“Successful. It got us a comfortable ride back to the residence.”
Chapter 14
Later that evening, as the clock chimed ten, clutchingMurder at Ten Bells,she strolled into the library. If he wasn’t in the mood to give her a lesson, she would read. When she spotted the small tulip-shaped glass of sherry resting on the small table beside the chair in which she’d sat the night before, something melted inside her chest, near the area where her heart beat.
As always, Benedict came to his feet. She shouldn’t be so glad to see him. Only a few hours had passed since dinner, and yet it had seemed an eternity.
Gracefully, she lowered herself into the chair, just as she’d taught the ladies that afternoon to lower themselves. She didn’t know when he’d done it, but at some point he’d spoken with the women because they all arrived in simple but elegant frocks that revealed not so much as a quarter of an inch of cleavage.
“Thank you for speaking with the ladies regarding their clothing. I noticed a decided difference—a positive one—in how they responded to the lesson this afternoon. Then, of course, it was nice to enjoy dinner without so much skin on display.”
“I noticed they were less... rambunctious than usual during the meal.”
“Today we focused on sitting and dining etiquette. They’re sharp, anxious to learn. I thought of a couple of books that might prove helpful to them.” Reaching into the pocket of her dark blue frock, she removed a scrap of paper upon which she’d written the titles. Leaning forward she extended it to him. Leaning forward he reached for it. As he took it, his fingers skimming over hers, she felt as though the rain from that morning had returned with lightning in full force, striking her. How could so simple a touch in such a small area be felt throughout her entire body?
She settled back so quickly she might have created a breeze that stirred the flames on the hearth to dance more wildly, while he merely leaned back as though he’d felt nothing at all. Except that he, too, was watching the flames as though they’d become the most fascinating thing on earth. “I’ll have Fancy order copies for each of the ladies.”
He looked to be a man battling demons, a man pulled taut who could snap at any moment. If he snapped, she wondered if his lips might land on hers. She was tempted to find out.
He’d told her that words seduced him. Was it the same with all men or with only him? She’d thought being a temptress involved peering through lowered lashes, revealing bits of forbidden flesh. What if she’d had the wrong of it all along, and it merely involved being only herself?
Last night he’d sought her secrets. Tonight she wanted his.
“After dinner I had time to curl up with your book. I suspect after we are done here, I shall be up the remainder of the night turning the pages.”
He’d abandoned the fire to look at her, and she was grateful to have a clear view of his eyes, his features, as she continued on. “Your depiction of the city at night is so vivid I felt as though I were actually walking through it. How do you manage it?”
“It’s the world I know.”
“Why do you write about murder? Why not write about fairies or ship captains or young ladies searching for a prince?”
“I know nothing of ladies searching for a prince.”
“But you know of murder?” She knew it was a silly question. People could write about things of which they had very little knowledge. Yet a tiny part of her, no bigger than a grain of salt surely, wondered why he’d not told her how his name, Beast, had come to be.
After taking his drink in hand, he crossed the ankle of one foot over his other knee. He looked to be a man settling in to tell a saga that would take most of the night. And she didn’t care if he spoke until dawn, didn’t care that it was dangerous to her heart to know so much about him. To see him as anything other than an impartial tutor. Unfortunately, when it came to him, none of her feelings sought impartiality.
“When I was a lad of about eight, I spied a man, in clothing finer than anything I’d ever seen, strolling about Whitechapel. He so fascinated me that I followed him for a time. Periodically, he would stop, remove a golden timepiece from his waistcoat pocket, look at it, tuck it back into place, and carry on. I wanted that timepiece with a fervor that to this day I don’t think I’ve ever known since. So I stole it.”
Her eyes widened at that because every timepiece she’d ever seen a gentleman carry had been accompanied by a fob that secured the watch to a buttonhole in his waistcoat. It would take remarkable skill to free it without being snatched up by the scruff of his collar, and only one sort of person would have that skill. One with a great deal of experience at lifting things. “You were a pickpocket?”
He merely shrugged. “It’s not an aspect of my life about which I’m particularly proud or tend to boast. However, alot of lads and lasses in the rookeries are. Some blighter is always willing to teach you how to nick things without getting caught as long as you give him a large portion of what you pilfered. But I saw the timepiece as my way out. I knew if my mum ever realized what I did, she’d be ashamed. At the end of the day, I gave everything I’d stolen, except for the watch, which I’d hidden in my shoe, to Three-Fingered Bill and told him I was done, wouldn’t be working for him any longer. He was not pleased with my announcement, and that evening I returned home with two broken arms.”
“My God, no.” When she reached for her sherry, she realized her hand was shaking.
Again, he simply shrugged. “He gave me the choice. One broken arm for the arrogance of believing I could just walk away. Two if I wanted his permission to walk away. I chose the latter. Never regretted it.”
“He let you go?”
“He might have been a criminal, but Bill was a man of his word. Sometimes I think about how he might have used me once I grew into myself because at the time, I was naught but gangly legs and arms, large for my age but not particularly graceful. I paid a small price to be free of him. And I had the timepiece, so I went to work as a knocker-upper.”
Until three months ago, she’d not known what one was because they’d had servants to wake them. “Griff hired a man for threepence a week to rap on his window at half five every morning so he could get to the docks on time. Is that what you did?”
“I did.”
“Who wokeyou?”
He gave her a smile that caused warmth to sluice through her as though she’d taken another sip of sherry. “I slept during the day, which actually worked well because my brothers and I had only one bed between us. At night Iwould haunt Whitechapel, walking the streets, mews, and alleyways until it was time to begin waking people.”
