Page 8 of My Best Friend's Earl
Had the earl reacted to Gingersnap with watery eyes, or even a gratifying itch, as she’d hoped, Constance would have bought a dog from the local rat catcher. Althea might prefer a cat, but a dog was much easier to find. Instead, Southwyn had the nerve to be perfectly healthy, thus eliminating her excuses and forcing Connie to find a cat—the more feral, the better.
A rag shifted to her left and she paused, eyeing it speculatively until the rag opened its eyes, revealing two mirror-shine reflections of yellow, and a tiny mouth full of sharp teeth, open in a silent hiss.
“Hello, my beauty. Would you like to live in a fine house in Mayfair?” The cat spat again but didn’t move away when she crouched to study it. The poor thing appeared to be nothing more than skin and bones, with patches of dark fur attempting to grow back over sections of bare skin. Despite the relatively warm day, a near-constant shiver rippled over its gray body. Given the layer of grime covering the animal, she wouldn’t be surprised to discover it wasn’t gray at all beneath the soot and dirt.
Moving slowly, she reached into her basket and felt around for the oilskin bag she’d filled with food scraps before leaving the house. Gingersnap vastly preferred a walk on his leash, rather than bouncing along in the basket, and bribes were the easiest way to convince the contrary feline to stay put.
Tearing off a bit of gristly rabbit from last night’s meal, she tossed it toward the kitten. In a flash, it darted toward the food, gobbling it so quickly, she doubted it even tasted the treat. “You are hungry, aren’t you, little one? I can fix that. I can give you all the food your little heart desires. You just have to annoy an aristocrat into seeing that life with my friend would be intolerable. Do we have a bargain?”
She threw another piece of meat and the cat scooted closer, without another wary look her direction. “You aren’t entirely feral, are you? Pity. Although that does make my job easier.” Carefully, she dropped the next piece of meat near her feet.
“As long as you promise to scratch his furniture, sleep in inconvenient places, and shred at least one pair of stockings, Ithink you’ll do nicely.” The cat didn’t dart away after eating this last offering, instead sniffing the toes of her boots and hem.
“I’m going to pet you now. Please don’t bite me.” Moving cautiously, she reached out, allowing the animal to sniff her hand. “I realize my fingers smell like your treat. That doesn’t make them edible.”
The cat rubbed its cheek on her fingertips, and she smiled. “Perhaps this plan of ours will serve us both. You seem eager for human companionship.” Another piece of meat, this one directly from her hand. No, this cat was not entirely unused to human interaction. Likely someone had dumped it in the alley. Such appalling behavior was repugnant, yet all too common. Not everyone appreciated felines as she did.
She set the basket down, keeping her movements slow and steady. Dumping half of the remaining meat slivers inside, Constance held open the lid for the kitty to see.
“If this feels like a trick, it’s because it is. But I promise, life will be better for you where we’re going.”
It jumped into the basket, began eating, and didn’t look up when Constance closed the top and latched it.
Althea lived a short walk away. Hopefully, the cat would continue to cooperate. As she backed out of the alley and onto the busy street, Constance tried to keep a low prattle of conversation directed toward the animal.
“That’s a good kitty. I promise, nothing bad is going to happen to you. If that nasty earl dares to even glare at you sideways, I will rescue you. We can piss in his boots together before I bring you home with me.”
It was so tiny and trusting, probably due to desperation for a meal. “Gingersnap will have to welcome you if the earl turns into a beast.”
If the earl proved himself to be anything of the sort, she’ddress all in black and burgle the cat from his fancy Mayfair home.
It was unlikely she’d need such drastic measures. Southwyn had been so patient a few moments before when she’d ambushed him in the park. Althea knew to look for her, but Lord Stuffy Pants had been taken unawares. And yet, he’d been polite, even while taken off guard, with Gingersnap’s tail-end in his face.
A plaintive mew rose from the basket. Even as they wove through the crowded street, occasionally jostled by fellow pedestrians, he didn’t claw or throw himself against the walls of the wicker container, despite the lack of treats. Connie had shoved the oilskin bag with the rest of the meat into her pocket for Althea to bribe him later.
The animal had a lot of changes coming in the next hours and beyond. While she hoped an unexpected pet would ruin Southwyn’s peace, this was also a rescue mission. The kitten must recognize that.
Not that cats were known for being the most reasonable of creatures. But then, neither were earls—otherwise she wouldn’t be doing this.
“Althea told you she didn’t want to marry you, Lord Stuffy Pants.” The moniker made her smile. All of this coming upset could have been easily avoided. Instead, he’d chosen to be an aloof, stubborn arse, leaving his fiancée no choice except to find a matchbreaker. Any consequences befalling him were entirely his fault.
Chapter Four
Deliver feral animal to Althea
Have a minor crisis of identity in her kitchen
At Althea’s house, Constance went down the stairs by the front door, to the servants’ entrance. Over the course of their friendship, she’d called several times, although never with an animal in tow. Especially a probably-flea-ridden animal in desperate need of a bath.
A kitchen maid opened the door. “Yes, miss?”
“I am Constance Martin, a friend of Miss Thompson’s. I come bearing gifts.” Constance held up the basket. Right on cue, the cat meowed from the basket, making the maid’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “I’m afraid the poor animal has had a difficult life before today, and isn’t ready for polite society yet. Perhaps we could call Miss Thompson down to the kitchen? Or, I can wait outside, if you’d prefer.”
“Is the basket latched?” The maid eyed the lid warily.
“Yes, it’s quite secure.” The cat meowed again, slightly more insistent than last time. Its cooperation might be coming to an end.
“Come inside then. If you’ll wait here, I’ll send for my lady.”
