Page 10 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
“I should go. Lock the door behind me,” he said.
And then the stranger was gone. In mere seconds he hadvanished, closing the door behind him as if he’d never been there at all. Surely she hadn’t imagined the entire encounter? Suzannah didn’t even hear the stairs creak, and theyalwayscreaked whenever people went up or down the steps.
She hastily locked the door, then retrieved the cloth and wiped the dirt on her hands from when she’d fallen. Her dress had a few tears and stains, her hair was a mess, and her favorite green ribbon was gone. She must have lost it in the fight with those drunkards.
Hands still trembling, she felt overcome by a rush of emotion. She could have been hurt or much worse by those men. She buried the string of panicked thoughts of what could have happened had that man not intervened. A moment later, she wilted and eased down on her bed. Suzannah curled into a ball and put a fist in her mouth, but she couldn’t stop herself from crying.
What would her dear papa think of her now? She’d failed at so many things, including her promise that she would be fine when he died. She had made him a deathbed vow, and she had broken it. Her tears flowed harder as she prayed she would fall asleep and forget all this come morning.
* * *
Kit listenedto the sounds of the little painter as she wept. If she hadn’t locked the door, he might have gone back inside her room and taken her into his arms, which was very unlike him. He was not a man used to responding with mercy or kindness, not anymore. Those traits had been whipped out of him years ago, and he had the scars to prove it. Yet this woman had somehow resurrected those things within him tonight.
With a silent curse, he left the boardinghouse and walked back to his father’s townhouse in the so-called Devil’s Square. He was relieved his departure that night hadn’t been noticed by Palmer or any of the other servants.
He closed the door to his bedchamber and stared at his bed for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he retrieved his blankets and pillow, and made a pallet on the floor.
As he lay down, he closed his eyes and reached into the pockets of his trousers until he found the silky green hair ribbon he’d taken from the little painter.
For the first time in years, he prayed for dreams, dreams of a little blonde creature who made the world come to life with the stroke of a paintbrush and had made him come alive with a single touch of her hand.
3
“Christ, man. What on earth are you doing?”
A voice woke Kit up from a dead sleep. He tensed out of instinct, but a moment later his mind caught up with his body and he recognized Darius as the man who stood over him.
Kit lay on his haphazard nest of blankets on the floor, and his friend peered down in obvious concern.
“What time is it?” he asked, not answering his friend’s question.
“Noon.” Darius arched a dark brow at Kit. “So we are not going to discuss why you were sleeping on the floor?”
“No,” said Kit.
Darius’s eyes softened with sudden compassion, but he said nothing more on the subject, which Kit was thankful for. Kit got to his feet and headed for the washstand. He poured clean water into the basin and splashed his face with one hand. The chilly liquid woke him up a little, but he still felt weary, as if he’d been awake for a century.
He had gone to bed close to three in the morning, and for the first time in seven years, he had slept deeply. It was as though his body had sensed he was finally somewhere safe enough to rest.
Palmer or one of the footmen had come into the room with a pitcher of fresh water, and he hadn’t stirred once at the sound. In the penal colonies, a deep sleep like that might have gotten him killed.
Darius stood nearby, watching curiously as Kit gazed at his reflection in the mirror.
“I thought we might visit the tailor and then go about the business of finding you a valet.”
“What happened to my man, Bradford?” He hadn’t thought to ask Palmer about him last night. He’d been so focused on his father and revenge, the rest of his old life was still coming back to him in bits and pieces.
“He stayed on for half a year, but without a master, he didn’t wish to trouble your father for the extra unneeded expense. Your father had his own man, but he retired after your father died, and Bradford was already gone by then. I think he’s working for some textiles fellow up in Yorkshire. Most of the servants are gone now. Besides Palmer, there are two footmen, a cook, and one upstairs maid who also handles the scullery duties. You’ll want to hire more staff now that you’re home.”
“Why did any of them stay?”
“Well... money, of course. Palmer made sure they received their wages. Since you hadn’t been declared legally dead... Well, Palmer never gave up hope that you’d return, even after your father...” Darius cleared his throat and looked away. “Right, well...”
Kit’s head started to pound as he thought of all the things that his life required now. Clothing, shaving, a valet, dinner parties, balls. Just thinking of those things made him ill. He was not that man anymore, but he would have to return to the life of a gentleman to exact his revenge.
“Well, make yourself ready, and we shall pay a call to Schweitzer and Davidson on Lark Street. They have the best gentlemen’s coats in the city.”
Kit listened to Darius discuss the latest fashions, and he was soon educated on more than he ever wished to know about how to have his cravats folded. But while he nodded and pretended to listen, Kit’s mind kept straying to last night’s encounter with the young woman from the theater.
