Wedded in Sin (13 page)

A young girl with a flushed face and mussed hair giggled and grabbed a plate from the cupboard. “I heard that Lord Harker’s younger brother Benny is in the suds again. Actress wants money for the babe.”

Samuel shook his head. “Too easy. That boy—”

“Actress wants a hundred quid a month!”

Samuel paused, his eyebrows rising with surprise. “What does that tell you, clever girl?”

The maid pranced. “That the babe really is his, otherwise why would she demand so much?”

Penny snorted. Even she knew Benny’s reputation. And that his brother would rather pay any claim than investigate it. “It means there really is a babe, but I doubt it’s poor Benny’s.”

Samuel turned his dark eyes onto her. “Really? Why do you think that?”

Penny shrugged. “I met Benny once when I was younger.” She’d been younger, sweeter, and at an age to try out her feminine charms. Specifically, she’d tugged her blouse down to a nearly scandalous level and tried to flirt with the man. Benny hadn’t even noticed. His eyes were trained on one of the workmen who’d been hauling in a shipment of heavy leather. The workman had stripped out of his shirt in the stifling heat and was quite the picture of steamy masculine health. “Benny didn’t father any babe on an actress.”

Samuel nodded slowly. “Exactly correct.” Then he glanced at the maid. “Sorry, Jenny. Miss Shoemaker wins.”

Jenny pouted prettily, but it was the footman who had just joined them that chuckled. “Go on then, give ’er the prize.”

Penny frowned. “Prize for what?”

“Best deduction for the day,” answered the boy Max as he climbed into his seat. Penny hadn’t even noticed him as he entered, but he slapped a couple sheets of foolscap on the table then eyed the tarts that Cook was just bringing over.

“Yeah,” agreed a second footman. “And the prize is always the same.”

Penny took a second to look at Jenny’s flushed face, the two footmen’s laughing expressions, and Cook’s roll of her eyes. She didn’t have to ask, but Cook answered anyway, her voice deadpan.

“A kiss. And not on the hand.”

Bloody hell. Men everywhere were all the same. “As if your kiss is any prize at all.”

“True, true,” agreed Samuel with a grin. “But we have to play the game. Those are the rules.”

“No, we—”

His lips were swift, sweet, and very perfunctory. Damn it. Some part of her wished he’d taken his time.

“There now, all right and proper,” he said as he took his seat and tucked into his own meat pie. Another had appeared on the plate in front of her.

Meanwhile, the footmen jeered. “That ain’t how it’s done, gov,” they protested.

“It is with Miss Shoemaker,” Samuel responded as he ate. “Now, Max, my man, what have you figured out?”

The boy looked up. Somewhere during all the hooting, he had picked up a cherry tart. And like his uncle, he spoke as he was eating.

“Got the list of likes,” he said, pushing one sheet of foolscap forward with a red-stained finger. “Can’t see anybody killing for ’em. Except maybe another cobbler.”

“No,” Samuel said, shaking his head. “Wasn’t the cobbler. He paid dearly for them, but I don’t think he’s the type to kill. That takes a particularly ruthless mind.”

The boy frowned up at him. “Unless in rage. Lots of people might kill by accident.” Meanwhile, one of the footmen was inching closer to see the list. He stretched out a hand, only to have it slapped away by the cook. And with a wooden spoon, no less.

“That’s Master Max’s birthday present. You ain’t got the brainbox to play.”

The footman stepped back with a sulky glower, but Max flashed a grin. Penny wasn’t looking at Samuel, but she guessed he was equally pleased though he didn’t allow the boy to gloat. Instead, he continued to ply the child with questions about possible villains. He even slid the list of customers over to Penny so she could look at it.

“Does the list seem accurate, Miss Shoemaker? Nothing missing?”

She had to think a bit, run through the customers in her mind, but in the end she nodded. “That’s correct.”

“No one missing?”

She leveled him a look. “That is what you asked, isn’t it?”

He gave her a pleased grin as he reached for the remaining pastry. “I am very glad to see that you are learning to be specific in your answers.”

She all but rolled her eyes, but then he was extending the last sweet to her.

“I believe this is for you.”

No, it wasn’t. As she was the unexpected guest, it had obviously been meant for him and the boy. She counted herself lucky to get a meat pie, and an excellent one at that. So she shook her head.

“No, sir. That one was meant for you.”

“Of course it was,” he said cheerily, “but I am extending it to you. It was because of me, after all, that you missed your lunch.”

It wasn’t. It was because she couldn’t afford a lunch now that her home was gone. And before she could protest, he flashed her another grin.

“My mother would have my ears if she heard that I took a tart from a lady.” Then he blinked and frowned. “A tart from a lady. My goodness, there’s a joke in there somewhere, isn’t there?” Then he glanced up at Cook. “Set the pot for tea. Mum’s about to wake.”

A collective shiver went through the group as the entire room began to empty. The only ones who did not move were herself and the boy. Max looked up at his uncle with a challenge in his eyes.

“Mum will not be down here for another twelve minutes.”

The entire room slowed, then paused, everyone turning back to look at the child, including Samuel, who had been in the process of climbing out of his seat.

“That cannot be correct, Max,” said Samuel. “Your mum is cross with me today and would have heard our whistling. Five minutes debating what to do, another fifteen in a doze, but then she would have roused. Ten-minute toilette—”

“Seven because she is angry with you,” corrected Max.

Samuel nodded. “Very well. Seven. Which means she will arrive all the sooner.”

The boy shook his head. “Mum always likes a fresh pair of stockings after a trip into town.”

Samuel nodded. “Yes. So why would—”

“I hid all her fresh stockings. It shall take her twelve minutes to find them.”

The two footmen released identical low whistles while Jen cursed then glared at the boy. “Coo, why’d you go and do that for? She’ll be extremely cross, and who’ll be to blame? Me, that’s who!”

The boy turned to Jen and slowly shook his head. “I left her a note saying I reorganized her clothing to a more logical pattern. She’ll never find anything now.” The boy shrugged. “She is always saying I don’t put things away or that I never help her.”

Samuel turned to Penny. “It’s not true, you know. Max is ten times neater than either of his parents, but they feel they must say something to the child to show who is in charge.”

Penny eyed the servants as they hung on every word. She recalled that the butler had paid their cab fare, the cook had served them food without even a token protest, and that the maid and footmen would clearly do whatever Samuel asked. “Looks to me as if you are the one in charge,” she said. “And the boy in your absence.”

Samuel’s eyebrows rose. “You deserve another kiss for that, clever girl.”

She held up her hand. “There will be no more kisses,” she said sternly, though inside she sighed. When was the last time any gent had kissed her? Mad toff or not?

Meanwhile, Max finished off the last of his cherry tart. “Ten minutes now,” he said with absolute certainty.

Samuel nodded gravely. “Very well, young Max. Why is it that you hid your mother’s stockings just to have twelve extra minutes with me?”

Max looked up. He was seated quietly at the table, his hands folded and his eyes grave. If it weren’t for his lack of height, he might have been a judge sitting at a trial. He was that composed.

“I wish to know the real reason you missed my birthday party.”

Samuel looked down, abruptly uncomfortable. He hid it well, but Penny was sitting beside him, listening closely. She heard his breath stop, knew the moment his foot ceased tapping.

“I’m sure your mother told you I’m a brainless idiot who just forgot, then slap dashed together your present.” He inclined his chin toward the list of customers.

The boy nodded gravely. “I do not believe it.”

Samuel grimaced. “I do have trouble remembering dates. You know that.”

“Not mine. Not my party.”

Samuel sighed. She heard it distinctly, and suddenly she realized that the boy was correct. There was a special bond between these two, and mad or not, Samuel would not have forgotten this child. So what had happened?

“I was at a brothel, Max,” he said softly.

Penny winced. Sure enough, men were all the same the world over. From a quick glance about the room, every one else jumped to the exact same thought. Except the boy didn’t seem to take the statement at face value. He just sat there and stared at his uncle. Finally, he said quietly, “Why?”

Why? Penny would think that was obvious even to a boy as young as Max. Especially as Samuel’s ears had colored red.

“Your mother would not want you to hear this.”

That made no impression on young Max at all. In the end, Samuel sighed and gave in.

“A gent became violent and the girl killed him. As I am a friend to the madame, she called me to assist in making sure that the constable came to the correct conclusion. The law can be rather thick sometimes when it comes to a woman of the lower orders hurting—killing—someone of a more wealthy sort.”

“And that took all your time?”

Samuel rolled his eyes. “And more. Made me fill out a form as a witness.”

Penny frowned. “
Were
you a witness?”

Samuel shot her a frustrated glare. “I was a witness to the
evidence
.”

“And you are certain of your conclusion? The…girl was only defending herself?”

“Absolutely.”

Penny looked into his eyes. Truthfully, it made no difference to her if a whore killed one of her gents in self-defense or not. Ugly things happened every day. But she could see that it made a difference to Samuel. And apparently to the boy, because Max nodded gravely.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

Samuel flashed the boy a grin. “Your present was going to be a description of the crime scene so that you could figure out the clues. But then I chanced upon Miss Shoemaker and thought this was a better present after all.”

The boy’s eyes sparkled. “Can we do both?”

“Of course. But not today. Your mother is due in two minutes.”

The boy nodded and everyone scattered. Everyone, that is, except Penny and Samuel, who glanced down at the uneaten tart. “But you haven’t eaten it!” he cried.

“It’s yours.”

Samuel flashed her a grin, then wrapped up the food in his handkerchief. “We’ll just save it for Tommy, then.”

And with that, he took her arm and led her out the back door.

Samuel apparently didn’t have the money for another
cab—or perhaps she should say, he didn’t have another butler to pay for his fare. Either way, they had to walk back to the dress shop. Penny chaffed at the time, but in truth, she was grateful for the forced reprieve. Her day had begun with armed men throwing her and Tommy out of her home. She could scare credit that it was less than eight hours ago, but it was. And now, after the bizarre meeting with the solicitor and an equally strange luncheon, Penny was hard pressed to think beyond the placement of one foot before another.

And yet, her mind refused to quiet. She tallied out customers at the dress shop and the slippers they might buy. She thought of the leather she needed to work, and groaned inwardly at the soles that were left behind at the shop that was now owned by Cordwain. She would have to remake them with leather she would have to buy at a premium since it was urgent.

Thoughts, worries, and calculations piled up in her head until she was fairly swimming with exhaustion at them all. Then she felt herself being pulled to a stop. She glanced about. They were yet a mile or more from the dress shop, but Samuel had stopped walking and had pulled her to a standstill.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said gently.

Normally she would have said something acidic. It was all well and good for him to be so casual when he had his brother’s household supporting him. But she—

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t be afraid,” he repeated. “It’s not logical.”

She nearly bit off his finger then. “I’m not afraid,” she snapped. “I’m angry. And it bloody well is logical—”

She cut off her words. He was lifting her chin, stepping in close, and lowering his head toward hers. He was going to kiss her and it wouldn’t be any chaste quick buss either. They were in the middle of an alleyway in the middle of London, and yet he was about to kiss her deeply, sweetly, and thoroughly.

She didn’t want that to happen, didn’t want to be kissing any toff right then, crazy or not. But that was her mind speaking, not her body. Even before his lips touched her, she melted. Her resistance faded; her frustration and anxiety, it all just drained away. It was too exhausting holding on to them. And he was right here, tall and strong and offering to help her with her overwhelming problems.

She felt his arms wrap around her and his mouth descend. She opened her lips when his tongue traced the seam between them. And then she felt him invade.

She had been kissed before. Scores of boys had tried to take liberties with her, especially around Christmas. She’d even let a few succeed. There had been one young man, back when she was a bare nineteen, who had caught her fancy. A baker by trade who had brought her a fresh bun every morning. They had kissed like this, too, deep and passionate, with hands that roamed and a pounding of her heart.

For a full month they had stolen away for kisses and a bit more. She had been thinking about marriage when she’d learned he’d gotten a maid pregnant. That was the last time—until today—that she had allowed anyone to kiss her.

Today was no different than then, back when kisses were exciting and new. A sweep of the tongue, a press of bodies against each other, and the invasion of all her senses by him. Her eyes drifted closed, but the last thing she’d seen was his gaze hot with desire as he leaned in. His scent filled her nostrils—sharp, musky, and so very male. She heard his breath catch, as if kissing her filled him with the same excitement that tingled through her. She felt his arms wrap about her, touching her back, her waist, her hips as he drew her tight against his groin. And of course, she tasted him. His tongue, the sharp tang of the meat pie he’d eaten, and the essence that was him: confidence. She had no idea how a man could taste of confidence, but he did. His every breath was filled with assurance when she was plagued by doubts and anxiety.