Conspiring with a Rogue by Julie Johnstone Page A

into the sliver of light provided by the moon. Her pulse took off without her consent. The blasted man looked divine in his fitted breeches and dark coat cut so tight he must have required his valet’s assistance to get it on. He swung a cane as he stood before them, his expression indiscernible under the curve of his beaver hat, which veiled whatever she might have read in his eyes. The cunning man had probably planned it that way. He jauntily tipped his hat to her. “I’ve been waiting for you so we could start our game.”
    Whitney glanced around Drake toward the red door. Had he come from there? She had not heard a door open, nor did she think the infamous Vagabond Club could possibly be cloistered in the small space between the gin shop and pawn shop. She pulled on her arm the hackney driver still held. “As you can see, I’ve been detained.”
    Drake touched his cane to the driver’s arm. “Barney, let go of Mr. Wentworth.”
    “Yer friend gave me a bloody nose. And he acted as if I had delivered him to the wrong place.
Me.
I know London like the back of me own hand.”
    “That you do, Barney,” Drake agreed. “I’m sure it was a misunderstanding, wasn’t it, Mr. Wentworth?”
    She shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of both men and irritated with herself for her immense relief that Drake had shown up. “Indeed it was. I apologize. But I still don’t see the Vagabond Club.”
    “’Tis there, ye wet goose.” Barney pointed at the red door.
    “ Oh, yes, I see it now .” She screwed her face up. “How could I have missed it? Why anyone with half a brain should know a red door without a sign in the middle of a filthy alley is the gateway to the infamous Vagabond Club.”
    “Ye’re insolent,” Barney said, spitting on the ground. “Ye need a good jab to that pretty little face to knock some sense into ye.”
    Drake stepped between her and Barney, which was a good thing because at the moment she was afraid Barney might actually make good on his words. “You’re probably right,” Drake said. “But Mr. Wentworth has a score to settle with me first, and I need him to have his full faculties when he does it. Let me make up for the trouble he’s caused you.” Drake pulled out a small bag of coins. “Take this, and call it a night. You can go home to Marianne and the children.”
    Whitney stared at Drake, her heart beating a tattoo against her ribs. Whatever Drake thought he wanted to become, at his core was still the kind man she had fallen in love with. She had thought an hour ago she could never love him more than she already did, but she was painfully wrong.
    Barney shook his head at Drake. “I’ll not take yer money. Word of your troubles is out on the street, Mr. Sutherland.”
    Drake frowned. “Bad news travels fast, huh?”
    “Faster than a woman searchin’ for her cheatin’ husband.”
    Drake whistled. “That’s fast. What’s the word near the docks?”
    “Two ships sunk in two months.” Barney shrugged and climbed into his hackney. “Some say ye’re cursed. Others say ye lost yer golden touch when yer woman left ye.”
    Whitney’s heart ached at the man’s words. She had left Drake to save him, and every time she turned around, another example of how her leaving was hurting him was shoved in her face. Silence descended upon them, leaving her listening to the painful thudding of her heart.
    Beside her, Drake did not stir. He could have been a statue for all he moved. Was he embarrassed, angry, or was he imaging all the ways he would dearly love to kill her if he only knew where she was? From around the corner, a carriage clattered into sight at the same time as a group of sailors pounded down the street singing merrily as they came. Drake blinked and glanced at her as if the colliding noises had broken whatever spell had temporarily taken hold of him.
    “I may be cursed, Barney, but you can assure everyone it certainly isn’t in the shipping