“Come here, Ginger.” Reaching his arm out in invitation, he waited as the cat came to him.
Holding her hand to her chest, Pippa watched with bated breath as the young marquess took Ginger and placed her gently into the pocket of his breeches. She released a shaky exhale, happy that one of her precious kittens was safe.
“Come, Cobalt.” His voice was gentle, like he was speaking to a scared child.
Stretching out his long arm, he reached for the small black kitten, but she scurried backward on the unstable branch she was swaying on. The young marquess reached out, trying to stopthe kitten’s retreat, but his foot slipped again, this time nearly causing him to topple over until he latched on to the wide bark.
“Please be careful!” Pippa yelled in fear for both his life and for causing the death of a member of theton.
She held her hands together as the boy took a deep breath and then walked closer to Cobalt again, getting closer. “It’s all right, Cobalt. I will not hurt you.”
This time the kitten didn’t scurry back as the marquess reached for her and wrapped long fingers gently around her middle.
The breath Pippa had been holding the entire time escaped her, and she couldn’t help the happy tears that fell.
The boy carefully placed Cobalt into his other pocket and then climbed down from the tree. Once at the bottom, he handed Pippa both kittens. She clutched them to her chest, allowing their claws to tear the delicate fabric of her dress. Pippa didn’t care; she was just happy to have them safe in her arms.
“Thank you.” She breathed shakily, unable to stop the tears. The kittens were a reminder of the life she once had with her parents. He had saved them, this strange young marquess whom she was not acquainted with. “Thank you, my lord …”
“Chauncey.” His smile was genuine and kind, the type of smile that would light up the darkest room. “My name is Chauncey, and I was glad to be of service, Kitten.”
She laughed at the nickname, the first genuine laugh she had in weeks. It bubbled up inside of her and came tumbling out loud and clear.
“I’m not a kitten,” she said, shaking her head at him. Really, kittens were cute and small, and they were cats. She was a girl of nearly ten years after all.
“You act like one to me.”
She laughed again, feeling joy for the first time in a year. Pippa hadn’t been the same since her precious mama’s death,then her father perished, and she thought she would never be happy again. Now, here she was in front of a young lord feeling a sliver of happiness, a small ray of sunshine on an otherwise cloudy day. It was in that moment that she knew she could always depend on this young lord, Chauncey, and they would be the best of friends.
Forever.
CHAPTER 2
Dear Kitten,
School is dreadful. My only friend is Hart, who is a giant amongst mortals. So it’s rather good to have him around. I only wish that girls could go to school with us as well, then I’d have two friends. I will return at the end of term, and then we can continue conducting experiments. There is an excellent book in the library I believe you would enjoy.
Your friend,
Chauncey (The Assistant)
London, July 1824
“Move your arse!”
“Hurry the hell up, you whore!”
“Come now, St. Clara!”
Chauncey Bennett, the Duke of St. Clara, stood in the center of the Sinners Gaming Hell, ignoring the countless voicesaround him. His hand ached as he gripped the cracked hazard table to prevent himself from falling as countless bodies pressed against him on every side.
“Throw the damn dice! We’ve waited long enough.” The Earl of Windchester’s booming voice rose over the crowd.
St. Clara’s head snapped to the giant of a man. He wanted to punch him in his enormous face. He never could stomach the monster, but especially now, after Winchester’s affair with St. Clara’s deceased sister, Amelia. What the hell was he doing there instead of being with his daughter, Emily, St. Clara’s niece?
Other foxed patrons shouted their agreement with Windchester, nearly knocking St. Clara down on top of the table. As he shoved his arm back, his elbow met with the soft fleshy abdomen of one man who was too close for comfort. A grunt and immediate space confirmed that he had made the right choice. Not only did he need to win this game, but he also needed air from the stench of bodies. He was too damn foxed himself to withstand a crush of unwashed gentry pressing against him.
His feet shuffled on the worn carpet, nearly causing him to fall as he worked to gain some semblance of space. The room spun around him. His temple throbbed like he was being hit with a blacksmith hammer, but none of it mattered.
