Chapter 4 #3
“Wench!” He rubbed his arm where she’d kicked him. Tamsin hurried to clear the table before he forgot the ache in his arm and tried to topple the table again. She wasn’t about to lose any more wages.
“Be careful now, George,” she said as she took her tray. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” She gave him a threatening smile, and he burst into tears. As Tamsin pushed back into the kitchen, she heard Mr. Brown cooing at his boy.
“What’s this now, Georgie? Man up. No tears.”
Tamsin was able to avoid George’s pranks and Mrs. Brown’s fists for the rest of the day, and when she’d finally finished mopping the floor of the shop and wiping all the tables clean, darkness had fallen.
She returned the mop and bucket to the back room then trudged up the stairs to the second floor.
On the first floor, she heard laughter and squeals from the Brown family.
She tried not to think about the last time her family had been all together.
When she’d sat at a table with her mother and stepfather, and they’d all laughed at something one of the babies had done.
That was before her mother’s accident, before Tamsin had been forced to sell flowers to keep food in their bellies, before Snoozer.
She heard the bells of St. Martin-in-the-Fields ring out ten times and hurried the rest of the way to her chamber.
She’d better be quick if she was to meet with Snoozer before Mr. Kildare showed up at eleven.
She had to think of a way to get rid of Garret Kildare.
She couldn’t tell him her mother or sister was sick.
She’d already done that. She had to think of a story that would convince him and encourage him to leave her be.
As much as she liked to dream about him—and it had been nice to kiss him and make a tiny moment of that dream a reality—he wasn’t for her or her world.
He was kind and handsome. Very handsome.
She hadn’t remembered that wrong. Those velvet-brown eyes of his made her belly go all soft and liquid.
She could tell he was the sort of man who wanted to make everything right in the world.
The sort who was just far enough removed from the harsher realities of life in London not to realize that the city was a dark, dreary place and most people living in it led dark, dreary lives.
He wanted to save her, and Lord, she would have liked to let him—for a night or two. Possibly three…
Tamsin shook her head to rid her mind of the image of him kissing her.
But he couldn’t save her. She’d do it herself or die trying.
· · ·
Garret couldn’t help but admire Lady Callista Stanhope’s dedication to horseflesh.
She had been speaking of nothing but horses for the duration of the dinner party, and she hadn’t yet seemed to tire of the subject.
Garret felt his eyes glaze over during the discussion of forelocks, and he’d stifled a yawn when she’d gone into detail about hoof ailments.
Now he struggled to look interested in her lecture on withers.
“A well-fitted saddle is important for the overall health of the withers,” Lady Callista was saying. “But I think riding posture is even more crucial. Don’t you agree, Mr. Kildare?”
Garret did not own a horse. His father rented horses to pull a coach while the family was in London.
They had several horses in Ireland to pull their coach there.
But outside of the usual riding lessons that were part of every lad’s education, Garret had no particular experience with the creatures.
He liked to walk down to the stable and feed an apple to the older mare the family had kept since he was a boy.
She nuzzled his neck and allowed him to pet her nose.
But that was the extent of Garret’s experience with the animals.
Still, his mother had gone to some trouble to find him an invitation to this dinner party.
He had managed to secure a seat on Lady Callista’s left at dinner, and now that port and cigars were done, he’d joined her on the couch in the drawing room.
He’d come to woo an heiress, and that was what he would do.
“I do agree, Lady Callista. I’ve always said that riding posture is essential. I imagine you have excellent posture.”
She straightened and gave him a small smile.
He wished she’d smile more often. She looked almost pretty when she smiled.
He supposed she didn’t smile much because she had large teeth, rather like a horse’s, and was probably self-conscious about them.
But he could imagine her with her hair down and soft about her shoulders, her large blue eyes looking up at him.
Except Lady Callista had brown eyes. And in his mind, Garret was picturing her with chestnut brown hair, and Lady Callista’s hair was pale blond.
The clock on the mantel chimed ten, and Garret realized he had better make his excuses if he was to return to Covent Garden by eleven.
He’d been able to think of little besides Tamsin Archer all day.
She probably had no idea what horse withers were and probably didn’t care.
Garret would wager she’d never even been on the back of a horse.
“Lady Callista,” he said, realizing too late he’d interrupted her response to his comment about her excellent riding posture. “Have you ever considered how many people in Town have never ridden a horse?”
She blinked at him. “No.”
“Think of the masses in, say, Seven Dials. I bet one in ten—no, maybe one in twenty—have been on the back of a horse. Probably less than that could even point out the location of withers on a horse.” Garret wasn’t certain he could pass that test either, if it came to that.
“I had not considered that, Mr. Kildare. Though I would certainly argue there are those who ride so poorly, they should not be allowed near a horse, and definitely not on its back.”
Garret had the feeling he might fall into that category.
He was out of patience with Lady Callista.
He needed to marry an heiress, but could he really pretend to be someone he wasn’t just to leg-shackle a chit?
Garret reached out and took Lady Callista’s gloved hand.
She jumped at his forward gesture, but he merely raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“It has been a pleasure speaking to you this evening, Lady Callista. I might even say it has been an education.”
Her brows rose.
“Let me be perfectly honest with you. I know nothing about forelocks, withers, hoof ailments, or thoroughbreds. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve ridden in the last five years. I don’t care a whit for horses, except to feed one an apple now and again.”
“An apple! Apples are not ideal food for—”
“Thank you for your time, Lady Callista. If you’ll excuse me.” Garret rose and stalked across the room. He paused to take his leave from the host and hostess then practically ran down the stairs. He was halfway down when someone called his name. Garret looked up.
“What are you doing?” Daire demanded, leaning over the rail at the top of the curving staircase.
Devil take him! Garret had forgotten his youngest brother was also in attendance at the dinner party.
“Lady Callista hasn’t left your side since we joined the ladies in the drawing room. You can’t leave now. This is your chance.”
Garret didn’t feel the need to point out that Lady Callista was not so much enjoying speaking to him as she was expounding on her favorite topic.
Now he felt guilty. He’d been thinking of himself.
For thirty thousand pounds and his sister’s freedom to marry who she liked, Garret could tolerate speeches on horseflesh.
Just not tonight.
Tonight he had to see that petite thief one last time. Then he’d put Tamsin Archer out of his mind and focus on Lady Callista.
“I have a prior appointment,” Garret told Daire. “Can’t miss it.”
Daire’s mouth dropped open. “But Lady Callista—”
“You go speak to her then,” Garret snapped.
Daire drew back. “Perhaps I will. I’ve always thought the summer house would make an excellent office.
” Clearly, this was a last attempt to force Garret back to the drawing room, and as much as the idea of the lovely summer house being turned into a stuffy office set Garret’s teeth on edge, he would not return to the party.
“Good night, Daire,” Garret said and gave his brother his back.
Garret heard Daire’s muffled curse as he descended the stairs.
Once in the town house’s vestibule, Garret paced while he waited for the footman to bring his hat—almost decided to go without it—then snatched it and took off at a run.
He couldn’t say why he was so eager to escape the dinner party.
But for the first time in hours, he felt he could breathe again.
Miss Archer was not in front of the pawnshop when Garret arrived.
He was a quarter hour early, so he shouldn’t have expected her to be there.
But he was disappointed, which was ridiculous.
She was a thief and a liar. If she even bothered to meet him, he couldn’t trust a single word from her lips.
And what did he care anyway? He’d been tasked with finding an heiress.
Liam, Daire, and Killian were probably out wooing heiresses left and right.
And Garret was on this dark, sleepy lane of Covent Garden wasting his time and practically handing the summer house over to one of his other brothers.
He should have heeded Daire’s words and stayed at the dinner party and listened to Lady Callista wax poetic on withers.
He pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning on, feeling as though the spell he’d been under since the Belgrave ball was finally breaking.
Yes, Tamsin Archer dressed as a footman and climbing out a window had intrigued him.
Yes, she’d surprised him with a kiss. Yes, she’d fainted in his arms. Yes, she probably needed help, but thousands of people in London needed help.
Probably tens of thousands. He couldn’t help them.
He couldn’t even help his own family. He—
He remembered Miss Archer had told him to meet her in the yard behind the coffee shop, not in front of the pawnbroker’s.
Bloody hell, but all the talk of hoof rot had scrambled his brain.
Garret started toward the coffee shop, cocking his head at the sound of voices.
Just a street or so away, carriages clattered along cubed granite stones that passed for street paving, theatergoers emerged from darkened boxes, and flower girls attempted to thrust limp blooms into one’s hands for a penny or two.
But these voices were closer, hurried, and hissed.
He looked down the dark lane leading away from Covent Garden then back toward the shadowy shape of Brown’s Coffee Shop.
The voices he’d heard, could still hear, came from the direction of the shop.
Had Miss Archer been discovered waiting for him outside?
He crossed the lane, and as he neared the coffee shop, the snatches of conversation became clearer.
“—give you this blunt—”
“—if you ever want to see them again—”
He made his way around to the back of the coffee shop, pausing at the corner of the building and peering around it until he spotted two figures.
One was shorter and slimmer. She faced Garret’s direction, hands on her hips.
He knew that figure, knew that attitude.
It had to be Tamsin Archer. The other figure was taller than Miss Archer by almost half a foot, leaving the man still a few inches shorter than Garret’s six feet.
The man was thin and had strings of dark hair trailing down his back and emerging from under the overly tall top hat he wore.
Under his black coat, his shoulders were rounded and hunched forward, making him resemble a tree that grows twisted, bending around an obstacle in its path.
Miss Archer looked up at the man shaking his finger at her. “And that, m’dear, is when I point me finger straight at ye,” he’d said with a sinister tone Garret didn’t like. “If ye think ye don’t see yer siblings now, wait until yer transported and indentured for seven years.”
“You have no proof of anything.”
“I can find me a dozen witnesses,” the thin man said.
“All it takes is a bit o’ coin. So don’t threaten me, dearie.
If ye want Charlie and Joanna back, then ye must pay me for them.
What kind o’ businessman would I be if I allowed me apprentices—them what I paid good money for—to walk away for a song? ”
“Ten pounds is no song,” Miss Archer countered. “You didn’t pay five pounds each for them. If you paid even one pound, I’ll eat your hat. Ten quid is not the sum we agreed on.”
“That’s business, m’dear. Prices go up. Ye have yer interest, yer expenses, and yer return on investment. And that leads me to the sum of—a bargain, I might add—five pounds each.”
Garret leaned forward to hear better, and that was when one of the loose bricks in the building decided to finally give way.
The chunk crumbled away from the whole and dropped to the ground with a dull thunk.
The sound seemed to echo in the silent tension between Miss Archer and the thin man.
Garret winced when the man swung around and called out, “Who’s there?
” He grabbed Miss Archer’s arm and shook her. “Did ye call the Watch on me?”
“Unhand her,” Garret said, shooting into the yard like a pistol ball. The thin man took a step back and did just that. Miss Archer swore under her breath, a most unladylike curse that would have impressed Garret if he hadn’t had other things to consider at the moment.
Like the man pointing a blade at him.