Beauty Tempts the Beast (Sins for All Seasons #6) - Lorraine Heath Page 0,5
have you been?”
He ducked his blond head. “Apologies. I got caught up in something and lost track of the hour.”
“In what, precisely?”
“It’s not important. Let’s get you home.” He came nearer, put his hand protectively on her shoulder, and ushered her forward. Just like her, he was more aware of their surroundings, his head continually swiveling, as he searched for anything amiss.
Before the upheaval in their lives, he’d barely given her the time of day. She’d never been particularly close to her brothers. The heir, Marcus, was five years older than she. Griffith three. She’d had the impression they viewed her as a nuisance more than anything, avoiding her whenever possible, seldom engaging her in conversation when they weren’t in a position to escape her company. They’d just sat in awkward silence. It seemed the only thing they had in common were their parents.
After taking several steps, she realized that warm sensation of being touched against her nape had melted away. She glanced over her shoulder. Had someone been watching her and backed off with Griffith’s arrival?
“Did you see anyone about when you came up?” she asked.
“No one near, no one appearing to have any interest in you. Again, I apologize for my tardiness. I miss having the convenience of a bloody carriage whenever we damned well wanted one.”
In all of her twenty-four years, she’d never heard him utter a profanity. Now his sentences were often peppered with words that shouldn’t be spoken in the presence of a lady, but then she was no longer a lady. She, too, missed being able to call for a carriage, especially when she wasn’t certain her legs could hold her upright much longer.
But they did their duty, kept moving forward until eventually they arrived at the shabby little residence they were leasing. It was two levels. They lived in the lower level. Someone with extremely heavy feet inhabited the second level, which was only accessible from stairs on the outside. Griffith unlocked the door, shoved it open, and waited until she’d preceded him inside. It was not a newer accommodation. No gas to make their situation a bit more convenient. An oil lamp rested on the oaken table near the empty hearth and her brother was quick to light it.
“Looks like Marcus has been here,” Griffith said as he reached for a parcel wrapped in brown paper, secured with string. Opening it, he revealed a few pounds. “This will keep a roof over our heads for a bit longer.”
“Why is he so mysterious? Why doesn’t he visit with us, instead of just leaving little gifts when we’re not here?” When they’d lost their standing within Society, lost everything really, he’d taken them under his wing, found them this residence. Once they were settled, he’d simply disappeared. She’d not seen him since.
“It’s safer, for us, for him.”
“Why won’t you tell me precisely what he’s doing?” She’d asked several times.
“I don’t know the details of it.” Always his answer, although she was beginning to suspect he was lying.
“But whatever it is, it is dangerous.” Persisting with the topic, she was rather certain she should be worried about Marcus.
He rubbed his brow. “It’s late, Althea, and I have to be at the docks early. I’m to bed.”
“Let me see to your hands first.”
“They’re fine.”
“Griff, if they get infected, you’re going to lose them, and then where will we be?”
With a long-suffering dramatic sigh—she’d once heard a rumor that he’d had an affair with an actress, and she couldn’t help but believe he’d adopted some of her theatrics—he nodded.
Not bothering to remove her cloak because the air was cold and they wouldn’t have a fire tonight, she pumped water into a bowl, grabbed some linen and the salve. By the time she joined him at the table, he’d removed the bandages she’d wrapped around his hands that morning.
“They’re looking better,” he mused.
In spite of the fact he wore gloves, lifting and hauling crates had caused blisters, torn skin, and calluses. He winced as she saw to the raw places. She didn’t know how he managed to continue at his labors. Until three months ago, the most laborious thing he’d ever done was lift a tankard or a card at a gaming table. And he’d certainly never arisen before dawn. He’d seldom moved about before noon.
“Oh, I forgot. A bit of good news. Someone left me a sovereign tonight.”
“Why would he do that?” She heard the suspicion in his voice. They had learned to trust no one.