Page 10 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

Dark Streets

Roland’s new valet yanked the coat over his shoulders none too gently. Wilfred had found an old acquaintance of his to take over valet duties, and Daly, unsurprisingly, had been a prize-winning bareknuckle boxer before deciding he would rather see to a viscount’s toilette than get his nose broken again.

“Quite wonderful,”

Daly said brightly. “I see some muscle coming back, I do. Shall we box later today?”

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

Roland yawned. The dinner the night before with Roxbury had been quite nice, only marred when Tristan and Ransom had entered the club. Roland had sternly warned his brother that his allowance could not afford heavy losses, and Tristan had stormed away. His foul mood had not allowed Roland to sleep soundly and he hoped for a nap after lunch. “When did Tristan return?”

“Young master has not yet returned,”

Daly said evenly, giving Roland’s clubbed hair a last check before declaring Roland fit for the public.

Roland went to the hallway, his lips pursed in consternation. Perhaps Tristan was deep in Roland’s sideboard again.

Roland opened the door to his study and barely ducked before a knife flew limply where his head had just been.

“You need to whip your wrist more,”

Aria told Sage critically. “That was the limpest throw I have ever seen.”

Sage stared at Roland in abject horror.

“Sage, it’s quite all right. There’s no possible way that could have killed me. Sister, could we not practice with the weapons in the garden?”

Roland asked mildly. Pinkie had taught Aria knives at a young age and Roland agreed with the practice. The more defenses a woman had, the better.

“I only needed to show her something quickly before we left,”

Aria admonished, taking the knife Roland had retrieved for her. “And the drawing room faces the street. I don’t like people watching me. In any matter, you have all the best weapons in here.”

“Never the matter. Are you ready?”

Roland said, hoping in vain that his brother would present himself.

“Naturally.”

Aria entered the hallway and stopped, stock-still. “Damn it all.”

Roland followed Aria and repressed the urge to repeat Aria’s curse.

Remy stood in the hallway coming from the back of the house, Tristan in a heap at his feet. Aria let out a soft whuff as she removed her gloves and went over to toe her brother not gently.

“Is he drunk or did you knock him down?”

Aria asked the newest club owner in London.

“We found him asleep under a table. He was losing rather badly last night. I stopped him because he’s your brother but I won’t do it again.”

Remy nodded at the ladies. Roland did not miss how his eyes lingered on Aria.

“Thank you, Remy. We do appreciate it,”

Roland said, stiffly. “Aria, please ring for the footmen.”

“Footman. One. And he’s in Hertfordshire, visiting his mother. Here, you take his shoulders, I will take his legs.”

Aria went to Tristan’s feet. “This won’t be the first time I’ve had to help carry him to his room.

“No. Stop. I’ll do it. Please see that more footmen are hired tomorrow,”

Roland said. He pinched the bridge of his nose, appalled. “Remy, we thank you for your assistance. Aria, please see Mr. Remington out.”

Roland hefted his brother over his shoulder and made a heroic effort to not drop his brother. Remy harrumphed and took Tristan back on his shoulders. The damage to Roland’s pride was middling.

“I’ll get the lad to bed. And then I’ll let myself out.”

Remy stared at Roland pointedly, silently promising not to ravish the virgins in the house. Remy had been one of the rescuers who had broken Roland out of prison. While Roland was grateful, he did not believe his gratitude should extend to letting Remy take on his own responsibilities.

In the chaos of the Gordon Riots, Remy had managed to wrestle a casino for himself. Roland was not certain how legal the enterprise was and was certainly not supportive of having a casino owner under the same roof as his sister.

“Thank you ever so much, Remy,”

Aria said brightly. She let the maid help her into a cloak. “Come brother, we’re going to be late.”

Roland stared at the possible criminal carrying his brother up the stairs, and then turned to watch his sister and his ward walking out the front door. He also thought of the work waiting on his desk and the cargo sitting in the warehouse, waiting for inspection and loading.

Then he remembered a pair of pale hazel eyes, and that decided him. Roland took his hat from the maid and went to seek a glimpse of solace.

****

Sabina picked up the basket of broken biscuits, pies, and old fruit from the kitchen with a quick thanks to the distracted chef. The chef waved his hand and returned to his intense perusal of the tea tray meant for the twins. Sabina smiled and exited toward the back of Verdon House.

She had a half day to herself on Thursdays and there was a charity school in St. Giles that let her teach arithmetic each Thursday. Sabina was not even particularly proficient at arithmetic but that was the capacity needed at the school. She missed teaching so much that she would have done shadow puppets for the children. The Villiers girls were studious but teaching children was a different sort of wonder.

Sabina stopped, the basket swinging on her arm, and stared. Roland stood at the foot of the kitchen steps.

“My lord.”

Sabina curtseyed from muscle memory, her wits scattered. “Is something amiss?”

“Mrs. Kembrooke.”

Roland bowed and took the basket from her nerveless fingers. “You are holding a very heavy basket, that is a problem. Where are you off to this fine day?”

“St. Giles.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“St. Giles. I teach there at a charity school every Thursday.”

“Quite right,”

Roland said slowly. “That is an interesting part of the city to be teaching at. How were you going to transport these to the school?”

“I’m going to walk, as I always do. It’s my half day.”

“Yes, my sister informed me. Do allow me to escort you.”

Roland walked away with her basket and led her to his carriage.

“We cannot go to St. Giles in your carriage,”

Sabina said.

“Only to Fleet Street. Tis a pleasant walk from there but with this chill, I have no wish for us to catch ill from a long trek.”

Roland had already stowed the basket in the carriage and offered his hand to her.

Sabina paused, several concerns stopping her. To be alone in a carriage with an aristocrat was begging for scandal. On the other hand, this was Roland and she was a servant. The weather was quite cold today. London would see snow soon.

Hesitantly, she placed her gloved hand in his and entered the carriage. She ignored the many stories she had heard of na?ve girls accepting kindnesses from rich strangers. This was not a stranger. True to his word, the driver took them directly to Fleet Street and Roland deftly led them on their way. Sabina watched him dismiss his carriage.

“Surely you don’t mean to come with me,”

Sabina protested.

“I am in the mood for a walk through the city today,”

Roland proclaimed as he led her down the cobbled streets.

“I take this road on the left.”

Sabina pointed. “Walks are quite beneficial for the constitution. This is nice. I should like to make your acquaintance you when you are not recuperating from a near-death experience.”

“Yes, as would I.”

Roland grinned at her. “I should like to meet you at any time. It would be a relief.”

“Heavens, that sounds dire. Down this road. Surely your life is a smooth road now that you have returned to your proper station.”

“Nay, I miss my freedom,”

Roland said. “My time is not my own, you understand.”

“Aye, that I do,”

Sabina said. “I have employment, remember. Fortunately, my charges are wonderful.”

“I am grateful for them because they brought you here, where we could meet again. I might ask you someday, about what weighs on your thoughts. You have many mysteries in your past, dear lady.”

“And someday, I may tell you the story. Alas, we have arrived. Many thanks for the escort, my lord,”

Sabina said and stopped in exasperation when Roland opened the door for her. “This is not necessary.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Roland asked.

Sabina stared up at him, her mouth betraying her with a delighted curve. And she did not miss the way he looked at her mouth, the warmth in his face. She knew better. She knew what happened when common staff dared to touch fine things. They lost many things, least of which was their employment.

No one would know. This could be her secret, something she could savor in the dark, lonely hours of night.

“No,”

Sabina smiled. “I don’t want you to go.”

****

The children were quite entertained by Miss Sabina’s “friend”

helping with the lesson. Indeed, it was difficult not to enjoy herself as the students tripped over themselves for his attention. The girls preened and the boys puffed out their chests. She had been attempting for weeks to correct their posture and Roland had only to walk into the room to inspire them.

When Sabina was satisfied that each group of students were where they needed to be with sums, she rewarded them with doing sums with broken biscuits and the ginger parkin she had made for the day. At first, the children were quite interested in the Yorkshire Bonfire Night treat and she was barely able to save a slice for Roland. That activity quickly devolved into a question-and-answer session with Roland, whom the children had deemed a lord in disguise.

“I tire of this game,”

Roland finally said and laughed. “I am not certain you have sufficiently learned what Mrs. Kembrooke has come to teach.”

He laughed at the chorus of protests.

“Will you not teach us?”

one girl asked coyly. “Dancing perhaps?”

“Hush, now what good would dancing be to the lot of us?”

an older girl asked, her eyes not as bright as the others. Oh that would not do.

“I cannot dance but what of music? Shall we sing?”

Roland asked.

“I ask again, what good would that do the lot of us?”

the same girl asked.

“Music is always good, always,”

Sabina interjected.

“Not hymns, please,”

a boy pleaded.

“Perhaps a pirate song?”

Sabina queried.

“How would you know pirate songs?”

“I wouldn’t. However, Mr. Darewood, would you demonstrate?”

Sabina smiled widely. They had decided to forget his title for the day. Roland raised an eyebrow at her and she batted her eyelashes. She missed his voice. She was not ashamed of begging.

Roland cleared his throat repeatedly and rolled his eyes at the children’s please.

Then he started singing and Sabina was transported back to northern England, to moors and wild grey seas and a time when this man was her own secret.

This was a lovely one he had not sung for her before, about sailing the world seeking treasure. He did not look at her but she felt he was singing directly to her, that she was the treasure he was seeking.

One look at the children and she knew he had caught them up in that same adventure, dreaming of open seas and blue skies. Such a gift he had, to inspire the children with a simple song. At the very end, Roland even won a hesitant smile from the sad girl.

As she quietly packed up the basket, she listened as the song ended and the children begged for more. She would not beg. These stolen moments would remain in her heart but she would not ask for more.

She dare not.

“You are very good with children,”

Sabina told Roland later as they prepared to leave.

“Have I not told you of my siblings? I am the oldest. Certain skills I had to learn to survive,”

Roland said.

“Do those skills include theft?”

Sabina asked.

“How do you mean? Surely you are not accusing me of a crime,”

Roland cried in mock astonishment.

“How many biscuits did you have?”

Sabina asked. Roland looked away, buying time. “Look at me when I’m scolding you.”

Roland burst out in laughter and handed the last few biscuits to the younger children, to the dismay of the nursemaids.

“Sir, please, they need to eat their dinner.”

The nursemaids shooed him away.

“Incorrigible.”

Another maid shook her head, smiling. Roland winked at them and helped Sabina into her cloak.

“Where are your gloves, Sabina fair?”

Roland asked.

“Shush,”

Sabina hushed him and waved at the nursemaids as they left. “I gave the gloves to Sarah. She had none and she’s outside with the children all the time.”

“Who’s Sarah?”

“She is the nursemaid who took all the children for their washing.”

“But now you have no gloves,”

Roland pointed out.

“I have room and board, employment, much more than her.”

“Charity should not come at a cost to you.”

“It’s a small thing and it meant something to her,”

Sabina argued. They continued to debate amiably as they made their way to Fleet Street. They had spent longer at the school than she usually did and the sky was starting to darken. There was no sun to be seen for the smoke and fog beginning to descend.

On a normal Thursday, Sabina was much more contained on her walk home, keeping an eye for threats and ignoring the many hands that begged for money, food, anything. A woman alone is constantly in danger. A woman alone in London invites danger. She had needed to deploy her knife more than once and knew herself lucky to have come this far without defilement.

Today, the dark streets did not threaten her. She was escorted by quite the cavalier. To say that such protection was tempting was an understatement. Would that she always be this safe and cared for, even by one of the storied aristocrats who would surely use her shamelessly and cast her aside.

Sabina knew to be careful but it was a brief indulgence to pretend his protection was true and without cost to herself. When they were a few blocks from the orphanage, Sabina suddenly stopped.

“Oh,”

Sabina said.

Roland saw the mongrel she was looking at.

“Sabina, come, it’s infested with fleas.”

“But it doesn’t have to be,”

Sabina said, moving toward the bony mutt.

Roland stopped her. “I will buy you a clean puppy. One you don’t need to bathe in lye immediately to kill all the diseases it might be carrying.”

Roland tried to take her hand. Then the mongrel darted at a filthy child.

“Stop!”

Sabina cried and darted forward. Both the child and the dog were gone and Sabina dashed forward to find them, ignoring Roland’s cries behind her.

In an instant, she was in an unfamiliar alley, alone. How the child and the dog had disappeared, she could not fathom. With one last glance, she turned to leave and then she saw him. A huge boulder of a man blocked her, an ugly sword at his side. He was dressed raggedly and his teeth were yellow but the worst part was how his eyes were focused on her.

“Hello, pretty,”

he grunted, and then he had her by the throat, her toes scrambling for purchase on the ground. One moment, her eyes were filled with the ugly brute blocking her path and the next moment, she was on the filthy ground, gasping for breath. Her throat hurt and she knew she would bruise. She thought she was safe, and now she was being tossed about like a rag doll.

Her hand on her neck, she turned and stared at the ruffian, who had begun to unbutton his trousers with one hand. The other hand caressed the handle of his obscene sword with the gentleness of a lover.

Desperately, she tried to get her voice to work but it had been scared away. She could barely breathe and she struggled to get to the knife in her pocket, only for it to be kicked painfully from her grasp.