Out of habit, the pair took their customary seats by the fireplace. The black coffee rippled through Cal’s system, shaking off exhaustion with every sip.
“I left my coat with Puppy. Long story. Where to begin? On the way home last night, Puppy was robbed and beaten. No”—he motioned for Ethan to remain in his seat—“he will recover. But it isn’t pretty. I stayed with him all night. The stubborn mule refuses to move from Shoreditch.” He’d promised her he would keep her secret, and he would, even from Ethan, his closest friend.
“Bloody hell. What can I do tae help?” Ethan leaned his elbows on his knees, concern etched in the deep valley between his eyebrows.
“Not much at the moment. I haven’t talked to Adam yet about the men responsible. This can’t go unanswered, though.” Cal ran a finger around the smooth porcelain rim of his cup while his brain scrambled every which way, playing through possible scenarios. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that the uncle from Northumberland would be all over the situation when they found the assailants. But on the off chance that this wasn’t random or orchestrated by her uncle, Cal would accompany her on the next few trips to the docks. It wasn’t unheard of for him to do so, but he’d been taking a more hands-off approach lately. No more. Not now that he knew there was a threat.
“Aye. He may be young and pasty, but he’s ours,” Ethan said.
Cal couldn’t have said it better himself. “Exactly. Then my father sent a message that he planned to call, so the day is going to go to hell.”
“I wonder what happened this time? Opera dancers or cards?” Ethan’s posture relaxed as the conversation veered into familiar territory.
“In this instance, I already know. He summoned me yesterday afternoon, and I haven’t had a moment alone with you since.” Yesterday afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago. Pasting on a wry smile, he said, “It seems Eastly traded me for a horse.” The look on Ethan’s face almost made the circumstances comical. Almost.
“You’ll be tellin’ me the details of that. But do ye want tae check on Adam? Is he alone?”
“I left a footman and strict orders to send a message every hour.” Which meant a message should have been due a quarter hour ago. Cal checked his watch. After snapping the cover closed, he tucked the timepiece in his waistcoat pocket.
“Your messenger is overdue, isn’ he?” Ethan guessed.
Instead of answering, Cal strode to the doorway. “Higgins? Has Charles sent a message?”
Higgins shook his head. “Not yet, milord. I will bring it straightaway when it arrives.”
Worry niggled at his brain, which was coming up with worst-case scenarios. Cal closed the library door again but couldn’t let go of the doorknob.
“You’re goin’ tae fret all morning until you get word. Why don’ we pay the lad a visit? I’ll join you. Although t’would be a shame tae miss Eastly’s call.” When Ethan shifted to rise with a conspiratorial grin, the chair protested with a creak.
The show of support made Cal chuckle. “I’d appreciate the company, thank you.” He had yet to shave or change clothes, but Ethan was right. The worry wouldn’t let up, and the last place Cal should be was lingering in this library, waiting for news. If it meant delaying dealing with the reality of his father for a few more hours, then he’d be grateful for the momentary distraction.
“We’ll take my carriage,” Ethan said as the front door closed behind them. Higgins had sniffed disapprovingly at their insistence that they’d walk to the stable and wait there, rather than in the comfort of the library.
“They’re housed in the same mews. It will be just as fast to call mine.”
“But yours has that shiny crest on the side, you pretentious knob-head. Mine won’ draw as much attention.” Ethan shot him a look that spoke volumes.
Cal hadn’t thought of that. It shouldn’t surprise him that Ethan had.
As they made their way through the tighter streets toward Puppy’s neighborhood, even Ethan’s understated equipage drew stares, and Cal was grateful he’d listened to the Scotsman.
“Isn’t that your livery?” Ethan pointed his driving whip toward a footman dressed in immaculate pale blue and silver, standing outside a shop.
“What the hell is Charles doing there? Puppy shouldn’t be out and about. I gave strict orders to stay in bed.”
Ethan’s side-eyed glance matched his smirk as he parked the rig near the shop. “Perhaps the lad decided you weren’ his ma, and got out of bed. Charles might be doin’ his best tae keep up with ’im.”
That didn’t deserve an answer, because damn his eyes, Ethan was right and they both knew it.
When Cal approached the shop—a butcher shop, according to the signage—Charles stiffened, his posture poker straight.
“He’s a stubborn cuss and wouldn’t listen when you insisted he stay in bed, right, Charles?” Cal guessed.
Pink bloomed over the footman’s cheeks. “I relayed your orders, milord. I also sent a messenger to Hill Street when we left to come here.”
Ethan clapped a hand on Cal’s shoulder, gently pushing him past the servant. As they continued toward the door, Ethan called to the footman, “Not tae worry, Charles. You did your best, I’m sure.”
Puppy and a man one could assume to be the butcher by the bloody apron stood close together near a wood-slab counter. They paused their conversation when a bell announced Cal’s entry to the shop.
“What are you doing here?” Puppy asked. Except it wasn’t just Puppy now, was it? She wasn’t Adam any longer. Not to him. Searching her face, he tried to find some indication that things were different now that he was in on the secret, but she acted as if nothing had happened. Nothing to see here, just another day of interrogating the butcher after being beaten and robbed. Lord, how did she do it?
“You look like hell—rather like someone who’s been attacked and left for dead in the street mere hours ago.” The words came out with a casual air, when he really wanted to ring a peal over his friend’s broken head. “One would expect you to still be in bed recovering from your recent head injury.”
The sarcasm was met with an eye roll exactly like the ones Emma gave him, ending in a wince. If Cal hadn’t been so concerned and irritated with her, it would have been comical. As it was, the wince merely served to make his point.
“Surely getting a rasher of bacon or a link of sausage isn’t more important than healing.” The overwhelming smell of blood and raw meat turned Cal’s stomach. How did someone with a head injury hold down their breakfast when that smell coated the air?
Unless she hadn’t eaten breakfast. There’d been nothing but an apple and a hunk of cheese in the room. A room which had been devoid of any personal touches and had very few belongings. There’d been a tidy stack of clothes and a narrow table against the wall for accessories like handkerchiefs and gloves. Now that he thought of it, the hat stand had been empty.
“Where is your hat?” he asked.
“On the head of a thief, I imagine.” She turned to the butcher. Clearly, further discussion could wait, and Cal had interrupted her conversation. Cal caught himself before he rolled his eyes as Puppy had just moments before.
“As I was saying, I need to talk to you about your son.”
“Nelson? Aw, he’s a good lad.”
“I agree. You raised him well, Shaw. But are you aware of the crowd he’s running with these days?”
Things began to make sense. Puppy had identified one of her attackers. Cal shot her a look, but her focus remained entirely on the butcher as she somehow exuded compassion and confrontation at once.
“What’s this about, Mr. Hardwick?” Shaw punctuated the question with a slam of his cleaver, bisecting a slab of…something.
“Nelson was one of the crew that attacked me last night. Stripped me nearly naked and took everything.” Puppy’s voice grew clipped as she recounted the night in those few short words.
The butcher froze with the shiny blade hovering in midair. Th
e space between his brows narrowed, resulting in one long fuzzy caterpillar-like eyebrow, before he let the knife fall once more, separating flesh from bone. Emotions flashed over his face so quickly, Cal couldn’t fully identify them. Disbelief? Anger? Sadness? For a father to hear that his son had fallen in with violent criminals must create mixed feelings.
“I don’t need my things returned,” Puppy said. “But if it were my child, I would want to know. Nelson is better than this.”
Before yesterday, Cal might have clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder as a silent show of support. But with myriad bruises covering her skin, a consoling hand may not be welcome—or appropriate, come to think of it. There might be another way to help, though. Cal stepped forward.
“If Mr. Hardwick claims your son is trustworthy, even after last night, then I am willing to find him a position with my staff.”
The butcher’s gaze flickered toward the window, where Charles’s livery gleamed bright and out of place against the wood and stone buildings. Shaw might not know who Cal was, but he must recognize quality clothes and all they implied.
“I can’t help the other lads in the crew. But if Hardwick cares for your son, perhaps we could find him a less criminal group of men to associate with.” With several estates, surely there was a place for him at one of them. Perhaps mucking stables and cleaning livestock pens. It was what the little thief deserved.
“Shaw, this is my employer, the Earl of Carlyle. A position in his house could mean Nelson would be out of London for a time, but if that is what it takes to keep him from continuing down this path, it might be worth it,” Puppy said.
Shaw grunted, wiping the cleaver on his dirty apron. “Let me think on it. I’ll talk to the boy and the missus. I’m sorry you were hurt, Mr. Hardwick. You’ve never given us reason to wish you ill.”
Stepping away from the counter, Cal swept an arm toward the street, letting her go first.
The redhead lasted until the shop door closed behind them before she rounded on Cal. “Why are you here? And leaving a liveried servant in my room? No offense, Charles.” Puppy waved toward the footman. “Do you have any idea what a spectacle you’ve made?” She seemed to stop herself midsentence and drew a deep breath. When she spoke again, she measured the words between sharp inhales. Her ribs must be hurting. “I know your intention is to provide protection. Or a nanny, because you think me a child. But you painted a target on my back. Why not make a sign that says ‘Has friends with money and influence’ so I can attract every criminal element in the neighborhood?”
Just like that, frustration and worry boiled over. Leaning over so they were nearly nose to nose, Cal growled, “I told Charles to stay behind because you scared the shit out of me, and I needed to know there was someone here to help you.” The Puppy’s eyes sparked with gold flecks, likely from wanting to throttle him.
A large hand was inserted between their faces, gently compelling Cal to step away. “You bicker like an old married couple,” Ethan said. “Cal, listen tae the lad’s concerns. His safety has already been compromised once, and you flashin’ coin makes him a bigger target. Some circumspection on your part wouldn’ be amiss. Adam, take a breath and try tae be grateful you have people who care.”
Puppy shot a look at Ethan. “Lord Amesbury, while I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t help but notice this shiny new carriage, which only adds to the problem. Flashing coin and liveried footmen isn’t the only sign of wealth we are dealing with right now.”
Ethan raised a brow. “I talked him out of the rig with the coat of arms on it. But you’re right. We should have taken a hack.”
Cal sighed. This was more complicated than he’d thought. “I’m sorry Charles’s presence made things worse. Let’s get off the street and discuss this further.” Placing a hand on Puppy’s back, he nudged her toward Ethan’s carriage. Through the layers of clothing, Cal could feel the subtle ridges of bone where shoulder blade cut toward spine in a delicate wing. Especially wearing his oversized coat, she appeared fragile. But she’d made herself into a scrappy survivor. It took a special person to pull off a masquerade of this magnitude.
Severing the contact as she climbed into Ethan’s carriage was harder than it should have been. Hell and blast. Nothing good could come of this.
Chapter Eight
I wouldn’t have pegged you for a coward.”
Phee snapped her head around to stare at the library doorway, where Emma posed against the doorjamb, looking fresh as a daisy. “Coward? What are you talking about?”
“Our interlude at Vauxhall.” She wiggled her brows suggestively, and it was all Phee could do not to roll her eyes. “Then you disappeared for over a week. What’s a girl to think?”
Phee held her tongue, letting the silence grow.
Finally, Emma laughed. “I’m only teasing. But really, where were you?”
“Your brother didn’t say anything?”
Emma shrugged, then moseyed into the room. Plucking books from the shelf at random, she glanced at the covers before shelving them again in the wrong places.
If Phee ventured a guess, Cal probably had mentioned something, but Emma hadn’t listened. “If you paid attention to anything besides matters relating directly to yourself, you would know that I was attacked the night of Vauxhall. Beaten and robbed.”
To her credit, Emma’s concern appeared genuine when she whirled around. “Goodness! But you’re all right now?”
“Right as rain and happy to be at work.” Phee dismissed her, returning to the mail.
“You don’t think Roxbury might have sent a few men to encourage your silence on what you saw that night, do you?”
Slowly, Phee faced her. “No, I don’t believe your odious beau had anything to do with it. And frankly, if you believe him capable of such a thing, you should be running in the other direction.”
Emma sagged a bit. It was on the tip of Phee’s tongue to snap that she doubted Roxbury cared enough about Emma to exert himself to such an extent. Instead, she swallowed the remark and said, “Not everything is about you, Lady Emma.”
“You don’t like me, do you?” Emma asked.
“There’s a difference between a person and their actions. I like you fine. But your actions are unlikable—not to mention selfish. Have you thought of how your behavior reflects on your family?”
Her short laugh lacked any humor. “As if my father cares a whit about my behavior. He couldn’t be bothered to host or fund my Season. Not even a ball. Cal’s handling my debut alone.”
“I agree about Eastly—don’t get me started there. But your brother is a different matter.”
A few beats of silence followed before Emma turned and left without another word. There was no getting around it. Cal needed to know what Phee had witnessed that night.
The stack of correspondence crinkled in her fist.
They hadn’t been alone since the attack and her confession. He and Lord Amesbury had visited her in Shoreditch several times—taking a hack, as suggested. With two men in her room, the small space had shrunk further, and she’d been acutely aware of the lack of accommodations for guests. She had only one chair, so they’d all stood awkwardly in the middle of the room for the entirety of the visits. When she’d suggested returning to work, Cal had insisted she heal for a few days first.
But he also hadn’t left her alone. An out-of-uniform servant stood at her beck and call in the room or in the hall.
This mother-hen side of Cal’s personality might be the thing to push her into a full-fledged emotional collapse. People didn’t take care of her. Not like this. The last decade had been solitary overall. She’d taken Adam’s place at school, then moved to London on her own. Now there was someone…there. Seeing to her needs. Protecting her.
It could drive a person to distraction. She was glad to take care of herself and return to work.
To make matters worse, during those nights lying in bed, acutely aware of a guard sleeping on a cot only a few feet away, she’d reali
zed something. Once the sun set, the feeling of safety she’d enjoyed within those snug walls disappeared. The shadows and noises weren’t familiar anymore. Everything became a bogeyman waiting to pounce, until her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. God help her, by the second night, she’d been grateful for the footman after the sun went down.
Sleep became an elusive beast until all she could think about was returning to work in Mayfair, with its polished facade of security. So not only did the care and attention unsettle her, but it made her feel safe—which only highlighted a previous lack she hadn’t acknowledged until it hit her over the head. Literally. Damn it, she was going to have to thank Cal, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Eleven years of taking care of herself, and now this earl with a stubborn heart of gold charged in and helped. Even though he knew she’d lied to him for their entire friendship.
Cal might be right. Maybe she should find somewhere else to live. Lord, the man would be insufferable if she admitted that and thanked him for the guard.
Best keep to safer conversational grounds—like catching his sister tossing up her skirts in the bushes with a scoundrel. Lordy, life had gotten complicated lately. She rubbed a palm down her face and sighed.
Emma was right—she was being a coward. Just not in the way the girl thought. For the last two years, Phee’s workday had usually begun in Cal’s dressing room. They’d share a cup of coffee while he dressed and made plans for what they needed to accomplish. Would he even let her in the room now that he knew she was a woman? She didn’t have the faintest idea what to do about any of this. Did they pretend that conversation hadn’t happened? How long could she avoid being alone with him?
Sunlight illuminated the library in rectangles across the carpet, with one shaft of light cutting across the desk. How long would he wait in his dressing room before he realized she wasn’t coming upstairs? Phee reached for her watch, then patted the flat pocket. Ah yes. Robbed. No chain, no timepiece. So she paced, glancing at the mantel clock every other time she passed it.
West End Earl Page 8
