“You’re dead on your feet. You must be wrecked.” He grabbed her bag. “C’mere.” His hand drew her close again, pulling her around him through an open door of a squat stone house. A narrow staircase ascended before her, the path dimly lit with a few tallow candles. “Mrs. Bowen owes me a favor. We’ll be staying here for the night. Besides, she takes boarders. The damn city keeps condemning the rest of the housing.”
Her eyes stung from keeping them open as she peered around, looking for another.
“I believe she’s in bed. No worries. I stay here if the work house is crowded. Go on up. All the way to the attic.”
It was always the attic with Alex. They were some secret to be stashed away, an idea yet to be had. She climbed the stairs, floating even as her limbs were heavy with exhaustion, and pushed through a heavily painted door. The wood floors were dark and roughhewn. The damp air smelled of rope and salt. There was a stack of empty grain sacks in one corner. The rest of the room was a dark shadow that the one measly candle Alex nicked couldn’t light up.
He tensed behind her, his breathing shallow as he led them further into the room. “There’s a lantern there in the corner. Can you find it?” It wasn’t until the lantern was lit and the room was washed in a dim gold light that he sighed, stretching his arms up to the low beams of the ceiling. He rolled his neck, assessing her, those eyes of his full of storms and questions.
Something between a shiver and a bolt of lightning chased down her spine as she brought her gaze to meet his. She hadn’t thought much of him while she was dancing, yet here she was, and the oddest thing of all was that it felt right. The pressure that had crowded around her chest as she navigated London on her own, the whirring thoughts of returning home, everything—it just stopped.
“Well,” she said, breaking eye contact. Her heart picked up its beat, as if her ballet slippers were still on and she danced across the stage, allégro. She limped forward, grabbing her valise from his feet, and set it in the corner by the grain stacks. Minnie sunk to the ground as if everything within finally imploded from the long hours and pain.
“You should go home, Anne. Whatever you need for a ticket, we’ll get. You deserve more than sleeping on grain sacks in the attic of a fishmongers wife by the docks.”
She shrugged, pulling off the worn shoes she bought when she traded in her fine leather boots. These were dull and had holes. “You should learn how to protect your face when you’re fighting. I’d say your looks are the only thing you have going for you since you like to have your brains knocked about.”
He chuckled, electrifying the damp air. Alex let go of the beams and sat beside her. “You didn’t lose your mouth with all that fine dancing, I see.”
A smile fought its way to the corner of her mouth as she peeled off her wet jacket. She shivered again, though she couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or just exhaustion. Minnie longed for her bed, the one with fine sheets and thick down blankets. She never fell in love with Burton Hall as Grace had, but right now it sounded like heaven, that dreary house in Yorkshire.
“Needs must, Alex. Turns out I’m no ballerina after all.” She fell back onto the grain sacks, craving something warm to drape over her tired body. “No matter how hard you wish something to be true, sometimes it just isn’t possible.”
Alex followed, rolling over to face her. His body was longer, his arms more corded than she remembered. And that sickly pallor had begun to fade to sun-kissed skin. His hair, though. His hair was still that unnatural yellow.
“You won’t be heading back then?”
It appeared as if she would fit perfectly against his chest and though he was equally soaked by the rain, she bet he’d be warmer than she was. “If I go back, I lose whatever chance I have left. If any. And if I stay…”
“Mhm.” Alex rolled over onto his back, tossing his arm underneath his head.
She instantly missed his closeness, missed his eyes taking in the details of her face as if he had been starving for the sight of them these past few weeks. “Even still, I’ll be just as lost if I go home. I’m like those birds caged up. Something to be cooed over as the rest of the world walks by. I don’t know where or who I belong to.”
“Do you need to belong?” Alex stretched his neck from side to side, a small sigh slipping into the dark the only sign of pain. “You’ve a flair for the dramatics.”
“And you’ve a flair for being a cad. I was trying to…”
Alex rolled back over, a smile stretched upon his lips, those eyes of his shining, even as one began to swell and close up. Minnie playfully slapped him across his stomach, the two of them laughing as soon as she withdrew her hand.
“You were saying?” His thick eyebrow was stuck from the swelling above his eye, unable to arch up to give his face that full charming quality it possessed.
And did it ever. Even bruised and swollen, there was something about Alex Marwick.
“I don’t know anymore.” She tried to pout, but couldn’t as he drew her to him. Minnie rested against his chest on a heavy sigh, the rest of her suddenly wide awake. Alex was Turkish coffee on an empty stomach.
He tugged her close again, his focus still on the ceiling. “You’re shivering.”
The truth was, they both were. They both trembled in the dark and Minnie wondered if she had a similar effect on him. She’d only ever kissed her Ahya’s grandson once under a table back in India. A first kiss at five is not a kiss at all really, but that’s all she had to draw on from experience.
“And you’re on my side of the bed,” he continued, his voice growing lower, rougher.
She’d missed that too. Why had she grown to miss a near stranger? Minnie hardly knew him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“You have yourself a deal, Mrs. Marwick. Now close your eyes and rest.”
*
The sun was still rising from its bed, the outside sky more stars than the birth of dawn through the tiny attic windows. But there was a fireball in Alex’s arms anyway.
She hadn’t let go during the night. In fact, Anne had tangled herself around him, more stubborn than the few patches of grass that popped up between well-trodden cobbles of Whitechapel. This strange, willful girl who smelled of roses. This hand that curled entwined with his fingers, her skin soft and warm, as though it was meant to be palm to palm with the likes of him. The mouth of hers that even when relaxed curled into an easy smile at the ends. That fine nose of hers, the one of a high-born lady, aristocratic in its delicate slope.
He tried to pull away gently, his body aching from the fight last night, and aching more from wanting to kiss Anne awake. She was the devil with those eyes of hers, that plump mouth full of sass and fire. She belonged at home with her family; she deserved better than what he could ever give her, and though it was selfish to admit as much, he’d felt a sliver of satisfaction in his chest as she approached him in the dark last evening. His angel, returned.
Who was he to send her packing, telling her where she belonged? He’d been chained up in the dark, all but left for dead from being unwanted. Desire was a powerful thing, for it fueled his next breath in the dark as a little boy. It was tinder to the soft beat of hope in his chest as he was wrapped in a blanket and carried out by Danny, out into the world, to live a life previously denied to him.
And maybe she’d be of use to him. Maybe with her fine connections, she might know of the woman who helped Danny escape from the asylum. Maybe then he’d have a name for himself instead of the one he made for himself. His given name. How could a man take on the world without knowing who he truly was? That was the difference between a man and a boy, and Alex was done with being tossed around Whitechapel as a boy with a temper, another troublesome mick.
“I dreamt we were in Paris, in a grand hotel, with muffins waiting, and champagne,” Minnie whispered. Her lips brushed against the linen of his shirt. They might as well have moved over his skin because he was burning.
“Of course you would.”
S
he softly laughed as she opened her eyes and met his. Anne stretched her body, paying no mind that it rubbed against his side. It seemed she welcomed his touch, and as for Alex, it was the most unnatural thing he knew.
He coyly pulled away, sitting on the edge of the grain sacks. He felt the cool pressure of her eyes on his back, washing over him like the waning moonlight outside as it sunk in the horizon.
“It’s too early to be awake.”
Alex peeked over his shoulder, closing his eyes at the sight of her copper hair cascading down her shoulders, her cheeks pink from sleep. “It’s time for me to report to the docks, darling. As for you, you should get up and meet Mrs. Bowen so she doesn’t think there’s a thief stowing away in her attic.”
“Isn’t there?”
He laughed to himself, standing to stretch. He was thankful for the lack of mirror. Alex wasn’t of the mind to come face to face with an eejit this early. He heard her get up and adjust her dress, then issue a soft hiss as she stepped forward. “We’ll figure out the rest tonight, but for now, I want you off that ankle.”
“I’m fine,” Anne protested. She pushed back curls from her face, trying to tame her hair, which had come to life in the London drizzle last evening. She threw her shoulders back, daring him on.
Alex didn’t back down as he walked to the door. “You wouldn’t be here if that were true.”
*
As they ventured downstairs, Minnie was surprised to find others filing out of hallway doors; shadows of people, drawn in dark lines and quiet souls. Laundry hung tented over ropes slung from wall to corner, filtering the little light that poured through the thick bubbled glass of the windows. Beyond one door, a fussing baby woke.
Each steep step was more a challenge than the last with her ankle. She bit back her pain, keeping her focus on Alex and those sturdy shoulders of his. She fought back the flush biting at her cheeks from waking up in his arms. How perfectly right the world seemed then, there in the arms of her Irish pickpocket.
Golden light flooded at the bottom of the stairs, the smell of soot and fish strong in the air. It was a house of dark: dark wood, soot-covered plastered walls, stone. A house cloaked in a damp that sank into Minnie, spurring a shiver down her spine as Alex stopped and turned to face her.
“You’ll be wanting to keep the name Mrs. Marwick unless you want to find yourself marched down to the church today.”
“I’d rather not.”
Alex bit at his lip, his face swollen, one eye sporting a dark purple bruise. “I guess I won’t take offense.”
She tilted her head, fighting back a smile. He was charming, even with that black eye.
“Right, then.” Alex turned, surprising her as he scooped her up in his arms. He raced down the few remaining steps, then made a grand entrance with her into a kitchen. “Smile if you please, and we might secure the attic longer than a night,” he whispered against her ear.
She did, but not because he asked. It had a lot to do with his arms wrapping around her again, of the steady rise and fall of his chest against her body. It had to do with the secret that she’d kept to herself these past hours, of how he walked through the night to her, a welcome sight. She’d wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.
To kiss Alex. What a grand idea, as he’d say.
“Och, what’s the fuss about, Alex?” A robust woman, with hair the color of wheat cut and left under the sun too long, turned, her hands on her hips. “I see you stayed the night again. Invite yourself in, bring a guest. Your Ma would be disappointed in your manners.” The woman removed a kettle from an open fire, setting it down on the stone hearth.
“Now, Mrs. Bowen, that’s no way to meet my new bride.”
The woman waved him off, shuffling over to a well-worn box for a loaf of crusty bread and some salt cod.
Minnie’s stomach soured.
Alex set Minnie down, wrapping his arm around her middle once again. He looked down at her, his eyes full of appreciation and something resembling a lustful curiosity. Did he think of kissing her as well? The girls at Miss Martin’s teased Minnie, calling her a prude, taunting her for never harboring a flame for a boy. While the others had been brought up on the proper social calendar and were well acquainted with other families of the ton, Minnie had been traveling the world with her adopted family. That is, until the twins were born in a Persian palace, nearly killing Clara. With little Cecily so ill, they returned from adventures in the East to settle in London where doctors could oversee her care. And to settle Minnie in finishing school. She never had much chance to develop much of anything for the opposite sex.
“Oh, Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, Alex. You come back sporting a bruise the size of an apple and now you’ve a wife. I know what you’re up to, I do. My Peter, God bless his soul, was like you once. A charmer he was, through and through. You’re too busy running from the Fenians and now you’ve got a wife. You’re a dolt, boy.” She poured a cup of tea, the smell weak, the color much too fair to suggest the leaves were new. “A perfect, charming dolt.”
Alex beamed, then winked to Minnie, nudging his knuckles against her back in a rocking rhythm. She hadn’t bothered with her corset; it was much too big now, so his touch…well, his touch made her entertain things she hadn’t spent much time considering before this moment. Like returning to that attic and going back to sleep in his arms. Like kissing his lips maybe, then that bruise of his. If he liked the idea of kissing her too, would it be wrong?
“I’m Anne, ma’am. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Mrs. Bowen raised her fair brow, wheezing a heartless laugh. “And English. It’s a good thing my Peter is buried well and good. He wouldn’t have one under this roof, let me tell you, Alex Marwick.”
“She’s sympathetic, and a good worker, Mrs. Bowen. I have to get to the docks before I lose out on work, but my wife has a hurt ankle. Do you think you could care for it? Maybe give us the attic to stay in until we find a place of our own?” Alex leaned toward the table in the middle of the room and grabbed a few potato peelings, stuffing them in the pocket of the jacket slung over his shoulders. “And I take it Mr. Davoren has left you alone?”
She clucked at him, her cheeks heating as she took a sip of tea from a mug. “You’ve all the subtly of the devil bursting into a church on a Sunday. Yes, he’s left me alone. But has he left you alone? Look at that face of yours! I want no trouble here, is that understood?”
Minnie stood between the two, her curiosity piqued.
As though he could read her mind, Alex spun to face her. “There’s no trouble, now. I’ll be on my best behavior. Anne will see to that.”
That didn’t sit well with Minnie. Like his hair, that crest ring he wore on his pinky, and now the mention of Fenians—Alex was as much a stranger as last evening.
“Goodbye, darling.” He leaned toward her cheek, but his lips avoided her skin. All the pity for that. Alex stretched, tapping the narrow doorway before pushing out into the early morning.
The sky began to wake, as well as the seagulls. Their cries pierced the sounds of the people upstairs as they moved around and began their day. And Minnie was left alone in the kitchen, leaning on her good foot as Mrs. Bowen quietly poured another cup of tea.
“Come and have a cuppa,” she said, motioning to a rickety chair across the table. “And why you don’t you tell me who you really are?”
CHAPTER FIVE
It seemed her life was going to be one built on lies.
“I’m Anne Gibbons,” Minnie told Mrs. Bowen confidently. She sat, as her cheeks pinked. She shrugged, stifling a girlish giggle. “Anne Marwick, now ma’am.” Inside, her lies mounted, pressing against her lips, waiting to be spilled like the weak tea Minnie clumsily dripped onto her dress as she took a sip.
She was a girl without a proper home, a girl who had just lost her dream. A girl hopelessly lost in the belly of London’s East End. Alex was right. It was a talent he possessed in spades, the annoying man. It was time for her to re
turn to Burton Hall. She had family there who missed her, and she them.
But if she couldn’t be a ballerina, than who was she supposed to be in this world?
“Mr. Marwick is kind enough. He’s new around these parts, and that’s hard for a boy like him to bow down to the way things are. Why only two weeks past he was dumped on my doorstep, beaten and blacked out. It’s those Fenians. He’s messed with the wrong sorts trying to settle scores that aren’t for him to interfere with.”
A rat scurried by the fireplace, pausing to dig at the ashes scattered across the corner of the hearth. A crusty loaf of bread, an odd gray color, sat a few feet above on the butcher block by the large wash basin stacked with dirty dishes.
Alex had offered once, but it sounded as though he was the one in need of a friend.
“So you’ll imagine my surprise when he suddenly shows up at my door with nothing to his name but a new wife.”
Mrs. Bowen reached for the kettle, pouring herself another cup of tea. A patinated cross fell out from beneath the neckline of her dress, her eyes trained on the ceramic mug as she challenged Minnie.
If she told the truth, then they’d be out on the streets, or worse—truly married. And true, she’d discovered a soft spot for Alex, but she couldn’t be married when she’d come this far on her adventure. No matter she had failed the first time, she’d try again and again until she was met with success.
Minnie set down her tea cup, allowing herself to remember the relief she felt as she curled into Alex’s side the evening before. A smile naturally floated to her lips. “It was a quick romance. He’s a way with words. And you said yourself he’s a kind man. I didn’t stand a chance against his charm.”
Mrs. Bowen grinned, slumping back into her chair. “Well my girl, I’d have to agree with you there. Your husband is a bit of a Romeo, through and through. Why, if I was younger, I’d reckon I’d give you a run at him.”
A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) Page 6
