The trousers fell into a pile by the fire. They’d have to wait for their cleaning, because her head was threatening to fall off. One ear hadn’t stopped ringing since the first blow. The shirt joined the trousers, leaving her in smalls and the linen wrap around her chest. Any other night loosening the linen would be a priority.
Not tonight. Tonight, her pillow held far more appeal than unbinding her breasts. If it weren’t for distinctly plump nipples that made their presence known through thin shirts, she could have gotten away without binding altogether. Pulling a blanket over her shoulders, Phee fell into oblivion.
* * *
“Damned little fool.” The words were rough, but the hands accompanying them were gentle as he smoothed her hair back from the place she’d been hit.
Cracking one eye open, Phee winced to see Cal standing over her. Mrs. Carver must have let him in, but there was no sign of her landlady now. The privileges of aristos, entering private homes by nothing more than the power of their names. Cal turned around and retrieved a lantern. Lighting the wick, he lowered the light to her face.
She slammed her eyes closed. “Bloody hell, Cal. Get that away from me.”
“You need a doctor,” he said.
Oh God, not a doctor. People on the street might not look past a skinny frame and male clothing, but an actual examination of her body would mean the end of everything. The end of Adam. “No doctor.”
Cool air brushed her shoulders as Cal pulled the covers back, then paused.
Blast. The binding. Panic punched past the pain and the fog of sleep. Phee clutched at the blanket, trying to cover herself. Her head protested the movement.
“Already wrapped the ribs,” she mumbled. “I’ll be fine. Need to sleep. You didn’t have to come out here.”
“At least you managed that much,” he grumbled. “Where else did they hit you? Any stab wounds? Cuts or bullet holes?”
“Just a cudgel. Knees to take me down. The head is the real problem. Falling off my shoulders might be a mercy. Move the light, will you?”
“For an injured man, you’re awfully opinionated,” Cal said.
“Calvin, move that bloody light out of my face. I’m alive. Now leave me alone and let me sleep.”
“You can’t mean to stay here?” His incredulous tone held so much horror, she almost laughed.
“Stay here. You mean, in my home?”
“This isn’t a home, Puppy—it’s a hovel. A single room where before now, you slept in relative safety.”
“I am not going to argue our socioeconomic differences when it’s the middle of the night and I feel like shit. Either go away or make yourself useful and stoke the fire.”
A few moments later a flare of heat testified to Cal building the fire, but his silence told her he was pouting about it.
“What am I going to do with you, Puppy?” Cal thumped the chair down next to her bed, which made Phee close her eyes for a second as the noise reverberated through her skull.
“Judging by your tone, I’m guessing that leaving me to sleep is out of the question.” The firelight made Cal’s hair glow. Lady Amesbury’s tipsy confession earlier had been an understatement. He wasn’t pretty. He was beautiful. The halo effect was rather angelic, although his dark eyes under the heavy brows made her question if Cal’s angel status was of the fallen variety.
With a sigh, Cal rested his face in his hands. “Fine. Sleep. I’m staying to make sure you wake tomorrow.” Settling into the chair, Cal loosened his cravat and crossed his arms over his chest. Phee rolled her eyes, then winced. Damn, her head hurt.
Phee turned her head toward the wall, away from the light of the fire. Within moments, sleep claimed her, providing an escape from that dark gaze.
* * *
Cal kept his head cradled in his hands and stared at the shiny black toes of his boots until Adam’s breath settled into the easy, heavy cadence of sleep. That he’d woken grumpy and mouthy was a relief. The thieves had beaten him but not broken that scrappy spirit.
Adam’s pale complexion matched the linen covering his pillow, gone gray from too many washings. Even his freckles seemed pasty. The shock of red hair was the only color left to him except for the flickers of gold where firelight caught the tips of his eyelashes.
The wooden chair Cal sat in was unforgivingly uncomfortable. Numbness set in almost immediately. Shifting his weight helped, so he stretched his legs to prop his feet on the bed frame. Crossing his arms, Cal prepared for a long night, because no way in hell would he leave his friend alone in this room.
The intention to sleep didn’t last. He kept replaying that moment when the scruffy boy had arrived. Higgins had answered the door as usual, but the lad’s frantic message had echoed from the hall to where Cal had been relaxing after the night out. Mr. Hardwick is hurt. Come quick! His heart had stopped. He’d swear it.
All those missions and errands where he’d sent Puppy into dangerous areas of London tallied in his mind like a stack of tarot cards depicting a series of awful outcomes. This could have happened so much sooner. For all he knew, tonight’s attack was the result of one of tonight’s fact-gathering missions for the Wilhelmina.
His tailbone fell asleep, which was a new sensation. Who knew a tailbone could tingle like that? This chair was an atrocity. Shifting again, Cal hoped to find a miraculously comfortable position.
If Puppy had known Cal sat here worrying over him, he’d have had strong words to share. God knew he was chock-full of opinions. But if Ethan had lain in this bed, Cal would have worried too. Maybe not as much, because Ethan was built like a brick wall. Adam was finely built. Nearly delicate, really. In the flickering light, Cal stared at the bruises blooming over Adam’s slim shoulders and angled brow. Delicate was the right word, and he felt protective, like he should be fighting off someone, but the attackers had already done their damage and scurried back to their hidey-holes.
Which left him with restless energy that wouldn’t let him settle in for the night. Glancing around, Cal searched for something to do.
Like most tiny spaces, if one thing was out of place, the room looked ransacked. Trousers and hose lay in a crumpled heap before the hearth. One dirty glove rested on top, what remained of the pair he’d purchased earlier on Bond Street.
Cal lumbered out of the chair and gathered the discarded clothing. The hose were filthy but not torn. With a thorough laundering, they might be salvageable. He folded them neatly, then placed them on the footstool. The shirt could be mended but might still be destined for the scrap pile. The trousers were probably a loss. A seam on the side had given way, and he wrinkled his nose at the unidentifiable filth covering them. God only knew what he’d just gotten on his hands.
If these were his clothes, he’d burn them without thinking twice. But that wasn’t his decision. Giving them a shake, he tried to dislodge the top layer of grime. A shower of dirt sprinkled onto his shoe. As he gingerly folded the trousers, a lump in the fabric shifted, then hit the floor, rolling to a stop next to his boot.
Plucking it from where it landed, he went to place the piece of scrap wood on top of the clothes but paused. Approximately four inches long and sanded smooth, the wood had been hollowed all the way through, with a wider fluted opening on one end. He cocked his head, turning it over in his hands, then checked where the object had fallen from.
The trousers revealed a pocket sewn inside the placket, with seams aligning perfectly to disguise the addition. He’d recognize Adam’s tailoring anywhere. Cal slipped it in the pocket, then slid it out again. Sure enough, the wooden…whatever it was…fit snugly into the space Adam had created for it.
It looked like a penis with a wide opening on one end. There wasn’t a better way to describe it. Despite their general filth, Cal held the trousers, slipping the carved wood into the pocket over and over, then held it up to the light from the lantern.
A choked noise from the bed made him glance over.
Adam was awake.
* * *
A shudder rippled over her body, whether from dread or pain, she didn’t have time to determine.
“Hand me my shirt.” She tucked the blanket under her arms, covering the chest bindings.
Cal pointed at the pile of clothing, still holding the pizzle she’d whittled last month. “That shirt? No way am I touching that again. It was disgusting enough the first time.”
“Cal, I’m almost naked. Hand me a damn shirt. And put that down unless you want piss on your hands.” Her head ached, it hurt to breathe, and this new development was pushing the evening into worst-nights-of-her-life territory.
Without another word, he set aside the wooden pizzle, then shrugged his coat down his arms and crossed the three steps it took to reach the bed. Gently, he laid the dark-blue garment over her shoulders, managing to avoid touching her as he did so, then took a seat on the chair he’d brought to the bedside.
“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said.
The fabric smelled like him. That peculiar blend of spices that made her crave gingerbread, plus an added warmth from his body. It took everything in her to not indulge in a sniff of the collar as she slipped her arms through the holes and wrapped the coat around her.
She wasn’t prepared to deal with this. Not right now. Not injured. Not while she felt naked and exposed, and he sat there polished and perfect. A jangle of what-ifs played through her head. What if he fired her or, worse, ended their friendship because she was a liar? What if he told everyone and ruined over a decade of struggle toward a better future?
She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing fruitlessly to wake from this nightmare. Through the tangled emotions, her practical nature asserted itself with one question that needed to be asked.
“If I’m fired, please let me know now. Once my wages are paid, you’ll never have to see me again.”
Cal jerked as if she’d slapped him. “Fired? Why the hell would I fire you? You have a position in my house for as long as you want it. No matter what all this means, you are my friend and a valuable employee.”
That was something at least. Still, a large part of her wanted to run before he reconsidered and threw her out like yesterday’s newspaper. After all, she’d lied to him for two years. If he learned this secret, how long would it be before he knew everything? That she’d not only taken her brother’s identity but killed him as well. That it was an accident didn’t matter. Not when the result was losing the person closest to her.
It might be better to run now and let him wonder. Let him think back in a few decades and ponder about whatever became of Adam Hardwick. She was good at running.
It was the overwhelming exhaustion the idea of starting over somewhere else brought that loosed the words.
“My name isn’t Adam Hardwick. I’m a woman. I’m hiding until it’s safe to live as myself again.”
Cal laced his fingers together in front of him and was silent for a moment before saying, “How can I help?”
“You can leave. My head is killing me, and talking makes it worse.” His curiosity wasn’t more important than her need for privacy and a few hours to recover from being beaten in the street. Even though he was being sweet and remarkably Cal-like about the whole situation, she didn’t appreciate having to do this now. Answers to whatever questions he might have could wait for when she felt like telling him more. Friendship or not, she didn’t owe him a full confessional right this instant.
He cocked his head. “Can I stay if I stop talking?”
She was already slumping back down into bed, snuggling beneath the layers of blanket and his coat. “Just be quiet. My whole body hurts.”
Blessed foggy peace was creeping around the edges of her brain when he asked, “What do I call you now?”
“I’m still Puppy.” With the next breath, she drifted away under the cover of sleep, wrapped in the comforting smell of gingerbread.
Chapter Seven
Cal climbed from the carriage with a wince, taking a moment to stretch and loosen his aching muscles. Slumping in the world’s most uncomfortable chair meant waking with a stiff neck and an even stiffer back. Not that he could complain about physical aches when Puppy was so obviously in worse condition. His mind was still reeling that Adam was actually an Eve.
He’d left shortly after a footman had arrived with a message from his father. Eastly wanted to discuss what Cal had thought of Violet Cuthbert last night at Vauxhall, and frankly, that was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. That conversation could easily be summed up—not interested.
But he knew his father. The note was a false courtesy, a sort of warning shot declaring that Eastly would be calling this morning, like it or not. So he’d left the footman to watch over Puppy and come home. He’d deal with his sire, then return to Shoreditch.
“Coffee, my lord.” Higgins knew better than to phrase it as a question when he greeted Cal at the door.
“Thank you, Higgins. Coffee is definitely called for.” There might not be enough coffee in all of England to counter the last twenty-four hours.
The library welcomed him with a soothing stillness. He wasn’t a great bibliophile like Ethan, but there’d always been something peaceful about the atmosphere of the library.
A maid entered with a cart, dipped a curtsy, then left.
As he poured his first cup, Cal’s mind circled around to Puppy. He’d sat awake for most of the night. She’d been restless, wincing and letting loose the occasional whimper in her sleep. As Cal waited for the next time his friend awoke needing a drink, he’d been left with nothing to do but observe.
They’d never slept near each other before except for the occasional midday nap on the pair of drawing room sofas. Adam always insisted on returning home to that tiny room no matter how late the hour of their escapades. That made sense now.
The coffee burned as it slid down his throat, so he set the cup down with a rattle and balanced it and the saucer on the arm of his favorite chair.
Curiosity had compelled Cal to stare at the lines of her face until something stirred within him that hadn’t gone away with the rising sun. It had been a revelation to watch his friend at rest in the dim light of the meager fire in the grate.
Puppy wasn’t ugly—but not likely to turn heads either. Taken as a whole, her square jaw fit nicely with her angular cheekbones. Angular everything, to be honest. Amidst all the sharp points reflecting in the firelight last night, her nose stood out as perfectly straight—obviously never broken.
Cal rubbed at the bumped bridge of his nose. The badly healed break was a reminder of a scuffle at Eton with a boy who’d called Cal a molly when he discovered his friendship with Lord Hopkins. He and Hopkins had only been friends, but people who called others names for reasons like that weren’t often prone to logic. Such things weren’t discussed openly at Eton, but they weren’t uncommon. Cal knew a few men who, in those explorations, found home. And there were others who lived as authentically true to themselves as possible, even when society didn’t endorse their choices. This was an area where Cal didn’t care about society’s disdain. Everyone deserved to live their life with dignity and honesty.
There could be many reasons behind her choice of disguise. Perhaps she preferred women lovers and felt more comfortable in a man’s persona. Yet he had never seen Adam show interest in a woman. Or a man, for that matter.
As he puzzled through it, he tested another sip of coffee and found it cool enough to drink. Thank God.
One thing Puppy had said last night nagged at him. She’d said she was hiding until it was safe to live as herself again—which implied living as a woman. The fact that she’d said that while beaten and bruised wasn’t lost on him. He’d wondered if the attack was random or the result of one of her information-gathering jaunts for him.
But a third option had occurred to Cal sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Especially given that she was already living in disguise when they met. There was a history of tension between her and her unc
le, whom she never spoke of favorably. Her uncle could be behind this.
It was a mystery. And like a curious cat, his brain couldn’t let it go.
Licking a drop of coffee from his lip brought to mind the time he’d spent staring at the full curve of Puppy’s mouth while she slept. Too much time, if he were honest. As she dreamed, her body had given off a warmth that had changed the usual sandalwood Adam wore into something more personal, especially wrapped up in his coat. Her sandalwood and his spiced soap had combined into a scent that had sent a curious humming of interest under his skin.
Inconvenient ponderings for a man who’d spent years cleaning up his father’s financial and social messes, only to be forced into marriage with a complete stranger. When would it end? The choices appeared limited. He could marry a woman who, last night at Vauxhall, had looked as unenthusiastic about their introduction as he’d been. Did she know about this bet and engagement already? Was that why she’d been so quiet and uncomfortable? Beyond a few monosyllabic answers, she hadn’t seemed inclined to get to know him.
Or he could refuse to comply with this nonsensical plan of his father’s and face complete ruination of everything he held dear.
There must be a better option.
Cal was filling his cup for the second time when Ethan sauntered into his library as if he owned the place.
“You look like shite,” Ethan said.
“Did I send out a silent cry for help?” Cal asked.
“Aye, my friendship antennae tingled.”
Cal smiled around another sip of coffee.
“Actually, Lottie isn’ feeling well this mornin’. Too much champagne last night. Threatened tae cut off my bollocks when I proposed a shag. She’s insisting I leave her alone tae die till at least noon. I decamped for my safety. Now, why do you look like something I should scrape off my boot? I never see you in your shirtsleeves. Where’s your coat?”
West End Earl Page 7
