Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,36

wiped them upon her knees, promptly wincing at the noisy crunch of muslin. What if he was in danger? Or, what if he decided to abandon her here to whomever had come?

Pressing her eyes shut, she focused on drawing in slow, even, quiet breaths so as to not give herself away, so as to drive back the rising tide of panic.

And then the fear eased. Yes, he’d taken her money and lied to her about his residence and—

Stop it!

To keep from descending further into dread, she looked around the cupboard, squinting so she might better see her dimly lit quarters. Several pairs of trousers, neatly folded and smelling crisp and clean of lye, had been stacked on a shelf above a handful of wood cups and bowls. Of their own volition, she ran her fingers over that fabric, its quality befitting one of a gentleman’s status, but the blacks and browns more understated than those donned by noblemen.

Voices came on the other side of the doors. Tynan had either let in whoever had been knocking, or they’d forced their way inside. Drawing her gaze away from the faint crack that lent the tiniest streak of light through, she returned her study to this most intimate of cupboards, for it was one that contained details and secrets about Tynan Wylie.

Faye stopped.

Damning the darkness, she peered into the far back corner of the cabinet toward that book Tynan had hastily tucked away when she’d arrived. The small leather volume sat between a handful of other titles. Bypassing those others for the one he’d recently held, she collected the book. The heavy scent of aged leather flooded her nostrils. The faded brown leather, creased and worn, revealed its age, and also… how very well loved it was.

Whatever situation unfolded behind the cupboard doors for now forgotten, Faye concentrated all her attentions on the small volume, its title so worn as to be barely visible. She opened the book.

Her heart forgot that its sole function was to beat.

Keats?

Nay, not just Keats, but a heavily annotated book of the romantic poet’s verse. Notes were made in an endearingly sloppy hand, as if the owner of the sonnets had been frantic to record his thoughts lest they escape him. Some pages were folded at the corners. But all were well read.

Voices came from outside the cupboard, and she briefly paused, listening. There didn’t come shouts or shots or any hint of mayhem. As such, Faye was compelled once more to examine Tynan’s book of poems.

Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow,

Lethe’s weed and Hermes’ feather;

Come to-day, and come to-morrow,

I do love you both together!

I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;

And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;

Fair and foul I love together.

Meadows sweet where flames are under,

And a giggle at a wonder;

Visage sage at pantomime;

Funeral, and steeple-chime;

Infant playing with a skull;

Morning fair, and shipwreck’d hull;

Taking care to close the book so quietly as to not alert the people in the kitchen of her presence, Faye caressed her fingers over the well-loved cover.

Who exactly was Tynan Wylie? Ruthless prison warden imprisoned for bribery, who thought nothing of stealing twenty guineas from a lady and lying on top of it. And yet, he was also a man who’d undertaken the care of street waifs. He’d insisted he’d done so only for what they might provide him as a warden, but he was no longer a warden.

Book in hand, she inched closer to the doors, her curiosity over just who Tynan now met with replacing the earlier interest she’d found in the kitchen cabinet. Pressing one eye shut, she angled her head back and forth, attempting to make out anything beyond that slight crack in the doors. Alas, her efforts proved futile.

Setting the book on her lap, she laid a palm against one door and, with infinite care and slowness, pushed it a fraction. The hinges squealed damningly, and she immediately stilled, her entire body tensing as she prepared for Tynan and whomever he met to whirl about and find her spying.

When nothing happened, she edged closer to the crack she’d managed to widen in the cupboard doors, and peered out, instantly finding him.

Squatting down, he spoke to…

Her eyes widened.

A pair of small children had their backs to Faye. Each held bread in one hand, tugging at it with their teeth and nodding as Tynan spoke.

Faye cocked her head.

“… sorry we didn’t believe ye were going to make it out of this one, sir,” one of the boys whispered,