Page 63 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much money spent in one outing,” Marla said.
“I daresay those with the means to spend are not often appreciated, and yet without them Society would crumble.”
“How so?”
“Everything we purchased today put coins in someone else’s pocket. They in turn will spend those coins on bakery goods or some such. If you look at it that way, we are really obligated to buy things.”
Marla laughed. “You do have an odd way of looking at things.”
“I suspect the shop clerks greatly appreciate my dedication to duty.” She paused her thoughts. Something about duty ... There and gone before she could grasp it.
As they wandered from stall to stall, Phee decided bartering for vegetables wasn’t nearly so entertaining as shopping for trinkets and clothing. Examining asparagus, tomatoes, cabbage was quite tedious. She listened with only half an ear as Marla explained how to determine what was ripe, what had yet to ripen, and the signs that produce was overly ripe.
“I don’t understand why it should fall to us to ensure the produce is perfect,” Phee told her. “It should only be made available when it is. Someone who works with it all day would be a much better judge than I.”
“Perhaps, but that’s not the way it’s done,” Marla said. She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “My word, we’ve been gone much longer than I thought. We need to hurry here.”
“We can dispense with the lessons then, and you just tell me which items to purchase.”
They were approaching the last stall when Phee heard a horse whinny in distress. Moving past Marla, she spotted a wagon loaded with crates and a man sitting on the bench, flicking a whip over and over at the poor beast’s back.
“No!” she yelled, dropped the bags that contained the produce they’d purchased thus far, and raced toward the wagon. She leaped onto the step, reached up, and grabbed the man’s arm. “No!”
He flung her off as though she were little more than a child’s rag doll, and she landed on the ground in a sprawl just like one. She scrambled back to her feet, rushed forward, and stepped up again. With her fist, she pounded his thigh, his side, anything she could reach.
“Blast ye, woman!” The weight of a meaty hand snapped her head back and she tumbled, bracing for impact—
She landed hard against something sturdy, sturdy and familiar, strong arms cradling her to a firm, broad chest. Looking into black eyes, she pleaded, “Stop him.”
His features set in a furious mask, Drake Darling growled even as he set her on her feet as though she were delicate glass. She watched as he bounded onto the wagon, ripped the whip from the man’s hand, and delivered two hard punches to his face that toppled him over.
Hurrying to the horse, she grabbed the bridle with one hand before rubbing the horse’s neck with the other. “It’s all right,” she cooed. “It’s all right. He’s not going to hurt you again.”
Suddenly she was aware of Darling beside her, breathing heavily, anger rolling off him in waves. Turning to him she said, “Purchase him.”
The tension in his face eased a little as incredulity worked its way through him. “Pardon?”
“Purchase the horse. He’s so scarred, has been abused so horribly. Please purchase him.”
“Phee, he’s not our responsibility.”
“Please. I’ll work a year without a salary, two years. However long you say. But we can’t leave him to that brute.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. She could see him struggling, so she implored quietly, “Please, Drake.”
He popped his eyes open. “You will be the death ofme.”
Recovered from his fall, the driver was trudging forward, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. Drake spun on his heel. “How much for the horse?”
Chapter 17
The last thing Drake had expected of his day was to be walking back to his residence with a lumbering horse in tow. The man had found a place to park his wagon until he could secure another beast. They had agreed on a price and Drake had given him instructions to be at Dodger’s Drawing Room at four to receive payment. Fortunately, Dodger’s reputation was such that the man didn’t question he would indeed be paid.
As for Drake, he was a blasted fool. What was he going to do with a horse that was too old for service? It plodded along beside him as though each step might be its last. Whereas Phee walked quietly beside him. The little maid was somehow even quieter, as though she didn’t wish to be seen, as though the temper he’d exhibited terrified her.
He’d spent years holding his temper on a tight leash but when he’d seen the driver shove Phee off the wagon, not once but twice, he’d wanted to put the man into a coffin. The fury that had ratcheted through him had nearly blinded him to reason. All he’d seen were his father’s fists flailing, all he’d heard was the sickening thud of flesh hitting bloodied flesh. For a moment he’d been eight years old, hovering in a corner unable to save his mother, too terrified to try—
He barely recalled climbing onto the wagon and taking his fists to the man. If the man hadn’t tumbled backward, he wasn’t certain he’d have ever stopped hitting him. Phee’s face was already bruising, her eye swelling. The anger he’d felt had died down from a blaze to a simmer, but it was still there. And something more. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought he’d been terrified of losing her.
