Page 86 of West End Earl
“You aren’t handling this alone,” Phee said.
His Phee would never expect him to do the dirty work to rescue her. Future countess or not, she would always be a scrapper at heart.
“Apologies, milady. I was thinking to protect your gown.”
“You’ll buy me another,” she said cheekily and he laughed.
They looked at Emma, who shook her head. “I’ll hold the horses.”
Together, they shifted Milton off the seat. Cal slung the man’s arm over his shoulder and maneuvered them through the alley to a window. On the other side of the glass, the working ladies entertained their customers in a public parlor.
“Is this place what I think it is?” Phee hissed, her eyes wide in the dim light.
“Depends. Do you think it’s a brothel?”
“How did you know this was here?” A trace of suspicion colored the question.
Cal shot her an exasperated look. “It’s a port. Every port has a brothel. I couldn’t find it at first, so we circled around and I asked a man on the street.” Cal raised his right hand—the one not wrapped around her dead uncle. “I solemnly swear to never visit another brothel for as long as I live. Not that I’ve frequented them in years, anyway. You’re stuck with every last one of my lusty intentions.” He winked at her over his shoulder. “I hope you’re well rested.”
“I can’t believe you can joke about sex while carrying a dead man.”
“It’s not as if he was a friend. Here. Let’s check this window.” They propped Milton against the wall, and Cal peeked over the sill. “This will do nicely.” Leaving the couple inside to their privacy, he surveyed the area for a sizable rock.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something believable for him to crack his egg on.”
Phee searched the ground down the alley, then returned with a decent-sized lump of limestone. “This will do the trick.”
Working as quickly as possible, Cal rolled Milton, and she set the stone in place under his head. Together they stepped back and observed the scene.
“Perfect. Outside a brothel window is a nice touch. After all, we don’t know that hewasn’ta Peeping Tom. I wondered a few times as a child, so this is fitting.”
Cal wanted to kill the man all over again at the casual reference to her hellish childhood.
“If he’s going to look like the degenerate he was, it needs to be worse. If you want to go back to the carriage, now would be a good time.”
Phee crossed her arms, her ring flashing in the meager light spilling from the window. “Partners, remember?”
“Even partners in crime?” he teased.
“It was an accident,” she hissed.
“I know. But moving a body is certainly murky legal territory. You’re staying?”
“I’m staying.”
“Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Grimacing, Cal unfastened Milton’s trousers and set one cooling, dead hand in place. “Poor chap,” he murmured at the sight of one of the most pathetic penises he’d ever laid eyes on. Cal rubbed his palms on his breeches, then stepped back from the body, motioning for Phee to follow.
Inside the brothel, someone lit a lamp, sending a pool of light over the tableau they’d made on the ground. Milton, may he rest in peace, got the ending he deserved.
Cal and Phee hurried back toward the carriage, where Emma held the horses.
“You seem surprisingly fine with how this evening progressed,” Phee said.
Cal shrugged. “For better or worse doesn’t begin on the wedding day.”
The white of her teeth flashed in the flickering light. “Speaking of wedding days, I’d like to get a special license and have Vicar Arcott marry us. What do you think?”
