Chapter Fifteen

C hapter F ifteen

W hy had she told the man to be frank and speak his mind? Lucy was absolutely rattling about his calling her beautiful and admitting he would attack anyone who tried to take advantage of her, which made walking beside him quite the challenge.

Tingling knees did nothing for steadiness of gait.

Miss Corrigan would have been appalled by her loss of comportment, given how many hours they had worked on it when Lucy was young. Not that such fine comportment was needed in her current setting and disguise, but all the same…

What was it about a man calling a woman beautiful that suddenly made noticing his attractiveness quite simple? It was like a bombardment of handsome traits, and she felt like a silly, stupid creature for being so susceptible to flattery.

Idiot girl. One compliment did not a dashing fellow make. Even if she'd found him dashing before the compliment.

But no! She would not turn that way. She would be unmoved by his angled features and charming smile and becoming stature and amusing ways and would cling to the maddening torment he had put her through that morning of his free will and choice. He could be as appealing as he liked, and she would not budge. She would be just as frank and free with her words, as an equal, and avoid becoming dependent on him while they looked for her father. She would be as forgettable as possible so that their departure from each other would be the most natural thing in the world, and she could go back to her life with fond memories of a brief adventure and nothing more.

Apart from suddenly fearing she would be attacked around any corner because of some secret war nobody knew about, that should be quite simple.

This Hal person Hunter kept talking about seemed an interesting fellow, and the fondness he felt for him was evident, even to her. He must really trust this man, if he was bringing Lucy to him for help. And to be moving into a nicer part of London than any they had been in yet was a relief, but also a strange sort of feeling that made her tone crisp and her spine straight.

A lifetime of training to be something among those of a certain station that did not exist in other places.

Even at Miss Masters's, Lucy felt that she could slump in a chair at times. Did not have to be so perfect or so accomplished. Did not have to impress anyone. Did not have to be anything other than what she was.

In the lower parts of London, she could be who she was as well, even if who she was might be a trifle naive and helpless. She did not have to think so much or remember her years of tutoring. But even here, a few scant blocks above that, her manners would be something she noted, and she would go over events in her mind later to see how she performed.

What a ridiculous lot of nonsense in all of that tutelage. In the expectations of her station. In nearly every young woman considered to be of breeding. Good manners were one thing, but this?

If she ever had daughters, they would be taught good manners and some skills, but they would be encouraged to be themselves, whether that were a bluestocking, a musician, or a hoyden. So long as they were not shaming the family or creating scandal, what harm could there be in that? And they would not be valued for whatever dowry could be attached to them, of that, she was certain.

Considering Lucy would probably not marry a man who could provide daughters with a dowry worth mentioning, the point might be moot anyway.

Even so, it would be her intention to parent them in such a way.

Provided she parented anyone at all. There was no certainty she would.

Hunter was still jabbering on about something or other when she started noticing the cleanliness of the streets and the shift in local aroma. She couldn't smell the dankness of the river anymore, nor was there a pervasive heaviness to the air. She wouldn't exactly say the air was fresh or fragrant or floral, but it was less oppressive. Less of any smell at all. Quieter, too, with fewer hawkers and street animals and the like. There were more people, but it wasn't bustling either.

She had the feeling it was a forgotten portion of the middling sector of London, which might make it an ideal living space for those who neatly fit in that station.

Or those who wished to disappear.

Perhaps her father had taken up residence in this area as well. It was certainly a step down from where they had been, but not exactly low enough to be cast out.

Even if no one in their former circles would know the name of this street.

The best part about being here, however, was that Lucy did not feel out of place in her attire. And if the manners of their company were better than she predicted, she could rise to their level. Perhaps it would force their host to think more kindly of her and he would do more to help them find her father.

Lucy frowned slightly and looked at Hunter, barely hearing a word he said. "Hunter?"

He stopped whatever he was saying, looking at her in surprise. "Yes?"

"Why does it seem as though my father is not looking for me with quite the same fervor that we are seeking him?" She gestured to the streets around them. "This is the sort of neighborhood where we might hope he has retrenched to, and I don't see a single Bow Street Runner out here. Your contacts haven't heard whispers of my name, have they?"

He wasn't surprised by the question; she could see it in his eyes. He had probably already considered the point hours earlier, but she had not. Being in the lower streets of London, it had been easy to think that her father would not seek her there. But even in Covent Garden, she might have been discovered. And here, rather like Cheapside, she should have been discovered.

And yet…

"I honestly do not know," Hunter admitted with a slight crease to his brow and nose. "There could be a number of reasons, but I don't like that we aren't crossing paths with mutual searches. Something doesn't sit right about it. Yours might not be the most attentive of fathers, but surely he expected you at an appointed time and would be concerned when you did not arrive within it?" He gave her a questioning look.

Lucy could not answer it. "I don't know anymore." She shook her head, sighing. "Perhaps it was all a plot, and he never actually wanted me home. It would be easier to believe that than the alternative."

"Which is?"

She smiled with more than a hint of bitterness. "That he simply does not care."

Hunter's soft hiss of breath told Lucy that he was a better man than her father, which she already knew, and that the idea was just as horrible as she thought.

Which meant it could be true.

"I don't know your father," Hunter said in a low, rumbling voice. "Nor do I know anything of him but what you have told me. My own father died when I was a young man, but I saw how he was with my sister even then. And any father worth claiming would be tearing London apart to find his daughter. If yours is not, and all is well with him, then don't tell me. I'll never be able to leave you with him if he's managing to sleep soundly right now."

Lucy's heart lurched from right to left in sharp, swift, forceful motions that left her slightly dizzy before a cascade of warmth washed over her from head to toe. She smiled up at Hunter with genuine affection. "That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Then you really ought to start associating with better people in your life." He cleared his throat and started looking up and down the street. "Right. Two blocks, and we'll be there. Up this one, take a right, down three houses."

His diversionary tactics were blatant, but she would let him change topics if he was more comfortable that way. She might smile to herself about it, but at least he had said what he felt, and she had said what she felt.

Perhaps there was more gentleman to him than she had previously allowed for.

Or perhaps he was just a pastry of a man, with a crunchy exterior and the softest, sweetest interior that existed.

Oh heavens, she could not think of him as food. What a horrifying comparison! Whoever wanted to be a baked good?

Even if it did make her mouth water slightly. Pastry sounded delightful. Actual pastry, not… not Hunter as a pastry.

Oh dear.

Her cheeks heated at the implication, and now she was looking around the streets as well. "Two blocks, did you say?"

Moments later, they were turning on the street he had indicated, and Lucy was taking slow, careful breaths as silently as possible in an attempt to cool her cheeks before they met this Hal person. It would not do to ask for help from anyone when she was flushed and tongue-tied. She needed to be composed, well-spoken, and somehow look like a damsel in distress without too much emphasis on the distress.

A woman in need would always receive help from those with certain standards of morality.

A hysterical woman would only receive pity.

Lucy had never been hysterical, but one did tend to assume things when meeting someone for the first time. And there was no telling what Hunter might say in secret.

"I will let you do the talking," she mumbled around the tingling, frozen feeling in her lips. "Hal is your contact, and this is your idea. I will speak when spoken to."

Hunter gave her a wry look, his mouth curving. "You're not a child. Speak when you like, especially with Hal. You can trust every person in this house to keep any secret, so be as free as you like. I don't say that often, but here… Well, I trust Hal more than any person alive. I'd suggest you stay here tonight if I thought there was room."

Lucy frowned at that. "Why wouldn't there be room?"

Hunter only laughed. "You'll see." With a surprisingly light step, he strode forward and rapped sharply on the door before coming back to Lucy's side.

She stared at the bronze-colored knocker on the door, studying the shining surface as though a face might appear from it.

Why was she suddenly incredibly nervous?

The door opened and a hulking, burly man with a stubble-laden jaw and a scar-riddled face appeared, dark eyes surveying both of them without interest or warmth. "What?"

"Trick and guest to see Hal," Hunter said simply.

The man grunted once. "Is Hal aware of this?"

"Not at all. Sorry for the inconvenience." Hunter grinned widely, and Lucy almost elbowed him in the side. Couldn't he see that the man was in no mood for any sort of shenanigans?

To her surprise, the pseudo-butler stepped back and nodded them in with his head.

Hunter gestured for Lucy to go ahead of him, and she did so, startled to find the house neat and tidy, without a single speck of dust to be seen, and with remarkably comfortable furnishings for even someone of her station. There was nothing from the exterior of the building that would indicate finery, and even inside, nothing was elaborate or expensive, but it would also not be out of place in some portions of Mayfair.

Curious.

Once the door was closed and bolted—with two bolts, she noted—the burly fellow turned to face them and gave Hunter a hint of a smile. "Didn't recognize you without a beard, Trick."

"Ah, right," he mused, rubbing his jaw as though in memory. "I miss those whiskers. They were fantastic. You should try it, Thad. A beard would suit you, and probably hide you better from the authorities."

Lucy said nothing, taking in the red tinge to the whites of the man's eyes, and thought two bottles of whiskey might suit him better than a beard. Then again, the whiskers would hide some of the scars.

Thad snorted and pointed up the stairs. "She's in her office." He looked at Lucy then. "Tea for the guest?"

She wouldn't trust the man to make her toast, let alone tea, and was minded to kindly refuse when Hunter answered for her. "Please. And scones, if you've got any to hand."

Lucy stared at Hunter with wide eyes, though he didn't look at her.

Was he trying to get her killed? Or intoxicated? Or ill?

If the apparent criminal-turned-butler named Thad could make a decent cup of tea and produce edible scones, she would eat one of Tilda's French silks with mint sauce.

But Thad was unruffled and nodded, moving past them and leaving them to fend for themselves with Hal, apparently upstairs.

Except…

Lucy squinted up at Hunter, who now looked at her. "Did he just say ‘she' was upstairs?"

Hunter's smile was incorrigible. "Didn't I mention? Hal is a woman. Come on, up you go."

Now this was a bunch of nonsense, and Lucy was ready to demand he explain himself when there was a great crashing sound from above them.

"Oh, lord," Hunter muttered, shaking his head.

"I'm fine!" a woman's voice bellowed. "Nobody rush in! Just the new easel collapsing! It's all fine!"

The snort Hunter produced was nearly thunderous. "Idiot woman. She always blames the easels." Without waiting for Lucy another second, he started up the stairs at a normal pace, still shaking his head.

She took a moment to blink her confusion to a corner of her mind instead of etched all over her face, and followed him, now completely clueless as to what they were about to encounter up there.

"Hal!" Hunter bellowed when he reached the next floor. "That had better be an easel the size of an elephant, or so help me…"

A tall man with sandy-colored hair and a somber expression came out of a room, his eyes wide. "Trick?"

Hunter chortled and went over to him, shaking his hand and thumping his back hard. "Sphinx! I didn't expect you to be home at this time of day."

Sphinx pulled back and smiled at Hunter with surprising ease, his face creasing as though unused to smiles. "I don't always have to be at Bow Street, you know. They let me do as I please. But what are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

The way his voice dipped with that second question told Lucy there was something deeper and darker at work in Hunter's life than he let on. Some real concern for him that meant his appearance here put them all on alert.

Hunter shook his head and indicated Lucy. "Just helping Miss Allred here. She was nearly abducted while being delivered to her father's house, which the carriage driver was apparently in on, as it was not her father's house at all that she had been delivered to. At any rate, we've been looking for said house, but as Miss Allred was never given the address, we are struggling to locate it. I thought Hal might do a drawing of Mr. Allred to assist us."

Sphinx looked from Lucy to Hunter with calculating eyes, and she knew at once that this man was one of those brilliant minds who lived a life that was not what it appeared for ignorant eyes. The sort who always knew more than they let on and saw what most would wish unseen. Of course he worked for Bow Street. He probably solved crimes in mere minutes and knew London like a small neighborhood.

But he was a fairly wiry figure, so physical strength was clearly not something he required for his tasks.

"Welcome to our home, Miss Allred," Sphinx greeted with a belated bow of his head. "If anyone can help with a drawing, it's Hal." His smile spoke of genuine affection, whatever his relationship, and there was a kindness to his eyes that set Lucy at ease.

"Thank you," she replied in a soft voice, buckling her knee for a hint of curtsy to match his bow. "Trick spoke of Hal with such confidence, I am certain you are right."

Sphinx gave Hunter a sidelong look. "Careful going in there. She always blames the easels, but you know…"

Hunter was already nodding. "Your wife far more likely fell off the ladder because she couldn't reach something."

"Or was adjusting the curtains for lighting," Sphinx offered. He looked back at Lucy, winking. "I am sure I appear a bit of a heel of a husband for not racing in to check for her safety, but believe me, after the first few months of marriage, I learned it is better to listen to her when she bellows that she is fine."

Husband and wife? This was the most peculiar place, and these people…

"TRICK?" screeched the feminine voice from before. "Bloody actual hell, what are you doing in my house?"

Sphinx hissed softly. "Apologies, Miss Allred. She only speaks like that to him, if it helps."

Hunter, still at ease despite the imminent arrival of the voice of indignation, scowled at Sphinx. "Don't lie to her, man. The only person she isn't like this with is you."

Sphinx did not argue the point, shrugging a trim shoulder and looking down the corridor in anticipation.

A blonde woman soon appeared, her hair mostly pulled back in a loose chignon with straight tendrils streaming out in places. A pair of spectacles sat atop her head, strands of hair curled and tangled in them, and her bright blue eyes flashed dangerously as she marched to Hunter.

Lucy started backing up, though the woman hadn't seen her yet and was not coming her direction. This was a woman in full ire, raging and furious, which made her fit to trample anyone in her path. She was more formidable than Tilda at this moment, and Lucy felt she would do well to remove herself from the line of fire.

Just in case.

"You know better than to show up here!" the woman—presumably Hal—bellowed, despite being close enough to jab Hunter in the chest with a finger. "Especially unannounced! Did you even think about what a risk it was? What if I had people here that you shouldn't see? What if John were working on something you shouldn't know about? What if we had been compromised and you were walking into a trap?"

Hunter sighed and gripped Hal's hand, twisting her wrist slightly so her finger now pointed up at the ceiling. Hal seemed to almost buckle with that motion and grimaced at it, grunting very softly.

Sphinx did not move or seem in the least concerned about his wife's predicament, nor about the argument brewing.

What sort of home had she been brought to?

"First of all," Hunter said calmly, "I am here because I have need of the skills that I only trust you with. Secondly, I did think about the risk, and the benefits outweigh them. Thirdly, if you had people here that I should not see, Thad would have used the code. Fourth, John wouldn't show me his work if I had a weapon at his throat, and I probably wouldn't understand it anyway."

Sphinx snorted very softly at this, but if there was laughter involved, Lucy couldn't tell, as the man covered his mouth at once.

He must be John, then.

Hunter batted his lashes in an almost playful manner, though there was a tension to his frame and face that spoke of true irritation. "Finally, Henrietta, if you had been compromised—again, Thad would have used the code so I would know there was danger, and I would probably have come in anyway because no one compromises you without dealing with me as a result. Now, would you like to stop screaming like a banshee and let me explain myself?"

Hal glared at Hunter, her jaw jutting out as short bursts of air expelled from her nose a few times. Then she seemed to slump without her posture shifting, nodding once.

He dropped Hal's hand and pointed his own finger at Lucy without looking at her. "I'm not alone. So you've just made a fool of yourself and exposed your husband's name, all of which will be fun for me to explain later. Sphinx was doing a marvelous job of keeping things superficial, but now…" He shrugged dramatically, pressing his mouth in a tight line.

Hal glanced at Lucy, her lips pursing and twisting to one side.

Lucy did her best not to react to that, smiling in the smallest manner possible to show that she should not feel too bad about any of this. It was not as though Lucy had anyone to tell, and she wouldn't do so anyway.

"All that aside," he went on, "we need you. This is Miss Lucy Allred. Teacher at Miss Masters's."

Hal looked at Hunter sharply, eyes wide. He gave her a shake of the head.

What in the world was that about?

"We need to find her father. Can you please spare some time to do a drawing of him that we can show around to people?" He looked at Lucy then, and she felt a jolt at being suddenly acknowledged.

Was she supposed to say something? Do something? Explain herself?

He gave her no indication as to what part she was meant to play here.

"Please?" Lucy found herself laughing very softly, awkwardly, and trying to force a hopeful smile at Hal.

Hal looked between Hunter and Lucy, then nodded a few times, her expression clearing as she smiled at Lucy with what seemed to be genuine warmth. "Of course. My apologies, Miss Allred. Allow me to begin again. Good day, my name is Hal. Shall we get to drawing?"