The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,35
before—from the back of his throat to the balls of his feet and everywhere in between. Everywhere.
“Did you steal the key to this too?” she whispered.
Slipping a rigging knife from his pocket, he snapped the lock open. The sound echoed through the room, along with her little gasp of delight. Lifting the case’s lid, she plucked type from the container.
Tonight she had taken care to bring a sack with her—no more accidental caresses at his waist—and she stuffed it into his hand. It filled swiftly, heavier as each piece of type fell into the sack with a soft chink.
“Nephew? Princess?” The crackly voice came from the doorway. “What in the devil are you doing to my Warburg?”
Her moan of defeat nearly unmanned Tony. Setting down the sack he turned to his uncle. But she spoke first.
“I am sorry, my lord,” she said shakily. “So very sorry.”
“What’s happened to your voice?” the bishop demanded. “What in the devil is going on here, boy? So help me, if you’ve filched so much as a mote of dust from this house, I’ll see you thrown off your ship and out of the navy as quick as you can say Blackbeard’s wooden leg.”
“Already out, sir,” he noted. “But that’s neither here nor there at present, of course. I—”
She moved forward. “It is not his fault, my lord. It is entirely mine. You see—”
“Uncle Frederick.” Tony stepped in front of her. “She’s about to try to take the blame, but it’s not hers. She’ll say, ‘Me and the scoundrel—”
“The scoundrel and I,” she muttered.
“—hatched an elaborate plot to rob you of an item in this case.”
“There’s only one item in that case, you nincompoop: my Warburg!”
“But she didn’t. It was my idea, and I dragged her along into it. So if anybody’s to be strung from a yardarm it should be me.”
His uncle peered across the dim room. “Are you a Hungarian princess?”
“No. Forgive me, my lord.”
“Ha! Put one over on everybody at Lady B’s, did you? Hm. Well, my holy orders oblige me to forgive you, missy, so you’ve got my forgiveness. But you’re a fool to hang about with my nephew, and that’s the truth of it. Never known a more thoroughly addle-brained ninny in all my life.”
“Laying it on a bit thick there, Uncle, what?”
“Get out! Both of you!” He waved his spindly arms about. “And don’t you darken my door again, boy. Odd’s bod, my sister should’ve drowned you in the river at birth. We’d all be better off for it.”
In the foyer, the butler was holding the door wide open for them.
“Clement, you fool,” the bishop shouted. “How did they get into this house today? Did you let him steal your key again? Out of here, I say! Out, now!”
She did not take his arm to descend the steps to the street, and she walked beside him to the mews in silence. In the past his uncle’s hysterics had always made excellent entertainment. But the grave mask of her face now made all of that rot.
“I cannot believe what he said to you,” she said, finally breaking the silence. Beside the carriage, she looked up at him. “I cannot believe it.”
He shrugged. “He’s said worse. They all have.”
“Your family?” Lantern light revealed the astonishment on her features.
“Listen to you, worrying about a bit of name-calling when I’ve failed you with that dashed type. I’m sorry, Elle.”
Her brow pleated, and she turned to the carriage and climbed up onto the seat without his assistance. They drove in silence. He felt like a mainmast had fallen over on top of his ribs.
“We’ll devise another solution,” he said.
“Stop saying that.”
“Saying what exactly?”
“We.”
“I’ll devise another solution.”
“No, you will not. I will. Alone. This is not your responsibility, Captain.”
“Damn well is.”
“A gentleman should not say such words in a woman’s hearing.”
“A gentleman can say whatever he likes, whenever he likes, and to whoever he likes if the occasion warrants it.”
“Whomever,” she said quietly. “But I do not believe that is your sincere conviction,” she said quietly.
“Damn well is at present. Why won’t you let me help you, Elle?”
“You have helped more than necessary. Thank you for it. But I would like you to drive me to the shop now.”
“Is it because I bungled it tonight? Don’t trust me to make it right, do you?”
“No. I appreciate what you have done. Very much. No one—” She turned her face away, giving him a view of the molasses silk he’d had against his cheek three nights ago.