Page 13 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“I’m her…” What was he? Her guardian? Her adversary? Her landlord? The man who inappropriately lusted after her? “Friend.” A lame finish and not even true.
“You don’t pay her to kiss her?” the boy asked.
“No! What makes you think that?”
The boy shrugged. “She’s pretty enough. My ma says she should give up this school business and sell her kisses. Would make a touch more money than she could teaching kids like me to hold a bow.”
She could. His eye twitched. “She’s a lady.”
The boy shrugged again. “You movin’?”
He still stood like a sentinel before the door, but he stepped aside.
“Thanks, mister.” The body darted around him, but Theo caught him with a hand to his shoulder before he entered the house. “What?” the boy demanded.
“Here.” Theo reached into his greatcoat pocket and pulled out his sketchbook, ripped the doodle of the man flatulating his way across the English Channel from it, and handed it to the boy. “Take this to a printshop on the Strand.”
The boy peered at the sketch, brows drawn together, then his face opened like clouds dissipating on a sunny day, and he laughed. “That’s right funny. Why d’ya want me to take it there?”
“Any of the print shops there will pay you for it. Tell them Sir George gave it to you.” He wouldn’t be the first child with dirt on his cheeks and nothing in his belly to sell one of Sir George’s sketches to a shop on the Strand. “They’ll know what to do with it. And they’ll give you a tidy sum.”
“For… me?”
“Feed your family for a month.”
The boy’s eyes became saucers, and when the door opened, he didn’t even look to see who would appear.
Theo knew, though, without looking, who stood behind him. Smelled her fresh lavender scent as well as if he’d used her soap to bathe.
“Put it in your pocket now,” Theo urged, pushing the boy around Lady Cordelia and into the house. He lifted a finger to his lips, and the boy gave him a snaggle-tooth grin. He understood how to keep quiet.
Theo straightened, met Lady Cordelia’s quizzical gaze for a brief moment, then made for the gig. She followed, and he helped her up, and soon they sat uncomfortably close in the small conveyance. He’d pulled the hood up to give them some anonymity, but it only seemed to draw them closer together, to cut them off from the public world rolling by on either side of them. Her body, a scant five or six inches away from his own, burned like a hot coal on an already sweltering day.
He pulled at his cravat, scooched as far as he could toward the outside of the vehicle.
She, meanwhile, seemed entirely composed. As ever, damn her. A mere wink from her long-lashed eyes could make him want to run. Not that he would. Her beauty called to him, but he’d long ago learned to distrust beautiful things. She, however, never ran from him. He could growl at her, and she’d not even blink.
“What were you speaking to young Tommy about, my lord?” she asked. She faced forward, hands folded primly in her lap over her yellow skirts. A woman with hair the color of flames shouldn’t look so well in yellow.
“Nothing of any importance.”
“I doubt that. If you do not tell me, I’m sure he will.”
Theo focused on the traffic.
“Were you threatening him?”
His grip clenched on the reins.
“Because I’ll not have you warning my clientele off. Tommy gets lessons in the art form of his choice for no cost.”
Theo’s jaw began to ache, and his teeth to beg for mercy, so he loosened it and stretched it side to side. “It’s a cost to someone. How is Miss Williams remunerated for her time?”
“I told you—”
“And I toldyou. Reckless, thoughtless, harebrained.” He spit each word, flicking the reins without realizing it until the horses whinnied, danced. He took a steadying breath and calmed them, calmed himself, so both he and the horses rode smoothly once more.
Silence hung between them, as tight and awkward as a pair of ill-fitting pants on a dandy.
