Page 20 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
The front door of the townhouse opened, and Palmer was waiting for them.
“Ah, welcome home, Mr. Kit,” Palmer said smoothly, as if he had addressed him that way his entire life. Then again, it was rather close toMaster Kit, which was what Palmer had always called him in his youth.
“Palmer, this is Suzannah Townsend and Henry Lovelace. We require dinner, and then Miss Townsend will begin the process of painting my portrait.”
Palmer’s response was an instant too slow as he realized who Suzannah must be, but thankfully she didn’t seem to notice the butler’s reaction. Her gaze swept over the entryway, taking in the marble statues and the fine, but slightly faded, tapestries with something akin to wonder.
“Will the drawing room suffice for your preliminary sketches?” Kit asked.
She startled slightly, lost in admiration of his home. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin as she answered.
“I would have to see it first, but I believe so.” She reminded him of one of the wild mares in Australia. Proud, spirited, and unbreakable. He admired her all the more for it.
“The dining room is through here.” Palmer led the way, and a footman opened a door for them.
Once they were seated with Kit at the head of the table and his guests on either side, Kit noticed that Henry had been watching Suzannah’s every move. She delicately touched her silverware as the first course of soup was served, and Henry mimicked her choice of cutlery from the three different spoons laid out. It was clear from the clothes the boy wore that he was either in borrowed clothes or in clothes he’d outgrown. Kit shouldn’t have cared about the lad one way or the other, but he knew what it meant to struggle in a world set against him.
Suzannah finally spoke, calling his attention back to her. “You said you’ve been away from London?” She wore no ribbon in her golden hair tonight, and he found he missed the sight.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, I’ve been gone for a few years. I had business in Scotland that kept me away, and I’m just now returning home.” The lies came easily, and something about that bothered him. “And you? How long have you worked at the theater?”
The second course of roast duck was brought in. “For the last year. After my father died, I began selling paintings to tourists. A man named Flory Holland found me in the park one day and thought I was quite gifted. He offered me a job painting the sets at the theater.”
Kit wanted to ask her about her father, but he couldn’t give his motives away just yet.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father. Do you still paint for tourists?” He was genuinely curious about that. If she painted pictures for tourists, he imagined she must make a number of good sales, with her talent.
“During the day, yes. I go to Hyde Park and paint scenes and sell them. Then in the evenings I paint the sets at Drury Lane.”
“And you make a living doing this?” It was perhaps crass to ask such a thing, but Kit was determined to find out if Suzannah was living off money her father had left her, money that might have been a payout for betraying him.
Suzannah audibly swallowed, her face coloring. “I make enough.”
Barely, it would seem.He remembered visiting her tiny living quarters after he’d saved her from those drunken brutes, which was no more than a broom cupboard. He only realized he was staring at her when she glanced pointedly away. In Australia he’d been largely ignored except by other convicts, and he’d learned that direct eye contact was one way to establish a power dynamic. He hadn’t meant to stare her down like that—he really had just been thinking. But it was a reminder that he was no longer having to face deadly challenges from every angle. He was back in England. He was safe. Well, safer than hehadbeen, at any rate.
Kit turned his attention to Henry. “And you, lad? What do you do at Drury Lane?”
“I work the ropes. I pull the sets into place and collect costumes when the actors change,” Henry said with no small amount of pride. “I sleep there too, in the back behind the stage.” He suddenly seemed to realize that perhaps he ought not to have said that.
“That sounds like a good position to have,” Kit said to the boy.
Henry smiled shyly, pleased at Kit’s approval. Kit remembered what it felt like to be a young man at that age. He would have done anything to earn the approval of older boys and men he had looked up to when he was Henry’s age.
Henry, apparently emboldened by Kit’s approval, now began to share stories of his life behind the curtains of Drury Lane. They passed the remainder of the dinner entertained by Henry’s tales. Suzannah seemed to relax as Henry talked, and by the end, her hesitant smile was a broad grin as she fought off laughter. She had become that pretty little painter again, the one who had bewitched him.
For the first time in seven years, the pain he’d suffered felt like it was a thing truly far out of reach, and he was glad for it. He wanted one minute of peace from the endless rage inside him.
That surprised him, though, that sudden need for peace, when he’d rarely given it a thought during his time away. He’d spent too much of his time focused on revenge because it gave him the fire to continue fighting for survival. But now he was feeling contentment as well as desire, and the mix of that was... unsettling. He’d taken his pleasure where he could in Australia. Quick, desperate, rough, and with a willing woman. But nowtruedesire was back. He had the urge to seduce a woman and enjoy simply being around a beautiful woman. And if it also happened to further his plans for revenge, then that was a happy coincidence.
When the footman collected the dishes, Kit was slowly dragged back into himself again. The small smile hovering on his lips faded into a grim line.
“Henry, you may have a glass of sherry, if you wish. A small one, mind you. I will take Miss Townsend into the drawing room down the hall, and you may come visit her if you wish to see her progress.”
Kit hoped that a glass of sherry would keep the boy occupied. He had no intentions of harming Suzannah, but he wanted to be alone with her. It was the only way he could get her to speak to him and open up about her father.
Kit rose and helped Suzannah up from her seat. She allowed it, stiffly at first, but then relaxed when he made no moves to take further advantage. He offered her his arm, and she followed him to the door.
She leaned in to whisper to him, and the nearness of her, the faint aroma of flowers coming from her hair, caused his body to tighten with desire. “I am well aware that you hope Henry will stay away from us. I warn you that I will scream very loudly and am not nearly so helpless as you may think.”
