“In some ways, yes, I suppose it is.” His little smile was odd. Nearly insinuating.
And then he very swiftly, almost imperceptibly, swept the length of her with a look.
And perhaps he wondered if she was the sort to rob him in the night, and was trying to ascertain whether she was hiding a little pistol or a sharp little knife.
But it didn’t feel like that sort of look, because it made her want to shudder as if an insect had crawled across her arm. Her heart picked up a beat or two.
“As I said, Mr. Brinker, it isn’t our usual policy to let rooms for one night only. I’m certain you can imagine why.” She said it more firmly.
“I’m willing to pay handsomely for it.” Suddenly, in his hand, were several sovereigns.
She went still. Her breath snagged.
And for a moment she merely stared at them.
Damn men and their money.
Damn life and the choices it presented daily.
He didn’t, on the surface of things, seem dangerous. One never knew. Appearances never told the whole story. She ought to know. And the things they could do with three sovereigns...
She crossed her fingers beneath her apron. Said a silent prayer.
“Follow me, Mr. Brinker. Ring the bell if you’d like tea brought up to you. We’ll leave it outside of your door.”
He’d been in for the evening for a half hour when Dot appeared, clinked and clanked her way about his room, fluffing a pillow, building the fire, leaving him with a cup of tea he’d requested earlier in the day—whimsically ringing for tea in the middle of the night struck him as the worst sort of laziness and selfishness, even though the rules allowed it—and a quiet little good-night.
These were all things he could in all likelihood do more competently for himself.
But it did, in fact, make him feel cared for.
He let the tea sit for a bit and poured himself a brandy instead, and sipped.
He wondered if he’d overplayed his hand with that bit in the window.
He’d spent the past two days out with Massey and the rest of his men, questioning merchants. A pattern was beginning to emerge, of sorts.
And yet whoever had allegedly let the mysterious suite had yet to appear in the boardinghouse. In all likelihood there was a benign reason for it. Perhaps it was the only messy room in the entire house; they wanted to keep it hidden.
He didn’t think so, however.
At half past twelve, he thrust his arms back into his coat. His pockets stuffed with lock picks and candles and flint, he quietly closed his door behind him.
“Three sovereigns, three sovereigns, three sovereigns, three whole sovereigns,” Delilah muttered all the way down the stairs to the kitchen, and all the way through the heating of the water and the dispensing of the tea. Most guests were considerate enough not to ring for tea late in the evening, even though their rules generously allowed for one nightly libation.
But not Mr. Brinker. Which didn’t surprise her in the least.
Before she drifted off to sleep tonight perhaps she ought to count the kinds of things they could buy with those three sovereigns. Enough staff so that neither she nor Angelique would need to rise in the middle of the night to see to a guest—so she would never need to do it again, for instance. Or perhaps a pair of footmen. Though the cost of feeding a footman was almost equivalent to the cost of feeding a horse.
She settled the tea on the tray and balanced it carefully up the stairs. She’d reached the foyer when a voice called softly from the larger drawing room.
“I’m in here, Lady Derring. Would you please bring the tea in?”
She froze. Hell’s teeth.
She was trapped there, in her night rail and slippers, braided hair spilling out of her cap.
“Oh... Mr. Brinker. I thought I told you I’d leave the tea outside your door.”
