Daring declarations, p.10
Daring Declarations, page 10
With every reluctant yet determined step, she was never more grateful for Buttons’ solid presence at her heels.
Right before they reached the landing, a sharp double whistle rang out.
“That’s Jem—on the carriage,” Buttons told her in a low voice. He wavered in place.
“Go.” She pointed down the way they’d just come. “We’re almost there. I’ll retrieve what I came for and meet you outside.”
Not waiting for his agreement, she raced to her old room. The door was ajar. “Shouldn’t be surprised,” she muttered, pushing it wide, amazed to find any possessions remaining. In the grey light of dawn, she stepped to the old trunk that’d doubled as a dresser. Opening the hinged lid to search inside, she heard a tiny cry. Then another.
What was that?
The soft, persistent sounds came again from the corner and quickly bloomed into an all-out baby’s wail.
So she had new neighbors on the other side of the wall? The strident cry of a hungry child, something she’d become benumbed to over the months of living in close proximity with so many people, unnerved her.
A baby.
Cherished brush in hand, Thea sat back on her heels and closed the trunk with a thunk.
A baby.
Oh Lord, the last two nights she’d forgotten to practice what Sarah had taught her. Nay, Thea realized with a gasp, she’d forgotten it every time. Had just assumed it was no longer necessary, not with how Lord Tremayne used the beribboned preventatives.
But at the opera—
And then last night in his bed—more than once!
Last night. The reminder of those precious hours softened the horror of her discovery. The prior eve, she’d been so very concerned for him, intent on showing him how much she cared naught about the stammer; how much she cared for him.
Well, blow me to Bedfordshire and back. A baby.
Loving him seemed so instinctive, so perfect, that she’d never thought to question the consequences.
Aye, her sensible side countered, with a baby and out on your gullible backside—worse off than you were weeks ago if you aren’t careful.
Although that scenario paled in comparison to the idea of Daniel being gone from her life—his witty notes, his hearty laugh, the weight of his hard body coming into hers—
His arms holding her deep into the night.
If she was already enamored this much, after only a few days, what would happen in time, when she was thoroughly entranced by his spell?
Aren’t you already?
“Not so bony anymore, are ya, eh?” A menacing voice hurled the accusation. “Almost didn’t recognize that rounded arse on ya. That frilly dress.”
Grimmett hauled a dazed Thea to her feet.
She’d been so lost in the fanciful imaginings of rocking Daniel’s child, her mind far away from the sickening reality of her time here that it took several seconds to grasp who—and what—she now faced.
“Turned into a short-heeled wench after all. I always knew you were th’ sort to fall on your back. Where’s he keeping ya? Eh? Answer me, girly!” Grimmett twisted her arm when she remained silent.
Fear rushed in as though it had never left. The past week vanished and she was living on the edge of starvation. The sharp blade of terror.
“So the fancy toff’s feedin’ you more, I see. Or is it more ’n one that’s butterin’ yer bun?” Every motion of his cracked lips revealed blackened teeth, blasted rotten breath into her face. “You workin’ at Mother Mary’s now? Makin’ the beast with two backs with any man who gots a shiny coin? ’Sat why ya ain’t been around?”
Her heart hammered so hard her chest hurt, limbs tensed so tight they squeaked. The days of meager hope looking for employment, evenings spent trying to block out the neighbors’ yelled fights, and the long, rodent-filled nights of despair and hunger squeezed aside her newfound confidence.
Thea all but cowered.
“Don’t deny you been whorin’—I kin smell it on ya.”
“Nay.” It was a whisper, a whimper.
He sniffed her neck, his black teeth snagging her skin as he rooted around like a mole scavaging grubs. “Got the scent of a well-prigged woman…”
She squirmed for freedom.
This couldn’t be happening.
It was over! This horrid part of her life. The despicable things she’d eaten, the dirty clothes worn day after day. The tussles with Grimmett. Always watching over her shoulder for him—and others of his ilk. The terror. The bugs. Over, by damn!
“Think yer too good for ol’ Grimmett, do ya? Always did act like you was above ever’body.” He tightened his hold on her wrist and twisted harder. Inches away, his fetid breath assaulted her nose. “I see them fancy, peer-bought duds yer wearing. Can spread your legs for a toff’s penny but not Grimmett’s?”
She watched in a self-inflicted stupor as his tongue circled narrow lips. His gaze flicked to her chest, eyes gleaming when they caught sight of the chain nestled beneath the bodice.
No! The word got locked in her throat.
God, no!
Fight, Thea!
He reached for it. “What ya hiding here?” He fingered the chain, then gave a yank. When it didn’t budge, he slammed her back into the wall and covered one breast. His fingers squeezed cruelly. “Not looking so high and fine, are ya? Just a sniveling street whore is all you are, all ya ever were.”
Bile rose in her throat, choked off her air.
He released her wrist and clamped his dirty fingers on her bodice. The material ripped at his downward heave, making way for his insistent fingers to clutch at her bared breast, for his other hand to snatch at the ruby while he pinched and clawed at her nipple.
But his words had unlocked the paralysis imprisoning her limbs. Sniveling street whore, accused Grimmett.
I do have it in my head that he’s a snivler, proposed Lord Tremayne in one of his first letters. Your dear Mr. Freshley…
Lord Tremayne. Daniel.
Her dear protector!
In the eyes of God and man, she might be no better than a street whore. And the elevated new status she enjoyed just might come crashing down as soon as Lord Tremayne tired of her, but by all that was good and fun, joyful and right, by God, she wouldn’t let anyone take away a single day of her happiness.
Especially not Grimmett.
Unfrozen, Thea kicked and screamed. The brush she’d forgotten she held cracked across his skull.
Her sudden ferocity startled Grimmett. His hold loosened a fraction. Just enough for her to break free. “No, you don’t!” she yelled. “You won’t touch me ever again!”
She floundered with the drooping bodice, pressing it high across her chest, and wielded the brush again. “Never!” She whacked him again. “You rotten—” Again. “Rotten mouse turd!” Snap! The wooden handle split. But her thrashing didn’t pause. “You maggoty—”
“Miss Thea!” Buttons charged through the doorway, taking the situation in at a glance. He jerked Grimmett around and planted him a facer.
Incensed at the unexpected interruption, the landlord only spit and came forward for more. While Buttons struggled with the enraged man’s flailing arms, Thea dropped the hairbrush, sparing not a thought to its newly broken state, and grabbed up the heaviest thing at hand—an old boot of Mr. Hurwell’s. A mateless boot she’d used more than once to scoop up unwanted, multi-legged or whiskered visitors. Grasping it at the top, waiting for the precise moment between the grappling men, she swung. The heavy heel landed solidly against Grimmett’s hard head. Finally stunned, he sank against the wall.
She opened her mouth to yell at him some more but Buttons launched himself between them. Assured she was unharmed, he took off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders, ushering her to the carriage after issuing a threat to the older man.
Thea had thought she’d learned some ribald slang during her stint in the rough area. Buttons’ menacing warning, delivered in colorful and crude terms, actually had her ears stinging more than her abused breast.
Nothing, however, burned more than her pride.
Upon returning home after the encounter with Grimmett, three unexpected gifts awaited Thea.
One, a lacy ecru fan from Lady Wylde, tied to a note expressing her appreciation for Thea’s company and the education she’d helped impart.
The note was read hurriedly—under the guise of pretending that accepting presents from titled ladies for Instruction in Mistressing Arts was nothing out of the ordinary. This farce was enacted given how Lord Tremayne looked on.
Aye, Lord Tremayne. Who Thea considered the second—and best—gift of the three.
Whose actual presence, given all that’d gone on since she’d left his abode a scant time earlier was nearly sufficient to reduce her to a watering pot of epic proportions.
Thankfully, that cowardly urge was countered by the lifting of her spirits the moment she saw him waiting in her entry. Once she processed that he’d come after her—and so soon.
He smiled a bit sheepishly when Thea hurried in, still covered in Buttons’ coat.
Her instinctive rush toward him was checked with his greeting words.
“Ap-p-pears I’m not your only admirer,” he said ruefully, quickly stashing something behind his back. “I’ll let you open that one first, see who it’s from.”
Though he glanced with interest at the fan, shown to its frilly perfection on the usually empty silver tray, his expression held no accusation, only indulgent curiosity.
Crossing into the sanctuary of her home, taking in everything at a glance and resolved to behave normally, Thea just barely avoided launching herself into his arms.
She sensed Buttons’ frowning disapproval at her back. Could she help it if she was loath to explain, to relive the past hour? Better to forget it ever happened. So after quickly refolding the note from Lady Wylde, she used a magnified fascination with the pretty fan as an excuse to avoid looking at Daniel, concerned her expression would certainly convey The Unpleasant Incident.
The incident already forgotten.
“A fan! How lovely.” Her voice only shook a lot. “I—I’ve—” She swallowed and tried again. “I’ve b-been wanting one. It’s so nice of—of—” She couldn’t very well tell Lord Tremayne that his sister had paid her a call. Certainly couldn’t meet his eyes when she felt him come up behind her and saw that he, impossibly, held out a fan as well.
Easier to latch on to the incongruous sight of the striking specimen captured gently in his strong, masculine fingers. Easier to keep her neck bent, her head down, her gaze far away from the mirror glaring at her.
Unlike the delicate, lacy one his sister had chosen, the heavier fan he presented would whip up a gale. The screen was thick enough, when he fanned it out to reveal an intricately painted peacock upon the black silk, that she couldn’t see the light through it.
“I was looking for something softer, more frilly in d-design, but this one caught my eye and I knew it was p-perf— Thea?”
“It is perfect. L-lovely, in fact.” Her face felt uncomfortably warm as she reached to stroke the decisive pleats, to run the pad of one finger over the colorful bird at home within its folds.
Mayhap she could hide behind it? Bring it up in front of her face and sneak upstairs with no one the wiser. “From none to two in one—one m-m-morning—”
It was difficult to speak through the lump swelling her throat. The unshed tears growing dense and hot now that she no longer put on a brave front for Buttons. Now that she was home. Now that he was here.
She gave a frantic laugh. “I now have two fans.” When only minutes ago she’d been fanless. And accosted. Oh Lord! Another helpless giggle escaped. “T-two fans!”
“Thea. Sweetheart.” Lord Tremayne stepped closer and curved both hands firmly around her upper arms, pulled her toward him. The line of the folded fan dug into one and she focused on the sensation. “Nnn-nay!” he directed over her shoulder, speaking to Buttons, she assumed, “d-don’t frown at me again, mouth at me to wait. Her entire body is trembling and— What’s this she’s wearing…your coat?” And there was the accusation she’d expected when he’d noticed the gift from another. “Swift John? T-talk, man!”
“Aye, my lord, ’tis mine.” She heard him shuffle in place. “Miss Thea, will you be telling him? Or do I?”
“One of you b-better.” The rasp vibrated through her.
She shook her head so hard the coat slid from one shoulder. Nay! She didn’t want to tarnish what they had now with her unpleasant past—
“Thea!” Lord Tremayne hissed, his hand following the path of the fallen coat. “Your neck— The chain! It’s d-dug into your skin. D-dammit! You’re bleeding.” Warm fingers caressed across her nape to ease the metal free. Only then did she become aware of the burning where the chain must’ve sliced into her when Grimmett tried to rip it free.
Shuddering from the reminder, she wiggled from Daniel’s gentle touch. “’Tis nothing. Let’s forget—”
“Thea.” With heavy hands to her shoulders, he shook her once.
She couldn’t hide her wince. Neither could she avoid Lord Tremayne’s gaze.
Lord Tremayne. Daniel. Lord Tremayne.
She didn’t know what to call him anymore. How to think of him. Her past, her present, their present, spun her around till she was in knots.
“Daniel.” Unbidden, his name, the right name, slipped from her lips at the worried concern in his gaze.
“I’m here, sweetheart. Now what…” As his fingers dipped beneath the coat to reveal the shattered state of her dress, his face did an incredulous turn from troubled to livid. He swore, coloring the air with curses that put Buttons’ to shame. But when he fingered the torn bodice, when he glided one fingertip over the budding bruises from Grimmett’s savagery, his touch was featherlight. “Talk to me, Thea. Who d-did this?”
At the solemn query she dove into his arms, needing to feel them around her, needing his strength, his scent, to obliterate the hateful, hurtful morning. “Please,” she implored, her words muffled by his warm body, her eyes shut, frantic heartbeat only now calming. Now that she was with him. “I just want to forget.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her stinging breast hard against his chest.
Though he held her tight, brushing comforting palms down her back, his posture was steel, breathing choppy. “Swift John? Start t-talking.”
“We went to her room, my lord. The one in Seven Di—”
“Seven Dials!” The syllables scratched like blades across boulders. “D-devil take you, you t-t-took her there? Her?”
“Don’t.” Thea wedged her arms against his chest to snare his gaze. “Don’t blame him. I insisted. I—”
“Have t-totally ruined my surprise,” he said in a doleful tone. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “But it’ll keep. Where else d-d-d—” His eyes squeezed shut, then flashed open, went to her torn bodice and a feral gleam lit their depths. “Hurt you elsewhere?”
“He didn’t. Buttons intervened and it’s over. Let’s just forget this—”
“Go upstairs.” He released his hold, his gaze on her torn skin. “T-take care of—”
“Go?” She clutched his arms. “Come with me.”
His jaw firmed to granite. “Nn-nay.” Hands to her waist, he pushed her from him. “Need to see this taken care—”
“This? Grimmett, you mean? Buttons already hit him!” She tried to lace their fingers, to tug him upstairs, but he avoided the maneuver. “Please? ’Tis over and done.”
“Miss Thea clobbered him too,” Buttons put in. “Don’t think he’ll trouble her again.”
“Of course he won’t!” she cried, just wanting it all erased. “I’ve no reason to go back. Let’s just—”
“D-did you flatten him?” Daniel asked Buttons, ignoring her completely.
“Aye. But the bastard’s still breathing.”
“You can’t mean to kill him,” she said when some manner of unspoken, masculine accord passed between the men and they headed for the door. “He won’t bother me again. I won’t go back, I promise! I’ve no reason to!” If the shrill way she screeched after them was any indication, the morning had finally caught up with her.
Daniel returned. He smoothed one hand down the side of her head, skimmed his thumb over her cheek until he cupped her jaw. “Thea. Why d-did you go?”
“My brush,” she replied miserably. “My hairbrush. ’Twas a gift from my mother. But his rotten skull cracked the wood, so it’s pointless. Pointless for you to return.”
Daniel’s thumb dragged over her bottom lip. “D-don’t you see? If not you, then another helpless woman—”
“I am not helpless! I walloped him good!”
“With a boot, no less,” Buttons supplied. Rather unhelpfully, Thea couldn’t help but think now that exhaustion claimed her and she simply wanted to wash off grimy Grimmett’s abhorrent touch and sleep for a week.
Daniel meshed their lips for one heart-stopping moment. He spoke to her without words, expressing his frustration, his fears, and his desperate desire to see her unharmed. Without a sound uttered between them, she knew he wouldn’t let it go.
When he gentled the pressure and raised his head, she reached for his hand, liberating the fan he still held. She waved it near his temple. “All right. Since I doubt you bought this for me to knock some sense into you, I’ll accede. With reservations, mind.” She carried his hand to her lips and kissed his fight-hardened knuckles. “No one else should be intimidated by him, you’re right on that. But I cannot condone murder.” She gave him an arch look.
“How about I rip off his b-ballocks and feed the rats?”
“Well, if you have the peace of mind to jest about it, then I suppose I can allow you to go.” Obviously humor and sense had overridden fury and he no longer intended to kill the man. Or so she reasoned. On tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “I await your return.”
Holding up her bodice, she slipped over to Buttons and shrugged off his coat. “Thank you,” she told him quietly, transferring it to his hands. “See he comes to no harm.”
