To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

Chapter 1

London, 1815

It was time to go, but Rose couldn’t leave yet. She stood there facing her rented flat of two weeks that only a few days earlier she had thought was dingy. Now that it was time to leave the place she couldn’t help but think it was quaint and charming and homey and other words that people used when they wanted to make a place sound more wonderful than it was. But honestly, it was just small and musty.

Sunlight slipped in through the single window, illuminating the heavy clouds of dust in the air. Even if the light had not attested to the apartment’s age and outdated mode, the smell certainly did. No amount of beating the curtains or airing the place out seemed to cure it of its heavy scent of neglect. And yet, here she stood, unwilling to look away from the place she had temporarily called home.

Why must she put herself through this after every job? It would be easier to just turn around and walk away without looking back. Instead, her feet felt cemented to the floor, keeping her from moving on. She felt an odd tug of emotion from somewhere deep within her she didn’t like, couldn’t name, and really just wished it would go away. She had been feeling it more and more lately. It made her feel incapable of not taking the last few moments in every rented room or apartment to look around and imagine—for just one fleeting moment—what it would be like if she stayed.

Time stretched for a moment as she stood still and allowed herself to imagine a different outcome. She pictured herself unpacking her worn valise and placing her few dresses into the oak wardrobe in the corner. She would trade out the dust in the empty vase on the table for a bundle of colorful flowers and try her best to remember to refill the water when it looked low. When friends came over for a dinner party, they would all comment on the beauty and vibrancy of her flowers and insist on learning the secret to their longevity. Or would they? Rose didn’t know exactly what close friends discussed at dinner parties because she had never allowed herself to have friends. And as for loved ones, well…Papa had been gone thirteen years now. All of this dreaming was really a useless waste of time.

She wouldn’t stay. She never did. Rose would continue to live her life the way she always had and the way she preferred it — alone.

The door behind her flew open and slammed into the wall, causing the dusty vase to teeter on the entry table. She lunged and caught the vase just as Uncle Felix rumbled into the room, tripping over Rose’s valise and practically trampling the poor old piece of luggage.

So, maybe she wasn’t completely alone.

“Blast!” he said leaning over his increasingly round stomach to pick up her valise.

Rose pursed her lips together to hold off the smile tugging at her mouth. The man had become quite clumsy in his old age, though he would likely give her a fine trimming if he knew she had ever thought of him as old. But this incident alone only solidified Rose’s decision to keep him on the planning side of their operation rather than join her on the performance side.

“Rosie girl, I don’t suppose you have a bit of that good Burgundy left that we swiped from the Pinkerton’s ball, do you?”

“I would,” she said, letting her gaze rest heavily on his round wrinkled face, “if you hadn’t drunk it all the very night I brought it home. But no, I don’t suppose you would remember that, seeing as how you were drunk as a wheelbarrow.”

“Aye! I remember now—” Somehow his Scottish brogue always intensified when he smiled. “You can hardly blame a man for enjoying a fine drink.”

“No, but I can blame you for singing those Scottish drinking songs at the top of your lungs throughout the night. I’m not sure if you or I had a worse headache the next day.” The fact that in the eleven years she’d worked with the man, the worst thing he had ever done when in his cups was sing loud tavern songs spoke volumes of his character. Well, that and the time he’d thrown his boots in a pond. Wading up to her knees to fetch them had been rather annoying. Annoying and cold.

His thick brows pulled together. “If we don’t have anything to drink, what are we doing kicking our heels in here?”

“Nothing.” Too sharp. Really, had she never lied before? She forced her shoulders to relax. “I was only…taking a moment to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind.” She was not about to tell him about her girlish ritual.

“There’ll be time enough for moments once we’ve stuck our spoons in the wall,” he said. “We’ve a large sum of money to take, my girl!” The man really should learn to lower his voice. They were going to get caught one of these days.

“And yet—you seemed to have enough time to spare a moment for a drink,” she said with a smirk.

He matched her smile and doubled it. “Aye. But, Rosie girl, if ever I’ve taught you anything it’s that there’s always time for a drink.” He winked. “Have your look-about moment while I take your bag out to the hackney. But be quick about it. We’ve a lot to discuss.”

“Fine.” Rose shooed him out of the room, eager to be alone again, and listened as he left the room, chuckling his usual infectious laugh as he did.

Sometimes she caught herself thinking it was too bad the man wasn’t really her uncle. But as quickly as she thought it, she pushed it away. No matter how much she liked him, she would never let herself grow attached to him or anyone else. Having someone to love meant having someone to lose. She didn’t care to have that happen again.

Rose picked up her single remaining piece of luggage and shut the door behind her as she went outside to join Uncle Felix in the hackney. The December air bit at her face and hands and she tugged her wool coat more firmly around her. A curse slipped from her lips and hung as a cloud in front of her. Winte

r had never been her friend. Every gust of frigid wind reminded her of those miserable years as a little girl sleeping alone in a damp alley and wondering if that would be the night her toes were going to fall off as that other urchin’s did. She pushed those memories away and hurried toward the hackney.

But just then, something down the street caught her eye. A man—a familiar man—crossing the street. Rose knew that tall, skinny frame anywhere. It was the Bow Street runner that had been trying to catch her for years. Rose had never worried too much about the boyish-looking law officer because, in the past, she had always stayed one step ahead of him.

Although Uncle Felix tried to hide it from her, she knew that he had accomplices all over town that kept him informed about the runner’s movements. He had no idea that Rose had asked those same people to tell her the information first. And they always did, allowing her to anticipate the runner’s moves almost before he made them. But she had not anticipated this particular movement, and he felt too close. Alarmingly close.

Before he had a chance to see her, Rose jumped up into the hackney with Uncle Felix and shut the door. Part of her wanted to worry about finding the runner so unexpectedly close to them. But what good was worrying? It never helped anything. Decisive action was what had kept her alive all this time. So she decided to be more careful going forward and sat down on the bench.

She blew out a puff of air and attempted to shake the cold from her fingers.

“If you’d stop giving all your blasted gloves away your fingers would likely stay warm,” he said as if he had just presented her with a revolutionary idea. Rose tried not to find it endearing when Uncle Felix accidentally allowed his protectiveness to show despite her years of censure anytime he tried to coddle her.

“Where am I off to now?” Rose asked, pushing past his comment and focusing on what really mattered—the next job.

The hackney lurched into motion and began bobbing over the familiar cobblestone streets. Uncle Felix’s smile broadened enough to reveal the gap in his teeth which never failed to remind Rose of the time he ran straight into a street lamp while outrunning the watch. “We’ve got a big one this time. I’d say it’s big enough that you’d finally be able to hang up your bonnet somewhere if it was agreeable to you.”

Rose cringed. “And why the devil would I want that? I can’t think of anything less agreeable.” No. She would never do that. Her life was fine how it was.

Uncle Felix fixed his eyes on her a little too intense for her comfort. “You never wish you’d chosen a different path all those years ago? Taken up life in service instead of learning under an old fool like me?” Rose watched Uncle Felix look down at his clasped hands and fidget his thumbs round and round. What was this insecurity? The man really must be getting old.

“Not for a minute,” she said, meaning every word. “Do you regret teaching me everything you did?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. It wasn’t that she needed his approval. But the thought of hearing him say that he regretted the years he’d spent with her stung a little.

“Regret is a fickle mistress, Rosie. I’ll never regret teaching that grubby little urchin the means to look after herself,” he said. “But sometimes I regret that I didn’t teach you to do it differently, in a way that didn’t require so much risk. Perhaps then you would feel more inclined to shackle your leg to a good fellow.” His grin went lopsided. “Maybe even a gentry cove who could treat you right and proper.”

Oh. Was that all?