Page 22 of West End Earl
Things began to make sense. Puppy had identified one of her attackers. Cal shot her a look, but her focus remained entirely on the butcher as she somehow exuded compassion and confrontation at once.
“What’s this about, Mr. Hardwick?” Shaw punctuated the question with a slam of his cleaver, bisecting a slab of…something.
“Nelson was one of the crew that attacked me last night. Stripped me nearly naked and took everything.” Puppy’s voice grew clipped as she recounted the night in those few short words.
The butcher froze with the shiny blade hovering in midair. The space between his brows narrowed, resulting in one long fuzzy caterpillar-like eyebrow, before he let the knife fall once more, separating flesh from bone. Emotions flashed over his face so quickly, Cal couldn’t fully identify them. Disbelief? Anger? Sadness? For a father to hear that his son had fallen in with violent criminals must create mixed feelings.
“I don’t need my things returned,” Puppy said. “But if it were my child, I would want to know. Nelson is better than this.”
Before yesterday, Cal might have clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder as a silent show of support. But with myriad bruises covering her skin, a consoling hand may not be welcome—or appropriate, come to think of it. There might be another way to help, though. Cal stepped forward.
“If Mr. Hardwick claims your son is trustworthy, even after last night, then I am willing to find him a position with my staff.”
The butcher’s gaze flickered toward the window, where Charles’s livery gleamed bright and out of place against the wood and stone buildings. Shaw might not know who Cal was, but he must recognize quality clothes and all they implied.
“I can’t help the other lads in the crew. But if Hardwick cares for your son, perhaps we could find him a less criminal group of men to associate with.” With several estates, surely there was a place for him at one of them. Perhaps mucking stables and cleaning livestock pens. It was what the little thief deserved.
“Shaw, this is my employer, the Earl of Carlyle. A position in his house could mean Nelson would be out of London for a time, but if that is what it takes to keep him from continuing down this path, it might be worth it,” Puppy said.
Shaw grunted, wiping the cleaver on his dirty apron. “Let me think on it. I’ll talk to the boy and the missus. I’m sorry you were hurt, Mr. Hardwick. You’ve never given us reason to wish you ill.”
Stepping away from the counter, Cal swept an arm toward the street, letting her go first.
The redhead lasted until the shop door closed behind them before she rounded on Cal. “Why are you here? And leaving a liveried servant in my room? No offense, Charles.” Puppy waved toward the footman. “Do you have any idea what a spectacle you’ve made?” She seemed to stop herself midsentence and drew a deep breath. When she spoke again, she measured the words between sharp inhales. Her ribs must be hurting. “I know your intention is to provide protection. Or a nanny, because you think me a child. But you painted a target on my back. Why not make a sign that says ‘Has friends with money and influence’ so I can attract every criminal element in the neighborhood?”
Just like that, frustration and worry boiled over. Leaning over so they were nearly nose to nose, Cal growled, “I told Charles to stay behind because you scared the shit out of me, and I needed to know there was someone here to help you.” The Puppy’s eyes sparked with gold flecks, likely from wanting to throttle him.
A large hand was inserted between their faces, gently compelling Cal to step away. “You bicker like an old married couple,” Ethan said. “Cal, listen tae the lad’s concerns. His safety has already been compromised once, and you flashin’ coin makes him a bigger target. Some circumspection on your part wouldn’ be amiss. Adam, take a breath and try tae be grateful you have people who care.”
Puppy shot a look at Ethan. “Lord Amesbury, while I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t help but notice this shiny new carriage, which only adds to the problem. Flashing coin and liveried footmen isn’t the only sign of wealth we are dealing with right now.”
Ethan raised a brow. “I talked him out of the rig with the coat of arms on it. But you’re right. We should have taken a hack.”
Cal sighed. This was more complicated than he’d thought. “I’m sorry Charles’s presence made things worse. Let’s get off the street and discuss this further.” Placing a hand on Puppy’s back, he nudged her toward Ethan’s carriage. Through the layers of clothing, Cal could feel the subtle ridges of bone where shoulder blade cut toward spine in a delicate wing. Especially wearing his oversized coat, she appeared fragile. But she’d made herself into a scrappy survivor. It took a special person to pull off a masquerade of this magnitude.
Severing the contact as she climbed into Ethan’s carriage was harder than it should have been. Hell and blast. Nothing good could come of this.
Chapter Eight
Iwouldn’t have pegged you for a coward.”
Phee snapped her head around to stare at the library doorway, where Emma posed against the doorjamb, looking fresh as a daisy. “Coward? What are you talking about?”
“Our interlude at Vauxhall.” She wiggled her brows suggestively, and it was all Phee could do not to roll her eyes. “Then you disappeared for over a week. What’s a girl to think?”
Phee held her tongue, letting the silence grow.
Finally, Emma laughed. “I’m only teasing. But really, where were you?”
“Your brother didn’t say anything?”
Emma shrugged, then moseyed into the room. Plucking books from the shelf at random, she glanced at the covers before shelving them again in the wrong places.
If Phee ventured a guess, Cal probably had mentioned something, but Emma hadn’t listened. “If you paid attention to anything besides matters relating directly to yourself, you would know that I was attacked the night of Vauxhall. Beaten and robbed.”
To her credit, Emma’s concern appeared genuine when she whirled around. “Goodness! But you’re all right now?”
“Right as rain and happy to be at work.” Phee dismissed her, returning to the mail.
