Page 266 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

She was back at the window, hand mirror held before her visage. She lowered it, and made a face at him. “If I was an actress, and knew how, could I use cosmetics to hide the array, do you suppose? What elderly female wants a green-and-yellow-tinged companion?” Her eyes grew big and she smiled. “Perhaps she will be just as stingy as my last employer, allow candles only for company, and as long as I keep this side to the shadows, perhaps I have a chance at winning her favor.”

“You still fret over that?” He had half a mind to find cosmetics and paint the bruise darker and bigger—if it would only keep her here.

She approached and laid the mirror on the counter. “No longer. Now I fret over Barnabas. I shall look in the alley. Do you mind going upstairs, checking your lodgings?”

Brier took hold of her wrist before she could run off. “You, please, go upstairs and look for him. I will peruse the alley. That is no place for a female alone.”

The delicate muscles and sinew flexed within his grasp. “All right. Thank you. Does he have a favorite spot? Upstairs?”

“Curled atop the bed coverings. Sprawled near the hearth, just beyond the coal bin. Sometimes on the table—aye, where I eat.” He started shaking his head, gave her wrist a gentle squeeze and then headed toward the back door before he could utter anything more embarrassing.

A grown man, letting his mouser lounge on his table?Tut, tut.

It was simply a room. A small gathering of spaces.

Nothing extravagant. Nothing to alter the core of her being, but upon ascending the stairs and braving Brier’s private domain, a wave of acute homesickness rolled over Lucinda like the vast ocean inundating the shore.

For his lodgings, though modest, felt likehome. Welcomed her inside and invited her to explore.

His scent imbued the space, slightly musky and wholly male. His presence evident everywhere she turned: a Bible on a small table next to his bed, covers rumpled, an empty circular space giving evidence where Barnabas had napped earlier. A pair of boots, another of shoes, lined up against the wall, beneath a row of pegs upon which three shirts and two pair of pants draped, hanging downward, ready for his hand to pluck them free and don them at the beginning of his next day.

The hearth he’d mentioned hailed her attention, the space disappointingly empty of feline. Above, along a mantle: a comb, a ring, a dried leaf and uniquely striped rock… The little things that created comfort out of space. Warmed the heart on cold nights.

“Barnabas? Come on out, sweet boy.” Inhaling Brier’s scent down to her toes, she knelt and lifted the fallen bedcovers. No kitty beneath. Nor snugged under them either. The square table across the room barren as well. “Come on, you stubborn cat. Where are you?” Luce circled the space, calling to no avail.

Drawn to Brier’s one visible indulgence, she approached a giant mahogany and leather chair tucked away near the eaves on the opposite side of the room. The wooden arms and upper back decorated with intricate carvings; ’twas the sort of chair one found behind an affluent lord’s desk, where he carried out his business and duties, not the sort one usually found stashed away above a mercantile.

A couple of pricks in the leather seat made her wonder if Barnabas liked to place his sharp claws where he shouldn’t, but he wasn’t there now.

She made her way behind the screen at the narrowest, farthest point from the entrance and found shaving paraphernalia next to a wash-basin, lit well by the pair of windows that looked out over the street. The chamber pot he kept tucked farther back, away from view of any passers-by and the shops across the road.

Confident no kitty lurked unspied and ready to return downstairs to learn whether Brier had better success, she slowly turned…eyes drifting languidly over every inch… Strangely reluctant to leave. Not when his presence imbued the very air.

Something out the window caught her attention. Across the way—seized it, as a barb did a loose garment or unprotected skin. Could it be the missing cat?

Night had deepened, clouds hovered overhead, giving the atmosphere outside an ominous feel. She bent closer to the window, strained to identify what had commanded her attention.

Only to see a familiar pair of wickedly glowing eyes.

Terror gripped, hard and fast, sunk its talons into her mind as her body instantly relived every horrifying second of the dreadful journey through the black night and sinister streets of London. Her feet aching, body numb from the cold, heart exhausted from furious pounding. Dashing pell-mell through the murk and the gloom of empty streets—save for the intimidatingwhoopsof the threatening, if distant, canting crews and the ghastly glow of the eyes never far behind…

Irrational fear climbed up her throat and burst out as her feet abandoned earthly gravity and flew heavenward, hove above the steady floor with a speed that defied physics.

At the stairs, she heedlessly careened her body downward—to safety.

To—

“Brier!”

* * *

Brier!

Down in the alley, partially veiled by the mishmash of offcasts surrounding him, the female’s shriek, coming from his home above the shop, rang plainly in Barnabas’s ears, the triangular, tuft-tipped tops of his furry self impressive indeed, both in function as well as form. The scars along the right one? Proof of his prowess among his peers. His superiority.

Nevertheless, the high-pitched scream rippled the fur down his back, causing him to wince at the discomfort.

Whatever could have caused such a screak of distress?

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