This time she’d go somewhere her uncle couldn’t reach her—perhaps to the seashore—and leave Adam’s name behind a little early. A plan formed from spinning thoughts while she sifted through the room in search of something salvageable.
The town would need to be within a reasonable distance from London, since she’d have to collect her quarterly allowance one more time. Perhaps she need only pretend to be Adam for that one meeting. The idea of finally shedding her brother’s name felt odd. Not quite the dark heft of grief, but not the lightness of relief either.
Under the bed, the corner of a miniature caught the light of the lantern. Beyond that, miraculously intact, lay the small sewing kit she used to alter her clothing. Smoothing dirt from the tiny painting’s frame, Phee studied the faces caught by a rather subpar artist. Her parents had been good people. So good, perhaps, that they hadn’t believed others capable of the depravity Uncle Milton held within his pinkie finger. Such blind trust to leave him with the final say in the amount of her allowance.
The whole situation made her blood boil, but being furious with her dead parents felt disloyal to the early memories she held of them. Guilt hit with predictable precision. She swallowed it down from habit, tucking it away as neatly as she pocketed the small portrait into her coat.
“So that’s it, then. A pillow, a sewing kit, and a miniature.” Pathetic, really. Everything else would be fuel for warmth or perhaps passed around as scraps to the other residents of the building. Maybe they could use the bits and pieces as patches for their clothes or a quilt. Some good might come of the mess that way.
The familiar faded wallpaper of the hallway greeted her for the last time when she stepped out of the room. Mrs. Carver took the key she proffered, then clasped Phee’s hands. “Be well, lad.”
“Thank you.” A thought occurred to her, cutting through the numbness she’d pulled around herself like a cloak. Her neighbor would receive another letter soon and not have any way of reading it. The thought cracked the calm she’d fabricated. “When you see Barry next, could you tell him I’m sorry I won’t be here to read his correspondence anymore? I hope he can find someone else to help him keep in touch with his brother.”
“I’ll tell him. Best get along before it gets dark, Mr. Hardwick.” The nudge was gentle, but there nonetheless.
Quick as that, she was homeless.
An hour later, if Higgins was surprised to see Phee on the doorstep, he didn’t let on. “Mr. Hardwick.”
“Hello again, Higgins. Is his lordship home?”
“I’m afraid Lord Carlyle and Lady Emma have stepped out for the evening.”
So this would not be a quick goodbye, then a walk to the nearest posting house. She could simply leave a note and move on with her life. But on this entire planet, there were three people who knew Ophelia was alive: Vicar Arcott, John, and Cal. Even if he didn’t know all the details. Walking away with no more than a letter sounded like an awful, cowardly way to leave things. He’d taken her under his wing and offered friendship when she’d been completely alone.
The fresh memory of her destroyed belongings, clearly meant as a threat to intimidate, flashed through her mind. Cal’s feelings weren’t more important than her safety. However, Cal owed her wages, and frankly, she needed every coin she could get if she was going to successfully move and hide for the next few months. Money provided a solid reason to say goodbye in person, when logically she should be fleeing the city and abandoning every connection and friendship.
“Do you mind if I wait in the library?”
Instead of answering, Higgins puckered his brow in a tiny gesture she might have missed were she not paying attention. The butler glanced at the pillow. “Perhaps you’d prefer to wait in a bedroom and address your business with him on the morrow? You know a chamber remains prepared for you at all times on Lord Carlyle’s order. The family likely won’t return until very late.”
God, if Higgins softened his voice further, Phee would cry. The unexpected kindness caused her eyes to burn with unshed emotion. “I look that bad off, do I?”
The butler straightened, all business once more. “I am hardly one to pass judgment, Mr. Hardwick. If you choose to wait in the library, you are free to do so. I’m simply doing my duty by reminding you that Lord Carlyle has made it clear you will always have a place here.”
Blinking to clear her eyes, Phee adjusted the pillow under her arm. “Thank you, Higgins. If you wouldn’t mind sending notice when his lordship arrives home, I’ll take that offer of a room.”
“Of course.”
A footman led her up the stairs and down a familiar hallway. “Are you sure we’re going the right way? Isn’t this the family wing?” They passed the heavy wooden door to Cal’s room, then stopped at the end of the hall before a set of similar doors.
“No mistake, Mr. Hardwick.” The servant opened the room to show a chamber three times the size of the room she’d been renting, with a door ajar on the far wall showing an additional dressing chamber.
Typical Cal. Generous to the point of excess, providing a soft place to land after a day of emotional turns and surprises. Standing in this lush chamber, with its carved wood mantel and grand bed piled with luxurious linens, it hit her that for the moment at least, she was safe.
Her knees went soft until a chair caught her. Wrapping her arms around the pillow and hugging it to her chest tighter, Phee leaned her head back.
It hadn’t been the worst day of her life. But the bar for that was rather high.
Phee swallowed around a hiccuping sob and squeezed her eyes closed. God, she’d been so close to her goal, and now this. Starting over from scratch again. Goodbyes. Death threats.
Rubbing a fist over her eyes, she scrubbed away tears. There would be time to cry later. After Cal returned from yet another night of socializing with all the other glittering, pretty people. After she left him behind. And she’d certainly cry once she’d climbed aboard the mail coach and “Adam” disappeared from London.
What she’d give to find out how large the insurance policy was. How much was she worth to Milton? Before today, she’d have used the pennies allotted for her allowance as a metric. Clearly, she was worth more dead than alive.
A tear escaped, so she wicked her cheek dry on the shoulder of her coat.
Later. There would be time to cry later.
Chapter Ten
Mr. Hardwick is upstairs, milord. We showed him to his room.” The butler took their outerwear, then paused while Emma kissed Cal’s cheek and climbed the stairs to her room. “Lord Eastly stopped by as well, and per your orders I turned him away. Again.” With a low voice, Higgins said, “I believe something might have happened with young Mr. Hardwick. He carried a pillow. Most odd.”
“Thank you, Higgins.” Cal handed his hat and gloves to the butler and ran a hand through his hair. When he snagged on the ribbon holding his queue, he slipped it free and tucked it in his pocket while he climbed the stairs two at a time.
A knock on the door at the end of the hall went unanswered. He glanced at his pocket watch and grimaced. It was late—or terribly early, depending on one’s perspective. But Higgins suspected something might be wrong, and Cal trusted Higgins’s read on most situations. Ophelia hadn’t listened to his protests when she left for Shoreditch earlier. He’d insisted she stay here for her safety, but she’d refused. Obstinate woman.
He stood there for a moment, considering the options. It was late and she might be asleep already. Lord knew he was tired after a long day. Between the interview with Nelson, fencing with Ophelia while pretending they hadn’t flirted in the hack, and their conversation about her uncle, it had been rather anticlimactic to return to work.
But that was the reality of his life, and it was far from the glamorous, laughing facade he put on for society. No matter what else was falling apart around him, there were still books to balance, columns of numbers to provide some level of certainty. There was comfort in the black-and-white finality of sums.<
br />
Taking Emma out tonight had been nerve-racking, watching for clues to her behavior he’d missed before. Some hint at the secrets she kept. When Roxbury hadn’t shown up to the event, she’d pouted but eventually enjoyed herself.
In short, he was exhausted. But Higgins thought Ophelia needed help, and for once she’d come to him.
With his brain whipping through a list of worst-case scenarios, he opened the door. All was dark within, the fireplace down to glowing embers, but the bed didn’t have the expected lump of a sleeping body under the blankets. When he lit a lamp, he spotted Ophelia in the overstuffed armchair, cuddling a pillow to her chest like a child with a favorite toy.
The light didn’t disturb her sleep, so he perched on the bench at the foot of the bed and took a moment to gather his thoughts.
Today he’d crossed that invisible line from admiring to admitting it aloud. Flirting, even. Not that she’d really acknowledged it before leaving the carriage. And once inside the house, she’d pretended that taut moment in the hack when they’d openly stared at one another hadn’t happened.
She slept with full lips slightly parted, but her hands clutched at the pillow with white knuckles. Even at rest, she wasn’t relaxed, and it killed him.
With her head turned to the side, the firelight illuminated the pink shell of her ear and the delicate blue veins of her eyelids. This woman with her secrets deserved the chance to truly rest, and he hated to wake her.
But tangled in the protective feelings were less altruistic desires.
If he could, he’d trace the regal angles of her face with his lips. He wanted to discover her confidences one by one as she offered them up like sweet treats. He’d indulge in her if she allowed it.
During their match this afternoon, she’d removed her coat and bent over to place it in the corner, and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue. She had a perfectly heart-shaped arse, and the fact that he’d never noticed before made him wonder about his eyesight. That gentle flare at the hip made his fingers itch to explore and see what other curves she hid.
There had been something in her gaze this morning—yesterday now, given the hour. Something that woke his desire after a long, cold hibernation. The tension in that hack hinted that perhaps she wasn’t someone who preferred female partners. Or not exclusively, at any rate.
Of course, he could be wrong about all of this. Maybe she didn’t want to change their relationship. Or maybe she didn’t know how to cross that bridge from friendship to more. And given her masquerade and her uncle, maybe now simply wasn’t the time.
Not knowing what his next move should be was new territory, and frankly, nothing about this was fun. In the face of attraction, he usually only needed to say yes or no, then set the parameters of the relationship—and there were always limits. With a father who couldn’t keep track of his numerous by-blows as an example, Cal was extremely picky about his lovers. During those encounters he’d focused on the numerous ways to please a partner without risking a child.
In the quiet of this room, every one of those ways crossed his mind. This attraction was blasted uncomfortable. As if a floodgate had opened now that he’d seen his friend in a different light, he couldn’t close his mind to all the things about her that he’d missed before now. And damned if he didn’t want to just stand there mooning over her like a lovesick suitor.
She must have licked her lips as she dreamed, or fallen asleep right before he got home, because her plump bottom lip shone wet and enticing.
Yet something had happened to bring her here tonight. There was likely a price on her head, and here he was wondering if she’d let him kiss her. Climbing to his feet, he crossed to the chair.
“Ophelia, wake up.” Not so much as a flicker of a copper-tipped eyelash. How long had it been since she answered to her name? “Adam,” he tried, louder this time.
It hit him in that heartbeat between her sleep and awareness that if she didn’t share this attraction he was navigating, their friendship could get extremely awkward, very fast. He could have misread everything this morning.
Damn, he needed to get a grip on himself. Crossing his arms over his chest, he nudged the toe of her boot. “If you need to sleep, there’s a perfectly comfortable bed right over there, and nightshirts in the dressing room.”
Ophelia grunted as she came awake, and he refused to be charmed by the sound.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
She blinked, rubbing a palm over her face. “Landlady evicted me. I went home and the place had been tossed. I don’t know how they got in, but they destroyed everything. Well”—she smiled weakly—“almost everything.”
A cacophony of emotions exploded in Cal’s chest, then crept up his throat. Closing his eyes for a second, he tried to make sense of them all.
Fear. “I told you there was a threat. What if you’d been there when they got in?”
Anger. Thrusting fingers through the long strands of his hair, he shoved the mass off his face and paced a step or two, only to whirl around and return to where he’d started. She didn’t have much to begin with. How dare they destroy her things?
Then, blast it all, satisfaction slithered through to rear its ugly head. “You can move in here, obviously. I’ve been asking you to for a while.” Cal gestured around the room. “Whatever you need. It’s yours for as long as you want to stay.”
Puppy, damn her stubborn hide, shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I came to say goodbye, collect my wages, and tender my resignation.”
The words hit him like ice from a champagne bucket. “Resignation? Now you’re talking nonsense.”
She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “My uncle found me. That’s obvious. I only need to make it to the end of the year. I’ll slip off to a small village somewhere. Make it harder for him to track me this time.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Cal snapped. “If he’s found you once, he’ll find you again.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I feel so very safe now.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll take on another name. Only come to London to collect my allowance.”
That was a small comfort. At least she had some sort of plan.
“But you’re going to leave? Just like that? Casually end our friendship and quit your job? Toss a wave over your shoulder, then go live under an assumed identity?” Cal added a dramatic hand flip in case the point wasn’t clear. A part of his brain stood removed from the situation, wondering what exactly he was doing. Reminding him that he looked ridiculous. That part of his brain grew quieter with each pounding heartbeat as the emotions he’d been grappling with since her attack spilled over.
In response, Puppy thumped her head against the padded chair back. “It isn’t like that. You’re adding connotations to this. Am I quitting? Yes. Because it’s rather hard to deal with my duties here if I’m not living in London. And if I stay, I’ll wind up dead. Although, if you’d like me to be an actual steward to that forest you refuse to let me do a damn thing with, then by all means, keep paying me a ridiculous wage to oversee a copse of trees in the middle of bloody nowhere. But we both know I’m not a steward, and I can’t carry out my duties long-distance. This doesn’t have to be the end of our friendship. I can visit when I collect my allowance.”
Just like Cal’s mother visited in between lovers. Mother would be home long enough to reignite hope that perhaps this time she’d stay. In all fairness, her departure usually coincided with his father finding a distraction with another married woman or a servant and starting the whole brutal process over again. Always in competition, those two. Seeing who could hurt the other worse, flouncing off in a fit of theatrics with zero regard for how their abandonment affected Emma and Cal, who wondered each time if their parent would ever return. Cal wouldn’t let his heart wander into that kind of unstable territory again.
“I don’t want you to go.” The words tore out of him.
“There’s no reason for me to stay,” she
said.
“Ouch.” Cal recoiled, rubbing his chest. “Warn a gent next time you take a swipe, will you?”
“Don’t take it like that,” Puppy huffed. “I don’t see any reason to stay in London. You’ve welcomed me into your life, and I appreciate that. I do. I appreciate your”—she stumbled—“friendship. More than you know.” Her voice softened. “But I don’t have anything in London besides you.”
Maybe it was the late hour. Or the wine at dinner and the brandy after. Or that feeling of someone else he cared for leaving him behind, but he didn’t bother to temper his reply. “Aren’t I enough?” Honesty sounded an awful lot like begging, but there it was. “I can keep you safe. Hire guards to protect you—”
She lurched from the chair to stand so close their chests nearly touched. It took every bit of his self-control to not close that gap. He wanted to feel her. And yet her expression gave no indication of physical desire. Frankly, the woman looked like she’d happily wring his neck. At least she was talking to him and not marching out the door.
“I’ve been evicted because my landlady doesn’t want these problems at her door. What makes you think I’d bring them here and expect you to handle them?”
“Because handling problems is what I do.” His voice rose with the tension roiling inside him.
“I won’t be another one of your problems,” Puppy said, matching his volume.
The space between their bodies disappeared, and he breathed in her sandalwood heat until she filled his head. When he spoke, it was quieter, which only made the crack in his voice that much more obvious. “You could never be a problem.”
She melted against him when he cupped her jaw, brushing the corner of her mouth with his thumb. God, her lips were so pink and plump, and right there.
“I wish you’d let me help. You’ve been alone for so long, but you don’t have to be anymore. Trust me. Please.”
West End Earl Page 11
