Page 37 of A Gentleman Never Keeps Score
“Duly noted.”
“And if I ever, ever hear about you putting him in danger again, I’ll slit your throat and dance in your blood.”
“Christ, Kate. Anything else? Any other gruesome fates you need to threaten me with today? You don’t need to worry about my putting Sam in any more danger, because it’s over.”
Kate raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That’s what he said.”
“As well he should. I was rude and stupid and thoughtless. You know, the usual.”
“If you put your foot in it, which I can well believe, you’d better fix it. Sam is fond of you.”
“Perhaps hewas—”
"What is thematterwith you?”
Really, Hartley hardly knew how to begin answering that, so instead he drained his tankard.
“If you bollocksed it up, fix it you daft sod,” Kate said, slapping the table between them.
They talked until Sam appeared, hefting a cask of ale on one shoulder. That explained the muscles, Hartley supposed. Even now, through the linen of Sam’s shirt, he could see the man’s arms and shoulders ripple as he set the cask down. He remembered the feel of those strong muscles under his hands, and he remembered everything else that had happened that night too—the sense that Sam would use his strength for Hartley, the warmth and security he had felt in Sam’s company. And then he remembered the look of stunned hurt on Sam’s face the next day. True, Hartley hadn’t meant to hurt him, but it was also true that if his head hadn’t been up his arse he would have thought before he spoke.
“Good of you to show your face,” Kate called cheerfully across the taproom.
“New ale. Half a dozen more in the back.” He addressed his words to Kate alone before turning to Hartley, as if only then noticing his presence. “Good day, Mr. Sedgwick.”
Hartley hoped Sam never played cards because he was a terrible liar. “Good day, Mr. Fox,” he said with exaggerated politesse.
When he turned back to Kate, she shook her head disgustedly at him. “Like a pair of old hens,” she said. She got up, and for a moment Hartley thought she was going to leave him there. But she returned with two fresh pints of ale. “May as well tell me whatever it is. You’ll feel better after.”
“Fat chance,” Hartley said. But three pints later his inhibitions had worn down. He wasn’t going to talk about Sam, because if he told Kate about the swirling mess of stunned gratitude and baffled affection that comprised his feelings toward Sam, she’d think him a sapskull, and rightly so. There was another matter that Kate could advise him on, however.
“Can I ask you something, ah, delicate?” They had removed to a table away against the wall where they wouldn’t be overheard. The dog had leapt into his lap and promptly fallen asleep, and its snores seemed to double the effect of the ale.
“If I don’t want to answer, I won’t,” she responded pragmatically.
“My cook is increasing and I don’t know what to do.”
Kate’s lips pressed tightly together. “I take it you didn’t get her that way?”
“No! Of course not,” Hartley protested, aghast. “I don’t know the circumstances, but her parents turned her out, presumably due to her condition. After that, she worked the streets.”
“Do you typically get your household staff directly off the streets?” Kate asked, her head tilted quizzically.
Hartley was about to insist that of course he didn’t when he remembered Alf. “That’s not the point. But you’re a midwife and I thought you could attend her. I’ll see to your fee when the time comes.”
“Of course. That’s your delicate question?” She looked rather let down.
Hartley’s cheeks heated. “I thought you might also talk to her about whatever transpired in between leaving her father’s house and arriving in mine. In case anything... happened.” He filled his lungs with air. “To her, I mean. Or if the, ah, manner in which she got with child was... not of her own choosing.”
Kate nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” Hartley knew a surge of relief that was surely disproportionate to having secured a midwife for his cook.
Kate slid a hand across the table and laid it atop Hartley’s, and he felt his cheeks heat even more at the recognition that this was not only about his cook. “If this girl has had an unfortunate experience, she might do better to talk to you than to me, Hart.”
Hartley had not realized Kate was out of her mind. “I rather think that would drive her into the river, if she thought she might wind up like me.”
Kate frowned but didn’t say anything falsely reassuring. She didn’t try to tell him that nothing was that bad, or that he had a lot to be grateful for. She squeezed his hand. “Is it that rough?”
