The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,48
Gabrielle?” he said with a frown at Tony.
“I am.”
“Brittle, go into the other room and shut the door. I’ve a word to say to Miss Flood and I don’t wish to do so on the street.”
The printer’s eyes flared. “Of all the—”
“Now. Or you will soon regret it.”
Brittle looked to Elle, and she nodded. He went.
When the door closed, Elle turned astonished eyes up to him. “This is his shop.”
“I am sorry for this muddle I’ve made. But sorry won’t cut it, I know. I should have told you about John Park, his widow, from the start.”
“You should have, but I understand why you did not. Whatever the case, it is now at an end and I will be glad to shake hands and wish you well, Captain.”
He scowled. “I won’t shake your damned hand—dashed—damn it.”
“I certainly will not allow you to kiss me good-bye.”
“You think I’d—?” He broke off and swung his gaze away. Then he looked her straight in the eyes with all the intensity of his Mediterranean stare. “Will you accept him?”
“Accept whom?”
“Your champion.” His nostrils flared. “Charles Brittle.”
“Accept him for what? Oh! Oh, no. You have mistaken it. Charlie and I are good friends. Were, that is, until today. But we are quite like brother and sister, you see. He accused you because he worries for me. Ever since Jo Junior—well—that is to say, Charlie only wishes to protect me.”
“He wishes to do more than protect you, Elle.”
She stepped back. “Now, you should leave. I must tell Charlie the truth about the type before he discovers it himself.”
“If they are unforgiving, if they seek to punish you, you must send for me.”
“I shan’t need you. I can manage well on my own.”
It seemed he would reply. Instead he went to the door, but paused there.
“Captain,” she said before he could speak, “I do not want to see you again.”
With a stiff bow he donned his hat and reached for the handle. The door opened wide and Jo Junior stepped into the shop.
“Damn that traffic, Charlie! Hattie complained of the heat the—Oh, I beg your pardon, sir!” His skin glowed, his hair was light with sun, his coat was the height of fashion, and he looked like gold-plated nickel beside a solid guinea. “How do you do?” He bowed and smiled ingratiatingly. Elle could see him already calculating the costliness of the captain’s coat, the quality of his starched linen, the signet ring on his beautiful hand.
Jo’s gaze flicked to her. “G’day, Gabby.” Then he returned his sparkling smile to the captain. “Welcome to Brittle and Sons, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Josiah Brittle, proprietor of—”
“Is this him?” The captain looked at her.
“Is this he,” she whispered. “Yes.”
He hit him, a quick, sudden swing of his bunched fist that barreled into Jo Junior’s jaw and sent him staggering back into the doorframe with a shout.
“What in the—”
And the captain hit him in the nose.
This time Jo Junior went to the floor, tripping over the umbrella bin and hat stand and sprawling onto his behind with a clatter of furniture, groans, and crude oaths. Blood flowing from his nose and eyes wide, he cowered in the corner.
The captain loomed over him.
“If you ever again abuse this woman in any manner—” His voice was like gravel. “If you say one displeasing word to her or disturb a single hair on her head, I will return here and remove your limbs from your torso, one limb at a time. Understood?”
Mouth agape, Jo Junior nodded.
Calmly picking up his hat from where it had fallen to the floor, the captain set it on his shiny locks, bowed to her, and departed, taking her laughter and her heart with him.
Chapter Twelve
When Mr. Brittle Senior returned from Bristol two days later, Elle stood beside Charlie and retold the tale of the missing type.
“A body’s bound to make a mistake in life now and again,” Mr. Brittle said, tucking his thumbs into his waistcoat that was stretched from quite a lot of good life. That his good life was paid for by her hard labor and Lady Justice’s demands for equality struck Elle now as remarkably hypocritical. But he was studying her thoughtfully, considering mercy, and she needed this position.
“I could withhold your wages until the cost of the missing type is recouped,” he said.
“Of course.” She would throw herself upon the charity of Mr. Curtis. She would take in sewing work. She would not buy milk or eggs, only enough for