by Wendy Vella
“I will lift him.”
“Your injury?” Essie said as Max moved closer.
“Is healed.”
Max lifted the boy gently into his arms, and held his free hand out to her. Not taking it would be churlish, which was exactly how she was feeling. Rising unaccompanied, she directed Max to put Peter down.
“Your breathing is better, Peter,” Max said.
She watched as he rested a hand on the boy’s forehead, looking down at him. The boy looked at Max with hero worship, and Essie wondered about their relationship. In fact, she wondered about all the boys she had seen in here.
Not that I care. Scoundrel. How dared he mislead her as to his situation! The man likely had more money than her family.
Picking up her gloves, she tucked them together into a ball, and opened her reticule and put them inside. She then lowered it to the boy’s stomach.
“I am going to show you an exercise, Peter, and I wish you to do it as often as you can. At least at night before you close your eyes, and in the morning when you open them.”
The boy nodded.
“I want you to breathe deeply, and in doing so lift my reticule into the air, and then lower it.”
The first breath was too shallow.
“Push your stomach out with the inhale, Peter, and in when you exhale.”
By the fourth he was doing it.
“Well, that is impressive.” Eden clapped her hands as she moved to Peter’s side. “You have picked that up a great deal faster than my sibling, Dorrie. She took at least a week.”
“There, you see, Peter, you have impressed a duchess,” Essie said, moving closer to Max.
“May I have a private word with you, Mr. Huntington?”
“Of course.” He took her arm and led her to a room that was used to store supplies. It had a door, and a window on the outer wall.
“I shall return shortly, Eden. I need to speak with Mr. Huntington.”
“Go.” Her sister waved her away.
Max ushered her into the room; once they were inside, he closed the door behind them.
“Please open the door. I merely wish Peter not to hear us converse.”
“Your hands are shaking, Essex. You have no need to be nervous around me.”
She pushed them behind her back when he reached for them. She never wanted this man’s touch again.
“Miss Sinclair, and I am not nervous around you, my worry for the boy made them shake.” Essie cursed herself for a fool for saying the words. No one knew how scared she sometimes became treating patients.
“Why?”
“Be quiet and listen, please. I wish to discuss the boy.”
“But I wish to discuss why your hands are shaking. Does this happen often? Or is it when you treat very sick people?”
No one knew how she sometimes reacted after dealing with a very ill person, and she did not want this man to be the only one.
“If you will not tell me that, then let me say I did not deliberately mislead you, Essex.”
“Miss Sinclair, and that has no bearing on the boy.”
He moved closer to where she stood, and she took a backward step.
“I left Oak’s Knoll—”
“What are Peter’s living conditions?” she interrupted him, her eyes on his left shoulder. “It is imperative that he not live in a damp, moldy room.”
“As of two weeks ago, warm and dry.”
“Good, and is there plenty of nourishing food? Fruits and vegetables?”
“There is.”
Essie nodded, hating that she was so aware of him, this man she knew nothing about—actually, that wasn’t true, she now knew he was a wealthy merchant. Her brothers or uncle could likely fill in the rest of the gaps, were she to ask them, as they knew a great many people just like him.
“Essie, I left because—”
“I don’t want you to speak about that. I want to hear no more lies, plus my sister has excellent hearing, so please lower your voice.”
“She can surely not hear from where she is standing?”
Yes, she can, but Essie did not say the words out loud.
“My sister-in-law runs a house for children who live on the streets. If at any time Peter is not able to have those things I spoke of, please let me know, and I will send him there.”
“I will look after his welfare.”
“He is far too thin, and I fear the smog and damp will harm him. It is vital he is kept warm and dry.”
He wrapped his hands around her shoulders.
“I don’t feel things for people. I have found it is better that way.”
“I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. Release me at once!”
“No.”
She tried to shrug free, but his fingers remained on her arms.
“H-he needs a drink of cloves and honey. The cl-cloves must be boiled and the honey added. It will help him.”
“Look at me.”
She shook her head.
“You made me feel things, and I have found it better not to, so I left Oak’s Knoll.”
She looked up at him then, and fought against the invading weakness being near him caused inside her once again. “I don’t even know what that means. How can you just decide not to feel things?”
His eyes held hers, the tawny depths mesmerizing.
“It has always worked for me.”
Which told her that he had never been loved, or had a close relationship with anyone. In that, he had not lied. The lion was alone in this world.
“Release me, please.”
His hands moved, rubbing circles on her shoulders, and damn her to hell, she could feel her body softening and her defenses lowering.
“I’m sorry I left you after what we shared, Essie. I had no right to do so, but—”
“It matters not.” Essie cut him off. “You are nothing to me, as I am nothing to you. Now, please tell me why these boys are here?”
“You should be nothing to me,” he said, and she saw the confusion inside him.
“The boys....”
“Do you believe I am mistreating them, Essie? Do you think me capable of such deeds?”
“I know nothing of you, how am I to know what you would do?”
“What does your instinct tell you about me?”
“I-I don’t believe in instinct, I believe in fact. You, Mr. Huntington, lied to me, so I will never trust you again. However, for some reason I do believe you are not hurting those boys. Am I right?”
“They are cabin boys... or were,” he said softly. “They have each been mistreated.”
“So you rescued them?”
“Yes.”
“You are right to be wary of me, but know that I would never hurt someone with a soul as beautiful as yours.”
“Stop it,” Essie hissed. “Stop talking like I mattered to you, as I know I did not. What is important now is Peter, and ensuring he recovers.”
His grip on her tightened, and then he was pulling her forward until her breasts touched the hard planes of his chest.
“Let me go now. My sister is....” The words fell from Essie’s lips as he lowered his head.
The kiss was everything she remembered and more. The feel of his lips on hers, the scent of his large body. She felt it again, the wonderful ache inside her that only this man had ever made her feel.
He lifted his lips and she saw the passion in his eyes.
“When I saw you in my warehouse, all I could think was that I wanted you in my arms again.” His breath brushed her lips. “And yet I know I have no right to touch you this way.”
She fought for sanity, fought against the drugging need to close the gap between their mouths once more.
“Let me go,” Essie whispered.
His eyes ran over her face, and whatever he saw had him releasing her.
“This cannot happen between us again. Will not,” Essie said, then turned away and walked from the room.
Eden threw her a glance as she re
turned, but she did not answer the questions in her sister’s eyes. Of course, there was every likelihood she had heard the conversation that took place in the storeroom, anyway.
“Now you may sit up, Peter, and I want you to listen to me carefully, as I have some things I need you to do.”
Max arrived in time to help the boy rise. Essie kept her eyes from him.
“I need you to stay warm at all times. Wear scarves, and if possible woolen jumpers. If you go out in the cold weather, or the air is very cold, then I want you to breathe through your scarf, Peter. Can you do that for me?”
“I-I can try.”
“I have a chest rub, and a tonic I want you to take. Plus, I have told Mr. Huntington that boiling cloves and adding honey will help ease your breathing. I will come back and see you soon, Peter, but if at any time your condition worsens, then someone will come for me.”
“I will do so.”
She did not look at Max, but nodded to say she had heard.
“Clean air is the best thing for you also, Peter. If the smoke is thick, then breathe through your scarf again. If you are sick, then take extra care to dress warm, and do not exert yourself. If you are struggling to breathe, then do not exert yourself.”
“He will not be allowed to do so,” Max said.
Essie patted the boy’s thin shoulder.
“Thank you, I am feeling better, Miss Sinclair.”
He looked it, Essie thought, but was still a long way from healthy.
“I have the material you wanted.” Mrs. Floyd arrived.
Essie took it, and wrapped it twice around Peter’s neck, and then tucked it down his shirtfront.
“Use this until I send you some woolen scarves, Peter. Remember to breathe into it if the weather gets cold.”
Essie then brushed a hand over his head, and turned to collect Eden, who had wandered off to look around the warehouse.
Max walked at Essie’s side as she made her way to Eden.
“Thank you for caring for Peter.”
“I will prepare some things for him today and send them over, then I would like to see him again. I will go to his lodgings.”
“Because you have no wish to see me again?”
Essie was the nonconfrontational Sinclair. She hated conflict, but she made herself stop walking and face him.
“That is for the best, as nothing good can come from us meeting again. Good day to you, Mr. Huntington.”
She made her way to Eden. Collecting her sister, she headed for the door, and knew Max shadowed her.
His hand reached the door of the carriage first, and opened it.
“Good day, your Grace.”
“Mr. Huntington,” Eden said, taking his hand. Essie was next, and she realized her gloves still sat in her reticule, so she would be forced to touch him again.
“Miss Sinclair.”
Essie looked down at the large hand, palm facing upward, awaiting hers.
“Mr. Huntington.” She rested hers on it, and the thrill that accompanied that contact simply made her angry, so she gave him a brisk nod and stepped forward. His fingers closed around hers and tightened briefly. He then helped her into the carriage.
Only when the carriage was moving did she exhale. Looking at her sister, she said, “Not one word.”
“I hope you are joking, because after what I just witnessed, I want a comprehensive explanation.”
“Well, you are not bloody getting one! I treated him at Oak’s Knoll, end of story.”
“No, it is not the end of the story. I have never seen you react that way with a man before. Not even Tolly, who you supposedly loved!”
Essie looked at her sister, and for the first time in forever, wished her somewhere else.
“There is nothing further to discuss. I believed him a different person than he actually is. Believed him penniless, and he did not correct that belief. He spent two days at Oak’s Knoll, and what you saw today was my anger at being deceived.”
“But why are you so angry he deceived you, if you care nothing for him?”
“Enough, Eden. I wish to speak about him no more.” Essie did not yell, but she felt like it.
“All right, we will drop it for now, but I liked him. Are you sure he deliberately deceived you?”
“What does it matter if he did or didn’t?”
“He’d make you a fine husband.”
Essie stared at her sister in stunned silence.
“Wealthy, handsome, and he is obviously, despite his penchant for fabrication, a good man. He wouldn’t be rescuing those ship boys if he did not. Mrs. Floyd told me about them.”
“Well, at least you did not listen to the conversation I had with Mr. Huntington.”
“I could not get the woman to stop talking loudly so I could do so. It was most vexing.”
Thank you, Mrs. Floyd, Essie thought.
“This subject is no longer up for discussion, Eden. That also means you will not speak to Dev or Cam on the matter.”
Her sister didn’t look happy, but nodded. Essie didn’t like her chances that she would keep silent for long, however.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Max watched the carriage take Essie away from him until it had left his sight. It was as if her palm had been an ember, and the contact would remain burned into his skin.
“What is this folly?” Max muttered, returning to his warehouse. “I don’t feel emotion, nor do I enjoy the contact of another.”
But Essex Sinclair was an angel... angry angel, he added, sighing. He’d never reacted to a woman as he did to her. The yearning to be near her was unsettling. He’d kissed her because he’d had to. Touched her, or gone mad.
“Perhaps I have an illness that is addling my brain,” Max muttered. What other reason could account for this irrational behavior?
Edward met him as he entered the warehouse. His limp seemed more pronounced today, which suggested he’d been walking about too much.
“The investigator, Mr. Spriggot, has arrived, along with the Bow Street Runner, Mr. Brown, Max. They are in your office.”
“I have heard good reports on both, and thought to have them investigate who wants me dead, Edward. Come and see what you think of them.”
“Very well. How do you know Miss Sinclair, Max?”
Max walked a few paces, his eyes going left and right to make sure everything was as it should be in the warehouse.
“How do you know that I know her?”
“She was angry with you. I watched from upstairs, and you were….”
“I was what?”
“Very happy to see her,” Edward said softly. “In fact, your reaction to her was something I have never seen before.”
“I am often happy to see people,” Max protested. But he knew what Edward meant. It was different with Essex Sinclair, and that was not a comforting thought. He’d always believed himself immune to the emotions other men experienced with women.
“Not this happy. Not smiling, and leaning toward a person happy.”
Max shot his friend a frustrated look. “Have you been reading nonsense again?”
“Max.”
Silver came toward him, using his cane to lead the way. The boy could make his way anywhere in London, and often said he had no need of eyes.
“What is it, Silver?”
“Miss Sinclair helped Peter.”
“She did.”
“Is she coming back?”
The boy looked straight ahead, but his head was tilted slightly. Like the other boys Max had working for him, Silver had been mistreated as a cabin boy, and Max and Edward had rescued him.
“She said she wanted to see Peter again, so it is likely she will. Why do you ask?”
“I wondered if she may have something for my headaches.”
Max rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You said they were better.”
The smile was small, but held little humor. “I lied.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because yo
u worry, and there was nothing that could be done. But now, maybe there is.”
These boys had been mistreated, beaten and worse, and they never complained or asked for anything from him unless their need was great. Silver’s headaches must be bad indeed for him to broach the subject.
“I shall speak with her on your behalf, and ensure she comes back. Now, I want you to go up to the room where you take your meals, and rest there.”
“I don’t need to rest,” the boy scoffed.
Max watched him walk away, stick tapping.
“Braver than men twice his age,” Edward muttered.
Max didn’t speak, because anger tightened his throat, as it always did when he thought how his boys had suffered.
They took the stairs and were soon in his office, where he found Mr. Spriggot, a small, thin man, who to Max’s mind was easily forgettable, except for his alert eyes. Beside him sat Mr. Brown, the runner. Blunt-featured and bald, he was larger, but no prettier to look at. Appearances, however, Max had long ago learned, meant very little.
After greetings were exchanged, Mr. Spriggot spoke.
“Please tell us what has occurred, for you to believe your life is in danger, Mr. Huntington.”
Max did, relating everything he remembered.
“And you saw nothing or passed no other rider or carriage immediately before you were shot?”
“No. I was riding to inspect a property I’m thinking of purchasing, and the bullet knocked me sideways. I managed to stay on the horse, but as it bolted from fright, I could do nothing but hold on.”
“Hurts like the devil to have a bullet hole in you,” Mr. Brown said, and this told Max he had experienced the pain firsthand. Because it did hurt like the devil.
“I then managed to control it, and took cover in some trees. There I waited until I believed the way was clear. However, my thoughts were no longer in order, as I was losing blood fast, so I took the wrong road, and ended up in Crunston Cliff. I received help there.”
Mr. Spriggot smiled. It was merely forming his lips into a line, but Mr. Brown’s was wider.
“Been there myself, to the Duke of Raven’s castle. Lovely place, and nice people in Crunston Cliff. Oak’s Knoll is where we have clients, Mr. Spriggot. The Sinclairs live there.”
