Page 23 of West End Earl
“You don’t think Roxbury might have sent a few men to encourage your silence on what you saw that night, do you?”
Slowly, Phee faced her. “No, I don’t believe your odious beau had anything to do with it. And frankly, if you believe him capable of such a thing, you should be running in the other direction.”
Emma sagged a bit. It was on the tip of Phee’s tongue to snap that she doubted Roxbury cared enough about Emma to exert himself to such an extent. Instead, she swallowed the remark and said, “Not everything is about you, Lady Emma.”
“You don’t like me, do you?” Emma asked.
“There’s a difference between a person and their actions. I like you fine. But your actions are unlikable—not to mention selfish. Have you thought of how your behavior reflects on your family?”
Her short laugh lacked any humor. “As if my father cares a whit about my behavior. He couldn’t be bothered to host or fund my Season. Not even a ball. Cal’s handling my debut alone.”
“I agree about Eastly—don’t get me started there. But your brother is a different matter.”
A few beats of silence followed before Emma turned and left without another word. There was no getting around it. Cal needed to know what Phee had witnessed that night.
The stack of correspondence crinkled in her fist.
They hadn’t been alone since the attack and her confession. He and Lord Amesbury had visited her in Shoreditch several times—taking a hack, as suggested. With two men in her room, the small space had shrunk further, and she’d been acutely aware of the lack of accommodations for guests. She had only one chair, so they’d all stood awkwardly in the middle of the room for the entirety of the visits. When she’d suggested returning to work, Cal had insisted she heal for a few days first.
But he also hadn’t left her alone. An out-of-uniform servant stood at her beck and call in the room or in the hall.
This mother-hen side of Cal’s personality might be the thing to push her into a full-fledged emotional collapse. People didn’ttake careof her. Not like this. The last decade had been solitary overall. She’d taken Adam’s place at school, then moved to London on her own. Now there was someone…there. Seeing to her needs. Protecting her.
It could drive a person to distraction. She was glad to take care of herself and return to work.
To make matters worse, during those nights lying in bed, acutely aware of a guard sleeping on a cot only a few feet away, she’d realized something. Once the sun set, the feeling of safety she’d enjoyed within those snug walls disappeared. The shadows and noises weren’t familiar anymore. Everything became a bogeyman waiting to pounce, until her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. God help her, by the second night, she’d been grateful for the footman after the sun went down.
Sleep became an elusive beast until all she could think about was returning to work in Mayfair, with its polished facade of security. So not only did the care and attention unsettle her, but it made her feel safe—which only highlighted a previous lack she hadn’t acknowledged until it hit her over the head. Literally. Damn it, she was going to have to thank Cal, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Eleven years of taking care of herself, and now this earl with a stubborn heart of gold charged in andhelped. Even though he knew she’d lied to him for their entire friendship.
Cal might be right. Maybe she should find somewhere else to live. Lord, the man would be insufferable if she admitted thatandthanked him for the guard.
Best keep to safer conversational grounds—like catching his sister tossing up her skirts in the bushes with a scoundrel. Lordy, life had gotten complicated lately. She rubbed a palm down her face and sighed.
Emma was right—she was being a coward. Just not in the way the girl thought. For the last two years, Phee’s workday had usually begun in Cal’s dressing room. They’d share a cup of coffee while he dressed and made plans for what they needed to accomplish. Would he even let her in the room now that he knew she was a woman? She didn’t have the faintest idea what to do about any of this. Did they pretend that conversation hadn’t happened? How long could she avoid being alone with him?
Sunlight illuminated the library in rectangles across the carpet, with one shaft of light cutting across the desk. How long would he wait in his dressing room before he realized she wasn’t coming upstairs? Phee reached for her watch, then patted the flat pocket. Ah yes. Robbed. No chain, no timepiece. So she paced, glancing at the mantel clock every other time she passed it.
Flopping in the desk chair, Phee closed her eyes and let the sun warm her.
Until it became too warm, because it was bloody summertime, and they designed cravats to strangle a person slowly. For a moment, she imagined wearing a light muslin gown. Not the ruffled pinafore and short skirts she’d worn the last time she’d been a girl in public. But a proper gown. Stays—even though they wouldn’t do anything for her, lacking in breasts as she was—with a linen petticoat and lightweight fabric that showcased her delicate collarbones and shapely arms.
Those were two body parts she liked. Not that she actively disliked her other bits, but she looked forward to showcasing those in particular someday. She’d wear gowns, perhaps with clocked stockings and silky pink ribbon garters.
The cuff of her coat itched at her wrist.
Enough. He might turn her away at the door, but at least she would have tried to keep their normal routine. Phee stuffed the small stack of letters needing her attention in her coat pocket and opened the library door with slightly more force than required.
And ran right into Cal’s chest.
“Careful, Puppy.” His hands grasped her arms as he stepped back.
“Apologies, milord. I wasn’t sure where we were meeting today.”
He cocked his head. “You only call me milord when you’re mad at me.”
Phee closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m not mad at you.”
He said over his shoulder, “Higgins, could you send in coffee please?” then moved past her to the desk. “We will figure it out, Puppy. In the meantime, there’s work to be done. Have you heard from your dock urchins lately?”
