Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

“I’m going to marry the baron’s son one day.”

~Whispered promise from a viscount’s eldest daughter to her sister, 1814

“ T hat scoundrel,” Cece said and tore the sheet of paper into pieces. She tossed the slivers in the air and watched them flutter like snowflakes to the faded Axminster lining Edgerly’s back parlor. She’d nearly perfected Jasper Noble’s signature, a bold scrawl designed to evade, like the man. An effort to pass the time in an agonizing day and a troublesome project without her loupe.

What had she been thinking, leaving it there for him to find? As if he cared.

“Arrogant, adorable rat .” Tapping her quill to the desk, she glanced at the mantel clock. Two days had slipped by without an apology, and this fact had begun to prick like a splinter wedged beneath her skin. The time without him had given her the opportunity to run through every moment they’d spent destroying his wobbly bed.

Every magnificent, vexing moment.

He’d cradled her face and stared into her eyes as they sought their release, something the young man hadn’t. Magnificent wasn’t really the proper word for the experience.

Then, he’d averted his gaze as soon as the discussion turned to the future—this wholly unlike the baron’s son. He’d known exactly what he wanted even if he didn’t end up getting it.

Vexing, the entire situation. She was wrapped in memories of him whispering minx in her ear as he shivered and shook. Oh, so glorious. But after, while he held her in his arms, he’d claimed the times they’d made love in Northumberland were his first three sins—and that he’d added three more in his vacant little cottage.

Very vexing when she wondered if he was counting and had determined six sins was his limit.

The nerve, Cece seethed and ripped another sheet to shreds. Sins .

Although he’d said it with a smile, a tender tilt of lips she’d bruised with her own. Then, they’d gotten caught in another round of passion when she climbed atop him, the breaking-the-bed session. Heavens, they’d been wild.

With more time than she’d like for reflection because there was no man on bended knee apologizing to her, Cece was stunned to realize she not only liked the person Crispin had become, but she also loved him. The hint of vulnerability surrounding such a formidable man attracted her in ways the boy hadn’t. He was ruthless, yet kind, determined, yet caring, his complexities bundled up in a captivating package. Truthfully, Jasper Noble’s storied past would have been more than young Cece could handle. His scars and his cynicism, not to mention the fight she’d had to wage to bring him around, demanded a woman’s will, not a girl’s.

She’d presumed she was doing the right thing by refusing to hide in the cottage and let another scandal get the better of him—and her. Her reputation was finished in any case. What did a former lover of her lover truly matter if Cece owned his heart? She either married a rookery reprobate or retreated to Northumberland with her son and played a widowed countess never to be heard from again.

Both were, as Crispin had warned, social annihilation.

Nonetheless, she was finished living someone else’s version of her life.

She sighed and glanced at the scorched copy of the Gazette smoldering in the hearth. Whoever had ratted had left her out of the story entirely. They’d fingered his former paramour… while leaving her untouched. She wouldn’t put it past Nelson to send a note to a journalist, she really wouldn’t. He’d begged her to stay after the debacle and put the “laddie,” as he’d called Crispin for ages, out of his lovesick misery and in a proper place.

Cece hummed and rolled the quill across her lips. Was he lovesick? Crispin hadn’t been honest about his feelings because he was now a crook, but she hadn’t been honest, either.

She hadn’t come to London to get to know him again.

She’d come to get him. Period. A sacrifice of pride she was willing to allow because she was the one who’d rejected him. Fair was fair.

Cece tossed another hostile glance at the clock. Enough was enough with this withholding business. They’d concealed emotions and lied about intent. Flirted, teased, and argued, like always. With their bodies still pulsing from lovemaking, he’d held her as if she mattered, as if they mattered. A glorious night spent in a ramshackle dwelling that looked near to tumbling down upon them. A shack she’d move into tomorrow if he’d promise to build another bedchamber for Josiah. She’d only need to transport her horse from Northumberland and find a way to return home every now and again. Her needs, aside from Crispin and Josiah, were little.

She chewed on her thumbnail and paced to the bookcase and back.

Where was he?

The heavy footfall in the corridor had Cece swinging toward the door. Her heartbeat rang in her ears as emotion flooded her body. How was it possible to miss someone this much? On the other hand, she couldn’t be too agreeable since the rat had made her wait two days—but extreme spite wasn’t required. Cece wasn’t the shrew type.

Love negotiations required a delicate balance .

She understood Crispin’s world had collided with hers when a scoundrel who wasn’t the scoundrel she’d been expecting stepped into the parlor. As Cece’s heart raced, he leaned to angle his immense frame through the doorway, his smirk too satisfied for her to be anything but the person he’d been looking for.

“I’ve come to talk, that’s it,” he said and smoothed his hand down his chest. Lamplight struck the bands of gold on his fingers and the bejeweled buttons on his waistcoat. The air of menace surrounding him said more than words about what he’d do to a person if he wasn’t happy.

He’d fit right in with Leighton Cluster should they be seeking a new associate.

Before she could think to run, to shout, to move, the knave shook his head and settled into an armchair with a lazy sprawl, practically the only piece in her home capable of holding him. She swallowed and took a step back, her gaze fixed on his hands. Signet rings, he was wearing signet rings. Grinning, he flexed to show them off. She imagined him ripping them from someone’s fingers and then breaking bones.

“Sit. Please,” he murmured in a voice recounting a life spent in the underworld, nothing half regal, half ragged like Crispin’s about it. He motioned to her escritoire, his request a clear command. “We have business dealings, little miss. A shade early for brokering as I’m a man of the evening, but a guv must work with what he’s given, I always say. You need better latches on your doors if I’m able to give a slice of advice. Once they start to rust and stick, they’re fit for the rubbish bin.”

Giving her time to obey, he straightened a cravat a duke’s valet couldn’t have done a finer job fashioning and kicked his polished boots atop a table that rocked wildly with the motion. “I didn’t want to chance coming upon your boy and his keeper. They left not an hour ago by way of the park, so we have time. Children shouldn’t be part of professional dealings unless there’s a reason.”

Well, Cece reasoned, her stomach clenching, that settled that.

Channeling Jasper Noble’s enviable composure, Cece slid into the chair behind her desk. She pressed her palms atop her folio to control the tremors. Thankfully, they were slight even as her pulse thumped. “What ‘professional dealings’ could you possibly have with a reclusive widow with a dubious reputation? I’m a nobody, a country mouse.”

Her unwelcome visitor flashed a smile of genuine amusement. “Country mouse,” he repeated with a gusty laugh. “I can see why Noble fancies you. I’d never have guessed that filcher would get caught in some chit’s noose. Refined matrons usually look like a piece of fruit left too long in the sun, but you, nary a wilt about you.” He tilted his head, eyes the tawny color of one of the stones in his rings gleaming in the sconce’s glow. “I reckon Noble’s confusion is understandable as his customary taste runs to doxies, like the lady who came for a swim the other night. Society don’t alter them much from the ones taking blunt for their services, only the posh attire and the polished speech acting as camouflage. Many a light-skirt’s got a bigger heart. Anyhow, it’s unfortunate your man can’t keep his snug transactions out of the rags, that’s the truth of it.” He knocked his bootheel to the table. “Because it led me right to you.”

“Has Noble done something which requires repayment?” She leaned in until the desk’s scrolled edge cut into her ribs. “Is that what this is about?” Cece would be incensed if so, however, she had to admit she’d agreed to dance with the devil—and everyone knew where dancing with a devil got a girl.

Her captor gave a muscle-popping stretch and reached into the inner pocket of his superfine coat. Pulling a folded sheet loose, he rose and placed it before her. His broad shadow crossed over her, cutting out light and freedom. She was ensnared, his threats about everyone she loved seizing her as surely as shackles. He was handsome, she had to admit. A face that would fit nicely on a sculpture in the British Museum. “Actually, little miss, it’s you I’m after. Noble’s done many things commanding repayment, or so I’ve heard, but he doesn’t step into my territory, and I don’t step into his. We crossed swords only the one time over a shipping concern I wasn’t willing to give up. We parted with a few bruises, a typical day on the docks. He knows better than to try to best a Spitalfields lad, and I don’t usually go Shoreditch way, though I’d have no trouble slicing his throat should he become a problem. That you’re his woman complicates the matter, but I’m given little choice. Since he joined the duke’s club, nobs aplenty, he’s close to running a proper enterprise. Legitimate even.” He muttered the last with pure venom.

Cece ironed the sheet flat, her breath catching. Oh . Glancing up, she tried to keep fury from her voice. Who was she to be cross about her own misdeeds?

“I can see you want to call me all sorts of ghastly names, so I’ll give you mine. Dorsey. Famous in the stews, unknown by the swells, chum to the footpads who patrol our streets and the representatives who fashion themselves the men of betterment for this fine city because I pay them for their friendship.” He bowed, a rather crooked attempt, then placed himself back in her groaning armchair. “I’m also known for fair dealings if …”

He left the conclusion of this meeting hanging on the word.

“Where did you get this?” The contract he had in his possession was one of the marital agreements she’d forged in Northumberland last year. A particularly difficult signature she’d worked on for days.

Dorsey smoothed his palm over his dazzling waistcoat, the plaid material and the gaudy buttons a strangely striking mix. “A cousin of a sister of a friend of a chap I use as an informant here and again. You’re notorious for being the swiftest countess forger in England. Northumberland Gold, they call you. Bet that name’s a surprise, little miss.” Sighing sympathetically, he gave one of his rings a twist. “Figures Noble would find you first. He’s got sound wits about him, he does. Mayhap I should have tried harder to forge a partnership back in the day. I’m beginning to respect the man.”

Cece slumped back, as astounded as she’d been in her life. Crispin was right. Her hobby was dangerous. People talked, no group more than domestics where gossip traveled from household to household like a fever. However, in a hidden corner she’d never admit existed, she was thrilled to have a scandalous nickname. Northumberland Gold .

A woman holding such an unsavory honor was suited to a former spy, wasn’t she?

“Don’t look so pleased. I’d tan your hide if it were mine to worry over. Noble has quite a fight on his hands.” He jacked his thumb over his shoulder. “Surprised he lets you reside here with those bum locks. Sad case for a bloke rumored to once hold a securities position.”

Cece glanced at the clock once more, judging she had less than an hour before Josiah and Mara returned, meaning she had to solve this unexpected problem now. “I’m not his concern, Mr. Dorsey. He doesn’t let me do anything.”

Dorsey snorted, grazing his knuckles beneath his chin. “Right-o, little miss, you go on telling yourself that.”

“I’m retired.” She dusted her shaking hands together. “My last forgery, done and gone.”

Dorsey held up a sliver of paper, one of the sheets she’d ripped to bits. Half a signature was clearly visible. Tucking the scrap in his fob pocket, he rolled his shoulders, his impatience finally showing. “Listen, Countess, I mean you no harm unless you find you can’t oblige my proposal. Then harm is on the table, I’m afraid, for you and yours. I’m a thief and you’re a forger, collaborators natural as can be. Think of it that way. Retire, if you genuinely mean to, in style. You come to Spitalfields, reproduce two signatures for me, only two, then I deposit you back from whence you came. Fit and fiddle, as they say. I’ll pay you a handsome sum and promise to never bring you into my dealings again. And I’ll knock anyone senseless who thinks to ask a favor of you, forever after. Northumberland Gold, no more. My protection, honest to the heavens, means more than Noble’s after he went and got involved with that lovesick bunch in Mayfair. Kittens, the lot of them. A cluster of fools, by my judgment.”

Cece pressed her hand to her belly to calm the nerves making it jump, no method of escape coming to her. “I don’t need your money.”

He shook his head dejectedly. “Try again. I had my investigator look into your financials.”

“He’s going to find me. Then, he’ll find you ,” Cece whispered with more certainty than she felt.

Dorsey linked his fingers and stretched again, cracking his knuckles. “I have no doubt. I’d overturn every cobble to find you were you my affair. By the time Noble shows, I’ll have those names on paper. When he and I have a chance to talk, once he understands you’re identifiable in the criminal arena, he’ll rethink his strategy. He’ll know I can help you retire yourself—but good. Point of fact, his arrival as your savior will keep me from having to escort you home.” He glanced around her parlor with a shudder. “Fuck’s sake, I hate Mayfair.”

“I don’t have my loupe,” Cece said, her final attempt at a stay of execution. She sighed at his blank expression. “It’s a magnification device I can’t work without. Not well, at any rate. What you have in your pocket are frustrated scribblings done without proper equipment.”

Dorsey’s grin was cunning as he got to his feet, his stance as smugly confident as Crispin’s. “I can get you any tool of the trade you require, little miss. Don’t imagine I can’t. Not as hard as finding a fancy telescope, I’ll tell you that. The museum is still looking for the bloody thing.”

Cece sighed. Did everyone in London know everyone else’s business?

Dorsey crooked his finger. “My carriage is parked in the mews. We’ll discuss the particulars of our deal along the way. You’ll find Spitalfields a welcoming place if you’re with me. I’m king in those parts.”

Cece scrubbed her palms on her thighs, beneath the table where he couldn’t see. “If I refuse?”

Dorsey removed his watch from a fob pocket and gave it a chilling glance. “When is your boy due home?”

Cece took a fast breath, shoving aside fear. “Mara will be frantic when she returns to find me gone.”

Dorsey pocketed his timepiece. “Leave a note. Nothing alarming, just the facts as you feel you can share them.”

“ To anyone reading this missive, I’ve been kidnapped. Is that what you’d like me to write, Mr. Dorsey?”

He strolled to her desk and bracing his hands atop the ledgers, leaned over her, tossing his immense shadow into her space once again. “Tell them what you will. Does she know about your hobby? Make it enough to keep Noble out of my way with time for you to sign two documents of extreme importance to the residents of Spitalfields. In return, I’ll pay you a proper fee, protect you during your travels, and take my thrashing from your man if it comes to that. He should have known better than to let a jewel of such talent lie out and about for anyone to pilfer.”

Slightly flattered when she shouldn’t be, Cece shook out her skirts and rose with the dignity of the countess she wished to leave behind.

“There you go, that’s the daring girl,” Dorsey murmured and had the gall to tweak her nose as if she was his little sister. “Look on the happy side, as my ma always cautioned I do. Maybe this scare will right Noble’s ship. You’ve never seen a man move faster than when he’s lost the most important article in his world.”