Page 11 of Hazard a Guest
“I’ll go change,” Cresson offered, pushing himself to his feet. “I shan’t be a moment.”
They both watched him rise to his feet, though Freddy’s look of confusion was hopefully far more stark than Ember’s. She couldn’t account for what her own face might have been doing in that moment.
Had he always been so tall?
He ran a hand through that glorious, fluffy mop of black ringlets he’d grown and blew out a breath with his stubble-flecked cheeks puffed out. “Are my things still in the wardrobe?” he asked Freddy.
Freddy nodded, pointing with his finger to the direction the bedroom likely lay, as though Cresson would require directions there.
They watched him go, Freddy sinking back onto the couch next to Ember.
“Portugal, eh?” he said, giving her a sardonic little smile. “Maybe I should visit myself.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Leave him alone,” she said with a sniff.
“Me?” Freddy replied, grinning at her like they were still friends, like none of the things that had destroyed that friendship had ever happened. “And here I was thinking I’d need to slap a muzzle on you at any moment for the poor man’s own safety.”
She laughed despite herself. “Oh, shut up,” she said. “Cad.”
He laughed too, punctuating it with a wistful sigh. And then, absurdly, he said, “I’ve missed you, you know.”
Ember rolled her eyes, chuckling, and said, “Shut up, Freddy.”
She did look at him again, though, only quickly. He did seem healthier, somehow, more himself. This was still the Freddy she’d known, that she’d contracted herself to, but she felt an ease here that had never been there before. Perhaps because there was no whiskey in reach? Perhaps because there were no games of hazard unfolding belowstairs?
Perhaps. She couldn’t say for certain.
Her thoughts were quickly interrupted as Cresson re-emerged, wearing what appeared to be his perfectly sensible barrister’s clothes. Clothes that had likely looked decent a year ago, the last time he’d put them on.
They did not look that way now.
“God’s teeth, Cresson!” Freddy barked, coming back to his feet immediately. “You can’t wear that!”
Joseph Cresson frowned, tugging the straining buttons at his collar and attempting to stretch his arms to the sides. “Did you do something to my clothes, Lord Bentley? Did you have them pressed or … or cleaned or …?”
“No!”
Even the trousers looked precariously tight, clinging to his bottom half like a second skin.
“It looks fine to me,” Ember said immediately. “I think you should wear it.”
Freddy’s hand shot out, pinching her arm sharply through her sleeve. Sadly, Mr. Cresson did not observe it, being that he was looking down at his own body like he’d gotten the wrong parcel in the mail this morning.
“Wear whatever you’ve been wearing,” Freddy instructed him, firm as a lord dispatching a servant. “Something from your luggage. Anything but that.”
“I liked this,” Cresson said glumly, picking at the linen that was currently plastered to his abdomen like someone had thrown water on it. “It was my favorite suit.”
“Take it off!” Freddy snapped.
“Yes, do,” Ember added mildly, leaning around the corner to enjoy whatever remained of his departing form as he turned to head back to the bedroom. “Gracious.”
Freddy grumbled, slumping backward and crossing his arms over his chest. “Shut up, Ember,” he muttered.
Ember fellbehind the two men on the walk to Bow Street. It wasn’t out of deference, certainly not! It was, instead, of a desire to observe.
The two men walked in step, neither leading, neither following. They bent their heads toward one another while they chatted, though it was clear Freddy was doing the lion’s share of the talking.
Typical.
