he yearned to have her sitting beside him before a fire, listening as he recounted his day, offering words of solace when he bore witness to the brutality and inhumanity of man. It was the last of these that made his desire for her impractical, because the horrors he encountered had no place in her safe world or her innocent mind.

He gave himself a hard mental shake. Whatever was wrong with him to have such fanciful thoughts? It was unlike him to think in such poetic terms. He was a realist. Practical.

“I truly have no idea how I shall ever repay your kindness,” she said.

“Perhaps you’d be so kind as to take a turn about the park with me.”

She glanced quickly around, and he wondered if she was searching for Rockberry or striving to ensure that no one she knew would see her with Swindler. “I don’t suppose it’ll do my reputation any harm. After all, you can’t take advantage here.”

She was innocent. Why ever did she think women required chaperones? A man would always take advantage if the opportunity to do so presented itself. Especially when the lady was as enticing as she was.

He gallantly offered his arm. When her small gloved hand lighted upon it, he felt the touch clear to the souls of his feet. As part of his attempt to gain her trust, he’d dressed the part of a gentleman: gloves, hat, a fine jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. He preferred clothes a bit more plain, but he always dressed better when his mark was a woman. Women seemed to appreciate a man who was well turned out. And he needed every advantage he could muster. Next to her, he felt like a clumsy clod, rather than Scotland Yard’s most brilliant and accomplished detective.

“You seem to have recovered very well from the ordeal you faced last night,” Swindler said, striving to keep his mind on the task at hand rather than his fanciful musings.

“Yes, quite. Thanks entirely to your efforts.”

“No lingering ill effects?”

“No, not even a bruise. It was frightfully silly of me to go out so late. I’m not quite sure what I was thinking. I shall certainly take more care in the future.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. Have you been in London long?” Swindler asked.

“What gives you the impression I didn’t grow up within the city?”

Tilting his head, he gave her a wry smile. “You became lost.”

She blushed, her cheeks turning the most becoming shade of rose. “Oh, yes. Quite. I’ve been in town for only a week.”

“Was there something in particular that brought you to London?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to see it.” She looked up at the sky as though searching for answers. “My sister visited last year. She was quite enamored with the sights. So I thought I’d come this summer.”

“A shame she didn’t come with you. Perhaps you’d have not gotten lost.”

She brought her gaze back around to him. “She passed recently.”

Setting his face to give no clue that the information was not new to him, he placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. When he squeezed her hand, he meant to impart comfort, possibly the first honest gesture toward her. “My condolences on your loss.”

He noted her hesitation before she revealed, “Our home is near the sea. She wandered…wandered too near the cliffs and fell to her death.”

An untimely end, indeed. Recalling Rockberry’s words, he wondered what role the man had played in the girl’s demise. He was tempted to confess everything to Miss Watkins and simply ask her what her true business was, and why she was following Rockberry. Instead, he continued on with the ruse, concerned that she might shy away from him if she suspected he was here because of duty. “Again, my condolences on your loss.”

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “My father took ill shortly afterward and passed as well. It’s been a very trying few months.”

“So you came to London.”

She smiled softly. “My sister spoke of all the wonders. She kept a journal. I read it after she died, and became quite envious of all she’d seen, and so here I am.”

“A woman traveling alone? You’re quite bold.”

“You flatter me, sir, but on this matter I have little choice. I have no aunts to accompany me, and no coins with which to hire a companion. And my mother is long gone. Elisabeth came first and I came last. Unfortunately, I believe I was too much for my mother.”

“Were you and your sister close in age, then?”

She gave him a warm smile. “Only minutes separated us.”

They were twins. No wonder Rockberry had been unsettled by the woman following him and suspected she was a ghost. “I hope you won’t consider me too inquisitive, but I wonder why you didn’t come to London with your sister last year.”

“My father could afford to send only one of us. Elisabeth was the older, if only by a few minutes. She had her coming out. A distant cousin provided her with an introduction to society. It was Father’s hope that she’d secure a fine match and then I’d have my turn.”

“So you’re here for your Season.”

“No, I…no. I can’t afford a Season. I simply came to London in order to see it.”

“This cousin won’t help you?”

“My family troubled her once”-she shook her head-“things didn’t go well for my sister. I’ll not take advantage of my cousin again. May we speak of something else?”

The sudden impatience in her voice alerted him that he was dangerously close to interrogating her. Usually he was more subtle, but suddenly with her he wanted to know everything and know it quickly, and not only because of duty. She was courageous, and perhaps a bit reckless, to travel alone. Yet he admired her determination not to require companionship in order to do as she wished. “My apologies for bringing up a sore subject.”

The tenseness in her face eased. “You had no way of knowing.”

And just as quickly the tension returned, her body stiffening, her steps faltering. He followed the direction of her gaze and watched as Rockberry loped along on his black mount. When Swindler looked back at her, she’d grown pale and all the sparkle had left her eyes, leaving behind deep pain and sorrow.

“Miss Watkins? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m sorry…I…I’m sorry.”

He glanced back in the direction Rockberry had gone. “Are you familiar with Lord Rockberry?”

Suspicion quickly lurked in Miss Watkins’s eyes. “How do you know him? Do you consider him a friend?” she asked.

He knew he needed to play the next bit very carefully. “I know him because I have friends who move about in his circles, and on occasion I’m unfortunate enough to be invited to their gatherings. As for his being a friend, no. Quite honestly, between you and me, I don’t much like the fellow.”

“I don’t fancy him either.”

“Then perhaps we should walk on, before he notices us and prances over. You’re a lovely woman, and from what I understand he can’t resist lovely women.” And while he knew Rockberry had danced with her sister, knew Miss Watkins was spending her time observing Rockberry, Swindler couldn’t let on that he knew any of those specifics. He had to keep his focus on his plan to entice her into revealing all to him, without letting on that he knew even the slightest bit regarding what she was about.

Another tantalizing blush crept up her cheeks before she nodded. Swindler wasn’t certain he knew any woman who blushed as easily or as becomingly, but then most of the women of his acquaintance were hardened by life, and had learned long ago not to give away the slightest hint of their feelings. He thought Miss Watkins might be the first genuine person to cross his path. Completely guileless. Whatever mischief possessed her to follow Rockberry could lead to no harm other than annoyance. It wasn’t in her nature to be ruthless or calculating.

She was following a lord around, irritating him. Why couldn’t Sir David realize that Miss Watkins was harmless? She would soon tire of plaguing Rockberry. No one was in danger here, and Swindler had more important matters to which he should attend. This assignment was petty foolishness.

Still, Swindler turned in a direction that would take him and Miss Watkins away from Rockberry and provide the marquess with only a view of their backs. Swindler didn’t trust Rockberry to have the good sense not to approach them and reveal his purpose. While Rockberry’s doing so would bring the assignment to a swift end, Swindler wanted its end to come on his terms.

“So how did you come to know Rockberry?” he asked after several moments of silence, when he was certain they were past being noticed by the odious man.

She shook her head. “I don’t know him personally. I’ve never met him.”

“But you know of him?”

She nodded, and he could see she was distressed.

“Miss Watkins, if he’s harmed you in any way, I shall-”

“No, not me. My sister. He trifled with Elisabeth, so I was curious about him. Shortly after I arrived in London, I asked someone to point him out to me.” She paused for a moment, as though wanting to take care with her words, with what she revealed, and it occurred to him that perhaps they were both playacting. Unfortunately for her, he was the master and would eventually discern whatever it was she wished to hide, while she’d learn very little about him.

He was fairly certain he knew the answer already. Rockberry had undoubtedly ruined her sister, and Elisabeth had flung herself from the cliff rather than live with the shame of it. She who was to marry well and help her sister have her own Season had failed miserably. As for Eleanor, perhaps she was striving to discover if Rockberry was worth her sister’s affection.

Whatever her reasons, he found himself intrigued by the challenge she presented. He quickly grew bored with women who gave too much, too easily, and while it was her motives, her plans, that he sought, he saw no reason that the quest couldn’t be enjoyable for them both.

“I…I’m sorry, Mr. Swindler,” she finally said. “I’ve had quite enough of the park. I must return to my lodgings. Thank you ever so much for the map. I shall put it to good use, I assure you.”

“Will you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you home? I can see you’re upset. I’d like to ensure you arrive safely.”

She blinked as though his words were not what she’d expected, or perhaps not what she wanted. At last she nodded.

As they walked on in silence, she was very much aware of Mr. Swindler’s gaze riveted on her. She wondered what he was thinking, if he was as unexpectedly drawn to her as she was to him. She’d been surprised by that, by how his presence in the park had affected her. His features were strong, almost craggy, like her beloved jagged coastline, which could appear beautiful one moment and deadly dangerous the next.

She could imagine him standing on the deck of a ship, legs akimbo. His muscles strained the fabric of his jacket. In spite of his largeness, there was a gentleness, about him, almost a playfulness. Yet he also possessed a darker side. Now and then she caught a glimpse of it in his eyes. She thought it should have frightened her. Instead she was intrigued.

If anyone had asked her, even a year ago, what she would do if she ever was granted the opportunity to visit London, she would have innocently-and perhaps all too naively-answered that she intended to attend glorious balls, fabulous dinners, and an occasional opera. She might have even mentioned that she hoped to fall in love. Twelve months earlier-no, as little as nine months earlier-she had believed that London was the place where the daughter of an inconsequential viscount could find happiness, could achieve the realization of her dreams for a loving husband, a good marriage, and contentment. She had thought the nobility was to be admired, had not considered that some among them were hideously dangerous. That some, like the Marquess of Rockberry, would find enjoyment luring young women into the fires of hell.

With the reading of her sister’s journal, her life and her reason for coming to London had taken a drastic turn.

The lodging house came into view. It was modest, her two rooms small, but comfortable.

“Thank you for escorting me home,” she said.

“It was my pleasure.” He gave her a grin that could have been teasing, could have been warning. “I do hope you won’t wander the streets alone tonight. I would be sorely aggrieved if anything untoward were to happen to you.”

“I plan to retire early,” she assured him.

“I’m glad to hear it. I shall look forward to seeing you at the park tomorrow, perhaps a bit earlier. Say around two?”

His startling green eyes wandered slowly over her as though they provided him with the means to see inside her soul. Their shade reminded her of the verdant grass in the middle of summer, and how often she’d run barefoot across it as a child. But she saw no softness in his gaze, nothing to tickle the souls of her feet. It was imperative that she not become lost in those eyes. She wondered how many women had. They were his most striking feature. Through them, she could almost see the cleverness of his mind. He gave the impression that he was relaxed, at ease, and yet she could fairly see the wheels turning.

With her cheeks growing warm, she wished her purpose in coming to London was different. She tried not to think that if she’d been the first to come to the city, she would not have made Elisabeth’s mistakes. She’d even tossed Elisabeth’s failings in her face-before discovering the journal and coming to understand all that her sister had endured. She shouldn’t enjoy a man’s attentions now, but she seemed unable to help herself. “An earlier outing would be most welcome. I shall probably be there, yes.”

“Until tomorrow, then.” He tipped his hat and began to walk away.

She hurried up the steps and opened the door using the key that Mrs. Potter, her landlady, had given her. She walked into the entryway and was immediately greeted by the fragrance of furniture wax and fresh flowers.

Mrs. Potter bustled out of the parlor, wiping her hands on the hem of her apron. Her black hair had begun to turn into silver, her face had lost the firmness of youth. She had a penchant for gazing out windows, an even greater one for inciting gossip. “That’s him, Miss Watkins, the man I told you about, the one who’s been making inquiries about you.”

“Is he?” She’d suspected as much when Mrs. Potter described him.

“He gave me a crown not to tell you, but my loyalty is to my tenants, especially as you’re alone. Is he a suitor?”

“If I’m fortunate, yes. You will let me know if you see him about anymore, won’t you?”

“Oh, most assuredly.”

“Thank you.” She went up the stairs. Inside her corner room, she walked to the window and peered between the draperies. She didn’t see Mr. Swindler. She wondered if he’d walked on or circled back to watch her room from some vantage point. She was fairly convinced now that he was Rockberry’s man, sent to keep an eye on her. If he meant more harm than that, surely he’d have already seen to it.

She removed from her reticule the map Mr. Swindler had given her. Clever man to devise so sweet an excuse for approaching her. But still, she had no plans to underestimate him.

In the light of day she’d been surprised by his height and the breadth of his shoulders. But it was more than his size that was so dangerous. It was what she’d seen in his face. He looked to be a man who could kill someone simply by wishing him dead. He was not one to be deceived, and yet she planned to do exactly that-deceive him. Deceive him into befriending her, into wanting her, until he would do anything to protect her-even fall on his own sword.