Chapter Fifteen

Samuel wouldn’t sit. Even though his leg throbbed like it had just been kicked by a twenty-hand Clydesdale, he would not show weakness in front of the street urchin. The time to be heavy-handed was now—especially as the deceitful bugger was hunkered in his kitchen, eating him out of house and home.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Samuel prodded dryly as the boy took yet another gargantuan spoonful of beef and onion pie that had been left over from dinner. His mouth was so stuffed that the boy could only nod and close his eyes in heavenly rapture. The pie was good—Samuel could attest to that. He’d been planning on finishing it before bed. That notion was now spoiled.

“Let him eat,” Myfanwy admonished him, sidling next to the boy at the cook’s table, her head in her hand as she watched him attack his food. Samuel couldn’t stop himself from meandering into the prurient, dark corners of his mind while he waited. Just minutes before, he’d been kissing the fingers that tapped so delicately along her jaw. He’d also been licking the long lines of that creamy jaw and sucking on the insistent tongue inside of it.

He limped to the far end of the table, making sure his nether regions were covered. He wanted the boy to believe he was the director of this inquisition, not some deviant. A massive cockstand would do a lot to counter that notion.

Time was not on his side. “All right now, that’s enough,” Samuel announced, stretching across the table and swiping the plate away. The boy’s spoon hung in the air. Slowly, with great intention and regret, he placed it on the wood counter.

“Where do you want me to start?” the boy asked, folding his hands in front of him like he was kneeling in the confessional box. He better hope that he had the kind of answers that would make Samuel want to absolve him of his sins.

Samuel pinned him with a sardonic look. “How about we start with ‘sister’—”

Myfanwy reached out and rubbed the child’s arm. “After you tell us your name.”

Samuel released an annoyed breath and scowled at the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. It was like he wasn’t even in the room.

For his part, the boy gave him a nervous glance before fixing his attention solely on Myfanwy. “Aaron,” he said. “And Annabelle is my sister.”

“We gathered that part,” Samuel said. “Why did you dump her at my home and run off to heaven knows where a week ago?”

If the boy had a shell, he would have climbed into it and never come out. His ruddy face bloomed so red that the myriad freckles covering it were blotted out. Samuel chastised himself again for failing to notice the resemblance. Although Annabelle’s auburn hair was a picture-perfect image of Myfanwy’s, her galaxy of freckles was pure Aaron. And though the boy carried a sooty mop of hair on his head, the children shared round faces and blunt little limbs, as well as eyes that appeared more feline than human. The word came to him instantly. Savage. The boy looked positively savage.

Hit with an unfamiliar dose of pity, Samuel slid the plate back in Aaron’s direction.

Aaron wrapped his arms around it, though didn’t tuck in as he had before. “Our mum died last month,” he said slowly, the words fighting their way out of his mouth. “The money is gone. It’s been gone for a while. Ever since…” He stole a bashful look at Myfanwy. “Ever since the lord died. Mum found work on the boards, as she always had, but when she got sick…” His head fell, just barely missing the pie.

“Your mother was an actress?” Myfanwy asked gently. “What was her name?”

Pride filled his young voice. “Victoire Ruby.”

Myfanwy’s brows knitted together, and Samuel found himself speaking up before he could stop himself. “I saw her once. She was…good.” Praise indeed, he thought, perturbed by his pathetic lack of loquaciousness; however, it worked. Aaron scooped his spoon into the pie once more and took a comforting bite. He didn’t seem to notice that Samuel was lying for his benefit.

Myfanwy did, though. She regarded him like he was a puzzle with no chance of solving.

“She was bloody brilliant,” Aaron said in between chews. “But…”

“She got sick,” Myfanwy filled in.

Aaron nodded meekly. “Consumption. When she died, I tried to take care of Annabelle as best I could, but Mum’s friends traveled a lot, and we had no family to speak of.” His ears glowed so red they almost looked purple. Samuel recognized shame easily, and his heart bled for the boy who carried it like a shroud. Aaron’s voice wilted like a cut plant left out in the sun. “It was hard.”

“How old are you?” Samuel asked.

“Eleven.”

Myfanwy’s hand went to her mouth, but a small gasp still leaped out. Samuel had spent most of his life alone, and it had not been an easy one; however, when he was eleven, he was safe and fed in the comfort of his parents’ small, modest home in Sutton. He had his issues with his father, but he’d have to be completely blind not to see how fortunate he’d been.

“I just needed to know if she was doing well,” Aaron went on. His tiny, narrow shoulders bobbed as sobs overtook him. Samuel remembered what those shoulders felt like when he’d hauled the boy into the carriage. His bones had felt horribly small, almost birdlike under his rough-spun clothing. Annabelle’s clothing hadn’t been so desolate, though she’d only shown up in the one dress. Samuel wondered if Aaron had kept that dress for her to make a good impression on them, or if every coin he managed to earn had gone to the welfare of his little sister.

“Did you know my”—Myfanwy’s voice caught, and she swiped her hair away from her face nervously—“the viscount?”

The boy nodded. “My mother made me leave when he came to visit, but I met him a few times. He was nice enough. I’m sorry he died.”

In an instant, Myfanwy appeared hungrier than the urchin. “And did he…did he know about Annabelle?”

Aaron nodded again, this time with a wistful smile. “He didn’t forsake my mother or Annabelle, if that’s what you think. Sometimes I’d hear them talking in the other room. He wanted to marry her. He didn’t care where she came from, but my mother… She didn’t want that life. She said his people would never accept her. Besides, she loved the theatre, and she didn’t want to give that up.”

Myfanwy’s face softened. “Your mother sounds like an amazing woman.”

A slight quiver came upon Aaron’s lips. “She was,” he replied tightly. “The viscount provided for us, put us in the nicest home I’d ever seen. He’d planned to tell you…about Annabelle.” Shyly, he glanced up. “I heard them talk about that too. He was just waiting for the right time. He was afraid that he would disappoint you.”

Myfanwy nodded, falling back in her seat, her own lips beginning to quiver.

“He was a good man,” Aaron went on. “For a time, I hated him, though. When he stopped coming by… I didn’t know he died. We found out in the newspaper.”

“That must have been difficult for your mother,” Samuel interjected.

Aaron dropped his gaze to his food, pushing it around with his spoon. “It was.”

“Why didn’t you find family?” Samuel asked. “I assume you have grandparents. Why didn’t you look for them after your mother died?

Aaron gulped. “I suppose I do, but I’ve never met them. My mother only ever said they weren’t good people. She told me where she grew up but said that after she joined a traveling acting troupe, she never looked back. To be honest, I’m not sure if I even want to find them.” He flicked his head toward Myfanwy. “I figured if Annabelle needed family, you would be it.”

“But what about you?” Myfanwy asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right,” the boy said, puffing out his pathetically small chest. “You’re Annabelle’s family, not mine.”

“You’ll stay here.”

“You’ll stay with us.”

Samuel and Myfanwy stared at one another as their voices rang out in unison. He wasn’t even irritated that she’d made the decision without consulting him. It was the right one.

Aaron needed to be convinced, though. He placed his spoon down quickly and launched to his feet, grasping the edge of the table to steady himself. The poor thing was ready to topple over. If the bruised crescents under his eyes were any indication, the boy hadn’t had proper sleep in days. “I have a place to stay. I don’t need your help,” he said, backing away from Myfanwy. She let him go, but Samuel could see her forearm muscles tense. She was ready to catch him at any second. Aaron wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

The boy slapped his dusty gray cape on his head, covering his greasy hair. “I just wanted to make sure my sister was safe. This doesn’t have to be forever, you know. I can take her back once I get settled. I just need to find a proper job, a proper wage, and then we won’t bother you anymore.”

Myfanwy’s eyes were getting misty. “You’re only a child—”

“I’m not a child!”

“And you aren’t a bother.”

“I don’t take charity!”

“How about a job, then?” Samuel asked, his smooth tone cutting through all the emotion like a knife through butter. “It’s hardly charity if I have a job that I need filled for someone exactly like you.”

Both pairs of eyes blinked at him from across the table. Samuel merely smiled, congratulating himself on landing on the solution so quickly. Once it came to him, it made perfect sense.

“What…what is it?” Aaron asked, trying to hide the hope that still bled through every syllable.

Samuel glanced down at this pocket watch. “It’s late. We’ll get into it tomorrow. For now, you should join your sister. No doubt she’ll be overjoyed to wake up next to you. I’ll have the maid make up a room for you tomorrow. You work for me, and you’ll get room and board and a stipend every week. When you feel like you’re finally on your feet, then you can leave, but”—Samuel narrowed his gaze—“not until you prove to me you can take care of your sister and yourself.”

“But sir,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “That might take months.”

Samuel slapped his hand over his chest and pretended to stumble backward. “Oh, thank the Lord. I was assuming it would take years.”

*

Just when Samuelfound a position on his bed that didn’t make him want to pass out from the incessant pain, a knock sounded and the door opened a sliver.

For once, he was glad that the person on the other side was rude enough to barge in without waiting.

Samuel knew who it was anyway. It didn’t matter where, but he could always tell where Myfanwy was in the house. In the past, he’d told himself it was because he could avoid her. Now he attributed his keen senses to the simple fact that knowing where she was calmed him. Knowing she was close calmed him even more.

Myfanwy slipped through like a secret. She was still wearing the black dress he’d found her in earlier at the Lucky Fish, but she’d taken the ridiculous veil off. Good, he thought. The damn alluring netting highlighted her face in a way that made him want things. Desperate things.

Myfanwy leaned against the door, her hands tucked behind her back. Her eyes flitted about the room, jumping from corner to corner, obviously trying not to land on his bare chest. Samuel’s legs were spread out over the covers, and, thank the Lord for small mercies, he hadn’t taken his trousers off yet. He liked to believe that he might have yelled for her not to come in if that was the case, though he couldn’t be sure.

Self-consciously, he propped himself higher on the pillows against the headboard. He attempted to keep his expression stoic and contained, but he could feel the cold sweat gather at his forehead. His leg was pulsing like a hot iron, and it felt odd to unclench his jaw from its habitual response.

“Did you need something?” he asked blandly when she continued to stand there. Why did it feel like she was trying to make her mind up about something?

Myfanwy straightened away from the door. “Oh, yes,” she said, her voice unusually high. “I wanted to thank you for what you did tonight. What you did for Aaron.”

Samuel’s chest almost dropped through the bed to the floor. He’d wanted her to say something else. Something about their time in the carriage. Something to do with just them.

Myfanwy ambled to the bed, and the closer she came, the more Samuel’s hair stood on its end like he were a cat in the middle of a scare. A thank you could be made from across the room, he thought.

Her hands came around to her front, and he noticed she was carrying that ridiculous sack that the prostitute had given her. Samuel wanted to bang his head back against the headboard. This again? He wasn’t in the mood for a fight.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said sourly. “The boy needed a place to stay. I have two brothers. As much as I detest the nosy bastards on the best of days, nothing could keep me from them if I thought they were in trouble.”

A lovely smile curled onto her face. “So, this is a habit for you? Playing the hero?”

Samuel huffed. “You know as well as I that I’m no hero.”

“Aaron thinks you are. When I tucked him into bed, he practically had stars in his eyes. ‘I will do anything the lord needs of me,’ he said. ‘I will be the best worker he’s ever had.’” Myfanwy reached the edge of his bed. All the air inside Samuel’s body seemed to vanish as he waited to see what she would do next.

He licked his lips. “I did it for Annabelle.”

She nodded, glancing down at the package. “You took me in for my father, you took Annabelle in for me, and now you are helping Aaron for Annabelle.” Her brown eyes gleamed. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Samuel gulped.

“I think you didn’t do any of those things for other people. I think you did them because they were the right thing to do, and you are a good person. What do you think about that?”

Finally, goddamn finally, she lifted her knee and climbed onto the bed. Samuel didn’t move an inch, afraid he might scare her away. He didn’t know what she was doing there, only that he didn’t want her to leave anytime soon.

“It’s a good theory,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Only a theory?”

He nodded.

“But a good one?”

He nodded again.

Myfanwy crawled further onto the mattress, sitting on her feet at his side. He could grab her. It would take less than a second to haul her into his arms and kiss her until she came. Only Samuel didn’t. He stayed where he was, barely flinching a muscle. There was something going on in that head of hers; the gears were shifting with intention. He’d stared down enough bowlers to know when it was best to swing and when it was advantageous to let the ball fly past.

The apples of her cheeks filled with mischievous life, and Myfanwy shyly played with the sack in her hands, rolling it around and around as if it were a crystal ball ready to announce their future. “I have another theory,” she whispered. “You’re in a tremendous amount of pain…” She looked up at him from beneath her heavy, sultry lids. “And I think I have something that can help.”

Samuel’s cock almost jumped out of his pants for joy. Swiftly, he shifted, hoping Myfanwy didn’t notice. All of a sudden, he loved her theories; his entire body was in rapt attention for more. The room hummed with the possibilities.

Ordinarily, Samuel would have been embarrassed by how breathless his next words came out, but he didn’t give one damn. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

She angled her head to his legs, and there was absolutely nothing Samuel could do to stop his cock from dancing at this point. His fingers itched. He was in a losing battle. All the explanations and nonsense words he’d used before about not wanting to ruin Myfanwy or destroy her old admiration for him flew out the window without so much as a by-your-leave. Nothing was more important than her hands on him.

Samuel was determined to hold her soon, engulf her; all this stalling was making his leg pain seem as slight as a silly itch. What was Myfanwy waiting for? Couldn’t she see he was ready? Didn’t she know that all she needed to do was snap her fingers and he would submit to her? That it had always been so between them?

Deliberately, Myfanwy placed the sack on his belly. His sensitive muscles bobbed underneath the cotton like a slow-rolling sea.

Her teeth emerged as her smile grew bigger. She reached inside the sack and pulled out a plain amber bottle. “I’m going to need you to take off your pants now.”