He tugged her close again, his focus still on the ceiling. “You’re shivering.”
The truth was, they both were. They both trembled in the dark and Minnie wondered if she had a similar effect on him. She’d only ever kissed her Ahya’s grandson once under a table back in India. A first kiss at five is not a kiss at all really, but that’s all she had to draw on from experience.
“And you’re on my side of the bed,” he continued, his voice growing lower, rougher.
She’d missed that too. Why had she so grown to miss a near stranger? Minnie hardly knew him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“You have yourself a deal, Mrs. Marwick. Now close your eyes and rest.”
§
The sun was still rising from its bed, the outside sky more stars than the birth of dawn through the tiny attic windows. But there was a fireball in Alex’s arms anyway.
She hadn’t let go during the night. In fact, Anne had tangled herself around him, more stubborn than the few patches of grass that popped up between well-trodden cobbles of Whitechapel. This strange, willful girl who smelled of roses. This hand that curled entwined with his fingers, her skin soft and warm, as though it was meant to be palm to palm with the likes of him. The mouth of hers that even when relaxed curled into an easy smile at the ends. That fine nose of hers, the one of a high-born lady, aristocratic in its delicate slope.
He tried to pull away gently, his body aching from the fight last night, and aching more from wanting to kiss Anne awake. She was the devil with those eyes of hers, that plump mouth full of sass and fire. She belonged at home with her family; she deserved better than what he could ever give her, and though it was selfish to admit as much, he’d felt a sliver of selfish satisfaction in his chest as she approached him in the dark last evening. His angel, returned.
Who was he to send her packing, telling her where she belonged? He’d been chained up in the dark, all but left for dead from being unwanted. Desire was a powerful thing, for it fueled his next breath in the dark as a little boy. It was tinder to the soft beat of hope in his chest as he was wrapped in a blanket and carried out by Danny, out into the world, to live a life previously denied to him.
And maybe she’d be of use to him. Maybe with her fine connections, she might know of the woman who helped Danny escape from the asylum. Maybe then he’d have a name for himself instead of the one he made for himself. His given name. How could a man take on the world without knowing who he truly was? That was the difference between a man and a boy, and Alex was done with being tossed around Whitechapel as a boy with a temper, another troublesome mick.
“I dreamt we were in Paris, in a grand hotel, with muffins waiting, and champagne,” Minnie whispered. Her lips brushed against the linen of his shirt. They might as well have moved over his skin because he was burning.
“Of course you would.”
She softly laughed as she opened her eyes and met his. Anne stretched her body, paying no mind that it rubbed against his. It seemed she welcomed his touch, and as for Alex, it was the most unnatural thing he knew.
He coyly pulled away, sitting on the edge of the grain sacks, his back turned to her. He felt the cool pressure of her eyes on his back, washing over him like the waning moonlight outside as it sunk in the horizon.
“It’s too early to be awake.”
Alex peeked over his shoulder, closing his eyes at the sight of her copper hair cascading down her shoulders, her cheeks pink from sleep. “It’s time for me to report to the docks, darling. As for you, you should get up and meet Mrs. Bowen so she doesn’t think there’s a thief stowing away in her attic.”
“Isn’t there?”
He laughed to himself, standing to stretch. He was thankful for the lack of mirror. Alex wasn’t of the mind come face to face with an eejit this early. He heard her get up and adjust her dress, then issue a soft hiss as she stepped forward. “We’ll figure out the rest tonight, but for now, I want you off that ankle.”
“I’m fine,” Anne protested. She pushed back curls from her face, trying her best to tame her hair, which had come to life in the London drizzle last evening. She threw her shoulders back, daring him on.
Alex didn’t back down as he walked to the door. “You wouldn’t be here if that were true.”
§
As they ventured downstairs, Minnie was surprised to find others filing out of hallway doors; shadows of people, drawn in dark lines and quiet souls. Laundry hung tented over ropes slung from wall to corner, filtering the little light that poured through the thick bubbled glass of the windows. Beyond one door, a fussing baby woke.
Each steep step was more a challenge than the last with her ankle. She bit back her pain, keeping her focus on Alex and those sturdy shoulders of his. She fought back the flush biting at her cheeks from waking up in his arms. How perfectly right the world seemed then, there in the arms of her Irish pickpocket.
Golden light flooded at the bottom of the stairs, the smell of soot and fish strong in the air. It was a house of dark: dark wood, soot-covered plastered walls, stone. A house cloaked in a damp that sank into Minnie, spurring a shiver down her spine as Alex stopped and turned back to her.
“You’ll be wanting to keep the name Mrs. Marwick unless you want to find yourself marched down to the church today.”
“I’d rather not.”
Alex bit at his lip, his face swollen, and one eye sporting a dark purple bruise. “I guess I won’t take offense.”
She titled her head, fighting back a smile. He was charming, even with that black eye.
“Right, then.” Alex turned, surprising her as he scooped her up in his arms. He raced down the few steps, then made a grand entrance with her into a kitchen. “Smile if you please, and we might secure the attic longer than a night,” he whispered against her ear.
She did, but not because he asked. It a lot to do with his arms wrapping around her again, of the steady rise and fall of his chest against her body. It had to do with the secret that she’d kept to herself these past hours, of how he walked through the night to her, a welcome sight. She’d wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.
To kiss Alex. What a grand idea, as he’d say.
“Och, what’s the fuss about, Alex?” A robust woman, with hair the color of wheat cut and left under the sun too long, turned, her hands on her hips. “I see you stayed the night again. Invite yourself in, bring a guest. Your Ma would be disappointed in your manners.” The woman removed a kettle from an open fire, setting it down on the stone hearth.
“Now, Mrs. Bowen, that’s no way to meet my new bride.”
The woman waved him off, shuffling over to a well-worn box for a loaf of crusty bread and some salt cod.
Minnie’s stomach soured.
Alex set Minnie down, wrapping his arm around her middle once again. He looked down at her, his eyes full of appreciation and something resembling a lustful curiosity. Did he think of kissing her as well? The girls at Miss Martin’s teased Minnie, calling her a prude, taunting her for never harboring a flame for a boy. While the others had been brought up on the proper social calendar and were well acquainted with other families of the ton, Minnie had been traveling the world with her family. That is, until the twins were born in a Persian palace, nearly killing Clara. With little Cecily so ill, they returned from adventures in the East to settle in London where doctors could oversee her care. And to settle Minnie in finishing school. She never had much chance to develop much of anything for the opposite sex.
“Oh, Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, Alex. You come back sporting a bruise the size of an apple and now you’ve a wife. I know what you’re up to, I do. My Peter, God bless his soul, was like you once. A charmer he was, through and through. You’re too busy running from the Fenians and now you’ve got a wife. You’re a dolt, boy.” She poured a cup of tea, the smell weak, and the color much too fair to suggest the leaves were new. “A perfect, charming dolt.”
Alex beamed, then winked to Minnie, nudgin
g his knuckles against her back in a rocking rhythm. She hadn’t bothered with her corset; it was much too big now, so his touch…well, his touch made her entertain things she hadn’t spent much time considering before this moment. Like returning to that attic and going back to sleep in his arms. Like kissing his lips maybe, then that bruise of his. If he liked the idea of kissing her too, would it be wrong?
“I’m Anne, ma’am. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Mrs. Bowen raised her fair brow, wheezing a heartless laugh. “And English. It’s a good thing my Peter is buried well and good. He wouldn’t have one under this roof, let me tell you, Alex Marwick.”
“She’s sympathetic, and a good worker, Mrs. Bowen. I have to get to the docks before I lose out on work, but my wife has a hurt ankle. Do you think you could care for it? Maybe give us the attic to stay in until we find a place of our own?” Alex leaned toward the table in the middle of the room and grabbed a few potato peelings, stuffing them in the pocket of the jacket slung over his shoulders. “And I take it Mr. Davoren has left you alone?”
She clucked at him, her cheeks heating as she took a sip of tea from a mug. “You’ve all the subtly of the devil bursting into a church on a Sunday. Yes, he’s left me alone. But has he left you alone? Look at that face of yours! I want no trouble here, is that understood?”
Minnie stood between the two, her curiosity piqued.
As though he could read her mind, Alex turned to her. “There’s no trouble, now. I’ll be on my best behavior. Anne will see to that.”
That didn’t sit well with Minnie. Like his hair, that crest ring he wore on his pinky, and now the mention of Fenians—Alex was as much a stranger as last evening.
“Goodbye, darling.” He leaned toward her cheek, but his lips avoided her skin. All the pity for that. Alex stretched, tapping the narrow doorway before pushing out into the early morning.
The sky began to wake, as well as the seagulls. Their cries pierced the sounds of the people upstairs as they moved around and began their day. And Minnie was left alone in the kitchen, leaning on her good foot as Mrs. Bowen quietly poured another cup of tea.
“Come and have a cuppa,” she said, motioning to a rickety chair across the table. “And why you don’t you tell me who you really are?”
Chapter 5
Minnie plunged her hands into the filthy water, scrubbing until her black hands went red. She frowned at the scrapes along her knuckles, the way her once-soft hands now included nails that would not scrub entirely clean, the way her skin became rough.
This wasn’t what she had expected.
She pulled back the thin curtain to an empty room. It had been three nights since her husband had left and hadn’t returned. Minnie hated that she was quickly turning into one of those “wives,” the ones who worried and fussed.
She sighed, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. This wasn’t like she imagined it would be when she ran away, but needs must. It wasn’t like Alex to leave her alone, but he’d disappeared, not returning to Mrs. Bowen’s for two days now. He never let her walk to work by herself. He was always there, watching over her as if the world would swallow her up in his absence.
Except he had left.
There was no time to fuss over someone, no matter how helpful. She started this alone and if he had truly left, then she would continue on her own. Like one does. As one must. Tears built at the back of her throat, a choking thickness that threatened to break her stern exterior. But that wouldn’t do. Minnie whacked the limp pillow with her fist, a few feathers flying out upon impact. When it wouldn’t give, she punched it again. And then once more, her knees now up on the bed. She imagined Alex’s smug face and punched again. The stubborn, annoying man.
Ha, left her. Well, Minnie would show him.
The door opened as her fist was suspended in midair, ready to strike the unsuspecting pillow once more.
“Right in there, now, Mr. Marwick.”
Minnie froze, as a group ushered Alex into their room. She didn’t bother to cover herself in her nightdress; she was too preoccupied with the state of her fake husband.
“Missing something?” someone asked her. She knew it was one of the women from the boarding house, but she couldn’t remember names just then. Laughter crowded around her, but there wasn’t a thing funny about the awful sight stumbling into the room. “Mr. Hawkins said he found him in some alley.”
Minnie vaulted from the bed, dragging Alex by his untucked shirt away from the others standing in their room, staring at them both with pity.
“A new husband already lost to drink,” one said. “I never would have guessed,” another said. “He seemed like the good sort. Besotted, even.”
“Young love,” the other said, nodding.
“Enough,” Minnie cut in forcefully. “I can handle things from here.” Their commentary added nothing but trouble, and she had enough in the grip of her hand.
“Oooh,” they cackled, “Mr. Marwick, you’re in a hot spot of trouble, you are.”
The door slammed shut behind the women, leaving Minnie behind to face the unnatural quiet of their room and a horrible stench.
Alex’s eyes were blank when Minnie approached, his face all but rearranged in bruises and cuts. Fighting, no doubt. More like the lack of fighting, by the looks. It didn’t appear as if he attempted to defend himself.
She shoved her hands against his chest, driving him back a step. He fixed his gaze on her but didn’t speak.
“Fine,” she mumbled. She stormed behind the curtain and grabbed the dirty bowl of water, dumping it out the window before returning it to the washstand and pouring in fresh water. “Clean yourself up.” She threw a rag at him, but his hand remained at his side.
He should have caught that rag. He caught everything thrown in his direction. She had suffered his stupid game of catch with that rubber ball often enough to know.
“You’ve been gone for three days,” she said, approaching him with care. Alex looked like he belonged to another world, his body slack, his eyes staring blankly back at her. Regret and something stronger, fear perhaps, gripped her stomach. His eyes were glazed over, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t look so tall now, nor as strong.
“Sit down.” He studied her as if she were a stranger. Minnie reached out and placed her fingers over his swollen and bloodied lips. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but you need to clean up.”
Finally, Alex nodded.
A sliver of hope wedged its way into her chest. She guided him to sit at the table as she brought over the washbasin and sank to her knees, looking up at him with a studying eye.
“When I said you should act the role of the straying husband, I didn’t mean for you to disappear on me.” Her tone was light but the way he stared back was unsettling. She swallowed and plunged her hands into the icy water. “I see you’re talkative as always.” She bit back the anger edging up within herself and washed his face clean, then grabbed his hands and did the same. She frowned as the water blackened with blood and soot. She dumped out the water once more, than refilled the basin and placed it behind the curtain. “You can see to the rest.”
When he didn’t move, Minnie hauled him to his feet, his body tensing against hers as if her touch was painful. No doubt it was, by the state of his bruised body. “Go on,” she coaxed, pushing him behind the curtain. The shadow of his body didn’t move. “I’ll not clean up the rest of you. You’re capable of it.”
He bowed his head and sighed.
She watched from bed, the covers tucked underneath her chin as if a monster would emerge when the curtain opened again.
Minnie drew in a breath as he pulled his shirt over his head. She saw the curve of his shoulders, never realizing that they were so broad until that instant. Her eyes traced the outlines of his body’s shadow, wondering how his skin would feel beneath her fingers. If it would be soft or tough like his hands. She wondered if he had other tattoos, if his body was bruised and bloodied like his face and hand
s. Minnie wanted to wash it away—the pain and dirt, if that were true.
She wanted...what was she thinking? He had left her without a word.
Minnie flipped over, staring at the wall as she listened to Alex wring out the rag, water falling into the washbasin in a slow drip.
She was falling asleep when he reemerged. She heard his quiet footfalls as he walked around the bed and turned down the lamp’s flame.
“I couldn’t remember,” he said, barely a whisper.
She waited until he settled onto the floor before peering over the edge of the bed. Alex lay stiff over the dirty floorboards, staring up at the ceiling. She grabbed the pillow from beneath her head, then the ratty blanket at the end of the bed, and dumped both on top of him. “Go to sleep, Alex.”
§
When he reached the top of the stairs, Anne was spinning in the hallway while the other women cheered her on. She wasn’t their pretty pet, though she was plenty naïve to eat out of their hands at their easy compliments. The women smiled at his approach, sending elbows and whispers this way and that. But Anne was still spinning, her legs exposed as she lifted her skirts higher, laughing at some private joke.
“What on Earth are you wearing?” he yelled.
The spinning stopped, next the laughter. Her smile fell as soon as she faced him. Anne was about to say something, no doubt a sassy retort about his interruption, but he didn’t give her the opportunity. He dragged her into their room.
Anne stuck her nose high in the air. “Sarah loaned me a dress.”
“For Christ’s sake, cover up.” Alex yanked the blanket from the bed and threw it at her.
She stumbled backward, her hands flailing as she tried to pull it from her face. “Alex! Really.”
A Proper Scandal Page 6