West End Earl by Bethany Bennett

Chapter Seven

Cal climbed from the carriage with a wince, taking a moment to stretch and loosen his aching muscles. Slumping in the world’s most uncomfortable chair meant waking with a stiff neck and an even stiffer back. Not that he could complain about physical aches when Puppy was so obviously in worse condition. His mind was still reeling that Adam was actually an Eve.

He’d left shortly after a footman had arrived with a message from his father. Eastly wanted to discuss what Cal had thought of Violet Cuthbert last night at Vauxhall, and frankly, that was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. That conversation could easily be summed up—not interested.

But he knew his father. The note was a false courtesy, a sort of warning shot declaring that Eastly would be calling this morning, like it or not. So he’d left the footman to watch over Puppy and come home. He’d deal with his sire, then return to Shoreditch.

“Coffee, my lord.” Higgins knew better than to phrase it as a question when he greeted Cal at the door.

“Thank you, Higgins. Coffee is definitely called for.” There might not be enough coffee in all of England to counter the last twenty-four hours.

The library welcomed him with a soothing stillness. He wasn’t a great bibliophile like Ethan, but there’d always been something peaceful about the atmosphere of the library.

A maid entered with a cart, dipped a curtsy, then left.

As he poured his first cup, Cal’s mind circled around to Puppy. He’d sat awake for most of the night. She’d been restless, wincing and letting loose the occasional whimper in her sleep. As Cal waited for the next time his friend awoke needing a drink, he’d been left with nothing to do but observe.

They’d never slept near each other before except for the occasional midday nap on the pair of drawing room sofas. Adam always insisted on returning home to that tiny room no matter how late the hour of their escapades. That made sense now.

The coffee burned as it slid down his throat, so he set the cup down with a rattle and balanced it and the saucer on the arm of his favorite chair.

Curiosity had compelled Cal to stare at the lines of her face until something stirred within him that hadn’t gone away with the rising sun. It had been a revelation to watch his friend at rest in the dim light of the meager fire in the grate.

Puppy wasn’t ugly—but not likely to turn heads either. Taken as a whole, her square jaw fit nicely with her angular cheekbones. Angular everything, to be honest. Amidst all the sharp points reflecting in the firelight last night, her nose stood out as perfectly straight—obviously never broken.

Cal rubbed at the bumped bridge of his nose. The badly healed break was a reminder of a scuffle at Eton with a boy who’d called Cal a molly when he discovered his friendship with Lord Hopkins. He and Hopkins had only been friends, but people who called others names for reasons like that weren’t often prone to logic. Such things weren’t discussed openly at Eton, but they weren’t uncommon. Cal knew a few men who, in those explorations, found home. And there were others who lived as authentically true to themselves as possible, even when society didn’t endorse their choices. This was an area where Cal didn’t care about society’s disdain. Everyone deserved to live their life with dignity and honesty.

There could be many reasons behind her choice of disguise. Perhaps she preferred women lovers and felt more comfortable in a man’s persona. Yet he had never seen Adam show interest in a woman. Or a man, for that matter.

As he puzzled through it, he tested another sip of coffee and found it cool enough to drink. Thank God.

One thing Puppy had said last night nagged at him. She’d said she was hiding until it was safe to live as herself again—which implied living as a woman. The fact that she’d said that while beaten and bruised wasn’t lost on him. He’d wondered if the attack was random or the result of one of her information-gathering jaunts for him.

But a third option had occurred to Cal sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Especially given that she was already living in disguise when they met. There was a history of tension between her and her uncle, whom she never spoke of favorably. Her uncle could be behind this.

It was a mystery. And like a curious cat, his brain couldn’t let it go.

Licking a drop of coffee from his lip brought to mind the time he’d spent staring at the full curve of Puppy’s mouth while she slept. Too much time, if he were honest. As she dreamed, her body had given off a warmth that had changed the usual sandalwood Adam wore into something more personal, especially wrapped up in his coat. Her sandalwood and his spiced soap had combined into a scent that had sent a curious humming of interest under his skin.

Inconvenient ponderings for a man who’d spent years cleaning up his father’s financial and social messes, only to be forced into marriage with a complete stranger. When would it end? The choices appeared limited. He could marry a woman who, last night at Vauxhall, had looked as unenthusiastic about their introduction as he’d been. Did she know about this bet and engagement already? Was that why she’d been so quiet and uncomfortable? Beyond a few monosyllabic answers, she hadn’t seemed inclined to get to know him.

Or he could refuse to comply with this nonsensical plan of his father’s and face complete ruination of everything he held dear.

There must be a better option.

Cal was filling his cup for the second time when Ethan sauntered into his library as if he owned the place.

“You look like shite,” Ethan said.

“Did I send out a silent cry for help?” Cal asked.

“Aye, my friendship antennae tingled.”

Cal smiled around another sip of coffee.

“Actually, Lottie isn’ feeling well this mornin’. Too much champagne last night. Threatened tae cut off my bollocks when I proposed a shag. She’s insisting I leave her alone tae die till at least noon. I decamped for my safety. Now, why do you look like something I should scrape off my boot? I never see you in your shirtsleeves. Where’s your coat?”

Out of habit, the pair took their customary seats by the fireplace. The black coffee rippled through Cal’s system, shaking off exhaustion with every sip.

“I left my coat with Puppy. Long story. Where to begin? On the way home last night, Puppy was robbed and beaten. No”—he motioned for Ethan to remain in his seat—“he will recover. But it isn’t pretty. I stayed with him all night. The stubborn mule refuses to move from Shoreditch.” He’d promised her he would keep her secret, and he would, even from Ethan, his closest friend.

“Bloody hell. What can I do tae help?” Ethan leaned his elbows on his knees, concern etched in the deep valley between his eyebrows.

“Not much at the moment. I haven’t talked to Adam yet about the men responsible. This can’t go unanswered, though.” Cal ran a finger around the smooth porcelain rim of his cup while his brain scrambled every which way, playing through possible scenarios. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that the uncle from Northumberland would be all over the situation when they found the assailants. But on the off chance that this wasn’t random or orchestrated by her uncle, Cal would accompany her on the next few trips to the docks. It wasn’t unheard of for him to do so, but he’d been taking a more hands-off approach lately. No more. Not now that he knew there was a threat.

“Aye. He may be young and pasty, but he’s ours,” Ethan said.

Cal couldn’t have said it better himself. “Exactly. Then my father sent a message that he planned to call, so the day is going to go to hell.”

“I wonder what happened this time? Opera dancers or cards?” Ethan’s posture relaxed as the conversation veered into familiar territory.

“In this instance, I already know. He summoned me yesterday afternoon, and I haven’t had a moment alone with you since.” Yesterday afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago. Pasting on a wry smile, he said, “It seems Eastly traded me for a horse.” The look on Ethan’s face almost made the circumstances comical. Almost.

“You’ll be tellin’ me the details of that. But do ye want tae check on Adam? Is he alone?”

“I left a footman and strict orders to send a message every hour.” Which meant a message should have been due a quarter hour ago. Cal checked his watch. After snapping the cover closed, he tucked the timepiece in his waistcoat pocket.

“Your messenger is overdue, isn’ he?” Ethan guessed.

Instead of answering, Cal strode to the doorway. “Higgins? Has Charles sent a message?”

Higgins shook his head. “Not yet, milord. I will bring it straightaway when it arrives.”

Worry niggled at his brain, which was coming up with worst-case scenarios. Cal closed the library door again but couldn’t let go of the doorknob.

“You’re goin’ tae fret all morning until you get word. Why don’ we pay the lad a visit? I’ll join you. Although t’would be a shame tae miss Eastly’s call.” When Ethan shifted to rise with a conspiratorial grin, the chair protested with a creak.

The show of support made Cal chuckle. “I’d appreciate the company, thank you.” He had yet to shave or change clothes, but Ethan was right. The worry wouldn’t let up, and the last place Cal should be was lingering in this library, waiting for news. If it meant delaying dealing with the reality of his father for a few more hours, then he’d be grateful for the momentary distraction.

“We’ll take my carriage,” Ethan said as the front door closed behind them. Higgins had sniffed disapprovingly at their insistence that they’d walk to the stable and wait there, rather than in the comfort of the library.

“They’re housed in the same mews. It will be just as fast to call mine.”

“But yours has that shiny crest on the side, you pretentious knob-head. Mine won’ draw as much attention.” Ethan shot him a look that spoke volumes.

Cal hadn’t thought of that. It shouldn’t surprise him that Ethan had.

As they made their way through the tighter streets toward Puppy’s neighborhood, even Ethan’s understated equipage drew stares, and Cal was grateful he’d listened to the Scotsman.

“Isn’t that your livery?” Ethan pointed his driving whip toward a footman dressed in immaculate pale blue and silver, standing outside a shop.

“What the hell is Charles doing there? Puppy shouldn’t be out and about. I gave strict orders to stay in bed.”

Ethan’s side-eyed glance matched his smirk as he parked the rig near the shop. “Perhaps the lad decided you weren’ his ma, and got out of bed. Charles might be doin’ his best tae keep up with ’im.”

That didn’t deserve an answer, because damn his eyes, Ethan was right and they both knew it.

When Cal approached the shop—a butcher shop, according to the signage—Charles stiffened, his posture poker straight.

“He’s a stubborn cuss and wouldn’t listen when you insisted he stay in bed, right, Charles?” Cal guessed.

Pink bloomed over the footman’s cheeks. “I relayed your orders, milord. I also sent a messenger to Hill Street when we left to come here.”

Ethan clapped a hand on Cal’s shoulder, gently pushing him past the servant. As they continued toward the door, Ethan called to the footman, “Not tae worry, Charles. You did your best, I’m sure.”

Puppy and a man one could assume to be the butcher by the bloody apron stood close together near a wood-slab counter. They paused their conversation when a bell announced Cal’s entry to the shop.

“What are you doing here?” Puppy asked. Except it wasn’t just Puppy now, was it? She wasn’t Adam any longer. Not to him. Searching her face, he tried to find some indication that things were different now that he was in on the secret, but she acted as if nothing had happened. Nothing to see here, just another day of interrogating the butcher after being beaten and robbed. Lord, how did she do it?

“You look like hell—rather like someone who’s been attacked and left for dead in the street mere hours ago.” The words came out with a casual air, when he really wanted to ring a peal over his friend’s broken head. “One would expect you to still be in bed recovering from your recent head injury.”

The sarcasm was met with an eye roll exactly like the ones Emma gave him, ending in a wince. If Cal hadn’t been so concerned and irritated with her, it would have been comical. As it was, the wince merely served to make his point.

“Surely getting a rasher of bacon or a link of sausage isn’t more important than healing.” The overwhelming smell of blood and raw meat turned Cal’s stomach. How did someone with a head injury hold down their breakfast when that smell coated the air?

Unless she hadn’t eaten breakfast. There’d been nothing but an apple and a hunk of cheese in the room. A room which had been devoid of any personal touches and had very few belongings. There’d been a tidy stack of clothes and a narrow table against the wall for accessories like handkerchiefs and gloves. Now that he thought of it, the hat stand had been empty.

“Where is your hat?” he asked.

“On the head of a thief, I imagine.” She turned to the butcher. Clearly, further discussion could wait, and Cal had interrupted her conversation. Cal caught himself before he rolled his eyes as Puppy had just moments before.

“As I was saying, I need to talk to you about your son.”

“Nelson? Aw, he’s a good lad.”

“I agree. You raised him well, Shaw. But are you aware of the crowd he’s running with these days?”

Things began to make sense. Puppy had identified one of her attackers. Cal shot her a look, but her focus remained entirely on the butcher as she somehow exuded compassion and confrontation at once.

“What’s this about, Mr. Hardwick?” Shaw punctuated the question with a slam of his cleaver, bisecting a slab of…something.

“Nelson was one of the crew that attacked me last night. Stripped me nearly naked and took everything.” Puppy’s voice grew clipped as she recounted the night in those few short words.

The butcher froze with the shiny blade hovering in midair. The space between his brows narrowed, resulting in one long fuzzy caterpillar-like eyebrow, before he let the knife fall once more, separating flesh from bone. Emotions flashed over his face so quickly, Cal couldn’t fully identify them. Disbelief? Anger? Sadness? For a father to hear that his son had fallen in with violent criminals must create mixed feelings.

“I don’t need my things returned,” Puppy said. “But if it were my child, I would want to know. Nelson is better than this.”

Before yesterday, Cal might have clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder as a silent show of support. But with myriad bruises covering her skin, a consoling hand may not be welcome—or appropriate, come to think of it. There might be another way to help, though. Cal stepped forward.

“If Mr. Hardwick claims your son is trustworthy, even after last night, then I am willing to find him a position with my staff.”

The butcher’s gaze flickered toward the window, where Charles’s livery gleamed bright and out of place against the wood and stone buildings. Shaw might not know who Cal was, but he must recognize quality clothes and all they implied.

“I can’t help the other lads in the crew. But if Hardwick cares for your son, perhaps we could find him a less criminal group of men to associate with.” With several estates, surely there was a place for him at one of them. Perhaps mucking stables and cleaning livestock pens. It was what the little thief deserved.

“Shaw, this is my employer, the Earl of Carlyle. A position in his house could mean Nelson would be out of London for a time, but if that is what it takes to keep him from continuing down this path, it might be worth it,” Puppy said.

Shaw grunted, wiping the cleaver on his dirty apron. “Let me think on it. I’ll talk to the boy and the missus. I’m sorry you were hurt, Mr. Hardwick. You’ve never given us reason to wish you ill.”

Stepping away from the counter, Cal swept an arm toward the street, letting her go first.

The redhead lasted until the shop door closed behind them before she rounded on Cal. “Why are you here? And leaving a liveried servant in my room? No offense, Charles.” Puppy waved toward the footman. “Do you have any idea what a spectacle you’ve made?” She seemed to stop herself midsentence and drew a deep breath. When she spoke again, she measured the words between sharp inhales. Her ribs must be hurting. “I know your intention is to provide protection. Or a nanny, because you think me a child. But you painted a target on my back. Why not make a sign that says ‘Has friends with money and influence’ so I can attract every criminal element in the neighborhood?”

Just like that, frustration and worry boiled over. Leaning over so they were nearly nose to nose, Cal growled, “I told Charles to stay behind because you scared the shit out of me, and I needed to know there was someone here to help you.” The Puppy’s eyes sparked with gold flecks, likely from wanting to throttle him.

A large hand was inserted between their faces, gently compelling Cal to step away. “You bicker like an old married couple,” Ethan said. “Cal, listen tae the lad’s concerns. His safety has already been compromised once, and you flashin’ coin makes him a bigger target. Some circumspection on your part wouldn’ be amiss. Adam, take a breath and try tae be grateful you have people who care.”

Puppy shot a look at Ethan. “Lord Amesbury, while I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t help but notice this shiny new carriage, which only adds to the problem. Flashing coin and liveried footmen isn’t the only sign of wealth we are dealing with right now.”

Ethan raised a brow. “I talked him out of the rig with the coat of arms on it. But you’re right. We should have taken a hack.”

Cal sighed. This was more complicated than he’d thought. “I’m sorry Charles’s presence made things worse. Let’s get off the street and discuss this further.” Placing a hand on Puppy’s back, he nudged her toward Ethan’s carriage. Through the layers of clothing, Cal could feel the subtle ridges of bone where shoulder blade cut toward spine in a delicate wing. Especially wearing his oversized coat, she appeared fragile. But she’d made herself into a scrappy survivor. It took a special person to pull off a masquerade of this magnitude.

Severing the contact as she climbed into Ethan’s carriage was harder than it should have been. Hell and blast. Nothing good could come of this.