Hannah frowned. “You may be exceedingly clever about reading people’s expressions, but you know nothing of the inner workings of London’s seamier side. You’ll either be turned away or set upon by criminals—and with your large frame, it will be hard to hide your identity.”
“Are you good at disguises?” Eoin asked.
“Fairly,” Hannah admitted.
“Could you make my face look very bruised and swollen?”
“Pardon?” Hannah asked. It was not every day that a nob wished to appear like he’d been beaten to a bloody pulp.
“My grandfather was forever bemoaning the fact that I am the very image of a prizefighter,” Eoin explained.
Hannah couldn’t refute the similarity. She’d had the same thought herself—although hers came from a decidedly more appreciative place.
“If I look like a boxer, no one will recognize me as the chap who visited a few days ago,” Eoin continued to reason.
“Your idea has merit,” Hannah agreed. “And I could dress as a boy. I’ve done so in the past, and it makes it easier to slip in and out of places.”
“You have led a much more adventurous life than I.”
A smile—which Hannah could only describe as fond—stretched over Eoin’s lips. She did not want to admit how muchthe sight affected her. Yet she couldn’t deny that she liked the fact that Eoin seemed drawn to the parts of her that the rest of Society often condemned. They were, after all, the aspects that she took the most pride in, and the recognition felt good. More than good.
“I’m happy to share this quest with you.” The words tumbled from Hannah’s mouth before she had thought better. To her surprise, Eoin didn’t blush. Instead, he grinned—broadly and with a warmth that she didn’t know the stoic man could generate.
“Could you apply paint or soot to my face and make it look like I’ve fought in a few bouts?” Eoin asked, his voice boyishly eager.
“I can’t—at least not convincingly,” Hannah admitted. “But I know someone—two someones, in fact—who can help. They might not get along, however.”
“No! No!” Calliope cried, her normally sweet voice tight with frustration. “That is much too dark and untextured. This isn’t for the stage!”
“I’ll have you know that people rave about how realistic the blood and gore look at the Grand. It is one of the reasons that my theater does so well!” Alun waved a burnt piece of cork as he paused in placing smudges around Eoin’s eye.
Hannah tried very hard not to jump into the fray. Her last attempt to enforce order had only worsened the situation. What had she been thinking to invite both the poetess and the playwright?
“Hissssssss!” Eoin’s gosling flapped its stubby wings as it ran at Alun.
The actor leaped back, but the enraged ball of down was faster. Although the creature didn’t possess its signature long neck yet, it still managed to close its short beak around the skin at Alun’s ankle.
“Owwww! That hurt! Why does that menace keep nipping me?” Alun demanded.
“It is an impeccable judge of character?” Calliope offered tartly.
“I am exceedingly sorry.” Eoin bent to pick up the vibrating animal. “As of late, it’s become very protective of me.”
“Whyever did you bring that fowl to the Black Sheep?” Alun glared at the bird as he bent to rub his injury.
“I am afraid that I am to blame,” Hannah confessed. “It put up such an awful fuss when we were departing that I couldn’t bear to leave it.”
“Ninny!” Pan called from the rafters. He had been displeased when the gosling had waddled into the coffeehouse.
“Watch what you say, Pan.” Sophia glanced up at the parrot. “The main reason you have a home is due to Hannah’s abiding love for feathered beings.”
“Is that true?” Eoin asked, and Hannah couldn’t help but notice that his voice sounded more animated. His clear interest warmed her—much more than was sensible. Even if she wasn’t investigating Eoin’s family, she’d make an absolutely rubbish nob. Not that she was considering becoming Eoin’s duchess.
“I was living in the Caribbean when my cousin rescued Pan,” Sophia explained to Eoin. “But the way my uncle tells the story, he decided to take five-year-old Hannah down to the Pool of London to see the big seafaring ships. She spotted a sailor trying to shove Pan into a much-too-small cage. Shebroke free from her father’s grasp, stomped over with hands on her hips, and called the fellow a bad, bad man. Uncle Jack said that the chap didn’t know whether to be offended or to laugh. Little Hannah proceeded to lecture him on how to be nice to birdies. Uncle Jack finally caught up to her and tried to urge her along. Hannah refused, and Uncle Jack is secretly softhearted too. He ended up buying Pan at an exceedingly high price. And Pan has happily roosted in the Black Sheep’s rafters ever since.”
A flush of embarrassment washed over Hannah. She only remembered snippets of the actual event, but she’d heard her papa recount the tale over and over. As a girl, she’d loved the familiar story, but it was a mite awkward watching while Eoin listened to her misadventures. The fact that she was particularly concerned about his reaction was not something upon which she wanted to dwell.
“Enough about the past,” Hannah said brusquely. “We need to make Eoin look beat up.”
