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

party retired to Lennox House for the wedding breakfast. At least everyone but Brook did. He met Hunt at his office on Bow Street and reviewed the reports on Fitzsimmons the Runners he knew had compiled.
    “I don’t know if the man was in league with one of the Covent Garden gangs, but he had something on the side. These purchases he made in the last year or so require income far above his.”
    “Perhaps he came into some money,” Hunt suggested.
    “I’ll have Dorrington look into that and into his habits at the gaming table. I’ll find out who he had ties with in Parliament. Has anyone interviewed his widow?”
    “I know Sawyer wanted to, but he was told it would be unseemly to bother her at this time of grief.”
    “I don’t mind being unseemly.”
    The door, which had been only half-closed, swung open. “I’m glad to hear it because you missed your own wedding breakfast,” Dorrington said, strolling into the office. “If that isn’t what you nobs call unseemly , I don’t know what is.” He slouched into one of the chairs across from Brook’s and propped his boots on the desk. Brook glared at the boots, but Dorrington didn’t remove them.
    “I don’t have time for wedding breakfasts. I have a killer to catch and an annulment to request.”
    “Your mother is furious,” Dorrington said with a smile.
    “I’ll bring her flowers.”
    “Your wife is humiliated.”
    Good. She’d humiliated him. Let her see what it tasted like. Brook sat and crossed his arms. “Your point?”
    “I do have to give the gentry mort credit. She held her head high.”
    “Then all that training finally proved useful.”
    “Dane and Marlowe sent their best wishes to the breakfast and said they would come to Town soon,” Dorrington said.
    They would undoubtedly stay at Derring House, and he would have to make a point of speaking with Marlowe when she arrived. Like Gideon, now called Dorrington, across from him, she’d once been part of Beezle’s gang. She might have insights he’d overlooked.
    “Marlowe must be breeding again,” Dorrington said.
    Brook supposed it was possible. His nephew was almost a year old now. “Why do you say that?”
    “When I saw her at Christmas, she ate half a kidney pie.”
    “I’ve seen her eat more than that.”
    “I haven’t. Not since she started having regular meals. She’s bellyful. Mark my words.”
    Brook sat forward. “We can discuss my brother’s growing family another time. Today I need you to look into Fitzsimmons’s gambling habits. Make the rounds of the hells catering to gentlemen and ask about him. If you don’t find anything at those—”
    “Try the rookeries. I know what to do, but hadn’t you better go claim your bride?”
    “Why?”
    “It’s almost six. Or did you intend to leave her alone on your wedding night?”
    Brook glanced at the clock on his desk and cursed. The day had slipped through his fingers. He hadn’t thought what he would do with Lila on their wedding night. It wasn’t as though she’d welcome him into her bed. Not that it should matter. He was her husband, and she was his for the taking. Whether or not he bedded her made no difference for the annulment. The king would have to find some technicality on which to declare the marriage unlawful. Even if he didn’t take Lila to bed, everyone would assume he had.
    And why should he deny himself? He ought to have some pleasure from this arrangement.
    Except, of course, there was no pleasure in bedding a woman who didn’t want him.
    Brook looked at Hunt, hoping his man had considered the domestic arrangements. “You can’t take her to Derring House, sir.”
    “No.” And that was too bad because Derring House was large and full of servants and family. He could stay well away from her at Derring House. But he wouldn’t endanger his family and home by having her there. Beezle would have no qualms about slitting the throats of every man, woman, and child in residence if it accomplished his