Chapter 6
SIX
SILAS
The bustle and chaos of Covent Garden was muffled in the distance as Silas turned onto King Street toward the market. He stopped at the corner, where he was set to meet Mrs. Fairchild, her nephew, and her two charges. Frederick should arrive any minute, as well.
According to Frederick’s sources, Lord Drayton was still not in London, which lent Silas a sense of freedom.
He did not suppose Drayton was the type of man to take much joy in a place like Covent Garden—at least not until night fell and the seedier crowds made themselves at home.
He had no doubt a man like Drayton, with no morals at all, would avail himself of the women on offer in the nearest brothels.
His eyes fixed on just one such brothel down the lane.
If Bence refused to cooperate, perhaps Silas should try to discover whether Drayton did frequent any of these establishments.
If so, perhaps he might have let something slip to one of those ladies of the night—not that the claims of such a person would count for much.
In his situation, he could not afford to be particular. Any information would be more than he now had.
He pulled his gaze away from the brothel and spotted Mrs. Fairchild and the others walking toward him.
His gaze went to Miss Easton, who was smiling at her aunt.
Gads, she was beautiful—every bit as beautiful as the mask that had covered half of her face the other night. Her dress reminded him of the pale blue of a robin’s egg. It had cream stripes that matched both her spencer and the ribbon on her bonnet.
Mr. Fairchild spotted Silas and waved, and the eyes of the three women turned to him.
Silas strode toward them with a smile, making an effort to look not just at Miss Easton but at the others, as well. And an effort it was.
Mr. Fairchild introduced him to his aunt and her daughter, and Silas bowed over Mrs. Fairchild’s hand.
“The famous Mr. Hayes,” she said, her cheeks slightly pink as she drew her gloved hand away. She was a middle-aged woman, tending toward portliness but with a distinctly jolly expression.
“Provided I am not infamous,” he replied, bowing to Miss Fairchild, then Miss Easton.
Her clear gaze met his with a sliver of accusation he ascribed to his impolite departure from Vauxhall. Much good it had done him. But knowing she had been safe, how could he have forgone the opportunity to speak with Bence?
“Certainly not infamous,” Mrs. Fairchild said. “I am so very glad you could meet us. I have been wishing to offer you my thanks for saving my dear niece.”
“It was nothing, I assure you, ma’am. The greatest pleasure.” His gaze shifted to Miss Easton again, and her mouth drew into a grateful smile that made his heart stutter.
Her gaze was curious, as though she, too, was taking him in now that he was free of his mask.
“My thanks as well,” Miss Fairchild said, stepping forward. “It was my thoughtlessness that put Bella in such a situation to begin with. I am indebted to you, Mr. Hayes.”
Bella. So, that was Miss Easton’s name.
Before Silas could respond, Frederick arrived, slightly breathless, and bowed to the three ladies.
“We are all here now,” Mr. Fairchild announced. “Shall we stroll around?”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Fairchild said. “Do let us.”
Mrs. Fairchild leaned in and whispered something to her nephew, who nodded.
“Come, cousin.” He put out his arm to Miss Fairchild, and her eyes darted to Silas for a brief second before she took it with a smile.
“Mr. Yorke,” Mrs. Fairchild said, “could I trouble you for your arm? My ankle is much improved, but I would be grateful for the stability.”
“By all means,” Frederick said, granting it to her.
The corner of Silas’s mouth twitched slightly as Miss Easton’s gaze met his. Was Mrs. Fairchild purposely arranging for him to escort Miss Easton? It certainly seemed that way.
“It looks as though your choice has been made for you, and you are consigned to my care again, Miss Easton.” He put out his arm.
“A frightful prospect,” she said as she accepted it. She looked up at him, her gaze clear and intent, with a hint of a twinkle lurking there. “Shall I prepare myself in case you run away again?”
He grimaced as they walked behind the others.
“And you, so adamant about redeeming yourself as a husband…”
“Only to abandon you,” he finished. “It was poorly done of me, wasn’t it?”
“Very,” she agreed. “Why did you do it?” There was real curiosity in her frank gaze now.
He took a moment before responding. “I have no satisfactory answer except that I am an impulsive man, Miss Easton.”
She considered that for a moment as the group came to stop in front of the market entrance. “And impulse tells you to run from me?”
His eyes held hers. No doubt he should run.
He hardly knew her, but he wanted to know her.
She was, from what he could tell from her clothing and bearing, a woman who came from wealth.
Silas might be the brother of a duke, but he personally had nothing to offer a woman but a sullied reputation, a fistful of banknotes he hoped to multiply, and the real possibility of the gallows.
Father had urged him to pursue the law, but Silas had no patience for such things. He had wanted to make his own way.
Look where that had got him.
“I think you may be calling me a coward, Miss Easton,” he said.
“Are you one?”
“If I were, would I be standing here so boldly while you tear my character to shreds?”
She laughed and turned her eyes to the performers the others had stopped to watch. Three men were putting on a magic show. They made a ball disappear beneath a cup, and the surprise and delight on Miss Easton’s face brought a smile to Silas’s.
It was as though she had never seen a magician before. It had been the same with the fireworks. He guessed her to be three- or four-and-twenty, which made her awe at such things curious. There was a naivety to her that contrasted sharply with the wit and intellect she had shown. She was an enigma.
When the magician asked for a volunteer amongst the crowd, she stood a bit taller, then seemed to think better of it.
Silas took her hand and raised it for her.
She looked at him, half-aghast, half-laughing, as one of the magicians made his way over, a stack of cards in hand.
“Pick a card, miss,” the man said, fanning out the deck.
Miss Easton kept her severe but sparkling gaze on Silas a moment longer before relenting.
“Show it to the audience,” the man said, covering his face with his hat as she displayed the ten of hearts to everyone.
He returned his hat to his head and took the card, replacing it in the middle of the deck. He shuffled the cards with great fanfare as he told the audience a joke about an elephant.
Miss Easton’s gaze was fixed determinedly on the cards.
“Now,” said the magician, “let us see about this young lady’s card.
” He laid the neat deck on one palm. “It must be here somewhere,” he muttered as he used his free hand to push handfuls of cards off his other hand and onto the flagstone.
“No, not that one. Not that one.” Finally, there was but one card left in his hand.
He stared at it with a frown, then tossed the three of clubs onto the flagstones as well. He set his hands on his hips and stared at Miss Easton with exaggerated suspicion.
She stared back at him, looking torn between confusion and disappointment.
His gaze moved to Silas. “Did you steal her card, sir?”
“I did not,” Silas replied.
The magician turned to Miss Easton. “Do we believe him, miss?”
She looked up at Silas, her eyes searching his. She smiled. “I do not see why we should.”
“Nor I,” said the magician, stepping toward Silas. “Sir, may I?” He nodded at Silas’s right tailcoat pocket.
“By all means,” Silas said, moving his arm to grant the man access.
The magician stepped toward him and slipped his hand into the pocket. He fished around a bit despite how shallow it was. Finally, his hand emerged, and he held up the ten of hearts. “Is that your card, miss?”
Miss Easton’s eyes grew large, and she looked at Silas for an explanation as the crowd clapped and cheered.
Miss Fairchild hurried over to them, all smiles. “Did he put you up to that, Mr. Hayes?”
“He must have,” Miss Easton said, still watching him carefully.
“I assure you,” Silas replied, “that I had never seen that man in my life until five minutes ago and never spoken to him until he asked if I had stolen the card—which I had not.” It was a good trick, he had to admit.
The magician must have had the card hidden up his sleeve, then let it drop into Silas’s pocket before pulling it out.
The other four began walking toward the market, chattering amongst themselves in an effort to determine how the magician had managed his feat.
“You may tell me the truth, you know,” Miss Easton said in an undervoice as they followed. “I shan’t tell the others.”
Silas chuckled softly. “I was your husband the other night. Today, I am a liar and a coward. Miss Easton, I am positively on tenterhooks to discover what I shall be tomorrow.”
“Who says we shall see each other tomorrow?”
“A terribly boring day it shall be if we do not.” The comment was bordering on flirtatious, but Silas was spared whatever reaction she might have had by their arrival at the market stalls.
Covent Garden was a hive of activity, with shouts and conversation between the vendors and buyers creating a din amongst the rows of stalls piled high with wares.
The scent of herbs and the earthy aroma of fruits and vegetables mixed with the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted chestnuts.
A wooden flute played somewhere nearby, punctuated by the intermittent squawking of a parrot perched on a man’s shoulder a few stalls away.
Miss Easton’s head moved slowly as her gaze took in the scene, that same fascination in her eyes that was becoming familiar to Silas.
He leaned toward her. “Overwhelmed?”
She looked at him, then straightened slightly. “Not at all.”
Silas suppressed a smile and looked around. “A dead bore, is it not?”