Chapter 9 #2
He leaned even closer so that his head was almost touching Tamsin’s. This close, he could smell the soap on her skin. It was nothing fancy, not scented of roses or lavender, just clean and fresh. He forgot all about the lever and turned his head to look at her.
“The edge of the cam is slipping into the crack in the lever instead of pushing it up,” she was saying. “If I can fix the lever, that might fix the automaton.” She looked at him, their noses almost bumping. Her eyes narrowed. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course,” he murmured, reaching up to touch her cheek, which was surprisingly soft under his bare fingers. “That lever is cracked.” He brushed his lips over hers. “You want to repair it.”
Instead of kissing him back, as he’d desperately wanted, she leaned against the back of her chair. “Why are you here this morning, Mr. Kildare? What exactly do you want?” She gestured to the crumbs from the sausage rolls. “What are you expecting as payment for these?”
Garret leaned back too. “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”
“I don’t like what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything except that you might be hungry, so I wrapped some of these sausage rolls up before I left home this morning. I thought it was the least I could do if I was to knock on your door this early.”
“And then you just happened to kiss me?”
“I had no intention of doing that,” he said, though he hadn’t not intended to do it. “I actually had a reason for coming to see you to do with chimney sweeps.”
She seemed to forget her anger and leaned forward eagerly. “You’ve found out something about Snoozer?”
“I know of a large house in Grosvenor Square having its chimneys cleaned today.”
She jumped up. “It could be him. I should change.” She snatched the livery from where it hung on a nail on the wall. Then she attached a line of rope across the back of the room and draped a sheet over it.
“What are you doing?” he asked, as she stepped behind it.
“Changing clothes.”
Was he supposed to sit here and act as though nothing unusual was happening? The woman he’d been kissing yesterday, the woman he’d wanted to take to bed, the woman he still wanted to take to bed, was stripping down just a foot away from him with only a flimsy sheet between them.
“How did you find this out?”
He realized she’d spoken, but he had no idea what she’d said. He was too busy imagining her naked. She pushed the sheet aside and stuck her head out. “Did you hear me?”
“I…” He caught a glimpse of the bare skin of one of her shoulders.
“I asked how you found out.”
Garret closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but that naked shoulder. Cold rain. Sewers. Rats. Maggots. Lice. He swallowed. “I was at a dinner party last night, and I overheard the lady of the house mention it.”
He did not add that he’d practically dashed across the drawing room to join the conversation between Mrs. Grant and the hostess, Lady Brentwood. Both ladies had looked surprised when he joined them with the uninspired comment, “Chimneys, you say? I am quite interested in chimneys.”
“So I hear,” Mrs. Grant said archly. Clearly, her daughter had mentioned the topic of conversation that had upset her at dinner.
Lady Brentwood was none the wiser, though. “Why this interest in chimneys?” she asked, looking down her nose at him.
He couldn’t exactly tell the truth, so he muttered something about how they were a fascinating invention that kept everyone warm and cooked their food.
The ladies both regarded him as though he were a strange new flower they’d never seen before.
Mrs. Grant sighed, and seeing no easy way to be rid of him, continued on with the conversation.
“Lady Brentwood was saying that the chimney in her parlor has been smoking. I counseled her not to waste time in having it seen to.”
“Wise counsel,” Garret had agreed. “Very wise. Which chimney sweep will you use?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about chimney sweeps, young man,” the lady said, sniffing.
“Ah. Too bad. I’d like to interview one.”
“Whatever for?” Lady Brentwood asked, rearing back as though punched.
“To find out more about chimneys,” he said. By this time, his neckcloth felt too tight, and his face felt hot, and he had begun perspiring.
“You may come by my home and speak to the chimney sweep who services our chimneys,” Mrs. Grant said. “We have arranged to have all of our chimneys swept tomorrow.”
“Really?” Garret said. “How fortunate. Thank you for the invitation.” He’d bowed and backed away, aware both ladies were looking at him as though he had gone completely daft.
And perhaps he had. After all, he was sitting in the back room of a pawnshop surrounded by the inner workings of an automaton waiting for a woman to finish changing into servant’s livery behind a sheet. This was not how he’d imagined his life.
“Do you know which house is hers?” Tamsin asked from behind the sheet. As soon as he heard her voice, he forgot all about his discomfort last night and his pitiful surroundings.
“I do.” Garret couldn’t imagine Miss Grant wanted anything to do with him after last night, but perhaps while Tamsin tried to discover if any of the broomers cleaning were her brother or sister, he might contrive to speak to Miss Grant and apologize.
He still needed an heiress to save his family, but he thought she might be out of contention.
Tamsin pushed the sheet aside. She was in her tiger clothing, but she looked even less like a young man today than she had yesterday.
As he watched, she tucked the tail of her hair into her coat and put her hat on her head.
“I’m ready,” she said, putting her hands on her hips in a gesture that was probably supposed to look masculine but only made him notice the gentle flare of her hips in the breeches.
“Let me tell Mama I’m going out, then we can fetch the curricle. ”
While she spoke to her mother, he retrieved the curricle.
Better that he wasn’t there to hear whatever disparaging remarks her mother might make.
When he returned, she was waiting outside the shop and climbed onto the platform without any argument.
Garret guided the horses to Grosvenor Square.
It was barely nine o’clock, and most of the square’s wealthy inhabitants were sleeping.
The staff, however, was up and out. Maids were walking briskly with baskets they would fill at the market, footmen were sweeping stoops, and in front of one large, white house stood several boys dressed in black with sacks slung over their shoulders.
“You see them?” He pointed.
“Hurry!” she called. She barely waited until he’d stopped the carriage before she leaped down and approached the first broomer. She said something to him, but he scowled and marched away. By the time Garret had jumped down and secured the horses, she was arguing with another broomer.
“I don’t ’ave to tell ye nuffink.”
“I just want the name of your master,” she said, using what sounded like a reasonable voice. “There’s no harm in telling me that.”
“Ask ’im yerself.”
“Fine. I will. Is he inside?”
“I don’t ’ave to tell—”
She turned away from him and addressed Garret. “This little brat—”
“Oi!”
“—won’t tell me anything. He won’t say if Charlie or Joanna is part of their crew or who their master is. Would you make him talk, please?”
“Oi! Ye try anything, and I’ll scream like I’m being murdered.”
“I believe we might make more progress if we speak to the staff of the house,” Garret suggested.
She rolled her eyes. “But he’s right here!”
Garret looked at the broomer, who raised his small fists menacingly.
Tamsin pushed him aside. “Oh, never mind. I’ll go downstairs. Will you wait out here?”
“I’ll go inside and see if I can have a look around.”
She marched toward the servants’ entrance, the broomer following her. “See if I give you anything to eat,” she called back to him.
“Now don’t be like that.” The broomer’s voice trailed off.
Garret shook his head and went to the front door, giving the butler who answered a wide smile. “Is Mrs. Grant at home?”
“No, sir, but I will give her your card.”
“Actually, I’ve come to speak to the chimney sweep. Last night Mrs. Grant mentioned she was having her chimneys cleaned and said I should come by if I wished to speak to the sweep.”
The butler stared at him. “You wish to speak to the chimney sweep, sir?”
“I do.”
“Very well.” The butler opened the door wider, revealing a spacious foyer with a soaring staircase and enough room to host a ball.
“Wait here.” The butler indicated a set of chairs against a wall.
Garret removed his hat and placed it on a chair then went to examine one of the paintings.
Was that a Caravaggio? Surely not. He was beginning to see why marrying an heiress would secure his family’s future.
Miss Grant had money to spare. He might have spoiled things with her, but Lady Callista was still an option. Wasn’t she?
The image of Tamsin Archer floated into his mind. There was the problem. He was beginning to think that he’d given up so easily on other women because none of them were Tamsin Archer.
“Gearoid?”
Garret started and turned away from the painting to see his mother emerging from a door nearby.
“What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t certain what he should say, so he said the only thing he could think of. “I was wondering the same thing about you, Mama.”
A warning look passed over her features, but she gave a nod. “I am collecting Mrs. Grant. We have a meeting of the Benevolent Society for the Veterans of Foreign Wars. Surely, you saw the coach outside.”
He hadn’t noticed the other coach, and that was his mistake. He’d been so bloody preoccupied with Tamsin that he hadn’t taken in anything else. “Ah, well, I shouldn’t wish to make you or Mrs. Grant tardy.” He moved aside and swept his arm toward the door.