Flopping in the desk chair, Phee closed her eyes and let the sun warm her.
Until it became too warm, because it was bloody summertime, and they designed cravats to strangle a person slowly. For a moment, she imagined wearing a light muslin gown. Not the ruffled pinafore and short skirts she’d worn the last time she’d been a girl in public. But a proper gown. Stays—even though they wouldn’t do anything for her, lacking in breasts as she was—with a linen petticoat and lightweight fabric that showcased her delicate collarbones and shapely arms.
Those were two body parts she liked. Not that she actively disliked her other bits, but she looked forward to showcasing those in particular someday. She’d wear gowns, perhaps with clocked stockings and silky pink ribbon garters.
The cuff of her coat itched at her wrist.
Enough. He might turn her away at the door, but at least she would have tried to keep their normal routine. Phee stuffed the small stack of letters needing her attention in her coat pocket and opened the library door with slightly more force than required.
And ran right into Cal’s chest.
“Careful, Puppy.” His hands grasped her arms as he stepped back.
“Apologies, milord. I wasn’t sure where we were meeting today.”
He cocked his head. “You only call me milord when you’re mad at me.”
Phee closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m not mad at you.”
He said over his shoulder, “Higgins, could you send in coffee please?” then moved past her to the desk. “We will figure it out, Puppy. In the meantime, there’s work to be done. Have you heard from your dock urchins lately?”
Work. They could work. That was why she was here, after all.
“Frankie hasn’t sent a message about the Wilhelmina, if that’s what you’re asking. But I could pay her a visit today and check in.”
Cal stared out the window and ran a hand through his hair. Kingston hadn’t tied it back yet, and Phee watched with a familiar ache in her chest as he dug in a pocket for a scrap of ribbon, then secured the long strands in a queue at his nape. She’d observed this same action hundreds of times. Once she’d asked why he didn’t cut it, and he confessed that he’d initially kept it long to annoy his father, but now it was sheer vanity. The one way he refused to comply with fashion.
“We need to find that boat, Puppy. Investors are getting twitchy and looking to me for answers because I’m the one who set up this voyage and rallied everyone together. My coffers will be fine with this loss, but some…some will be devastated.”
The coffee arrived, so she poured them each a cup. When she set his on the desk, the delicate clatter of cup and saucer against wood made him turn. He looked tired, with purpled skin under his chocolaty eyes. He obviously hadn’t been sleeping well.
That made two of them.
Silence wasn’t normal for them, but this morning they drank their coffee without further conversation. She kept her hands busy with the correspondence she’d found earlier. Piddly details, really. A note from the game warden in Northumberland regarding a poacher they’d caught. Two messages from contacts outside the city who vouched for the character of the Duke of Gaffney, who had asked for help with a financial project on his estate.
“Word is getting around about your partnership with Lord Amesbury. First working with Ethan, now Gaffney wants to begin a similar project. I wonder who’s next?” Viscount Amesbury was crafting ale from his estate’s hops and turning it into a retail business. The duke wanted to focus on cider. Not the rough scrumpy of some counties, but a reliable product to bottle and sell in Town.
“All we need is an Italian count with a vineyard, and we could be happily drunk for the rest of our days,” he said.
“Know any Italian counts?”
“Can’t think of any off the top of my head, but I’ll be on the lookout.”
It was a silly joke, and nothing of real consequence. Still, it felt like a piece of normal life to tease with him. A knot in her chest loosened. Maybe they’d find their way through it. Figure it out, like he’d said.
“It’s not really me, anyway. They have the idea and the product. I just organize the finances and help with the paperwork side of things,” Cal said. He stared at her for a moment with his arms crossed as he leaned on his desk. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll try to track down Frankie. See if there are any other leads we can pull. I don’t think I’m any good for desk work today.”
“You mean you’d rather not sit in the library avoiding looking at each other all afternoon?”
His hint of a smile was a mere quirk of lips instead of his usual grin, but for the moment they were in accord. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or pepper you with questions you don’t feel like answering. But it’s good to have you back, Puppy.”
That smile, seeing Lord Calvin Carlyle, of all people, unsure of himself, unsettled her. She rose, then ran a hand down the front of her waistcoat. Violet jacquard silk today, with silver buttons she hadn’t yet sold and replaced with wooden ones. “Let’s get to work, then.”
* * *
Once upon a time, Calvin had been a rather scrawny young man trying to determine if a barmaid named Linette fancied him. He’d stuttered into his glass of ale and counted under his breath to make sure he looked at her for more than a count of three but less than a count of seven—Thomas, the slightly older friend showing him the ropes, insisted that anything over a count of seven unsettled a girl, and they’d get their drinks thrown in their faces.
Sitting in a hack across from Puppy, their knees occasionally brushing as the carriage clattered over the uneven roads, Cal realized he was once again in unknown territory, like when he’d attempted to flirt with Linette—who hadn’t thrown a drink at him. She’d cheerfully taught him how to kiss that night, and at the time he’d thought her lips were magical.
And now he was staring at Puppy’s mouth. Again. For a much longer count than seven. Thank God she was facing the window instead of him. Her studied avoidance of looking in his direction allowed the summer sun coming in through the dirty glass to illuminate her face.
It was a face he’d seen nearly every day for two years, but somehow there were new details he’d noticed only this past week.
And God help him, but it was getting harder and harder to look away. There were the same familiar blue eyes with gold flecks, framed by ridiculously long eyelashes. The coppery lashes tended to disappear amid the freckles and Puppy’s distracting grin. But with light on her face like this, it made those lash tips look like sunrays, in the way a child draws squiggly lines and random spikes when sketching sunlight in the corner of the paper.
“You’re staring,” she said, still looking out the window.
Cal cleared his throat. And here he’d thought she wouldn’t notice. “Sorry. It’s hard not to look for all the things I hadn’t noticed before.”
Finally, she faced him, arching a brow. “Such as?”
“You’ve never had to shave. You don’t have an Adam’s apple—which is ironic when you think about it.”
When she bit her bottom lip to contain a smile, he had to close his eyes against the image. Her mouth was wrecking his equilibrium, and she didn’t even know it. He shifted on the seat. “Which isn’t definitive proof of anything, obviously. I’m just surprised I never noticed.”
“People see what you tell them to see.”
“How long have you lived as Adam?”
“Eleven years.”
“Eleven? Good God. How have you managed it?” She was so casual while mentioning something utterly remarkable.
Puppy shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve avoided making friends for the most part. If no one is close enough to ask questions, life is easier. You’re proof that deviating from that strategy was a bad idea.”
“Ouch.” He winced. “Rather brutal, don’t you think?”
The look she gave him told him without words to stop feeling sorry for himself, but he rubbed at a phantom ache under his breastbone anyway for dramatic
effect.
“Eleven years, Calvin. Over a decade, and then you came along. You were supposed to be a job. A steady stream of reliable income until I inherited. Then you charmed your way into my life, and look at us now.”
“You make my charm sound like a bad thing. For the record, being charming is literally my most valuable skill.”
The hack lurched to a stop in time for her to roll her eyes before she opened the door and jumped to the pavement. Holding the door open for him, she said, “You and I both know that’s utter nonsense.”
He grinned at her, then paid the hack driver. They were only a few streets from the river now, and the smell of the Thames in summer was overwhelming here in a way it wasn’t in Mayfair. The stench dug into one’s nose with foul blades until it overwhelmed the other senses, coating the tongue, filling his head. At his side, Puppy moved with the loose-limbed grace of someone comfortable in her environment as they wove through the throngs of people, animals, carts, and hacks.
“Does Frankie still frequent the same pub?” he asked. It had been a while since he’d accompanied Puppy on one of these jaunts to the docks, but with a possible threat against her, he couldn’t in good conscience stay home.
“That’s her territory. She and her group cover the area from the pub to the dock at the end of this street, and the span of one block in either direction.”
“And if they stray from these specific streets?”
Puppy’s mouth twisted with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Then children start disappearing. Either gone altogether or roped into another gang.”
His stomach rolled at the thought. “My own childhood wasn’t idyllic, but that’s abhorrent.” At the pub, he opened the door and stepped back to let her enter first.
She shrugged. “No, that’s London.”
And she’d survived. Respect for this woman rose one more notch.
Inside the pub, a smoky haze hung in the air from lamps, customer’s cheroots and pipes, and a kitchen in continual use. Being this close to the shipping epicenter of the docks made the pub a favorite place of theirs to meet the right people to exchange information. Its ale was decent, and the daily loaf was consistently good.
Puppy took a seat toward the edge of the room, and Cal followed suit. Within moments, a buxom barmaid sauntered over with a cheery grin.
“Mr. Hardwick, good ta see ye. Oh, and you’ve brought your pretty friend with ye. Haven’ seen ye in a while, gov.” She threw a saucy wink at Cal and he grinned.
“Hello, Peg. You’re a lovely ray of sunshine as always. Do you have some of your delicious bread you could bring over?”
“And if Frankie is in the kitchen, could you send her our way?” Puppy asked.
Peggy shook her head. “Haven’ seen the scamp since last night. Can I pass along a message?”
Puppy said, “Maybe you could help. We were hoping for word on the Wilhelmina.”
The barmaid headed toward the kitchen and called over her shoulder, “I’ll be back with yer loaf.”
“Translation: the information isn’t free, and the cost of our meal tripled,” Puppy murmured.
“Let’s hope the information is worth it.”
Within moments, Peggy returned and set down a crusty loaf of bread and a crock of butter on a wood platter scarred with deep grooves from years of knives. She leaned an ample hip against the table and crossed her arms. It wasn’t until Cal slipped a few coins across the table that she started talking.
“I got a letter yesterday, but the date was from a while ago. Ned says the storm off the Cape really tore up the ship. They limped into the nearest port. Were still there when he wrote it, but they might be headed home by now. I hope, anyway.”
“Any lives lost?” Puppy asked.
“Three men went over during the late watch. One second they were there, the next gone. The sea’s a brutal bitch, Mr. Hardwick.”
“I’m glad your Ned is safe, Peggy.” Cal slathered a slice of bread with butter and handed it to Puppy.
“You’re probably more worried about the cargo, ain’t ye, gov?”
“I don’t want to be insensitive to Ned’s losses, but that’s where my financial interest lies, yes.” He offered a slice of bread to the barmaid as well, and she took it, picking out the soft center first and leaving the crust whole.
“Better tell yer money men not to get their hopes up. That’s not the official word, mind ye. But Ned mentioned taking on water in the hold. That can’t be good, right?”
A heavy sighed rolled out of him. “No, that’s not good. I appreciate the news, Peg.”
She dropped the crust, then brushed her hands off and returned to the bar.
Puppy rested her chin on her hands as she studied him. “This is more than the Wilhelmina. I’ve been with you when you got bad news on investments before. This reaction isn’t like that.”
Cal bit into his bread, then looked away from her. “What do you mean? I haven’t even said anything.”
“Exactly. You haven’t said a word. Usually you’d have already made at least two jokes and be plotting a way to make up the loss. Numbers are toys to you, and you shuffle them around like game pieces.”
“You know Eastly sunk a considerable investment into that ship. What you don’t know is his current precarious financial position. I’d hoped the Wilhelmina would provide the answer.”
Puppy, ever practical, got to the heart of the matter. “How bad is it?”
“He made a ridiculous wager. The forfeit is a princely sum he could have managed if this blasted ship had returned with cargo intact.”
“Will they accept something else in forfeit? Some land? A hunting cottage somewhere? I hear you have a forest in Northumberland you aren’t doing anything with.”
Cal cleared his throat. “Remember Baron Rosehurst and his daughter from Vauxhall?”
“That’s who Eastly bet with? How does his daughter fit into this?” She must have come to the right conclusion as she asked the question. “Damn, he’s wanting his darling daughter to be a countess, isn’t he?”
“Apparently. I don’t know how Miss Cuthbert feels about the situation, but I am definitely against this plan. Which means I need to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve paying for my father’s poor judgment with my bachelorhood.”
“Tell Eastly to marry her. Then she could be a marchioness. Or simply say no to all of it. If Eastly has to retreat to the Continent for a while to escape the debt, it might actually make things calmer for you.”
“I suggested he marry her. Really, though, I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone. And I’ve considered leaving the debt in his hands, even if it means he decamps to the Continent. But there would be a scandal and talk about his financial instability, which would lead to questions about Emma’s dowry. I can’t do that to her. Not during her debut. She’s made such a splash, but all that attention could turn sour in an instant with a scandal like this.”
Puppy covered her face with her hands and groaned. “Oh God, I forgot. And this is the worst possible time. But while we’re talking about ruining lives, and Emma’s reputation, I need to tell you something.”
“What’s she done now?” he asked, sawing another slice of bread for himself. Since he’d taken care of the Roxbury situation, some of his worry over Emma had subsided. To his knowledge, she hadn’t latched onto anyone new and inappropriate since.
“Roxbury. And more than once if the scene I saw at Vauxhall is any indication.”
Cal froze, then snapped his gaze up to collide with hers. “Explain. Now. And leave nothing out, because that’s a grave accusation to make, Puppy.”
She sat up straight and folded her hands on the table in front of her. “On the night we went to Vauxhall, Emma and I did not encounter one another at the waterfall display as she claimed. I noticed she’d been gone for some time and left to find her. It took longer than expected. She and Roxbury were, ah, engaged. Willingly, and quite enthusiastically by the sound of it.” She hastened to add, “I
only mention it to reassure you that there didn’t appear to be any force involved. Not to imply she’s wanton—God, Cal, don’t look at me like that.” She slumped forward again, resting her face in her hands. “I don’t enjoy telling you this. Murderous looks aren’t helping.”
“The murderous look is only partly for you,” Cal said, gritting his teeth. Vauxhall was after his visit to Roxbury, but the timing didn’t matter more than the seriousness of the accusation. “When you say engaged, exactly what do you mean? Be specific, because if I’m going to kill that bastard, I want to know exactly what he did.”
Puppy grimaced. “No French letter. There’s the possibility of pregnancy.” She cast a worried look at his hand, and he glanced to see he had formed a fist and hadn’t realized it.
“Roxbury is a dead man.”
“If there is a baby, he’ll be no use to you dead.”
The expletive Cal spat out hit the air with a slap. “How could she allow this to happen with a man like that? Wait—they know you caught them. How did she react?”
Puppy stared over Cal’s shoulder at the wall, and he knew then that he wouldn’t like the answer. The bread he’d eaten weighed a ton in his gut as he waited for her to speak.
“She, uh, she kissed me. Then threatened to tell you I’d made unwelcome advances.”
A rueful laugh that had nothing to do with humor escaped. “Of course she did. Because blackmail solves everything. That girl is too much like our father.”
She smiled. “It wasn’t a very good blackmail attempt. It backfired rather spectacularly, because here we are.”
“Right.” With his world falling apart, with Puppy by his side in a dark pub by the rank Thames. And somehow managing to laugh, even if it wasn’t wholehearted. “Here we are.”
Despite the many secrets between them—mostly on her side—he didn’t want to be having this conversation with anyone else. It didn’t stop his brain from circling around to his sister, though.
“What on earth is she thinking? I mean, if she wants to re-create the absolute hell of our parents’ marriage, this is a damn fine way to do it.” The Marquess and Marchioness of Eastly had done everything passionately. Wedded, bedded, fought, and betrayed each other—all at top volume, with full theatrical flair, and usually with witnesses. If his mother still lived, they’d probably be in the same poisonous pattern.
West End Earl Page 9
