She had hair the color of midnight, and eyes that weren’t quite blue. Violet, if he had to put a color to them. A striking combination. His belly tightened as he remembered her alabaster skin and lovely smile. And he engaged her with his hair looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed.
Well, he had, of course, which was why she was stopping below his room every morning. Still…
He’d do better tomorrow. Ben paused, wondering why he cared what he looked like to a young girl, a stranger.
He did know her father, in a way. They were acquaintances, at least.
Admit it. She’s stunning with a winsome smile. And she has a sense of humor.
Ben was intrigued. He wasn’t a man influenced by beauty, though not immune to it. She and her canine friend made a charming picture. Yes, it was a good decision hiring Miss Felton.
Chancery Lane
Benjamin stood to shake hands with Lord Tamber. “It’s been a pleasure, my lord,” he said to the earl. “I’ll prepare the contract and complete the rest of the documents for your signature.”
“Excellent. I’m fortunate to have run into Mr. Marshall at White’s and have him suggest you,” said the earl, placing his beaver hat upon his dark, wavy hair. “I hope I don’t seem as if I’m anticipating my father’s death. I just want to be prepared and make the transition as smooth as possible when it does happen.”
“Unfortunately, death is inevitable. It’s prudent to plan ahead,” agreed Ben. “May I ask what ails him?”
“Heart. Our physician said my father could be around another ten years or be gone tomorrow. He had a frightening episode that left him in bed for the better part of a month.” Lord Tamber smiled. “Though he seems right enough now. Insists he’ll outlive me and my brother.”
“Let’s hope he’s with us for years to come.”
“Yes, it’s hard to imagine the country estate without him, though he hasn’t taken his seat in the Lords for several years.” The earl gave Ben a nod. “Good day, then, Mr. Cooper. Give my regards to Mr. Norton.”
“That’s right, my brother Elijah did a portrait for you. I hope you were pleased?”
“Very much so,” said the earl, stopping at the door. “In fact, I’d like him to paint my mother.”
Ben held back a cringe at those words, remembering the recent warning about the woman. Perhaps Angus had been exaggerating, or Eli’s gentle nature would win the marchioness over.
After several hours of research, paperwork, and going over client ledgers, he leaned back in his chair and yawned, his arms stretched above his head. He checked his pocket watch. Almost half past five. He was meeting Roger Lynch at the Dog’s Bone at six-thirty. Just enough time to finish up.
Ben walked along Chancery Lane until he reached Holborn and hailed a hackney. He gave the direction to the Dog’s Bone and leaned back against the worn leather squab. With responsibilities finished for the day, he let his mind wander. It wasn’t surprising that flowing black hair and purplish-blue eyes soon filled his thoughts.
It wasn’t like him to be preoccupied with a woman. He hadn’t been smitten since boyhood when a neighbor girl had flirted with him. She’d given him his first kiss under the tree in the backyard. It had fueled his dreams for weeks.
Don’t be a bufflehead. She’s just a girl, probably too young anyway.
At the Dog’s Bone, Ben waved at Max, the balding barkeep and owner, and exchanged smiles with Martha. The owner’s wife had a cherubic face with cheeks that were always flushed and sandy-brown hair usually stuffed into a mobcap.
“He’s waitin’ for ye in the back,” she said, nodding toward the storeroom and Max’s office. “I’ll let Bess know you’re here. Got some hand pies left over from earlier if you want one.”
“Two, please,” Ben said, giving her a forlorn look.
“Those beggin’ tawny eyes get me ever’ time.” She pushed him toward the back, and he maneuvered his way through the evening crowd.
The back room was dark, only a small hearth providing light, and looked much like it probably had two hundred years ago. Shelves lined the stone walls, and overhead, low charred timbers from years of smoke forced most of patrons to duck whenever they entered. Ben’s heels clicked on the flagstone as he joined Roger Lynch at the table in the center of the room. A fire in the hearth crackled cheerfully behind him, and bread and cheese sat on a table along one wall. The far wall was an alcove with the best of Max’s brandy and ale.
“You look tired,” said Roger, his grayish-green eyes teasing.
“Thank you, and you look like the cat who ate the canary.” Ben sat down across from Roger. “Good news, I hope?”
Roger was the second latecomer to the O’Brien clan. Harry Walters had come across the lad being set upon by footpads a couple years back. Roger had valiantly held them off from plucking his mother’s rent money but was fast losing the fight. Harry assisted in making the odds a bit more even, then brought the lad to the O’Briens to get him fixed up. He’d been working for the family ever since. Newly eighteen, he was a handsome young man with a thick mane of black curly hair and a wicked punch that had earned him respect with Paddy’s Peelers.
“I’m on the trail of Eli’s father. Got a good lead today from one of my more trusted sources.” Roger grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “I think we’ll keep it to ourselves, though, until I get closer.”
“I’d hate to disappoint Eli,” agreed Ben. Eli’s father had married Eli’s mother when he already had a wife. After confessing, he’d left them both, and Eli had never seen him again.
