"Are you doing all right? Georgiana tells me that the gossip mill's running wild about you, that Tristan has you under house arrest and is refusing all of your would-be suitors."
"Thank God he is. I think he finally understands that much about things; I would make a surpassingly poor wife. The house arrest part... well, that's a little extreme."
She wasn't sure why she wanted to defend Tristan to Thomas. Perhaps it was the talk they had had earlier. Of course, it hadn't stopped her from going out and doing exactly as she pleased, so maybe she wasn't much better than a hypocrite regarding the situation.
In the darkness, Thomas reached out and touched her hand. That shock ran through her again. Skin to skin, there was something powerful there. She wondered suddenly if all of the sermons she'd listened to, all of the things she read in her cover as the good missionary girl was right, that carnality was, in fact, the root of people's banishment from paradise. She had never understood it before, but when she kissed Thomas, well, perhaps she might be willing to turn her back from a perfect garden for more of him.
"I'm glad you sent for me."
"I was afraid you'd be irritated when you saw that I wanted to drag you to Seven Dials again. It's hardly the most fashionable place to take a man of the town like you."
Thomas chuckled a little at her teasing. Impulsively, she reached out toward the sound, and her fingers encountered the strong line of his jaw. He was clean-shaven, as was the style of the young men of the ton, but she could feel just the barest bit of spiky growth there, rough and sharp against her palm. Fascinated, she ran her hand against it, and Thomas made a sound that was shockingly like a purr.
"It feels good."
"You feel good when you pet me like that."
When she laid her palm along his jaw, he turned his head to kiss her hand. She could still remember how good his lips had felt on hers. She knew that she should pull back before things got out of hand, but instead, she lingered, letting him kiss her palm, her fingertips, the sharp bones of her wrist.
Thomas’ voice was a rumble in the dark. "Do you have any idea how delicious you are? How good you taste to me?"
The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I imagine as good as you do to me."
Thomas pulled her across the coach toward him, letting her body sprawl over his. It was so dark there was no need for shame or prying eyes.
When Blythe's lips finally found Thomas’, it was as if she had come home. She kissed him as fiercely as he kissed her, wrapping her arms around his neck because if he pulled away, she would surely perish.
There was no telling how far she might have gone if Thomas hadn't pushed her back.
"Dammit, that's not what I wanted to do."
Blythe had to catch her breath. "Was it not?"
Thomas’ laugh was bright. "Damn you, but you are the most tempting thing since Eve. No. There's something I want to say to you. To offer you."
Blythe felt something in her shiver, and it made her pull back from him. She couldn't have gone as far as she had, accomplished what she had, if she was afraid of her own desires and her yearning from freedom, but nowhere in any of that was anyone like Thomas. He overwhelmed her, like standing too close to the sun, like flying through the air without any way of getting down.
“What is it?”
In response, she felt him press a key into her hand and close her fingers around it. It was heavy and cool with a ribbon strung through the filigree at the head.
“This is a key to a flat on 29 Brook Street. The designation is on a tag on the key. I purchased the flat a few days ago, and I want you to have it.”
Blythe felt that she would have given anything for some light so she could see Thomas’ face just then. “You're just... giving me a flat. Thomas, what does this mean?”
She was a little afraid of what it might mean. This was something that men did for their mistresses, for fallen women. It bore an uncomfortable similarity to the story of some of the women she had helped.
“It means... I suppose it means I'm a fool. I wanted you to have a place of your own. A place where you could get away if you couldn't reach me or Georgiana. A place of refuge.”
“And you bought me a flat?”
“It's still in the process of being finalized, but yes. I paid for it, and in a few weeks, it will be entirely in your name.”
“Mine...” The idea staggered her.
“Yes. Perhaps, sometime, I could come visit you there. On your say-so, of course. I didn't purchase you this flat to set you up there, Blythe.”
She didn't know what to say. She had always been a poor relation among rich relatives, and even after finding out about her inheritance from the former Duke of Parrington, very little had changed. It might be a long time before she ever saw Gallowglass, for all that she owned it. She might never do so.
A flat in London was something else. She closed her hand so tightly over the key that it dented her palm. Blythe threw herself into Tristan's arms. She tried to say thank you, but her throat felt thick with tears. Somehow, she instinctively knew this wasn't charity. This was something else, and even as she tried to tell him what it meant to her, he was holding her tight, warm and solid and there.
“I know, Blythe. I know.”
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16
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CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
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Thomas had been in some terrible neighborhoods during his long career of carousing, but most of them had had an edge of excitement adding to the danger. There were no gaily-painted buildings offering exotic girls here or shills dragging curious passers-by into brightly-lit gambling hells. Instead, there was an air of desperate poverty in the neighborhood they came to, a place that was dangerous simply because people were desperate.
I'm glad Blythe isn't here by herself. For a moment, he could sympathize with Tristan Carrow, not a lot, but a little. If he had Blythe in his charge and he knew that she was doing things like this unaccompanied, he'd probably be pulling his hair out.
Blythe looked around, and he could tell that she liked the neighborhood as little as he did. She stood as upright as a soldier, however, as she walked up the rickety steps to a narrow wooden house. When she knocked on the door, a tired-looking girl dressed in clothes that were surely too flimsy for even staying indoors answered.
“What? We still don't have the rent, and we won't 'til Thursday. That answer ain't changed at all.”
“We are not here for the rent. We are here to see Honey.”
The girl looked them up and down with hard and appraising eyes before shrugging. This wasn't her problem, the shrug seemed to say. For the first time, Thomas wondered if the women who were so bright and playful and engaging with him at the gambling hells came back to places like these, places where there were fist-sized holes in the flimsy walls, and the floors were broken to show the struts beneath.
“Honey's inside, but I don't got to let you in.”
Instead of arguing with her, Blythe nodded, reaching into her reticule for a small amount of money.
The girl took it and stepped aside. “Up the stairs, down the hall, third door on the right.”
Thomas and Blythe followed her instructions, and Thomas looked at Blythe curiously as they walked down the hall. “None of this seems to shock you.”
Blythe shrugged, looking more tired than anything else. “Why should it? More people live like this in London than live like me or you, Thomas.”
Blythe knocked on the indicated door gently, and just when Thomas was beginning to fear the worst, the door cracked open and a bright eye peeped out.
“Blythe!”
In a flurry of motion, Honey was in Blythe's arms, and Blythe was hugging her tightly. Thomas remembered Honey as a silent and frightened presence on the first night he had met Blythe. Now he could see how
painfully thin she was, the fearful look in her eyes, the way she clung to Blythe and watched him with a wary glance.
Thomas thought Blythe would drag the girl out by her ear, but instead, they went into her room, so small that Thomas could span it with both arms spread out. He took the only chair, and Blythe and Honey sat down on the patched straw-stuffed mattress on the floor.
“Now, darling, you must tell me why you ran away from the Abeggs.”
Thomas thought with some darkness that the other Society women he knew would dismiss poor Honey as a slattern, someone so used to her wicked ways and so degraded that she could see no other way. Hell, if someone had simply told him about Honey, and if he hadn't seen for himself how lost and afraid she was, he might have believed them.
“Miss Blythe, the Abeggs were so good to me, and so kind, and so patient as well. They never minded how often I busted their dishes or left spots on the washing or anything like that. I never knew how to do such things at home, not the way they do them.”
“Yes, you came to London to be a seamstress, didn't you?”
“I did. I never did those chores before; until she died, it was just me and my mam stitching away. And they were so patient with me, and I got it into my head that I didn't deserve folks so nice, not when I was failing at every little task they gave me, and then I started to think, well, what if they were suffering because of me, and how some other, better girl could be in my place. John always told me that I were a right idiot who had no use in the world save what use he could put me to, and—”
Thomas winced as he listened to Honey's explanation, and he wished he could find the man who had put her in such a bad way in the first place. There was something broken in the girl, something gone, and even among kind and understanding people, she continued to hurt herself even without her abuser there.
“Honey, whatever John said was wrong.” Blythe's voice was as stern as a schoolteacher's, but underneath it, Thomas could hear something wavering as well. Suddenly, Thomas could see how very deeply she cared for Honey, how deeply she needed to make sure the other girl was all right.
“He was a fine gentleman—”
“He was a terrible monster who not only did terrible things, but he also lied to you. No one is born knowing how to wash clothes, iron linens, or wash plates. The Abeggs are Quakers, and though they have no use for you to fancy up their garments with embroidery, they are not so cruel that they will turn you out.”
“I tried to show Mrs. Abegg how grateful I was by putting a few little flowers on the cuffs of her garments. She looked like she was going to cry, and then she told me all sweetly and sadly that I would have to pick them out.”
“It was a mistake that anyone might have made, I promise you, Honey. It is only the way of their people that they must have everything so plain. The Abeggs care about you, and they are very worried. Perhaps you are not suited to the work they might have you train for, but if you come back home, they will take you back and be so relieved that you are safe. I promise you, they are not better off without you. I can guarantee you that, and when you see them next, you can ask them yourself.”
“But I'm so much trouble!”
“Never. I promise you that. After all, everything worth doing in life is trouble. Please, Honey. I can't force you to come back if you are not willing, but I will ask you, sincerely and honestly, to think about what you are doing. They want to help you, and I want to help you. Surely, that means you can be helped?”
Thomas saw the despair in the girl's eyes. She looked like a starving child set in front of a table laden with everything she had ever wanted, but for some reason, some terrible reason, she did not think she deserved to reach for a treat. The idea that Blythe might fail, and that they might have to leave Honey in this terrible place, made something in him seize up.
He cleared his throat. “You said that you knew how to sew?”
Both Blythe and Honey looked up at him curiously.
“I do, my lord. I can do plain stitching and fancy, and I can make clothes whole-cloth, just simple things, though.”
“So, you can do embellishments, decorations, things like that?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And do you think you can dress a lady? Getting her clothes on, helping her take them off without damaging them?”
“Yes, my lord. But why would you ask me this?”
“My sister, Georgiana, has more clothes than a dog has ticks. She could use a girl to look after them, to repair them and decorate them to her specifications, and also to dress her.”
Honey looked at him dubiously. “But, my lord, doesn't she already have people to take care of that for her?”
“Yes, but she's never been all that keen on them. She just let her last girl go. Perhaps with you, she can get what she is looking for, and of course, I know you will continue to be welcome to return to the Abeggs if you find the placement does not suit you.”
For a terrible moment, he thought she was going to refuse and send them away. Instead, she answered in the most wistful tone he had ever heard. “I always did want to stitch clothes for the peerage. It was my dream—”
“It's good to have dreams, whether they come true or not.” Thomas realized Blythe was looking at him as she said those words, and his heart thumped hard. He hated the idea of Blythe having a dream she could never see come true.
“And I would be working for your sister, and not you, my lord?”
“Yes. Georgiana and I live together, but believe me, you never have to see me at all if you'd rather not.”
Blythe smiled. “Lord Amory is a good man, I promise you.”
Honey nodded slowly, and Thomas could almost see her take a fresh grasp on a life outside of this tiny and wretched room. “Yes, my lord. I will come work for your sister. Thank you very much for giving me a chance.”
“You're welcome, Honey, and if anyone deserves a chance, it is you. Don't worry, my sister is very kind.”
They gathered up Honey's few meager belongings, and soon enough, they were on the trek back to the Abeggs. Both Mr. and Mrs. Abegg were there to greet them, and the way they welcomed the girl back with open arms went, Thomas suspected, a long way toward easing some of her worst fears.
“I'll be in touch in a few more days with my sister. I think you two will get along very well.”
The moment he and Blythe were alone in the carriage again, Blythe’s small hand snuck into his, her fingers wrapping around his tightly.
“Blythe?”
“Thank you. I was beginning to worry that I would never convince her that it was all right to come back. All right to let go of whatever guilt that terrible man left her with. I didn't expect you to help the way you did.”
“Honestly, I didn't either. But when I saw her there... God, but it would take the devil himself to be so hard-hearted toward Honey.”
“Then there are many devils in London indeed, but I am glad you are not one of them.”
Blythe sighed and curled up against Thomas’ side. He wondered what in the world the future could look like for them, how many times they could do this before life intervened. He chuckled.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I was just thinking about how many things have changed since I've met you. I don't think I've been back to the gambling hells once since you have started running me madcap through London.”
“Instead, you're mucking around in some of the worst places London has to offer and you are playing a distraction for me while I break into a second-hand clothes seller's shop. This is obviously so much better.”
Thomas laughed with her because it felt good to do so, to feel her soft laugh through her whole body as she was cuddled up next to him. He didn't bother telling her that yes, yes, it was.
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17
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CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
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Blythe had barely gotten three hours of sleep when there was a knock on her door and a nervous maid telling her that Tristan wanted to see her. She almost growled at the poor girl before stalking back to brush out her hair and to wash her face at the basin. Unbidden, the maid entered to pull out a gown from her wardrobe.
“Damn him, he could just come and knock instead of sending for me like a servant.”
The maid flinched at her vitriol.
She shook her head. “I'm sorry, Mavis. I'm only tired.”
The maid hesitated, apparently aware that silence was the far safer course, but then she said, “I think he wants to know where you went last night, Miss Dennings.”
Blythe froze, turning toward the girl. “You know that I left the house last night?”
“All the servants know. We've known about your leaving the house at nights for a while.”
Blythe blinked. “So, you kept my secret all this time? Why would you do that?”
It wasn't that she thought she was all that well-liked. She was kind to the servants. She was never too demanding, and she was never abusive. More to the point, if the master of the house thought the servants were doing anything that even helped someone break his rules, he might let the entire staff go. It was something that happened often enough in the ton. No one on the staff, from the butler to the lowliest pot scrubber, could afford to be sent out without a reference.
“Because you helped Dickey's sister all those years ago, Miss Dennings. He said we had to keep your secret, that you must have been doing something important.”
Dickey was one of the footmen, a popular young man who, she now remembered, had a sister who had gotten pregnant. The father of the child proved intractable to the entire situation, and so Blythe had arranged for the girl to go north to deliver the child. She went to Leeds as a young widow with a little child and a glowing reference from Blythe.
The Marquess' Angel_Hart and Arrow_A Regency Romance Book Page 12