Chapter Eight #2
“My point exactly. He saved you nobles and kept the king’s secret.” Mr. Powy’s distrustful gaze had transformed into a full glower as he regarded Lady Calliope.
“You are the one with the bias,” Lady Calliope shot back. Her sky blue eyes glittered with emotion, and like Mr. Powys, she clenched her hands. “We nobles are not a monolith.”
“Nor are we commoners.” Mr. Powys’s response was swift.
Hannah broke in to the argument. “This is not productive. I am beginning to think that we cannot have meetings with both of you present.”
“I still believe they’re flirting,” Lord Percy said.
“That is most assuredly not the case,” Lady Calliope admonished at the same time Mr. Powys said, “Bollocks.”
“Then prove your point by not exchanging barbs.” Hannah spoke through her gritted teeth, clearly not afraid to reveal her frustration.
This was a particularly lively group. Eoin had never experienced so many sharp turns in a discussion, and he found he rather enjoyed being part of such chaos—even if he was the object of the debate.
“Mr. Powys’s concerns about me are valid,” Eoin admitted in his normally steady tone, even though his heart was vibrating. He did not want these people to reject him—and not just because he needed their assistance.
“Hear that…” Mr. Powys waved his hand in Eoin’s direction as he addressed Lady Calliope. However, he trailed off in the middle as he probably realized that he was touting the word of the very man whose honor he’d questioned.
“I am aware of my reputation, but I have no desire to injure the folks who may have sheltered my own family,” Eoin said. “That is why I waited to search for my mother and sister until after the duke’s death.”
Mr. Powys watched him closely. “You seem honest, but I know plenty of good actors.”
“My talents do not lie in that area,” Eoin admitted. “I can hide emotions but not feign them.”
“I can attest to his sincerity.” Hannah smiled broadly in his direction, and Eoin felt like he’d just emerged from the depths of a dank cave into the brilliant sunlight. He was not accustomed to anyone championing him, and he found he rather liked the unexpected support.
“Besides,” Eoin said slowly, “I did not get the sense that the Horse and Hen is a place of political discourse—at least not anymore. The air was edged with violence, not subterfuge. It is likely a boozing or flash ken.”
“How do you know those words for a den of thieves?” Hannah’s green eyes widened as she leaned in his direction.
Eoin allowed just the corner of his right lip to tip upward. “Do I appear that na?ve?”
“Well, you almost did get pickpocketed.” Hannah nudged his arm, clearly to show that she meant only to tease. He would have realized her intentions just by the skin crinkling merrily around her eyes, an indicator of a true smile, but he welcomed the physical touch.
“I will confess to being sheltered, but I’ve read thousands of pamphlets and circulars—anything that could be useful to a potential advisor to the king,” Eoin stated.
“You admit, then, to gathering information for the monarchy?” Mr. Powys interrupted.
“My grandfather wanted me to become a courtier to win back the favor that my father lost. I have no such ambitions.” There. Eoin had finally said it. A definitive statement about his own desires for his life.
“We keep allowing ourselves to be sidetracked.” Hannah slapped her hand down on the table.
“I agree,” Sophia chimed in. “If the Horse and Hen is flash ken, why didn’t we discover that when we paid a lad to find the location? Surely, we would have heard something?”
“Maybe they do a good job of hiding their criminal activity?” suggested Mr. Powys.
Eoin shook his head. “It was obvious that something was amiss as soon as we entered the Horse and Hen. Pretending is not their strength.”
Hannah nodded. “I agree. They would have been more welcoming. If they’ve kept things quiet, it’s through intimidation, not stealth.”
“Which means they must exert some degree of power.” Sophia drummed her fingers thoughtfully against the table in front of her. “I haven’t heard of any particularly powerful groups occupying the area around the Horse and Hen, though.”
“Isn’t that in itself odd?” Hannah said. “That there’s a gap, especially for a back alley with so many illicit establishments?”
“Are there any shadowy organizations that you’ve heard whispers of?” Eoin asked, as he dutifully filed away each new piece of information. Although he’d read literature about spidery networks of thieves, this wasn’t the world that he’d studied.
“No.” Hannah answered the question too quickly, and she briefly sucked in her lips when she finished speaking—often a sign of dishonesty. Unease whooshed through Eoin. Was Hannah hiding something from him? And why?
“The Horse and Hen.” Lord Percy spoke the words slowly as if he was testing each one out as he scratched at his temple.
“Is the name familiar to you?” Eoin asked, welcoming the distraction. He didn’t want to suspect Hannah—the first person who’d ever really lent him assistance.
“Yes.” Lord Percy made a frustrated grimace. “But I simply can’t place it. It floats tantalizingly at the peripheries of my memory, but then it dances out of reach like a will-o’-the wisp.”
“Does the name stir up any vague sentiments?” Eoin asked, trying to gentle his normally clipped tone. It was hard for him, though, not just to speak in a virtual monotone. Only with Hannah was it easy to speak freely.
Percy stopped flicking at his overcoat as he sat perfectly still. “Negative, I suppose. But it is odd that I am the one to know about the Horse and Hen. Unlike you, I’ve never heard of a boozing ken. I would have thought that it was some sort of pub, but Hannah said it was a criminal hideout.”
“That is right,” Eoin confirmed.
“My morals are not the most upstanding. In fact, they are likely in need of good polish. But my illicit dealings are confined to drinking smuggled French brandy and attending a clandestine horse race.” Lord Percy waved one of his gloved hands.
“I am certainly not one to traipse into dark alleys for furtive business.”
“Perhaps the name is similar to another place you frequent,” Sophia suggested.
Lord Percy immediately brightened. “I say, that does make the most sense. I am a member of the Horse and Trot, a wonderful chocolate house dedicated to all things equine-related. Perhaps I was merely thinking of that.”
“I can ask at the Grand,” Mr. Powys offered. His voice was still surly, and his arms remained crossed over his chest, but at least his fingers were no longer balled into fists.
“I’ll check to see if my older brother has heard rumors about the Horse and Hen.” Lady Calliope smiled graciously at Eoin, causing Mr. Powys’s glower to deepen. “If a lord is involved, he might have heard some rumors.”
“The tavern was very run down. It didn’t look like the secret haunt of a nob,” Eoin pointed out.
“But we didn’t see the basement or the upper floors, and there could be a hidden room like this one,” Hannah pointed out. “No matter, it won’t hurt to ask.”
“My brother loves a good mystery,” Lady Calliope said. “It will be a grand lark for him to make inquiries.”
“Why doesn’t he ever join us?” Mr. Powys asked.
“When his paternal uncle died, he vowed never again to grace any respectable establishment,” Lady Calliope explained.
Sophia laughed good-naturedly. “Never thought I’d hear the Black Sheep being called too respectable for a duke.”
Hannah joined her cousin’s mirth. “Perhaps we need to add some more debauchery.”
“Boozy coffee!” Lord Percy called out, lifting his glass high.
“Doesn’t that defeat the stimulating rush?” Dr. Talbot asked.
“Does it really matter as long as it tastes as divine as Sophia’s other creations?” Mr. Powys asked.
“Just have Pan recite naughty lines from Shakespeare,” Lady Charlotte suggested.
This awoke the lime-green bird, who’d been peacefully sleeping on the rafters above.
Ruffling his tail feathers first, he stretched out his head and gave it a good shake.
After several struts along a thick beam, he began hollering, “Beast with two backs! Beast with two backs! My tongue in your tail!”
Eoin felt his entire face flame like a furnace. Across from him, Dr. Talbot also turned a very vibrant red. Overhead, Pan produced a gravelly sound that seemed suspiciously akin to laughter.
Yet there was another warmth suffusing Eoin that had nothing to do with embarrassment. Eoin was enjoying himself. Immensely. For once in his life, he felt neither judged nor overlooked. Was this what people called companionship? If so, he rather liked it.
Eoin had just settled in bed to read a pile of gazettes when a knock startled him.
His valet had long since gone to bed along with the other staff.
The only other sound was the curtains rustling in the summer night’s breeze.
Even if a servant was awake, they would scratch softly.
Only one person would knock so officiously.
An odd fluttering erupted deep within Eoin as he swung his legs off the feather tick mattress and padded over to the door.
That cursed blush—the one that only Hannah and that wretched parrot could inspire—washed over him.
Yet even as his body started to kindle, he firmly drew steadying breaths.
He shouldn’t get excited. Hannah wasn’t his real mistress. There was no reason for her—
Swounds. It really was Hannah. And she wore naught but a nightgown; even her feet were bare.
Eoin’s hand froze on the knob, and he stood like a wooden sentry. Hannah, however, pushed inside without a hint of embarrassment. As she moved close, he swore he could smell coffee, nutmeg, and vanilla.
She paused only a scant few inches from him. Though Hannah didn’t even brush against him, his skin reacted to her nearness. Brilliant small pricks flared into larger sparks until he feared his breathing would grow uneven. When her warm fingers closed over his, he nearly jumped.