Page 33 of The Spy Who Loved Her
“I suppose he intended to ransom me back,” she said. “I was playing in the park when he found me. My governess had a habit of nodding off there, and I was by and large an obedient child. I stayed within sight, even while she closed her eyes for a half an hour or so. I suppose I was quite naïve, for when Kit approached me, I thought nothing of it except that I might have a friend to play with. I had no sense of danger, nor any fear of strangers. And he was just a boy besides, only a few years older than me.”
“He told you he was your brother?”
“No; he told me only his name. I had a dreadful lisp at the time. I called him Kit, instead.” She muffled a chuckle against his shoulder. “He didn’t care for it, but I couldn’t quite say his name properly, so he tolerated it.” Eventually, it must have grown on him, for he hadn’t tried to take the nickname from her since. “He lured me away from the park with a game of tag, and I didn’t even realize it. Before I knew it, we had left the park entirely, and I didn’tknow where I was or how to get home.”
“You must have been frightened.” It was just a murmur, vibrating over the sensitive skin behind her ear.
“I was,” she said. “I cried inconsolably. Kit said he would slap me if I kept making such a godawful noise.”
“Did he?”
“No. In fact, I struck him instead. I pitched a full tantrum and blacked his eye in the doing of it. I couldn’t make myself stop; I kept flailing and sobbing and sniffling. Sniveling, really. I don’t think Kit had gotten so very far in his planning. He had no idea what he was meant to do with me. He hadn’t anticipated that I would be so bothersome. But he didn’t hit me in return—instead, he pickpocketed some well-to-do gent, and used the coin he’d filched to buy me some toffee candies. And then he took me to his home.” Or what had passed for one, at least. At first glance. “It was a nasty little shack in St. Giles, I think. I couldn’t point it out. I doubt it still stands.”
“His mother’s home?”
“No; she’d passed by then, poor lady. Kit was living with a kidsman—Scratch, the children called him, for if they failed to bring in enough coin for a day’s work, they could expect to receive a slap instead of supper, and his long nails had the tendency to lay deep gouges in the flesh. Happily, he was out when we arrived, and Kit had time to shed me of my clean dress and scrounge up some suitably pitiable scraps of clothing for me. There were so many children that one more wasn’t noticed, and it wasn’t unusual for one of the children to bring in a new recruit, so long as they paid their way.”
“How long were you there?”
“Three days,” she said. “The first one was wretched. I missed my mother something awful. And I had nothing but scraps for dinner.”
“And the rest?”
“Better. I never managed to pickpocket anyone—I was far too timid, too clumsy with my fingers to meet with any success—but I saw a side of London I never knew existed. Even if it was frightening, still it was more exciting than playing with my dolls or taking a stroll with my governess. And even if Kit was surly about having to watch over me, still I felt quite safe with him. He bought me sweets with coins he’d stolen and made certain the other children didn’t bully me for whatever scraps of food we could lay hands on.”
“Rather like a brother might, I expect.”
“Yes,” she said, with a soft laugh. “Though still I didn’t know it. Not until—not until a man tried to snatch me off the street. It’s not uncommon,you know, for street children to go missing like that. For young children to end up in brothels, easy pickings for any unscrupulous sort that comes along. But Kit had kept such a close eye upon me that when the man grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away, he was there immediately. He kicked the fellow in—er, I’m certain you know where—and shouted something like, ‘That’s my sister, you miserable bastard!’” It was the one time, the onlytime, he’d left off that crucialhalf.
A low chuckle. “Now, that I can imagine.”
“Can you?” she asked. “It’s the bit that perplexes me the most, in all honesty. Of course we have…kept in touch, as much as he allows. But I have never had the impression that he much cares for me. He does keep his distance.”
“Perhaps because a known familiarity between the two of you could have proved injurious to your reputation,” Rafe said. “I don’t think he would have wanted that for you.”
“Well, it wouldn’t now,” she said with a huff. “Probably he can do no more damage to it than I have done myself.” She was already known as an odd woman with more money than sense, who took in children of uncertain origin.
“Perhaps he simply does not know how to go about establishing a familiarity. He’s quite a solitary man. When did he return you home?”
“That very day. I thought he wanted to be rid of me, but I suppose—now, with some distance, I think that he must have wanted to protect me. But on the way home, we talked. He told me we shared a father, that he’d known of me for years. That he hadn’t thought it fair that I lived so privileged a life, and he—he lived in the slums, stealing for his supper. I suppose I didn’t think it fair, either.” Emma sighed, turning her cheek into the caress of his fingers. “He brought me straight up to my door, held me by the hand, and surrendered me to my father. And father told him that if he ever showed his face again, he’d have him clapped in irons. His own son.”
“I suppose there must be a great number of men unsuited to be fathers,” Rafe said.
“Do you imagine yourself to be one of them? Is that why you have not married?”
“No,” he said. “I simply had never met a woman I wished to marry. To the best of my knowledge, I have no children, so I cannot say whether or not I would be well-suited to be a father.”
He wouldbe a good one, Emma thought. He was a natural protector ofchildren, whether or not he had any himself. Of course he would make a good father. And someday, he would find a woman he did wish to marry, who would give him children of his own.
But it would never be her. Itcouldnever be her.
His fingers touched her chin, tilting her face up to his. In the darkness, she could see only the brief flash of white teeth, a slice of a smile in the darkness. “Better?”
What? Oh—the pain. “Yes,” she said, testing the soreness of her abdomen, which had been dulled by the heat of the water to little more than a faint ache. The headache, too, had fled, banished by the gentle strokes of his fingers. “I am much relieved.”
“Good,” he said as his lips brushed hers. “Now let me show you what else abath is good for.”
Chapter Eleven
