Page 19 of West End Earl
A shudder rippled over her body, whether from dread or pain, she didn’t have time to determine.
“Hand me my shirt.” She tucked the blanket under her arms, covering the chest bindings.
Cal pointed at the pile of clothing, still holding the pizzle she’d whittled last month. “That shirt? No way am I touching that again. It was disgusting enough the first time.”
“Cal, I’m almost naked. Hand me a damn shirt. And put that down unless you want piss on your hands.” Her head ached, it hurt to breathe, and this new development was pushing the evening into worst-nights-of-her-life territory.
Without another word, he set aside the wooden pizzle, then shrugged his coat down his arms and crossed the three steps it took to reach the bed. Gently, he laid the dark-blue garment over her shoulders, managing to avoid touching her as he did so, then took a seat on the chair he’d brought to the bedside.
“You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said.
The fabric smelled like him. That peculiar blend of spices that made her crave gingerbread, plus an added warmth from his body. It took everything in her to not indulge in a sniff of the collar as she slipped her arms through the holes and wrapped the coat around her.
She wasn’t prepared to deal with this. Not right now. Not injured. Not while she felt naked and exposed, and he sat there polished and perfect. A jangle of what-ifs played through her head. What if he fired her or, worse, ended their friendship because she was a liar? What if he told everyone and ruined over a decade of struggle toward a better future?
She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing fruitlessly to wake from this nightmare. Through the tangled emotions, her practical nature asserted itself with one question that needed to be asked.
“If I’m fired, please let me know now. Once my wages are paid, you’ll never have to see me again.”
Cal jerked as if she’d slapped him. “Fired? Why the hell would I fire you? You have a position in my house for as long as you want it. No matter what all this means, you are my friend and a valuable employee.”
That was something at least. Still, a large part of her wanted to run before he reconsidered and threw her out like yesterday’s newspaper. After all, she’d lied to him for two years. If he learned this secret, how long would it be before he knew everything? That she’d not only taken her brother’s identity but killed him as well. That it was an accident didn’t matter. Not when the result was losing the person closest to her.
It might be better to run now and let him wonder. Let him think back in a few decades and ponder about whatever became of Adam Hardwick. She was good at running.
It was the overwhelming exhaustion the idea of starting over somewhere else brought that loosed the words.
“My name isn’t Adam Hardwick. I’m a woman. I’m hiding until it’s safe to live as myself again.”
Cal laced his fingers together in front of him and was silent for a moment before saying, “How can I help?”
“You can leave. My head is killing me, and talking makes it worse.” His curiosity wasn’t more important than her need for privacy and a few hours to recover from being beaten in the street. Even though he was being sweet and remarkably Cal-like about the whole situation, she didn’t appreciate having to do this now. Answers to whatever questions he might have could wait for when she felt like telling him more. Friendship or not, she didn’t owe him a full confessional right this instant.
He cocked his head. “Can I stay if I stop talking?”
She was already slumping back down into bed, snuggling beneath the layers of blanket and his coat. “Just be quiet. My whole body hurts.”
Blessed foggy peace was creeping around the edges of her brain when he asked, “What do I call you now?”
“I’m still Puppy.” With the next breath, she drifted away under the cover of sleep, wrapped in the comforting smell of gingerbread.
Chapter Seven
Cal climbed from the carriage with a wince, taking a moment to stretch and loosen his aching muscles. Slumping in the world’s most uncomfortable chair meant waking with a stiff neck and an even stiffer back. Not that he could complain about physical aches when Puppy was so obviously in worse condition. His mind was still reeling that Adam was actually an Eve.
He’d left shortly after a footman had arrived with a message from his father. Eastly wanted to discuss what Cal had thought of Violet Cuthbert last night at Vauxhall, and frankly, that was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. That conversation could easily be summed up—not interested.
But he knew his father. The note was a false courtesy, a sort of warning shot declaring that Eastly would be calling this morning, like it or not. So he’d left the footman to watch over Puppy and come home. He’d deal with his sire, then return to Shoreditch.
“Coffee, my lord.” Higgins knew better than to phrase it as a question when he greeted Cal at the door.
“Thank you, Higgins. Coffee is definitely called for.” There might not be enough coffee in all of England to counter the last twenty-four hours.
The library welcomed him with a soothing stillness. He wasn’t a great bibliophile like Ethan, but there’d always been something peaceful about the atmosphere of the library.
A maid entered with a cart, dipped a curtsy, then left.
As he poured his first cup, Cal’s mind circled around to Puppy. He’d sat awake for most of the night. She’d been restless, wincing and letting loose the occasional whimper in her sleep. As Cal waited for the next time his friend awoke needing a drink, he’d been left with nothing to do but observe.
