Page 27 of West End Earl
She smiled. “It wasn’t a very good blackmail attempt. It backfired rather spectacularly, because here we are.”
“Right.” With his world falling apart, with Puppy by his side in a dark pub by the rank Thames. And somehow managing to laugh, even if it wasn’t wholehearted. “Here we are.”
Despite the many secrets between them—mostly on her side—he didn’t want to be having this conversation with anyone else. It didn’t stop his brain from circling around to his sister, though.
“What on earth is she thinking? I mean, if she wants to re-create the absolute hell of our parents’ marriage, this is a damn fine way to do it.” The Marquess and Marchioness of Eastly had done everything passionately. Wedded, bedded, fought, and betrayed each other—all at top volume, with full theatrical flair, and usually with witnesses. If his mother still lived, they’d probably be in the same poisonous pattern.
“There are similarities between Lord Devon Roxbury and Eastly, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Cal grunted. She wasn’t wrong. He’d have to pray a decent chap caught Emma’s attention quickly. And clearly Roxbury didn’t have any intention of holding to his side of their bargain. Puppy was right about one thing—if there was a baby, Roxbury would have to do his duty. Which meant Cal couldn’t call him out. More’s the pity. Getting to his feet, Cal plopped his hat on his head and handed the rest of the bread to Puppy.
“Let’s get going. I have to write investors and prepare them for bad news.” Granted, without knowing what percentage of cargo had been salvaged, there was no way to determine the full losses. If they were lucky, people might break even. But that would take tremendous luck, and luck wasn’t something working in his favor lately.
Outside, Puppy handed off the loaf to the first urchin they saw, then climbed into the hack.
“Hill Street,” Cal called to the driver.
Somehow, while the drive out to the docks had seemed to take a year, the ride to Mayfair was a blur of buildings growing steadily larger on wider streets as the smell of the Thames lessened the farther west they traveled. And through it all, Cal observed the woman across from him.
“You’re staring again, Calvin.”
A smile crept over his face. “Oh, I know.”
A delicate pink stained her cheeks, but then she worked her jaw into that stubborn line he recognized, and stared at him in return. “Are we going to do this all the way back to your house?”
“I can’t speak for you, but I’m enjoying the view.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if rethinking her words.
“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll find something else to do. But I enjoy looking at you.”
“Because I’m suddenly a woman?”
“Because I’m realizing that I’ve been remiss in appreciating you properly on several fronts. You’re quite extraordinary, and to overlook that for another minute would be tragic. Without the relationship you’ve built and maintained with Peggy, today’s errand would have been a waste of time. The docks, Shoreditch, Almack’s—you seem to find a place for yourself anywhere you go. I am guilty of underestimating you, Puppy. I thought I knew you, so I stopped paying attention.” An idea occurred to him. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to. But I have a dare for you. Might be the hardest one yet.” And God knew there had been quite a few absurd dares over the course of their friendship.
She raised her chin, but her lips quirked in a smile. “Harder than running along the rooflines above the pub that one time? I didn’t think I’d make some of those jumps.”
“And I swear my heart stopped until you landed safely. But yes. Harder than that.”
“What’s the challenge?”
“I dare you to give me one more piece of honesty…Tell me your name.”
It took her a minute. A slow blink, then a deep breath that became a heavy sigh. “Ophelia. My name is Ophelia.”
Chapter Nine
Adam’s sister? So Adam is real?”
“Yes, Adam’s sister.”
A footman in pale-blue livery opened the door and waited for them to disembark. Cal hadn’t even realized the carriage had stopped. Motioning for her to go first, he averted his eyes so he wouldn’t give in to the urge to stare at her pert bum in those snug breeches as she stepped down to the pavement.
Getting new personal information from her was like pulling teeth from a chicken, as his childhood cook would have said. That phrase had never felt more appropriate.
“I’m going to finish a few pieces of correspondence in the drawing room before I go home for the day,” she said.
When Cal handed his hat to Higgins, the butler said, “A young man by the name of Nelson Shaw arrived at the servants’ entrance. Cook got one look at him and insisted on feeding him. We have him in the kitchen until you’re ready to see him, milord.”
