Maddie disagreed. Finding Aimee had been a miracle.
“You did a great thing,” Brock assured Molly. “Far more than nothing.”
In silent agreement, Maddie lifted Aimee’s little body against her own and stood, holding her tight. “Don’t you ever run off again, young lady. You scared me!”
“I’m sorry,” the girl muttered, eyes downcast.
While Maddie was still steeped in the need to hold her child close, Brock counted out twenty sovereigns and handed them to Molly. “Thank you. We’re very grateful.”
The candle girl’s brown eyes grew saucer wide. “Cor, me mum won’t have to worry ‘bout payin’ for the roof over our heads for the rest of the year. Thank ye!”
“Where’s our share?” asked a lanky boy.
“Aye, where is it?” demanded another of Molly’s friends.
As the East End children began debating about how to split their new fortune, Maddie peered at Brock.
“I had twenty sovereigns to give them,” she said. “You needn’t have put yourself out on that score. Let me reimburse you for that at least.”
“No.” His tone was completely unyielding.
“But I owe—”
“Maddie, you need the coin far more. Let me help. The money brought back your daughter, so I was happy to give it.”
She acknowledged his gesture with a small incline of her head. “Thank you.”
Within moments, Molly handed the other four children one sovereign each. “That’s wot I promised, so that’s wot ye get.”
The poor children muttered a few colorful words, but capitulated and accepted the sum. Quickly, they each scattered in a different direction, Maddie presumed toward home.
Only Molly remained beside her, Brock, and Aimee
“Your mother will be very proud of you for doing such a good deed,” Maddie said.
“She’ll be happy ‘bout the blunt,” Molly corrected. “Now maybe I’ll be eatin’ supper every night.”
Molly sounded cheered by the prospect. Maddie was appalled. No matter how destitute she’d known herself to be, she had never been so poor that she’d had to deny Aimee a meal. And poor Molly stood here, all elbows and knees, joyful about the prospect of supper?
She and Brock exchanged glances. He nodded, then turned his attention to Molly.
“Speaking of which, why don’t you let us feed you? You certainly missed supper tonight while you searched for Aimee.”
Molly shook her head at Brock. “Thank ye, Guv, but I’m needin’ to get home to me mum and show her all this coin. We’ll both eat for sure tonight.”
With that, Molly skipped off toward the tenement that was undoubtedly her home. As night swallowed the girl up, distress mixed with the exultation inside Maddie.
“That poor child,” she murmured.
He shrugged. “It’s what East Enders know.”
Maddie wondered how Brock knew that.
As they began walking, Aimee in Maddie’s arms, she noted Brock still looking in the direction of Molly’s departure. Though remote, something about his expression looked pained, haunted.
“We must find a hack,” he said, profile stiff.
Maddie nodded, and they began walking toward the busier Whitechapel Road, where they would certainly find some means of transport. She found him looking back toward Molly again.
“Did you grow up here, Brock?” she asked impulsively.
Maddie had long suspected Brock was Whitechapel bred. Five years ago, however, he had refused to tell her of his home, of his past. And she knew she should not have asked now. He would likely be as stubborn and private today as he had been before. After the manner in which he had helped and supported her tonight, she knew it was not fair to barge in on the pain of his childhood, whatever it was.
“I’m sorry,” she began. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” Brock cut in. He drew his hands into fists as he walked beside her. “I grew up here.”
It seemed odd to Maddie that she should want to thank Brock for his confession, but somehow she did. Before she could, Brock shook his head and sent a kind stare to Aimee.
“I’ll wager you’re cold and hungry, young lady,” he said to her daughter, to their daughter, with a manufactured smile.
Aimee did not know the difference. She nodded, then rubbed her little gray eyes with a dirty hand. “I’m hungry. I want gingabread.”
“Gingerbread?” Brock murmured above Aimee.
Maddie nodded.
“Sweeting, I did not make any gingerbread today. What do you say we go home and grab some quick bits of bread and cheese. We can bake gingerbread tomorrow together, you and I.”
“Nnnooo,” she wailed and rubbed her eyes again. “I want gingabread.”
A pair of prostitutes walked by, smelling of perfume and gin. They eyed Brock, who ignored them. A hulk of a man passed to their left.
Maddie clasped Aimee close, wishing in that moment she could always protect the girl, give her everything her heart desired, as well as the meal and the bed the girl needed. Both would be hours away, unfortunately.
“I’m sorry, sweeting. Mama doesn’t have any now.” As she held Aimee against her as they walked the dark, stench-filled streets, Maddie was conscious of how much the girl had grown, and hugged her warm little body. “Put your head on Mama’s shoulder. Perhaps Mr. Taylor can help us find a way back to his office, so we can take another adventure on the pony back home.”
“Maddie, you can’t mean to go home tonight. It’s too far.”
She peered up into Brock’s scowl. Beyond the irritation, the moonlight illuminated his concern—a great deal of it.
“Aimee needs a bed and food. I—”
“I can get her those things.”
While Maddie knew Brock was right, she wondered why he would care. Why would he volunteer to help Aimee and seem insistent about doing so?
A pack of older children ambled by with hard expressions, passing around a bottle. One of them took a sip and spit it out very near Maddie’s feet.
“Wot is this slop?” asked one. “It tastes like piss.”
The other boy replied with a curse Maddie had rarely heard.
Brock ignored them. “Hampstead is too far away, Maddie. Aimee’s ankle needs rest. And neither of you need to be riding across Hampstead Heath near midnight.”
Brock was right. Maddie knew that. She felt her tiny wall of resistance to accepting his help crumble hopelessly. Aimee must come before pride.
With a nod, she murmured, “Thank you.”
Brock shrugged, his fine coat hanging a bit askew on his wide shoulders. “I know just the place to take her. It will be close and comfortable. Come morning, I’ll have one of my servants retrieve your horse and bring it to you.”
As they reached the corner of Whitechapel Road, Brock glanced about. He spotted an approaching hack and stepped up to hail the vehicle. It stopped immediately.
After helping her inside, Brock gave the driver instructions and followed her inside the musty interior, settling into the old, faded seats beside her.
Aimee fell asleep shortly after their journey began.
Neither Maddie nor Brock spoke into the long silence. She didn’t know what to say, how to reconcile the Brock who had threatened her daughter with the man who had helped save her. Weariness crept in after her harrowing evening, and such thought became too difficult. She would sort it all out tomorrow.
She watched the London scenery pass by, still troubled, despite the fact Aimee was now safe. Whitechapel soon melted into The City. From there, they trekked past St. Paul’s Cathedral. Brock stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. Maddie cast a glance in his direction. As if sensing her eyes upon him, he turned and met her stare.
Rolling fog obscured the moonlight, making it difficult to discern his face in the dark, but she caught the familiar glitter of his eyes, the shadows clinging to his angled cheekbones, the blade of his nose. He’d pressed his full mouth into a hard
line, and Maddie felt an overwhelming urge to touch him.
Resettling Aimee on her lap, Maddie freed up her left hand and reached across the small space separating her from Brock. She laid her hand over his. Brock’s eyes turned sharp, questioning. She squeezed his hand and felt her expression soften.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Brock. Without your help, I fear I might never have found Aimee.”
“I did very little,” he murmured, then cast an absent gaze out the window, presumably to the passing scenery, hazy with fog. Knowing he had seen these streets many times, Maddie realized he avoided her more than took in the sights of London.
Yet he kept hold of her hand.
Maddie felt compelled to whisper, “It meant everything to me.”
Brock greeted the remark with silence, and she wondered why he seemed reluctant to speak with her. Perhaps he was tired...
With a shrug, she turned her gaze out the window as well. Up Fleet Street they traveled, slowly through The Strand. The streets were much quieter at this time of night.
Moments later, after a right turn and a left turn, Maddie found herself on Maiden Street, a street loosely surrounded by the Adelphi Theater and Covent Garden. Directly before them lay a rather seedy-looking pub.
She turned to Brock in question.
He merely opened the door to the hack and stepped out, then turned to pay the driver. As Maddie scooted across the seat with her sleeping daughter in her grasp, Brock bent to retrieve Aimee from her tired arms. He lifted her against his chest with very little effort. Aimee barely stirred.
Without a word, Brock passed the door to the pub’s raucous common room and made for a side door. Not without confusion and trepidation, Maddie followed.
“No one here will know who you are,” Brock offered finally. “Nor will they question you. If you leave just before first light, no one of consequence will see you and your reputation will not be harmed.”
Numbly, Maddie nodded. He had considered her reputation when fear and weariness had made her quite forget it.
With a glance over his broad shoulder, Brock took in her expression, which she knew must be befuddled. “After all your attempts to disguise yourself during your trips to St. John’s Wood and Paddington, I thought it best to be cautious.”
He was right.
They entered the pub through a cozy parlor. A warm, spotless kitchen lay visible just beyond. An old man greeted them with a jolly smile, minus most of his teeth. Within moments, Brock had arranged for accommodations at the top of the stairs.
In silence, they trudged up to the room, Brock leading with a sleeping Aimee in his arms. Maddie followed behind tiredly, suddenly very glad she would not have to make the trip to Hampstead tonight.
The room Brock had procured was surprisingly clean, if sparsely furnished. A worn brown sofa sat to the side of an empty grate, just beneath a window that overlooked the alley. Through a door to her right lay a bedroom of simple white and blue.
Gently, Brock lay Aimee on the sofa.
“Put her on the bed,” Maddie protested.
He shook his head. “No, you’ll need a good night’s sleep, and her foot needs elevating. She’ll be fine here once she’s covered.”
With a turn of his shoulder, Brock edged past her, to the bedroom, where he retrieved a soft, well-worn quilt of blue and yellow, along with a pillow. Wordlessly, he placed the blanket over Aimee’s exhausted form and lifted her left leg over the sofa’s arm. He edged the downy pillow beneath her little head.
Maddie watched in touched silence. “Thank you. I—”
“It’s nothing,” he murmured once more.
Then he left the room.
Maddie stared at the width of his back as he departed. Did he plan to return? She had no notion.
Lord, she was tired. But more, she felt uncertain. Until tonight, Brock had often behaved as if he hated her and enjoyed toying with her for some perverse reason. She had assumed that his male pride had been stung by her marriage to Colin—or that he was simply a bastard who enjoyed her anguish. Tonight, he had shown unparalleled kindness, and she had nothing to which she could attribute his behavior.
With a shrug, Maddie decided she would figure it out later. Now, Aimee was warm and safe again. That meant more than anything.
She sank to her knees and stared down at her daughter, sleep granting Aimee complete oblivion from the evening’s turmoil. But Maddie lived it over and over in her mind, those dark hours when she thought the most important person in her world had been lost or harmed. With gentle fingers, Maddie brushed the golden hair from Aimee’s little face and felt the tears well up once more.
Footsteps at the door alerted Maddie, and she rose.
“Don’t ye be mindin’ me,” whispered a wide, middle-aged woman as she waddled into the room with a tray of food. “Yer mister sent a bite up for ye and the girl.” The serving woman smiled at Aimee’s sweet sleeping face as she set the tray on the table beside her. “Poor mite, looks like she’s had a day of it.”
Maddie tried to squeeze out a smile. “Indeed.”
A moment later, a boy nearly grown to manhood entered the room and started a fire in the empty grate.
The woman made her way into the bedroom and turned the sheets down somewhat clumsily. Maddie guessed this was not part of their usual service and that Brock had paid for it.
Why? With a frown, Maddie searched for an answer to that question, but found none.
“From the looks of ye,” said the woman as she shuffled back into the room, “ye should avail yerself of the food ‘afore ye fall asleep.”
She was right, Maddie realized with a tired sigh. She turned to wake Aimee, but her daughter’s deep breathing and peaceful face made her change her mind.
Placing a soft kiss on Aimee’s cheek, Maddie rose to the feel of the spreading warmth from the fire and meandered to the tray. The fare was nothing fancy—bread, cheese, a bit of ale and wine, a mutton pie. Nevertheless, Brock had seen both she and Aimee cared for.
Tears pricked her eyes in a hot rush. Tonight, he had been the man she remembered from girlhood—thoughtful, understanding, encouraging. As the ruthless blackguard who had threatened her with Fleet, he had been easy to hate. Since he’d come waltzing back into her life, he had showered her with kisses and delicious caresses, as if he delighted in turning her melting body against her strong-willed mind.
But after tonight, she felt as if he had waylaid her defenses and began encroaching upon her heart.
Again, tears stung her eyes and were fortified by others, large, heavy tears that refused to be denied. They flooded their way out, down her cheeks in hot, salty paths, to her jaw, to the floor... More came at the thought of Aimee in peril, then suddenly safe and warm—all due to a man she’d sworn to hate.
#
Brock entered the fire lit room on silent steps. At a glance, he noted the innkeeper’s wife had done all that he’d asked—turned down Maddie’s bed, brought food, had a fire started. Seeing to her comfort had distracted him from the foolish confession he’d made in Whitechapel.
He shook his head at his stupidity. Why had he told Maddie the truth of his lowly origins? Why had he given her another reason to disdain him?
He could think of no sensible explanation. Rather, Brock was aware of an odd disturbance in his usual calm. He had been affected—deeply—by Maddie’s tears tonight, by her stark terror and pain. For hours, he’d thought of nothing but erasing that panic from her lovely features. Even after the child had been found, Brock had been stirred by the honesty of Maddie’s joy and relief. For a moment, he’d envied Aimee for Maddie’s caring.
Even so, that did not explain why he had told Maddie something he never told anyone.
A catch of breath snagged his attention and brought it to Maddie, to her shaking shoulders. She still cried. Latent fear? Sublime relief?
Without knowing, Brock went to her and, clasping her shoulders, turned her to face him. Tears made silvery tracks down her pale face
with even more force than before. That damned inconvenient feeling stirred inside him again.
“Maddie?” he whispered, looking down into her face, willing her to look back at him.
She did finally, her gray eyes resembling a storm-drenched sky. Where he’d believed peace should reign, he saw tumult. Her hair had come mostly down from its chignon, the silken auburn skeins framing her face. Despite being overwrought and red-nosed, her beauty staggered him. Her pain softened him.
“Maddie.” He pulled her against his chest, soothing her with a stroke of his hand on her back.
She eased away. “You needn’t bother with me anymore. I am much better. Thank you.”
The erratic pattern of her breathing told him without words that she struggled to bring her emotions under control. He knew she was not better at all.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“A few bites, yes.”
Brock poured her a glass of wine, hoping it might relax her. She would need sleep to begin recovering from this evening’s ordeal. He pressed the glass into her head. “Drink.”
With a weary bob of her head, Maddie did so, downing every last drop. Then she turned her gaze to the sofa, to the sight of her daughter.
“She’s sleeping, Maddie,” he murmured. “As you should be.”
“I can’t,” She turned to him with tearful eyes, but this time they seemed to ask for something. Understanding? Comfort?
Brock answered instinctively, wrapping his arms around her again. “Aimee is here with you. She is safe. You will be all right here.”
Maddie said nothing; she simply held on, clutching him. And he was all too glad to hold her. He craved the feel of her in his arms. But this was different. Now she needed him in some way he did not fully understand. However, knowing he was vital to Maddie at that moment had a powerful impact on him.
Their silence raged with emotions and unspoken words Brock didn’t comprehend. But he refused to speak for fear of shattering the moment. He did not want to let Maddie go.
As she had five years ago, Brock feared she was wrapping herself around his heart.
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