“Not a chance.” Aside from the magnificent story, she already knew the memory of his bare backside was one she would not forget anytime soon. Like his kisses, it was quite spectacular.
“In that case, I say we throw the book at them.” He managed a smile. “Consign them to me for a month of servitude. Two hours a day doing whichever menial tasks I see fit as penance for their egregious crimes. Toss in Billy, too, while you’re about it. If I’m going to be a taskmaster, I might as well deal with the whole triptych of evil in one go.”
“Even though Billy hasn’t done anything? This time at least.” While Vee believed that bad behavior should always be punished, she was against doing it retroactively. Especially to a child as distrustful and still likely to run away as Billy.
“Call me a sentimentalist…” He offered her another wry smile as he tentatively wiggled his swollen foot into his boot. One that took her right back to another conversation, before everything between them had gone to hell in a handcart. “But I’m worried about the kid. It might do him good to put those clever hands of his to better use than picking pockets, and despite all the hell they’ve just put me through, I have a feeling that those pesky Claypoles might turn out to be a good influence on him.” Part of her freshly hardened heart melted a little. “What time do they have their supper?”
“At five o’clock.” It was hard hating him when he was behaving so… admirably. When he was being so kind and understanding. So magnanimous—yet again. Bighearted even when she wanted to believe he was heartless.
Drat him.
He smiled, and the gentle humor in his eyes reminded her too much of the Galahad she had met in Brighton, making her foolish heart yearn for more of him—until she remembered how catastrophically Brighton had ended. “On the dot.” She would not be swayed or seduced by a pair of fine eyes, no matter how beguiling they were. Not when they said one thing while he did another. Like a chameleon, Galahad was an expert in camouflaging the real him behind whichever façade got him what he wanted.
“Have them report to me tomorrow at six sharp and hopefully by then I’ll have figured out something they can do that will encourage them to reflect upon their actions. In the meantime—” He nodded his thanks toward the physician and the reverend in quick succession. “Thank you for your needlework skills and your hospitality, but I’ve got me some angry birds to catch before Mr. Evans arrives and holy hell breaks loose again.”
He inclined his head politely and limped to the door.
“Galahad, wait—” She still might not like him, or ever forgive him, or be convinced that his true motives concerning her orphans were as noble as they seemed to be, but he had been wronged and he was in pain and some of that was her fault. “Those pigeons aren’t yours to catch.”
She marched past him, blaming his eyes and his bottom for creating an unwelcome new chink in her armor, and glared at the subdued twins still standing anxious sentry duty outside the office. “You two—follow me!”
They did, with their tails dangling between their legs, and so did an amused Galahad, who allowed her to take charge as he unlocked the door to his building with a giant, rusty key that had been hidden behind a loose brick. He stepped back while she ushered them inside.
Vee pointed to the stairs before she folded her arms. “Seeing as you are both expert poachers, I want those angry pigeons boxed and released into the wild within the hour.” They both gulped at the prospect but nodded.
Sydney looked to Tommy, then Tommy looked to her. “We’re going to need some bread and some buckets.”
“Fortunately, I have both. There’s bread upstairs wrapped in paper near that broken stewpot, and Mr. Evans has stored a pile of buckets in here…” As Galahad walked toward another door, the twins looked at each other in horror until Tommy found his voice.
“Er… Mr. Sinclair…” But it was too late.
As Galahad pushed open the door, a heavy drizzle of something gold and sticky oozed over his head from above, and a split second later one of the orphanage’s pillows smacked him in the face. The pillow’s casing had been cut and loosely retied, ensuring he was showered in downy feathers, which immediately stuck to the glue-like substance.
“Oh dear,” said the more exasperating Claypole in a small, terrified voice, no doubt expecting Armageddon. “In all the excitement, we forgot to tell you about the honey.”
Vee stared aghast at Galahad in all his ratty new plumage and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In case she did either, she bit down on her bottom lip, but even that did not stop an unladylike snort from escaping.
“You know, I said I wanted a month of servitude in reparation—” Through his shroud of feathers, his unusual green eyes locked with hers, unyielding but amused, making her like him a little bit more. “Better make that six weeks.”
Chapter Seventeen
It appears poor Giles is in someserioustrouble, so for propriety’s sake, and because the obvious frisson that they keep denying is so palpable it trails sparks, I am accompanying him and Diana on their clandestine dash to Shropshire to save his estate from the ghastly Gervais…
—from the diary of Miss Venus Merriwell, aged 18
“We’ve prepared you a special chair.” Diana whacked a sniggering Giles as Gal hobbled into their dining room late the next evening. “Feel free to rearrange all the cushions for your own comfort.”
His chair was one of two still vacant, and he couldn’t help noticing that Venus was missing.
Maybe, despite the slight thaw in their war yesterday, she had boycotted this early festive dinner in protest at his invitation? He was tempted to ask where she was but didn’t because Olivia was studying his reaction to her telling absence with interest.
“Vee is upstairs, Galahad. Reading all three of my darling grandchildren a bedtime story.” Despite only two of the children upstairs being her actual blood relations—Theodore and David were Minerva and Hugh’s boys—Olivia had claimed little Giselle as one of hers since before she was born, just as she’d declared Diana her daughterlong ago, regardless of whether Diana liked it or not. She had also practically adopted Giles. There was no question she would do the same for Venus’s husband and all of her children when the time came, as she was more mother hen to her than to any other of the Merriwell sisters.
Gal decided not to analyze why that prospect warmed him.
“But obviously she regaled us adults with all the details of your story before they stole her away.” Olivia’s wily blue eyes danced with amusement. “How is your poor posterior?” All six pairs of lips at the table twitched at the question.
“Not as wounded as my pride, Olivia. That took the biggest battering and will doubtless take the longest to heal.” With the utmost care and trepidation, he sat down, making sure the stitches made absolutely no contact with the cushions or seat at all, and forced a smile at the others who were all staring and waiting for the wince. “I’m guessing you know all the gory details, so I won’t bore you with them again.”
