A Talent for Trouble (10 page)

Ale splashed everywhere, soaking her from head to toe, but the resounding thud of the tankard meeting its mark and the subsequent act of the man dropping to the ground caused a glimmer of satisfaction to run through her.

“Clara, honestly, get back against the wall,” Grayson yelled as another body sailed through the air and landed by her feet.

Even though Grayson was sounding distinctly surly once again, Felicia couldn't help herself—she grinned. Grayson scowled in her direction, gestured to the wall with one deliberate point of a finger, and then threw himself back into the fray, taking care of the last man standing with relatively little fuss.

“What an extraordinary man,” Dot purred, causing Felicia to jump even as a trace of annoyance spread over her at the all too admiring look Dot was sending in Grayson's direction. “Why, there's just something downright delicious about a gentleman who can handle himself well in a dangerous situation.”

Felicia took a moment to consider Grayson. Blood marked his shirt here and there, his waistcoat was sporting several rips, as were his trousers, and his hair was standing on end, but all in all, he did look somewhat . . . delicious.

She pulled her attention away from him and glanced around the floor, taking in the vast amount of carnage Grayson had caused. Men were lying everywhere, some holding their heads, others holding their stomachs, and one barely moving at all.

Apprehension was swift.

How was he even capable of delivering such destruction, and without a weapon—well, except for his hands?

He was an aristocrat and had been born to wealth and privilege, but he fought like a man who'd grown up on the streets, although not streets Felicia had ever seen.

“Is there anyone else who has an issue with me taking Clara out of here?” Grayson suddenly demanded as he looked to the left and then to the right, a surprising touch of disappointment flashing over his face when no one else stepped forward.

Good heavens, it appeared he'd enjoyed the brawl. What did that say about his true character?

Grayson took that moment to stride over to Felicia, stopping right in front of her, the heat from his body, causing goose bumps to erupt under the thin and wet material of her gown.
She would have taken a step away from him, but her back was already against the wall, so she suppressed the urge to shiver and forced herself to meet his gaze. What she discovered there had her mouth running dry.

He was furious, and it seemed as if that fury was directed at her.

“You're soaking wet.”

She blinked. “True.”

“You'll catch your death of cold.”

She blinked again. “It's hardly cold out today, Grayson, and if I hadn't hit that man over the head with the tankard of ale, he might have harmed you.”

Grayson let out a snort. “I doubt that, but either way you shouldn't have intervened. You could have been harmed.”

“I wasn't.”

“That's beside the point, but tell me, how are you going to explain to your mother why you're covered in ale?”

“I forgot all about my mother.”

“Apparently, as you're currently in a pub, a place I'm certain your mother would hardly approve of,” Grayson said before he turned to Dot, who'd picked his jacket off the floor where Felicia had dropped it and handed it to him. He smiled his thanks and opened his mouth, but then his entire body stiffened and his eyes went hard. He reached forward with one hand, grabbed onto Felicia's arm, and yanked her behind him, shielding her once again with his body.

Interestingly enough, although he'd barely broken a sweat while he'd been engaged in the brawl, he was now perspiring, and profusely at that.

Felicia leaned to the right and peered around him, searching for whatever new threat awaited. All she saw were two slightly built Chinese men, standing across the room, their attention decidedly locked on Grayson.

“Is there a back door?” Grayson muttered out of the side of his mouth.

Dot nodded.

“Take Felicia outside and stay with her. I'll join you momentarily.”

Before Felicia could protest, Dot had her firmly by the arm and halfway across the bar. Felicia tried to dig in her heels, but Dot was remarkably strong for a lady of her size and tugged Felicia along, sending her a glare when Felicia tried to shake off her hold. “Stop that. We have to get out of here.”

Felicia stopped resisting but didn't allow Dot to increase their pace, dragging her feet once again, which slowed them down to a mere crawl. “Who are those men, and how can you believe it's remotely acceptable to leave Grayson to face them alone?”

“Honey, I have no idea who those men are, but I do know this. Something dangerous is afoot, and we need to let Grayson deal with it. After what I just saw, he's more than capable of setting matters to rights.”

The next moment, Felicia found herself outside the pub, standing in a rubbish-strewn alley. Her nose wrinkled at the pungent smell that smacked her in the face. She lifted a hand and covered her nose, looking around their derelict surroundings. “I think it was safer inside.” She spun on her heel, but before she could take a single step, the door flew open and Grayson stomped through it. He stopped and narrowed his eyes.

“You weren't thinking about coming after me just now, were you?”

Felicia pretended she hadn't heard him. “Who were those men?”

For a moment, Felicia didn't think Grayson was going to answer her. His eyes turned to hard shards of ice-blue glass, and she felt the unusual urge once again to step away from him, but
stubbornness caused her to hold her ground. She planted her hands on her hips and simply waited.

“You're not going to let this go, are you,” he said.

She shook her head.

He sent her another glare and then released a grunt. “Fine, if you must know, my past just caught up with me.”

Without another word, he sent Dot a nod, took Felicia's hand, and pulled her down the alley.

R
age flowed freely as Grayson hustled Felicia over the rough cobblestones, trying not to dwell on what might be following them.

It was glaringly clear that he had yet to put his irresponsible ways behind him. Throwing himself wholeheartedly into a brawl in some obscure seedy establishment had been beyond idiotic and had most likely put Felicia in great peril.

He should have ignored the miscreants and tried to get Felicia out of the pub without incident. Unfortunately, the undisguised hunger directed at Felicia he'd observed pouring out of each and every one of their beady eyes had caused him to throw caution to the wind.

If the logical part of his brain had been functioning as he was contemplating the brawl, he might have considered the troubling little fact that he was only doors away from an opium den. Using fighting skills he'd learned in China while so close to that den had been foolish in the extreme. Of course word had quickly spread about a man systematically destroying numerous men,
and the Chinese had come to investigate. One of those men, a man with a ragged scar marking his face, had looked familiar.

Grayson stumbled to a stop when Felicia suddenly stopped moving. He tugged on her hand, his gaze roaming around the alley, searching for danger, but for some reason, the stubborn lady refused to budge.

“Felicia, this is no time to dawdle.”

“I'm not dawdling. A rat just ran over my foot.”

He switched his attention to her and was surprised to feel a trace of amusement flow over him. Felicia was standing in the midst of the filthy alley, hitching up her skirt as she peered at her feet. Ale was dripping from her hair, she was missing her hat, and she had a look of clear horror on her face.

“You just took on a man three times your size with nothing more than a tankard of ale, and yet you're concerned about a rat?”

She dropped her skirt, shuddered, and lifted her chin. “I loathe rats. They carry diseases, and those diseases can be entirely more deadly than one inebriated man.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don't see any rats, so we really must get on our way.”

Her expression turned stubborn. “They're just waiting to ambush me, the rats, and it's not as if I can blame them. I probably smell horrible, and you must realize that rats are attracted to odors.”

“We really don't have time for this.”

“Why not?”

“I'll tell you once I get you to safety.”

“But what about the rats?”

Grayson narrowed his eyes. “Could you, for once, try to refrain from being difficult?”

“They scare me.”

Three little words were all it took to completely vanquish the
rage that lingered in his veins. Felicia was looking back at him, her eyes huge and her lips trembling slightly, and he wasn't up for the task of resisting her. He moved closer, scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her sharp intake of breath, and began striding down the alley.

“This is hardly proper,” she muttered.

“I don't think anyone will see us, and just to refresh your memory, it was hardly proper for you to enter that pub in the first place.”

A soft sigh was her only response before she put an arm around his neck and seemed to snuggle closer to him, her movement causing him to get a distinct sniff of ale mixed with something that was all Felicia.

The something that was all Felicia began to distract him, but knowing they were still in danger, he forced the distraction aside and increased his pace.

“Who were those Chinese men back in the pub?”

“I'll tell you once we get to Theodore's office.”

Felicia's hand tightened around his neck. “We need to involve Theodore in this?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Good heavens, Grayson, you really do have a past.”

“Don't we all?”

Felicia relaxed her grip. “I suppose we do. Although, I have to say, your past seems to be far more interesting than mine.”

“Don't envy me my past, Felicia. It was more reprehensible than interesting.”

“And those Chinese men in the pub have something to do with your reprehensible past?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Felicia lapsed into silence, but it only lasted a moment. “Do you think they came over to the pub from that opium den?”

“Please tell me you didn't considering going into Posey's.”

He felt Felicia's breath against his throat when she let out a huff of annoyance. “Of course not, although I have to admit, I was curious. If you must know, at first I thought it might be a flower shop, until that large cloud of smoke poured out the door when someone opened it. That's when I figured out it was an opium den.”

Grayson came to a stop and looked down at her. “You thought it was a flower shop?”

“Because of the name . . . Posey's. You know—flowers, bouquets . . . There's no need to look at me that way, Grayson. It was a mistake anyone could make, but after I figured out what the place really was, I didn't consider allowing my curiosity to get the better of me. An opium den is hardly a respectable haunt for a lady.”

“The entirety of Mott Street is hardly a respectable haunt for a lady, yet that didn't stop you from traveling up and down it—speaking to ladies of the night and then traveling to that theater and . . . ”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. Felicia's eyes were gleaming with something indescribable, and her cheeks were flushed.

“So you were following me?”

“Maybe.” He began walking again, trying to ignore the satisfied smile on Felicia's face.

“I thought perhaps you might have been. I mean, really, how else could you have found me in that pub?”

“How else indeed, but, tell me, what possessed you to travel to this part of the city without a proper escort?”

“I travel around parts like this all the time on my own. I've been doing it for years. No one ever pays me any mind.”

“They were paying you mind today.”

He looked down and saw that, instead of looking concerned, she looked rather delighted. “It must be my new wardrobe.”

It was certainly true that wearing gowns that accentuated her figure was one of the reasons she was drawing attention, but there was something else about her now that drew even more interest. It seemed to him that with the abandonment of her old fashions, she'd gained confidence and a desire to embrace the world head-on.

Unfortunately, no matter that she appeared to believe otherwise, she was an innocent at heart and far too trusting of people, and that disturbing situation was bound to land her in trouble. Which meant . . . he was not going to be able to keep his distance from her quite yet.

She brought out protective instincts in him that he'd barely remembered he possessed, and those instincts were causing him a bit of discomfort, especially with her pressed so thoroughly against him. Slowing to a stop once again, he carefully set her down and nodded to a small walkway just ahead of them between two buildings.

“We should be right by the theater if I've judged the distance right. I'll walk with you to the end of this building, and then I want you to get in your pony cart and travel as quickly as you can to Theodore's office.”

“You're not coming with me?”

“We can't afford to allow anyone to see you with me. I'll follow you as soon as the coast is clear.”

For just a second, what looked like fear clouded her eyes, but then she squared her shoulders and nodded. He sent her a smile, took her hand, and helped her through the narrow space between the buildings, stopping at the end to peer into the street for a second before he turned back to her. “Thor's just ahead. Simply walk as nonchalantly as you can to him, and then get on your way. I'll watch from here, and if I think anyone is following you, I'll step in.”

“Won't that defeat the purpose of not allowing people to know we're together?”

“If anyone's following you, they'll have already figured that out.”

Felicia's eyes went round, but then she drew in a breath and nodded.

“Remember,” he cautioned before she stepped out onto the sidewalk, “try to appear nonchalant, but do everything you can to get Thor moving faster than a plod.”

Felicia looked down at her sopping gown, then looked up and grinned. “That might be a tall order. Thor has never moved faster than an amble—well, except for the time he plowed into that hitching post.”

She lifted her chin and stepped forward, causing Grayson to smile when she began to stroll toward her pony as if it were an everyday occurrence to mosey down the sidewalk while wearing a gown soaked with ale.

She made it to Thor with no mishaps, moving to release her pony's reins from the hitching post before she leaned closer and began to whisper something in his ear. Seemingly satisfied that Thor was going to listen to whatever she'd told him, she walked to the cart and climbed in.

Relief swept through him when she flicked the reins and Thor began to move, but it changed to frustration when the door to the Rogue's Theater burst open and two men rushed out, both of them waving madly to Felicia and both of them wearing what appeared to be her old gowns.

“Miss Murdock, hold up a moment,” one of the men shouted as he raced toward her.

“Don't do it,” Grayson muttered through gritted teeth, even though he knew full well she couldn't hear him.

“We wanted to show you how we look,” the other man yelled as he skirted around some people on the sidewalk and stopped right by the pony cart that Felicia had, annoyingly enough, pulled to a stop.

Felicia's laughter soon drifted back to Grayson as she exclaimed over the men, but when one of them gestured to her gown, she sobered immediately and said something Grayson couldn't hear. Then, to his amazement, one of the men jumped on the seat right next to her while the other climbed into the cart. Before Grayson had the presence of mind to step forward, Felicia flicked the reins and Thor—an animal that rarely cooperated—jolted into motion and headed down the street at what appeared to be almost a trot.

The day just kept getting more unusual by the minute, but perhaps the sight of a drenched and disheveled lady riding in a pony cart with two men dressed in outlandish gowns would be enough of a distraction to allow Felicia to get safely on her way.

He watched the cart until it disappeared from view and then took one step onto the sidewalk, considering how he was going to get across the space to his horse without being detected. A street urchin caught his attention. Grayson smiled in satisfaction and motioned the urchin to join him as he stepped back between the buildings.

The dirt-encrusted boy regarded him warily across the space that separated them for a moment before he darted across the sidewalk and hesitated at the entrance of the walkway.

“Did you need something, sir?”

Grayson nodded. “I could use your assistance, if you're willing to help me.”

“Help you with what?”

Grayson nodded to his horse. “See that horse over there? I'll pay you a dollar if you'll fetch it for me.”

“You a horse thief?”

“No, it's my horse.”

“What's its name?”

“Spot.”

The boy's brow wrinkled. “That's a dog's name.”

“True, but you see, my daughter wanted a dog, and I came home with a horse—hence the name.”

The boy tilted his head and then nodded as if that made perfect sense. “How come you just don't go and get Spot yourself? A dollar's a lot of money.”

“It
is
a lot of money, which means if you want me to give it to you, you're not entitled to questions.”

“Can I see the dollar?”

Grayson shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out some bills. “I'll give you all of this if you stop talking and fetch my horse.”

Before Grayson could utter another word, the boy darted away and was soon by Spot's side. Grayson watched as the child, whistling in a nonchalant manner, unhooked the reins, pulled Spot away from the hitching post, and began traveling in the wrong direction.

When the boy disappeared around a corner, Grayson feared he had been conned by a horse thief. He stood there for a moment, wondering if he should go after the boy, when the sound of galloping hooves sounded behind him. He turned and found the boy on top of Spot at the other end of the walkway. He strode to join them.

“How'd you get back here so fast?” he asked as the boy jumped to the ground and handed him the reins.

“I live on the streets. I know all the shortcuts.”

A pang of pity spread through Grayson as he looked the boy over. He couldn't be more than twelve years old, but his eyes were far too old for his years.

“What's your name?”

“Sam.”

Grayson handed Sam the bills and then reached back into his pocket. The thin hand Sam had extended to him was almost frail, and Grayson couldn't imagine how difficult it must be
to live on the streets. “Wait,” he called when Sam turned and began walking away.