West End Earl by Bethany Bennett

Chapter Ten

Mr. Hardwick is upstairs, milord. We showed him to his room.” The butler took their outerwear, then paused while Emma kissed Cal’s cheek and climbed the stairs to her room. “Lord Eastly stopped by as well, and per your orders I turned him away. Again.” With a low voice, Higgins said, “I believe something might have happened with young Mr. Hardwick. He carried a pillow. Most odd.”

“Thank you, Higgins.” Cal handed his hat and gloves to the butler and ran a hand through his hair. When he snagged on the ribbon holding his queue, he slipped it free and tucked it in his pocket while he climbed the stairs two at a time.

A knock on the door at the end of the hall went unanswered. He glanced at his pocket watch and grimaced. It was late—or terribly early, depending on one’s perspective. But Higgins suspected something might be wrong, and Cal trusted Higgins’s read on most situations. Ophelia hadn’t listened to his protests when she left for Shoreditch earlier. He’d insisted she stay here for her safety, but she’d refused. Obstinate woman.

He stood there for a moment, considering the options. It was late and she might be asleep already. Lord knew he was tired after a long day. Between the interview with Nelson, fencing with Ophelia while pretending they hadn’t flirted in the hack, and their conversation about her uncle, it had been rather anticlimactic to return to work.

But that was the reality of his life, and it was far from the glamorous, laughing facade he put on for society. No matter what else was falling apart around him, there were still books to balance, columns of numbers to provide some level of certainty. There was comfort in the black-and-white finality of sums.

Taking Emma out tonight had been nerve-racking, watching for clues to her behavior he’d missed before. Some hint at the secrets she kept. When Roxbury hadn’t shown up to the event, she’d pouted but eventually enjoyed herself.

In short, he was exhausted. But Higgins thought Ophelia needed help, and for once she’d come to him.

With his brain whipping through a list of worst-case scenarios, he opened the door. All was dark within, the fireplace down to glowing embers, but the bed didn’t have the expected lump of a sleeping body under the blankets. When he lit a lamp, he spotted Ophelia in the overstuffed armchair, cuddling a pillow to her chest like a child with a favorite toy.

The light didn’t disturb her sleep, so he perched on the bench at the foot of the bed and took a moment to gather his thoughts.

Today he’d crossed that invisible line from admiring to admitting it aloud. Flirting, even. Not that she’d really acknowledged it before leaving the carriage. And once inside the house, she’d pretended that taut moment in the hack when they’d openly stared at one another hadn’t happened.

She slept with full lips slightly parted, but her hands clutched at the pillow with white knuckles. Even at rest, she wasn’t relaxed, and it killed him.

With her head turned to the side, the firelight illuminated the pink shell of her ear and the delicate blue veins of her eyelids. This woman with her secrets deserved the chance to truly rest, and he hated to wake her.

But tangled in the protective feelings were less altruistic desires.

If he could, he’d trace the regal angles of her face with his lips. He wanted to discover her confidences one by one as she offered them up like sweet treats. He’d indulge in her if she allowed it.

During their match this afternoon, she’d removed her coat and bent over to place it in the corner, and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue. She had a perfectly heart-shaped arse, and the fact that he’d never noticed before made him wonder about his eyesight. That gentle flare at the hip made his fingers itch to explore and see what other curves she hid.

There had been something in her gaze this morning—yesterday now, given the hour. Something that woke his desire after a long, cold hibernation. The tension in that hack hinted that perhaps she wasn’t someone who preferred female partners. Or not exclusively, at any rate.

Of course, he could be wrong about all of this. Maybe she didn’t want to change their relationship. Or maybe she didn’t know how to cross that bridge from friendship to more. And given her masquerade and her uncle, maybe now simply wasn’t the time.

Not knowing what his next move should be was new territory, and frankly, nothing about this was fun. In the face of attraction, he usually only needed to say yes or no, then set the parameters of the relationship—and there were always limits. With a father who couldn’t keep track of his numerous by-blows as an example, Cal was extremely picky about his lovers. During those encounters he’d focused on the numerous ways to please a partner without risking a child.

In the quiet of this room, every one of those ways crossed his mind. This attraction was blasted uncomfortable. As if a floodgate had opened now that he’d seen his friend in a different light, he couldn’t close his mind to all the things about her that he’d missed before now. And damned if he didn’t want to just stand there mooning over her like a lovesick suitor.

She must have licked her lips as she dreamed, or fallen asleep right before he got home, because her plump bottom lip shone wet and enticing.

Yet something had happened to bring her here tonight. There was likely a price on her head, and here he was wondering if she’d let him kiss her. Climbing to his feet, he crossed to the chair.

“Ophelia, wake up.” Not so much as a flicker of a copper-tipped eyelash. How long had it been since she answered to her name? “Adam,” he tried, louder this time.

It hit him in that heartbeat between her sleep and awareness that if she didn’t share this attraction he was navigating, their friendship could get extremely awkward, very fast. He could have misread everything this morning.

Damn, he needed to get a grip on himself. Crossing his arms over his chest, he nudged the toe of her boot. “If you need to sleep, there’s a perfectly comfortable bed right over there, and nightshirts in the dressing room.”

Ophelia grunted as she came awake, and he refused to be charmed by the sound.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

She blinked, rubbing a palm over her face. “Landlady evicted me. I went home and the place had been tossed. I don’t know how they got in, but they destroyed everything. Well”—she smiled weakly—“almost everything.”

A cacophony of emotions exploded in Cal’s chest, then crept up his throat. Closing his eyes for a second, he tried to make sense of them all.

Fear. “I told you there was a threat. What if you’d been there when they got in?”

Anger. Thrusting fingers through the long strands of his hair, he shoved the mass off his face and paced a step or two, only to whirl around and return to where he’d started. She didn’t have much to begin with. How dare they destroy her things?

Then, blast it all, satisfaction slithered through to rear its ugly head. “You can move in here, obviously. I’ve been asking you to for a while.” Cal gestured around the room. “Whatever you need. It’s yours for as long as you want to stay.”

Puppy, damn her stubborn hide, shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but no. I came to say goodbye, collect my wages, and tender my resignation.”

The words hit him like ice from a champagne bucket. “Resignation? Now you’re talking nonsense.”

She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “My uncle found me. That’s obvious. I only need to make it to the end of the year. I’ll slip off to a small village somewhere. Make it harder for him to track me this time.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Cal snapped. “If he’s found you once, he’ll find you again.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I feel so very safe now.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll take on another name. Only come to London to collect my allowance.”

That was a small comfort. At least she had some sort of plan.

“But you’re going to leave? Just like that? Casually end our friendship and quit your job? Toss a wave over your shoulder, then go live under an assumed identity?” Cal added a dramatic hand flip in case the point wasn’t clear. A part of his brain stood removed from the situation, wondering what exactly he was doing. Reminding him that he looked ridiculous. That part of his brain grew quieter with each pounding heartbeat as the emotions he’d been grappling with since her attack spilled over.

In response, Puppy thumped her head against the padded chair back. “It isn’t like that. You’re adding connotations to this. Am I quitting? Yes. Because it’s rather hard to deal with my duties here if I’m not living in London. And if I stay, I’ll wind up dead. Although, if you’d like me to be an actual steward to that forest you refuse to let me do a damn thing with, then by all means, keep paying me a ridiculous wage to oversee a copse of trees in the middle of bloody nowhere. But we both know I’m not a steward, and I can’t carry out my duties long-distance. This doesn’t have to be the end of our friendship. I can visit when I collect my allowance.”

Just like Cal’s mother visited in between lovers. Mother would be home long enough to reignite hope that perhaps this time she’d stay. In all fairness, her departure usually coincided with his father finding a distraction with another married woman or a servant and starting the whole brutal process over again. Always in competition, those two. Seeing who could hurt the other worse, flouncing off in a fit of theatrics with zero regard for how their abandonment affected Emma and Cal, who wondered each time if their parent would ever return. Cal wouldn’t let his heart wander into that kind of unstable territory again.

“I don’t want you to go.” The words tore out of him.

“There’s no reason for me to stay,” she said.

“Ouch.” Cal recoiled, rubbing his chest. “Warn a gent next time you take a swipe, will you?”

“Don’t take it like that,” Puppy huffed. “I don’t see any reason to stay in London. You’ve welcomed me into your life, and I appreciate that. I do. I appreciate your”—she stumbled—“friendship. More than you know.” Her voice softened. “But I don’t have anything in London besides you.”

Maybe it was the late hour. Or the wine at dinner and the brandy after. Or that feeling of someone else he cared for leaving him behind, but he didn’t bother to temper his reply. “Aren’t I enough?” Honesty sounded an awful lot like begging, but there it was. “I can keep you safe. Hire guards to protect you—”

She lurched from the chair to stand so close their chests nearly touched. It took every bit of his self-control to not close that gap. He wanted to feel her. And yet her expression gave no indication of physical desire. Frankly, the woman looked like she’d happily wring his neck. At least she was talking to him and not marching out the door.

“I’ve been evicted because my landlady doesn’t want these problems at her door. What makes you think I’d bring them here and expect you to handle them?”

“Because handling problems is what I do.” His voice rose with the tension roiling inside him.

“I won’t be another one of your problems,” Puppy said, matching his volume.

The space between their bodies disappeared, and he breathed in her sandalwood heat until she filled his head. When he spoke, it was quieter, which only made the crack in his voice that much more obvious. “You could never be a problem.”

She melted against him when he cupped her jaw, brushing the corner of her mouth with his thumb. God, her lips were so pink and plump, and right there.

“I wish you’d let me help. You’ve been alone for so long, but you don’t have to be anymore. Trust me. Please.”

*  *  *

Phee recoiled from the gently spoken words. Trust him? She did…to a point. But wouldn’t she have to tell him everything at some point? Which meant answering questions about Adam and that day on the pond. There was no way he’d look at her with such sweet vulnerability on his face if he knew.

Flashes of memory assaulted her with images of pink water and Adam’s pale face, eyes wide open, as if dying young had surprised him too. The chair caught her when her calves bumped against it, toppling her away from Cal.

“You should leave.” The words scraped through a tight throat, while anxiety threatened to dislodge dinner from her stomach. Lord, she might be sick all over his perfectly polished leather shoes. Of course they were polished and perfect, just like the rest of him. The very opposite of her, with her one remaining suit of clothes, battered pillow, and two personal possessions.

Although it wouldn’t hide anything, Phee covered her face with her hands. The urge to tell him everything nearly overwhelmed her. To get it over with and purge every damning secret. He’d let her leave then, without a fuss. Accepting a liar was one thing. But a murderer?

However, this was Calvin. She sneaked a peek up at him standing there with hands on his hips and a fall of hair nearly hiding his disgruntled expression. This man’s generous nature sometimes overrode common sense. What if he tried to help? It would be nothing for him to wave his magic wands of money and connections and make it all better. Like assigning a footman to guard her while she slept, but on a larger scale.

“Get some rest. We can talk in the morning if you wish. There are just as many ways to run off when the sun rises,” Cal said gruffly.

The door latch closed with a gentle snick as he left the room.

She ran her fingers through her short curls and sighed out a gusty exhale. Lordy, what a day. Beyond the glow of the lantern, the bed beckoned.

Staying the night wouldn’t change things in the long run. Besides, one place she’d be safe from Milton’s henchmen was Cal’s house, with its legion of footmen and the regular patrols outside protecting the residents of Mayfair.

Crossing to the window, she flicked the curtain open barely enough to peer into the night. Along the street, gas lamps illuminated tiny circles of pavement in otherwise inky darkness. No silhouetted men loitered in any of those dots of light, but that proved nothing.

Maybe things would look clearer tomorrow. Because to be wholly honest, she didn’t want to leave London. Not really. Feeling tired and frayed around the edges like this made the available options appear limited. Sleep might help. For now, she was safe.

She plucked her pillow from where it had fallen on the floor, and the pound notes inside crinkled with a soothing reminder of her life’s savings. After pulling back the blankets, she sat on the edge of the mattress and removed her boots. With that move, it became official, in her mind at least, that she’d stay for the night. After carefully folding her clothing, Phee snuffed the lamp.

The bindings around her chest had become a familiar pressure over the years. Sleeping in them wouldn’t be a problem, especially when exhaustion pulled at her limbs.

A down-filled pillow dipped under her head, and she cocooned herself in smooth linens and the comforting weight of blankets over bare legs. Sleep should come quickly.

Except it didn’t.

When she closed her eyes, her brain settled on one thing: he’d nearly kissed her. And she’d wanted him to. His pupils had taken over the warm chocolate of his eyes when he brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. Cal’s spicy scent had filled her head, even as she’d realized his breathing was as unsteady as hers.

As she rolled to her side and tucked the blankets into the crook of her neck, an ache in her chest grew with each new thought spinning in her head.

She’d never kissed a man.

When she and Adam turned thirteen, Uncle Milton had sent Adam to boarding school, then arranged a marriage for her to Sir Potter—who’d been seventy if a day, and some kind of business associate.

That was when she cut off all her hair and tried to run away.

When Milton found her, he locked her up until she agreed to marry Sir Potter. She stayed in that room for eight days, living on scraps the chambermaids slipped to her when they made their rounds.

Adam came home from school on the ninth day for a scheduled break.

He died on the tenth day after he picked the lock and sneaked them from the house to plot their escape. With the blind hope of children, they’d decided to stow away on a ship to America and start a new life.

Claiming grief, she avoided Milton until it was time to take her brother’s place at school.

That day by the pond, she’d dressed in her brother’s sopping wet clothes and stolen his future. In reality, she’d never really been a woman. A girl, yes. And that had nearly been the end of her. Since then, womanhood had been something she’d dreamed of, while keeping it firmly in the land of “someday.” With Cal’s near kiss lingering as a tingle where he’d touched her, it looked like someday was arriving earlier than expected.

The most beautiful man in London wanted to kiss…her. Which begged the question why. And why now? She’d been wrestling with this attraction to Cal for two years. Like looking directly into the sun, it could only hurt to study her feelings when she couldn’t allow them free reign. The self-denial had been a near constant torment, although one she’d grown accustomed to.

Yet he’d almost kissed her.

Why?All the clamor in her head quieted under that one word. None of this made sense. A public relationship with “Adam” would be a tremendous risk for Cal, so why flirt in the hack or nearly kiss her tonight?

With a huff, Phee flopped onto her back. The dark canopy above the bed offered a better view than the water-stained, chipped plaster ceiling of her rented room, or the wooden interior of a mail coach.

What she really wanted to do was charge into his room and demand answers. But what if she’d misunderstood? What if he hadn’t considered kissing her? The physical signs she’d read as desire might have been irritation or anger. It wasn’t like she knew what the hell she was doing, after all.

But what if she was right, and he wanted to kiss her? It could be glorious. It could be the beginning of something wonderful.

Or it could ruin him if anyone found out about them. He’d been appalled at everyone laughing about the marquess’s-mini-member jokes and discussing his love life—how much worse would it be when he couldn’t defend himself without exposing her secrets?

And all this was pure conjecture, because she could be wrong about everything. He hadn’t actually kissed her.

But he wanted to. Probably.

She swore into the dark room, loud and colorful with the flavor of the gutter she’d lived in until today. After flipping the covers off, she stomped to the chair and shoved her legs into her breeches, then threw on her shirt. The floor chilled the bottoms of her feet, but she ignored her boots and flung the bedroom door open before she could think better of it. Only one man had answers to her questions. Sifting through all the things floating around in her brain might be too much, but this one thing, she could do.

*  *  *

A knock at the door was the last thing he’d expected. Cinching the tie on his banyan, he set aside the brandy he’d poured after dealing with the maddening woman across the hall.

The door swung open, and Ophelia charged in, looking ready to fight, with her serious eyes, stubborn jaw, and tight mouth. Cal braced himself for the next round and hoped like the devil it would end better than the conversation in her room. It was nearly impossible to not feel raw and exposed after literally begging, then being thrown out on his ear.

“Did you nearly kiss me? If so, I need to know why. Because the math doesn’t add up. Us, I mean. Why risk it? Why start something with me?” She gestured between herself and Cal with such a confused look, Cal wanted to either laugh or cuddle her. He wasn’t sure which, or if either would be welcome.

“The math works perfectly. And yes, I wanted to kiss you.” He let it go at that to see where she would take the conversation next. Ophelia’s coppery-red brows scrunched, and she shifted from one foot to another. One bare foot to another. He smiled at how wonderfully intimate it was to have her standing barefoot in his room in the wee hours of the morning. Even if she was there to quarrel.

“My, your toes are long.” They were as delicately boned as the rest of her.

“What? Oh, yes. I got teased about them as a child. I can pick up a pencil with my toes, you know.” She shook her head. “Which is entirely off topic. I’m struggling to wrap my head around this, Cal.”

He inched forward. The need to follow through, to touch her, thrummed in his fingertips, but she might not want that. Cocking his head, he tried to dissect the emotions flitting across Ophelia’s face. “Which part is confusing? Is it that you’re pretending to be a man and I still find you attractive?”

She swallowed loudly. Hesitated, then said, “I mean, yes, that is a shock. But it’s more that you’re all this”—she threw her hand out to indicate Cal’s general person—“and I’m all this.” This time gesturing toward herself.

“Is this a self-confidence issue, or are you questioning my ability to see beyond your—admittedly very clever—disguise?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Both? I understand you liking Adam. But being attracted to me as Ophelia is…unexpected.”

Separate from his new feelings toward the woman, Cal could see her point. Objectively, she wasn’t classically beautiful. But only if you didn’t pay attention. Now that his eyes were open to her unique appeal, he couldn’t see anything but beauty. “Not to be a total arse and answer your questions with questions, but I’d like to know something. What do you see when you look at me?”

They stared at one another while Cal’s pulse thudded in his ears.

“Um, you have a mirror. You know what you look like.”

“That’s not what I asked. What do you see?” Cal reached out one finger to touch Ophelia’s chest near her heart. Under his finger, her chest rose, then fell on a breath before she answered.

“My friend.” She closed her eyes and seemed to come to a decision, because when she opened them, her voice didn’t shake anymore. “You’re smart. Most people don’t realize how intelligent you are. And you’re funny. Not the kind of funny that makes others the joke. But humor that comes from genuine wit.” Spots of pink flagged her cheeks. “I…I like it when you need a shave and your beard stubble shows so many colors. I’ve tried to count how many colors are in your beard, but I’m scared you’ll catch me staring.” Hesitating, she raised a hand, then swept one finger across his evening scruff from his cheek to his chin.

The words—maybe not an agreement that she wanted his kisses, but certainly an acknowledgment of awareness—sent his heart pounding madly. Brushing a finger over the voluptuous curve of her bottom lip, he smiled when her thick lashes fluttered closed. However, he had a point to make here. “Now ask me what I see when I look at you.”

Her eyes flew open so wide, the copper lashes nearly touched her brows. “I don’t really want to.”

Cal leaned forward until their noses nearly touched. “Ask me.”

Her breath huffed, warm and sweet on his face, and he couldn’t resist dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. It was an adorable nose, after all.

She rolled her eyes, parroting the question. “Fine. What do you see when you look at me?”

Between them, she rested her hands on his chest, but she clenched them into fists, as if preparing to block an attack. Whoever had taught this woman that words could be weapons deserved to be shot at dawn.

Smoothing his fingers along her cheekbones, then down to her pointed chin, he tried to soothe with both his touch and his words.

“Like you, I see a friend. A survivor. A woman who will make something of herself through sheer stubbornness. And I see color.” Cal couldn’t help smiling, because there was no better way to describe her. “You brighten every room you enter. When the light catches on your hair, I see shades of red and gold I didn’t know existed.”

“I hate my hair.”

“No interrupting, Puppy,” he chided, taking shameless advantage of how close she stood to kiss her temple. One short curl brushed his nose, while another stood straight up. “I appreciate that you’re honest in everything you can be. Even with hard topics like my sister’s bad decisions. Put an épée in your hands, and you’ll beat me nine times out of ten, and for some reason I find that incredibly attractive. And I can’t stop staring at your lips. They dominate your face and inspire thoughts I never expected to have about you.” Her gaze settled on his mouth, which he took as an encouraging sign when her lips were a scant inch away. “Yes, I think about kissing you. It’s a recent development, I admit, but once the idea entered my head, I’ve thought of little else. Does my vision sound like how you’d describe yourself?”

“Not really, no.”

“But do you stand by what you said about me?”

“Of course. Everything I said is true.”

“Is it? Perhaps I see myself differently. Perhaps I see my looks as a burden, not an asset.” That piece of honesty stung. “If I choose to believe you, to accept your words, they become true for us.” Cal waited a beat to see if she followed what he said. “If you choose to believe me when I say I desire you, it becomes real for us. And then, the math—as you put it—works fine. In fact, it means we’re equals. Friends with a mutual attraction, albeit under unusual circumstances.”

She finally looked him in the eye, and for the briefest of seconds her face lit, a smile twitching at her lips. But that lasted only an instant before Ophelia seemed to catch herself. Shaking her head, she stepped away. “In no version of reality are you and I equals.”

It felt like a rejection, hitting him sharp enough to steal his breath. Although he opened his mouth to call out, he waited when she paused with her hand on the door. She glanced over her shoulder, and with heartbreaking vulnerability, he saw everything play across her face—the desire and the fear waging war within her.

She’d been hiding for over a decade, and the street where she’d lived wasn’t safe anymore. All those words he’d wanted to say died on a sigh. Asking her to handle all of that, plus his feelings for her—out of nowhere—wasn’t fair.

He might want to save her, but that didn’t automatically mean she needed saving.

The bedroom door closed, leaving him alone again.