Page 19 of Duke of Bronze
Roderick's black eyes were inscrutable pools, and Colin's gut clenched. "Not my place to say. I'm just the messenger."
Colin let out a sharp breath, his hands curling underneath the table. "This is growing tiresome."
"You nobles… always expecting answers at your convenience." Roderick let out a humorless chuckle. "Spend more time among our folk, and you might learn a thing or two about patience."
"Is that so?" Colin's jaw ticked.
"Aye." Roderick leaned back in his chair, arms folding over his broad chest. "But you're here, so I'll give you what Icansay. The one who wants to talk to you is a woman. Name's Lydia. She's the one with the information."
Colin's gaze sharpened. "And how, exactly, does Lydia know my father?"
Roderick lifted a hand, the palms facing Colin. "I'm just the messenger, Your Grace."
Colin sighed. His patience was waning, but his curiosity deepened. "Very well." He pushed back his chair and stood. "Take me to Lydia."
CHAPTER 9
Roderick dropped a coin on the table beside his empty tankard and rose. "Keep vigilant if you're carrying anything of value," he warned. "Lots of pickpockets lurking about."
They stepped out, and Colin walked beside Roderick, scanning the faces that passed them by. Life was very different here, and he was quickly realizing how far removed he was from it. He was privileged too, and at the same time, he was not. The luxuries he enjoyed daily seemed unfair.
"Why do they call you Stone?" Colin asked, keeping his voice light.
"Because I don't crumple," Roderick answered. "I'm a pugilist. And not the fancy sort that spars like a girl at Gentleman Jackson's."
Colin smirked. "Ah. So illegal, then."
Roderick chuckled. "Call it what you like. Pays better than sweeping streets."
Colin flexed his fingers. "If you weren't holding me to ransom with whatever you know about my father, I'd show you what real pugilism is."
"You wouldn't stand a chance." Roderick laughed outright, rough and amused.
They turned down a narrow passage, stopping before a small building with cracked walls and chipped plaster. Roderick pushed open the door, and they stepped into a modest dwelling that smelled of old wood and coal.
Children darted through the tiny space, laughing and singing. Colin counted three of them. A little girl squealed and ran straight to Roderick, throwing her arms around his legs. "Papa!"
It did not surprise Colin that Roderick was a father, despite his roughness. A boy followed, gripping his hand. Roderick didn't speak, but his large hands settled gently on their heads. The tenderness of the gesture was at odds with the bruised, hardened man Colin had walked in with.
A woman was crouched over a pot hanging above the hearth. When she turned, her face brightened with a smile when she saw Roderick. "My love, you're back early."
Then her gaze landed on Colin, and the warmth drained from her expression, replaced by wariness.Shouldn't it be the other way around?
Colin took in the space. A single table stood at the center of the room with five chairs around it, and a bed occupied the far corner. It was stifling, impossibly small. How did people live like this? Then a cough sounded from the next room, dry and weak. Colin's gaze shifted to the slightly ajar door, but he saw nothing beyond.Could Lydia be inside?
"He's here to see Lydia," Roderick's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"It ishim?" Roderick's wife gasped. Her husband nodded, and her expression hardened. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Lydia cannot see him. She's asleep. She needs the rest, and her condition is not improving."
Ah, the cough came from Lydia.
"What ails her?" Colin asked.
Silence. No one met his gaze.Damn it all."Very well, I shall wait for her to wake."
The woman lifted her chin. "You'll have to come back. She's not well enough to see anyone today."
Impatience thudded in Colin's chest, and he endeavored to breathe calmly.You are close. Do not lose your temper now.
