Page 51 of Lady Gambit
Brief seconds passed before he answered. “Seven years. I took lodgings above the tavern when working at Bow Street.” His eyes remained downcast, his mouth a thin, pensive line. “My father offered me a townhouse in Mayfair and a sizeableallowance if I agreed to stop working. He said he’d not paid for my schooling to watch me wrestling with ruffians.”
She studied him, a new hunger taking command of her now. The need to learn everything about him, every secret, every hope and aspiration, was another craving she could not sate.
“You never mention your mother.”
His eyes rose to meet hers.
The pain she saw there cut to the bone.
“She died when I was fifteen. I’d not seen her for three years.” The cold, distant tone of his voice spoke of indifference. “When my father tired of her, she married a merchant. I wasn’t welcome in the house, and she severed all ties.”
His mother had abandoned him?
Tears gathered behind her eyes. Questions bombarded her mind. An inner voice warned her to change the subject, but they’d agreed to speak openly, and bad feelings festered.
“So you stayed with your father when you came home from school?” Had something awful happened? Was that the reason for his growing animosity towards the man who’d sired him?
His snort dripped with mockery. “The Earl and Countess of Retford would not permit a bastard to live in their mansion house. Especially when the lady is barren and has failed to give her husband an heir.”
Her heart constricted before the next question left her lips. “Where did you go during the holidays?”
His eyes remained locked with hers. Had he seen her throat tighten? Did he know she could feel his pain? “Where does a boy go when he has no home?”
Nowhere.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She imagined he would rather live in a gaming hell with people who loved him than have the freedom to roam the world alone.
He leaned forward and dashed away her errant tear, though he continued stroking her cheek once it was dry. “There’s no need to cry for me, Delphine. What hurts us makes us stronger. I’m a better man for their neglect.”
“You’re an exceptional man.”
“You’re the first person to say so.” His gaze dipped to her lips. “God granted me a boon the day he forced me to take your case.”
She wanted to kiss him, to throw herself into his arms and hold him tightly. What if she’d not met him that day? What if she’d had a change of heart? It hurt to think of him wandering the empty corridors at Mile End. It hurt to think of them going their separate ways once the case was solved.
“We have Mr Daventry to thank. He can be quite a hard taskmaster. Aaron would not have permitted me to remain at Mile End had the gentleman not been so insistent.”
A smile played on his lips. “Daventry excels at manipulation.” He glanced at the bundle of papers on the seat beside him. “Now we need to discover who is manipulating Lord Meldrum.”
Her skin crawled at the memory of Lord Meldrum’s clammy hand clasping hers. She would rather spend her days alone in silent prayer than marry the ignoble fellow. Once he owned her, she would be nothing more than a pawn in his game. “We’re going around in circles. For every question we answer, another is revealed.”
“That’s the nature of enquiry work. Once all other possibilities are exhausted, we will be left with the truth.”
She didn’t want to think about that day.
It would come soon enough. Dorian Flynn was too clever, too committed to neglect his duties. Until then, she must make every second count.
She peered at the Old Swan’s facade. “I would like to visit your room, if I may. I’m curious to see how it differs from MileEnd.” And the desire to touch his private things was doubtless part of this growing addiction.
“Do you think that’s wise?” The gleam of something forbidden in his eyes stole her breath. “The room is small and quite cramped. There’s barely space for one. We’ll be bumping into each other.”
An erotic image entered her mind. Him kissing her against the door, his mouth hot and insistent. Her breasts crushed against his chest, his large hands gripping her buttocks. She might have pictured him tearing off his coat, his breath coming in ragged pants, but Mr Gibbs broke her reverie by thumping on the carriage roof in a fit of impatience.
“I’m paid to work,” he called when Mr Flynn lowered the window. “Not sit like a stuffed bear while you whisper sweet nothings in the lady’s ear. Get the information you need and let’s be on our way.”
“Oh, he’s so rude,” she said, biting back a grin.
Mr Flynn smiled as he gathered the papers and opened the carriage door. “Gibbs has a point. You’re a delightful distraction, Miss Chance.”
