Love. It was such a funny word. Her mother had loved her father so much that after the miserable life he’d given her, she’d followed him in death. Char had never thought she could trust love. But Baynton was different. He had the resources to provide a good life.
But would he slay a dragon for her?
A heavy knock sounded on the door. A pounding actually, because the wood slats of the door jumped with each blow.
Startled, and since she was standing closest to the handle, Char opened the door, and then stepped back in shock.
Whitridgestood there. He seemed full of himself as if he had news to impart.
“I am looking for the Duke of Baynton—” he started, and then stopped, his jaw dropping for one long, endless second. “You?” he whispered, recognizing her.
Char slammed the door in his face before he could say more.
Chapter Eight
Jack stared at the door. He’d barely pulled back before having his nose smashed.
It was she. The girl. The pickpocket.
The lass who for some reason had been nesting in his mind.
She was here at Lady Charlene Blanchard’s house. She was right on the other side of the door.
And of course he had to knock again. He would bloody damn well hammer the door down. It was that sort of day for him. She owed him Matthew’s purse, and an explanation.
He also wanted another very good look at her. She was a beauty in breeches, but in a dress, well, she had no equal—
The door opened to his knock but instead of his thief, his brother came out, looking ducally perturbed. He set his hat on his head. “What the blast are you doing here?”
“Knocking on a door. Looking for you. Who is the girl that answered?” He tried to catch a look around his brother.
Gavin shouldered him away, closing the door. He brushed by Jack.
For a second, Jack was caught between his desire to chase the lovely thief and his duty to talk to his brother. Honor won out, barely.
Gavin was already in the seat of his phaeton; his tiger, a small man in Baynton livery, jumped to stand on the step behind the driver. In a second he would be gone.
The thiefess would have to wait.
Gavin was turning the phaeton around, a tricky maneuver in such tight quarters as this narrow street. It took little effort on Jack’s part to step up beside the tiger. He offered the man a coin. “I wish to speak to my brother alone.”
Gavin looked back at him, frowned. He had his hands full backing and turning the horses. He nodded for the servant to leave. The tiger jumped down to make his own way home.
Jack climbed over the seat of the moving vehicle to sit beside his brother. It was a narrow seat with only a ledge for one’s feet.
Jack reset his hat on his head. “Nice horses,” he said.
His twin did not respond. His jaw had gone rock-hard. Jack smiled. If he’d wanted his brother’s attention, he had it.
“Father always preferred bays,” Jack continued as if making conversation. “However, like you, I’m partial to grays. Do you think it is one of those ways we are alike, but we don’t think we are—?”
“I have no idea.” Gavin didn’t even bother to look in his direction.
Jack leaned back in the seat, rather enjoying the ride although the traffic at the corner was a mess. Two dogs in separate dogcarts had taken a dislike to each other and were snarling and yapping. One had overturned his cart.
“Listen to them,” he said to Gavin. “We could sound much the same if we had a mind to.”
Gavin frowned in the direction of the dogs, but he didn’t speak.
