“Thaddeus goes where I go.” In fact, Thaddeus was so protective, she couldn’t have confined him to Pensteague if she wished. “Besides,boththe duke and Lord Thomas serve as guardians. Thomas cannot assert himself without exposing the duke’s state. And, in a few months, Thaddeus will be fourteen—old enough to choose his own guardians.”
She recast her gaze toward the group of gentlemen below. Another drunken cheer rose from the lawn.
“You needn’t worry any longer, Mrs. Renton.” She spoke with bravado she did not feel. “I will become Ithwick’s unlikely champion.”
But were her adversaries indolent man-children, or were they a crawling nest of vipers?
And, if theywerea nest of vipers—she chilled—which would be the first to sting?
Chapter Two
Lungs—Cheverley inhaled—on fire.
He came fully awake, coughing like a man possessed. Air pricked in his chest, stubbly as a beggar’s cheek. Every attempted inhale thrust another shard of glass between his ribs. If only he could sit, he could...
He expelled a gutturaloomphas his chin landed in straw. Yes.Pain rippled through his bones.Right.
No arm.
Yet, somehow, the sensation of ahandremained, right down to the jarring ache in his non-existent—though strangely fisted—fingers. He rolled onto his back and blinked into the dim light breathing in air thick with tallow’s heavy scent. Above him, a roof of thatch. Beneath him, stillness.
He’d made his way to land, at least.
“He’s back.”
A man’s voice. Not one Cheverley recognized. English, though. Which was an immense relief...for unclear reasons.
“Lord have mercy.” A woman. “T’ain’t right. He was dead, he was, when you pulled him out the water.”
Outofthe water.
He frowned.
Where had that come from? He didn’t give a sixpence about grammar. What passed for English on his ship would have curled a schoolmaster’s toes—not counting the sizable portion of the crew who had other native languages.
Wait...Hisship? Was he a captain, then?
“He looked dead at first,” the man agreed. “But he’s coughin’ now, ain’t he?”
Hewas. He snatched another illusive, rasping breath.
“Should have left him. You ain’t got no reason t’be dragging in strays like you do.”
A cat’s hiss suffused the shadows. He shivered.
“Go on,” the man cooed. “She’s all talk.”
The feline mewed.
“Mark me, lass,” the man continued, “they’ll be a prize for this one.”
The woman snorted. “I ain’t no lass. And that one ain’t worth a half-penny. Can’t you see he’s missing his arm?”
The man grasped his ankle and twisted. Chev cried out, punctuating with a kick.
“Areeah! Stop that.” The man lowered his voice. “Look here. That is the Hurtheven crest. No telling the other two—his scars cut right through. I wager he’s quality, though.”
Chev stilled. Hurtheven...?
