It all began on his first day as her guard. He’d refused to allow her to visit some “chum” of hers named Alfred. Not only would it be improper for her to visit the blasted fellow unchaperoned, but this Alfred lived in one of the worst parts of Whitechapel. When Miss Todd insisted that she’d been visiting Alfred on her own for years, Harry had been appalled.
What had her family beenthinkingto allow her behavior to go unchecked for so long?
He’d put his foot down; she’d gone to sulk in her chamber.
Afterward, whether for her own amusement or to punish him, she’d started practicing violin. He’d heard cats copulating with more grace. Just as he suspected that his ears might be bleeding, one of the maids brought him a tea tray. Grateful for the respite, Harry had added generous spoonfuls from the sugar bowl before taking a gulp. He’d instantly spat thesaltyliquid out.
Miss Todd’s laughter had echoed from the other room.
The next day, he’d accompanied her to Potter’s, a Covent Garden tea shop that appeared to be the equivalent of Gunter’s for the wealthy denizens of the underworld. In the light-filled dining room, well-dressed patrons ate ices and cakes that arrived on tiered plates. He’d planned to wait outside, but Miss Todd had insisted that he stay. When he’d eyed the tea she’d poured for him, she’d flashed him achallenginggrin.
“I solemnly vow that I’ve added nothing to your beverage…this time,” she’d said impishly.
Reluctantly, he’d taken a seat in the chair beside her, and the moment his arse hit the chintz seat cushion, an ignominious sound had trumpeted through the room. His face flamed as he recalled the shocked stares, gasps, and titters of the other patrons. All the while, Miss Todd had tried—unsuccessfully—to stifle her chuckles behind a napkin.
From beneath the cushion, he’d removed a device made from a pig’s bladder. One that made farting noises, for God’s sake. Then came herpièce de resistance.
Harry got up from the cot and lit a lamp, his living quarters flaring into view. He’d been assigned the room in the mews behind the house, and the space was comfortable and utilitarian. He splashed his face at the washstand, his reflection in the looking glass showing his dark mood. After Potter’s, he’d taken the high road and offered her a truce: he would take her on an outing of her choice, as long as it was suitable for a lady.
She’d decided to go shopping.
Arriving at the Pantheon Shopping Bazaar, she’d asked him quite prettily (that in itself ought to have tipped him off) to hold her reticule while she and her maid went inside a shop. After ascertaining that there was no secondary exit to said shop, he’d agreed and had been waiting for her to emerge when two guards suddenly descended upon him, truncheons in hand.
Apparently, a young miss had reported a man of his description stealing her purse. It had taken no little explaining to extricate himself out of that predicament. Passing patrons had looked at him as if he were horse shit clinging to their shoes.
Why are you surprised?His chest burned.Being humiliated by a woman is nothing new.
The memory of his desperate desire to please Celeste De Witt, how stupidly he’d fallen for her ethereal looks and seeming fragility, tore at his gut. For four years, he’d worshipped the ground she’d walked on. As a man uncomfortable with flirtation, he’d nonetheless conjured up awkward compliments and flowery sentiments in order to gratify her. If Celeste had requested that he fetch the moon, he’d have asked if she wanted the stars as well.
Well, he’d learned. He no longer believed in angels or putting women on pedestals.
He saw Tessa Todd precisely for what she was: a devilish brat who ought to be turned over his knee. At the thought of spanking the minx, an inexplicable surge of heat flooded his groin.
He cursed, raking a hand through his hair. He didn’t understand his physical reaction to the chit, and he didn’t trust things he didn’t understand. Logically, he couldn’t deny that Tessa Todd was attractive. Her eyes shifted between green and grey depending on her mood and flashed verdigris fire when she was angry (he ought to know). Her features were delicate and fresh, her figure enticingly petite, and, if she wasn’t such a hellion, she might bring to mind a porcelain figurine.
Nonetheless, heknewwho she was. Celeste had hidden her true nature behind a façade of demure virtue, but Tessa Todd had no qualms about being a wicked, spoiled miss through and through. In fact, she seemed to takepridein it. Knowing her capacity for deception and manipulation ought to have neutralized his attraction to her, yet his baser instincts warred against his rationality—and the latter, he realized with self-disgust, was far from claiming a decisive victory.
Perhaps he’d just been celibate too long. He hadn’t been with a woman since Roxanne, hadn’t wanted distractions while he was finding his footing. But now he recognized the pent-up need building in him, putting him on edge.
Do not let Tessa Todd get under your skin, he told himself.You have a mission to complete. Rein in the troublesome chit—and your own bloody self.
With brisk efficiency, he finished dressing and reached for his boots. This was his spare pair: his favorite Hessians had been ruined by Miss Todd, who’d somehow managed to furtively fill them with honey. Scowling, he took the precaution of sticking his hand into the battered leather footwear—unadulterated, Praise Jesus…though a bit shoddy.
The state of the boots was due to the fact that he found shopping as enjoyable as a visit to the tooth drawer. His wont was to get fitted once, have multiple duplicates made, and wear the items until they could no longer be decently worn. Or until his glamorous sister-in-law, Marianne, declared his wardrobe a state of emergency and corralled him into a shopping expedition. Luckily, Marianne wasn’t here, so he donned his boots, which were old but comfortable, and vacated the room, heading across the dark courtyard to the kitchen.
The cavernous room was warm and bustling with activity. A black stove lined one wall, pots and pans hanging neatly from hooks. The servants were milling about the large central worktable, preparing for breakfast. The smells of frying meat and fresh bread permeated the room.
Harry returned the friendly greetings and received more than one sympathetic look.
“Ready for another round, are you, Bennett?” Jim, the second footman asked, grinning.
“Hush, Jim.” Mrs. Gates, the bespectacled housekeeper, looked up from the list she was consulting on the worktable. “If the master hears you speaking with disrespect, you’ll find yourself out on the street, and you’d deserve it.”
Jim snorted as he hefted up a tray. “Master would have to be ’ome to’ ear me, wouldn’t ’e?”
The footman had a point. Since Harry had started work, he’d seen little of Black. He hadn’t been able to do much in the way of reconnaissance due to Miss Todd keeping his hands full. She was an early riser, but it was not yet dawn, so he had some time before she started to wreak havoc anew. Now was a good time to gather information.
“Has something been keeping Mr. Black busy?” he said casually.
