I Kissed a Rogue (Covent Garden Cubs) by Shana Galen

arms, and she shivered at the frisson that leaped between them at the contact. Had he felt that as well or was it just her imagination?
    “Do not ever open the door without asking who it is,” he murmured in her ear.
    She nodded, eager to do anything if he would move away and stop whispering in her ear. “W-who is it?”
    “Mrs. O’Dwyer with your dinner, love.” She had the lilt of Ireland in her speech. “Open the door now afore I drop it.”
    She glanced at Brook for approval, and he nodded. She fumbled with the top locks, and he inserted a key into the bottom. She pulled the door open, and a young woman with bright red hair and freckles on her cheeks and nose bustled in.
    “Where shall I put it, miss?” she said, holding up the tray.
    Lila considered, then pointed to the escritoire. The dining table hadn’t arrived yet, so the desk would have to do.
    “Sure and that’s a right enough place for it,” Mrs. O’Dwyer said moving toward the desk. “You look cozy enough in here,” she said with a nod at the fire. “It’s like the devil’s weather outside tonight. A good night to stay by the fire. And then where’s Sir Brook?”
    “I…ah…” That was an excellent question. Where had he disappeared to? “He was here a moment ago.”
    “And those must be his clothes on the floor. They’ll dry much faster by the fire then, darlin’.”
    “Yes, he went to ah…put on warm clothes.”
    “Ah, now, sure he did. Give him my regards, and I hope you enjoy the broth.”
    And with a quick curtsy she was out the door again. Lila’s stomach grumbled at the fragrant smells coming from the other side of the room, and she crossed to the tray and lifted the cover of the soup tureen.
    She frowned, for though the soup smelled delicious, it was a very simple broth and not at all the sort of fare she was used to. Beside it was a hunk of brown bread and cheese that looked several days old. She lifted a spoon to dip into the broth and taste it.
    “What the devil are you doing?”
    The spoon flew across the room, and Lila inhaled sharply. Brook had returned without making a sound, and he gestured at her angrily.
    “Our dinner arrived.”
    “And you didn’t lock the door?” He crossed to the door, turned every lock and key, and then stomped over to her.
    “I would have.”
    “You could have been dead by now. Beezle only needs a moment.”
    “Finnegan and the other”—what was his name?—“are below.”
    “And what if their throats have been slit? Do you want to be next?”
    “No! And stop trying to scare me.”
    “I shouldn’t have to try and scare you,” he said, towering over her. “You should be scared enough on your own. Do you think this marriage and hiding here are for fun?”
    “No.”
    “Did you think this was just an opportunity to shop?” He gestured to the new furnishings.
    “No! But I can hardly sit here for hours and days on end twiddling my thumbs, waiting to be murdered. It’s not as though you are here to converse with.” She did not care if he towered over her or shouted at her. She could shout too.
    “Oh, I’m sorry I’m not here to entertain you with idle conversation. While you lounged warm and dry on your velvet pillows, I stood in the shit of the gutters of Seven Dials, the rain pounding down on me, and waited for Beezle to make an appearance. I’m trying to save your life, Lila.”
    “How dare you speak to me like that!”
    “We’re married.” He moved closer again until she was flush against the wall. “I am permitted to call you Lila in private.”
    “That’s not what I meant. You said…about the gutters…”
    He stared at her for a long moment. Then he scrubbed his hands over his cropped hair. “Bloody hell.”
    His arm came around her, and he hauled her up against him. “Forgive me in advance, Mrs. Derring. I just can’t resist.”
    His lips came down on hers, and though she tried to protest, no sound escaped. His warm mouth covered hers, and she couldn’t