Chapter 4 #2
But before long she was flagging, her feet becoming heavier with every desperate step, yet he kept coming, and coming, the end as inevitable as the sunrise tomorrow morning.
Why was she still running? And for pity’s sake, why was a gentleman who made thousands every night so determined to get his twelve pounds back?
Unless…
Was he determined to make an example of her? That was who he was, after all. A man didn’t achieve Armitage Hart’s success by showing criminals compassion.
It wasn’t a comforting thought, but she wouldn’t make it easy on him.
She stumbled down the beach, her legs on fire and her panting breaths echoing in her ears, past East Street, then Black Lion Street. If she could make it as far as Middle Street she might be able to lose herself in the dozens of narrow, twisting alleyways there.
Just a little further, a few more paces, and—
“Oh!” Without warning, the loose sole of her half boot chose that moment to give up the ghost. It ripped loose and went flying into the air.
She pitched forward with a cry, the beach rushing up to meet her, and there wasn’t time to do anything but squeeze her eyes closed and brace herself for the impact.
It never came. Her nose was a breath from smashing into the sand when a pair of long arms closed around her waist, stopping her forward momentum with a jerk, and suddenly a wall of hard chest appeared underneath her palms. He lowered her with surprising gentleness until her back met the sand, but then…
Then, he did something unspeakable.
He lowered himself right on top of her!
“What do you think you’re doing?” She wriggled and thrashed like a fish underneath him, but he was too heavy, and his impossibly long limbs seemed to be everywhere at once. “Release me this instant!”
“I beg your pardon for my forwardness, madam. You have my word I won’t hurt you, but I don’t fancy another sprint around Brighton.”
She was covered in sand and sweat, her lungs were pumping like a bellows, and her heart was scrambling to find a way out of her chest. She had a large, infuriated gentleman on top of her, yet somehow, to her utter humiliation she went still at the soft, husky murmur of his voice in her ear.
“Much better, Miss…er, Miss…”
There was no sense in keeping her name a secret now, was there? He was going to find it out soon enough. “Miss Bathurst.”
God above, how had it come to this?
“Miss Bathurst. Tell me, Miss Bathurst, are you always this much trouble?”
A thousand words rushed to her lips, but not a single word emerged.
She could only gaze up at him, speechless.
He gazed back down at her, equally silent.
A moment passed, another, the only sound the rush of the waves breaking on the beach.
They lay there for some time with him on top of her, both still panting, neither of them speaking, but then, without so much as a by-your-leave he caught the brim of her hat in his fingers and swept it off her head.
“Ah.” He took up a lock of her hair and studied it in the moonlight. “Red. Just as I thought.”
He smiled at her then, an oddly sweet smile, and she blinked up at him, dazed.
Dimples. Armitage Hart had dimples.
“We meet again, Miss Bathurst, and not a moment too soon.”
She sniffed. “I haven’t the vaguest idea what you mean.”
“No? Then you don’t recall nearly killing me with your parasol two days ago?”
“Killing you? What nonsense. I never tried to kill you. The wind snatched my parasol out of my hands. The same thing might have happened to anyone.”
“Why, Miss Bathurst, do I have a sneaking suspicion these things that might happen to anyone happen more frequently to you?”
She didn’t reply, but glared at him, her brows drawn and nose wrinkled as if she had every right to be affronted, despite having just robbed him.
It was maddening, yet utterly charming at the same time.
“You’ve had an eventful few days, haven’t you, Miss Bathurst? Do you ever simply play cards, or attend musical evenings? That is, after all, why most people come to Brighton.”
“I was, in fact, just playing cards tonight.”
He threw his head back in a laugh, delighted. There wasn’t a bit of subterfuge to her, was there? “I might have guessed the lady who concussed me would turn out to be the same lady counting cards at Hart’s Ace tonight.”
“I suppose you might have, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as entertaining, would it?”
“Are you entertained, Miss Bathurst?”
“Vastly, yes.”
She was trying to play it off, but underneath him her slender body was trembling, and for all her bravado, her eyes were suspiciously bright.
For some reason, it only made him like her more. God, he was a besotted mess, wasn’t he? If she’d been any less magnificent a lady, he might have been embarrassed.
“You’re quite heavy, you know.” She squirmed underneath him, kicking her feet against the sand. “If you’d be so good as to unhand me—”
“No, indeed. I wouldn’t dare. What’s to stop you from attacking me?”
“Me, attack you?” She huffed. “You’re afraid of a lady who’s half your size attacking you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Bathurst. You’re nowhere near half my size.”
“Even more reason for you to release me.”
“No, I think not. You have an extensive criminal history. For all I know, you may have a weapon concealed under your cloak.”
“A weapon! How dare you? I would never—”
“A parasol attack two days ago, and a theft today.” He tutted, shaking his head. “It’s no wonder I haven’t seen you at the Old Steine. You’re far too busy committing crimes to take the waters.”
Twelve whole pounds worth of crimes, not a single penny of which he gave a damn about, but she didn’t know that. No doubt she believed he intended to prosecute her.
Well then, they’d just get that out of the way at once. “Do you deny, madam, that you were counting cards at my establishment, Hart’s Ace, this evening?”
Her gaze shifted from his face to the darkness over his shoulder, as if she couldn’t quite meet his eyes, and she let out a sigh so deep her small body curled underneath him. “No. I don’t deny it. I was counting cards, and I—I beg your pardon for it.”
He gazed down at her, something shifting inside his chest. He’d encountered many thieves in his time, but never one who begged his pardon for stealing from him.
She was no thief. Not really. Just a desperate young lady who’d been driven to do something foolish she likely never would have done otherwise.
What had made her so desperate? He wanted to know more than he wanted his next breath, but he wouldn’t push her. Instead, he said as gently as he could, “That’s a very pretty apology, Miss Bathurst, and I thank you for it.”
“Here.” She pulled a handful of crumpled banknotes out of the pocket of her cloak and offered it to him. “This is all of it. Take it.”
“I don’t want it.” He took the limp notes from her and stuffed them back into her cloak pocket.
She didn’t expect that. Her eyes went wide, and really, she had the loveliest eyes. They were the most unusual shade of green, and framed with long, lush eyelashes.
“You don’t want your money back?”
“No. Come, Miss Bathurst. You can’t believe I chased you halfway across Brighton for twelve pounds.”
She frowned. “Well, I can’t think of any other reason you’d chase me.”
My, she was innocent, wasn’t she? Utterly unaware of her own charms, as well. “Tell me, where did you learn to count cards like that?”
“I never learned. I’ve just always been able to do it.” She shrugged, her shoulders moving against the sand.
A natural ability, then. She grew more fascinating with every minute.
“Despite what you may think,” she went on, “and I suppose I can’t blame you if you don’t believe this but, I don’t make a habit of cheating or stealing.”
“On the contrary, I do believe you. I know a thief when I see one, and you, Miss Bathurst, are not a thief. Yet the fact remains that you were counting cards at Hart’s Ace this evening, were you not?”
“Yes. I’ve already said so.”
“So you have. I assume there’s a reason a lady who isn’t a thief has resorted to counting cards. If you care to explain yourself, I’m willing to listen.”
“I was… I didn’t—” Her voice was shaking.
“Take your time, Miss Bathurst.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Someone broke into our rooms at the lodging house and stole our every penny. Brighton, it seems, is rife with thievery.”
The lodging house? That was odd. Theft happened, of course, but the better lodging houses were quite careful about that kind of thing. Lady-so-and-so’s jewels going missing could put them out of business.
But Miss Bathurst wasn’t staying in one of the better lodging houses. That was why he hadn’t been able to find her. He’d been asking the wrong people. “Which lodging house would that be?”
“Gardener’s, on Sydney Street.”
Gardener’s? He’d never heard of it.
“In North Laines,” she added.
North Laines. Yes, that explained it. “So, your funds are gone but you’re not yet ready to leave Brighton?”
“I can’t leave Brighton. My brother Percy is taking the cure, and he’s…he’s quite ill.”
“I see.” It was all falling into place now. “He suffers from consumption?”
“He hasn’t been diagnosed with it, but he’s had weak lungs ever since he was a child. He had a hacking cough this past spring, and he’s grown dreadfully thin since then—”
She broke off, her breath catching.
“That’s unfortunate, and I’m very sorry for it, but consumption is treatable. I daresay your brother will be just fine.”
“Treatments cost money, sir—money we don’t have. Hence the thievery. May I get up now? The damp is seeping through my cloak.”
“In just a moment, yes. I have a few more questions first. Do you know who I am, Miss Bathurst?”
“I have an inkling, yes. Mr. Armitage Hart, I presume?”
“In the flesh. Now, let me see if I have this right. You’re Miss Bathurst, you have a brother named Percy who’s taking the cure, and you’re staying at Gardener’s lodging house, where thieves abound.”
“Yes. Now may I get up?”
“Just one more thing, if you please. May I call on you tomorrow morning?”
“What?” She frowned, her brow furrowing. “Why would you wish to call on me? I just robbed you!”
“Perhaps I find thieves charming.” He grinned down at her.
“I… Yes, I suppose you may call.” She cast a shy glance at him from under her eyelashes. “I mean, if you want to.”
“I do, very much. You’ll permit me to escort you home tonight?”
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Hart. I can find my own way home.”
“Come, Miss Bathurst. You can hardly deny me. No proper gentleman allows a lady to walk home at night alone.”
“Are you a proper gentleman, Mr. Hart?” she asked, giving him a sly smile that made his heart soar in his chest.
“Not always, no, but despite what you’ve likely heard, neither am I a villain.” He rose to his feet and reached down to help her up.
“Thank you.”
“You look chilled.” He removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“Oh, that’s not necessary—”
“Hush.” He swept her tangled hair gently away from her face, then lowered her hat onto her head, turning it this way and that before stepping back to study the effect. “There. Perfect.”
And to him, she was. Every inch of her.
He couldn’t say why he was so transfixed by her. She was beautiful, with her red hair and those wide green eyes, but he’d known beautiful women before.
But he’d never known anyone like her.
Somehow, in just a few days Miss Bathurst, with her tart tongue, wayward parasol and decaying half boots, had sunk a hook deep into the tenderest part of his heart.
The walk back to North Laines was much too short for his liking. They didn’t speak, but when they arrived at the door of Gardener’s Lodging House she paused on the doorstep. “Thank you for escorting me, Mr. Hart, and for your coat, and for…well, not turning me over to the magistrate.”
He laughed. “My pleasure, Miss Bathurst.” He took her hand, raised it to his lips and dropped a chaste kiss on her knuckles. “Until tomorrow.”
It couldn’t come soon enough.