“What, really?”
Alicia gave a rueful little shake of her head. “Not a bit. And it hadn’t a thing to do with how he was raised—God knows more devoted parents never existed. But Henry was always so stern, so serious. A miniature adult from childhood, as if the weight of the world had been settled upon his shoulders from birth.” Her brows pinched. “There were a few childhood brawls, as I recall,” she said. “Though one could hardly blame him for them.”
Over his mother, Grace knew now that she meant, even if she would prefer not to dredge up that old gossip out of loyalty.
“Suffice it to say, he was never the instigator of such things, and he had every right to defend himself against those wretched children and their cruelty,” Alicia said firmly. “One could not ask for a more faithful, devoted child.”
Of course not. Henry had only done what any little boy in hissituation would have, and defended himself—and his mother—against the cruelty of his peers. Not a child given to mischief, but a boy given to justice and devotion. And his aunt would not speak a word against him, nor his mother besides.
“Now, Eliza,” Alicia said, and a little laugh hummed upon her lips. “She is the mischievous one in the family. But you always have to forgive her for it, you know, because she is just such a charming girl.” Her eyes grew a shade distant, as if reliving some precious, cherished memory of childish pranks past.
“I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting her,” Grace said. “But she sounds delightful.”
“She is.” Alicia set her hand over Grace’s and squeezed gently. “And Rose—Henry’s mother—is so lovely and kind. She’ll adore you.” A little sigh. “Oh, I do miss them. The whole family has had a difficult time of it this last year,” she said. “They’re overdue for a good turn, all of them.”
They were, and it wouldn’t happen on its own. But as she glanced down at Alicia’s hand over hers, Grace thought—perhaps she had just found her own contingency.
∞∞∞
The Queen’s Arms was a dismal little tavern tucked back in an alley well away from the main thoroughfare. The light of candles within barely pierced the grime coating the glass panes of the windows, but the sound from inside was nearly deafening; a cacophony produced by what promised to be dozens of patrons deep in their cups.
Henry had arrived well in advance of his uncle’s scheduled visit, his stomach in knots. What was he going to do if Grace’sassessment proved to be correct? He could only hope that he might appeal to Cooper’s better nature—assuming the man had one—or else his greed. The scant few skills he’d learned from Grace were unlikely to avail him much in this particular context. His sleight of hand was just passable, and useful only for palming cards or subtly rearranging a deck to suit his needs. His options were limited at best.
The stench of sour ale rose to meet his nose as he crossed the threshold, and he realized abruptly, as half a dozen heads swung in his direction, that even the relatively plain garments he’d donned were a cut above what was to be expected here. Probably more than a few patrons present were working out how they might best pick his pocket, or cut free the brass buttons upon his coat to sell for a few pence.
Lord Rafe Beaumont’s note had included a description of Cooper, but even if it hadn’t, Henry would have known him straight away. He lounged at a table in the rear of the tavern, his back against the far wall. Despite his unkempt hair and ill-fitting clothes, he might’ve been a king for his air of lording over the establishment he had claimed as the base of his operation.
And he was speaking with someone.Christ, no—Henry’s heart lurched in his chest as he recognized the fashionable cut of his uncle’s hair, combed cleverly in an attempt to disguise the bald spot that had begun to form high upon his pate.
He was too late. He’d arrived well in advance of the appointment meeting time—but so had Uncle Nigel, it seemed.
What was he to do? His hands flexed at his sides, uncertain. Too late, now, even to prevail upon Cooper’s better nature. Too late to appeal to his sense of greed. The deal was as good as done, and the only thing to his benefit at present was that it was unlikely that either person tucked away there at the table in the back had a clear view of him.
In the crush of bodies a serving maid squeezed past, shuntinghim off to the side with a shove of her hip that felt almost intentional. Not even an apology followed in her wake as she carried a serving tray laden with glasses balanced upon her hand through the crowd toward the rear of the tavern, her plain brown skirts swishing as she went.
He would have recognized that sweet, plump arse anywhere.
Henry’s heart jounced about in his chest, jolting into a panicked rhythm as a sweat of pure terror broke out upon his brow. He had known Grace had lied to him, known she’d intended to come here this evening—at least totryto come.
He’d simply hoped she’d thought better of it. That at least she would have the circumspection to linger in the cling of the shadows outside of the tavern, to cloak herself in the cover of darkness and to strike from the gloom if the opportunity arose.
Anything but this. Inside the worst sort of tavern, practically rubbing shoulders with the worst sort of people. Dressed in a flimsy excuse for a gown, the bodice pulled down low over her ample breasts. So low that any man she happened to pass stood a decent chance of seeing a great deal more than even now was on display.
She was serving drinks, and he—he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not without revealing his presence. Not without revealinghers.
That bump of her hip against his had been deliberate after all, he realized, meant to shove him away from the door, toward the staircase to the left that likely led to a number of rooms upstairs. He was shielded further now by the wall which separated the stairs from the tavern floor and provided a modicum of insulation from the noise within the room below to the rooms upstairs.
And he could donothing. Nothing but to watch through the sliver of space available to him as she made her way toward Cooper’s table, drinks upon the tray in her hand. There was ashout curling up his throat, but to loose it would be to ruin her. Instead he swallowed it down and breathed sharply through his nose, hoping and praying she would make it out the other side of this little fiasco reputation—andlife—intact.
Her uncle was going to have his head. And he—he was going to have that luscious arse beneath the flat of his hand for this affront. His palm tingled with the anticipation of it already.
Henry couldn’t hold a damn thought in his head but her as he waited for her safe return, waited interminably long moments as she slid two drinks onto the table. His blood flashed hot in his veins as he watched Cooper flip a coin in his fingers and slide it between her bountiful cleavage, then sent her off again with a pat on the bum.
His breath slipped from his lungs on a wave of stark relief. Somehow, by the grace of God or some other such miracle, she hadn’t been recognized. And at long last she began to wade back through the thick of the crowd, tray tucked beneath her arm down at her side.
The very moment she’d come near enough to grab, he seized her wrist in the manacle of his fingers, pulling her to him so swiftly that she dropped the empty tray, which made no more than a mutedthumpthat could hardly be heard above the raucous chatter.
She squeaked in surprise as he thrust her up against the wall by the stairs. Henry obscured her from the other patrons with the breadth of his shoulders, leaned down into her face to growl, “Have you lost your damnedmind?”
