Taming of the Beast (Scandalous Affairs #2) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,38

Tynan said quickly.

Faye opened her mouth, but the glint in his eyes, faintly desperate and pleading, recalled the defense he had no wish for her to give. Clearing her throat, she looked once more to the pair of children. “How do you know, Mr. Wylie?” she asked instead.

A low growl worked up Tynan’s throat, and it didn’t escape her notice that neither boy revealed a hint of fear, a testament to the fact that Mr. Tynan Wylie wasn’t the bully he was so determined to have her, and the world, believe.

He thinned his eyes. “John and Jack, you may run on ahead. Finnegan.” The door immediately opened, and Finn shuffled in. “Show them back to their rooms.”

With a little jerk of his chin, Finn urged the boys on until Faye and Tynan were left alone.

She widened her smile. “You, Tynan, are a lover of poetry.”

Chapter 10

Tynan had always managed to keep several paces ahead of his enemies and opponents.

Until he hadn’t.

Until he’d bribed the wrong lord, whose reach and influence had seen Tynan shut away.

And it appeared that time had damaged him badly, leaving him rusty. So rusty as to have underestimated a five-feet-nothing slip of a lady.

There were now too many people who were aware of his existence here.

Three children from the Rookeries. One lady from Mayfair. Nay, make that two ladies.

The arrivals of the two former street waifs had confirmed that his presence here was known not just by Finn, but by others. Which meant it was only a matter of time before the people who felt they’d been wronged by him discovered that not only had Tynan escaped Newgate, but also his whereabouts.

And yet, even with that potential danger, his focus wasn’t on any of that, but rather the bloody book Faye Poplar had brandished.

Tension seethed within him, and Tynan trained all his attention on her.

The minx, however, didn’t so much as retreat. Rather, she continued to stand in that spot, holding his book and staring back at him with the same pleased expression of the men and women he’d had dealings with who’d solved a case with the information he’d provided them.

You, Tynan, are a lover of poetry.

“What am I going to do with you, Faye Poplar?” he said, as much to her as to himself.

She held his book aloft. “Aha! You do not deny it!”

He plucked the book from her fingers. “Give me that,” he clipped out, stealing a look at the doorway. The last thing he needed was for the children in this household to discover…

Faye’s eyes widened, and she followed his stare. “You are embarrassed that you love poetry.”

“I didn’t say that I loved it,” he squeezed out between tightly clenched teeth. Please, just let her let this matter rest.

He should have learned better by now than to have such hopes with this tenacious, meddlesome woman before him. “But neither did you deny it.”

“I don’t love it,” he said curtly. And he didn’t. He liked poetry. He enjoyed it and had since he’d been a boy reading sonnets to his mother and sister. There wasn’t a damned thing he loved or needed. “Is that what you need to hear?”

Stomping across the kitchen, he shoved the book back inside the cupboard. Tynan straightened and turned back. A curse escaped him.

At some point, she’d padded silently over and now stood a step away, wearing the silliest smile. A knowing one that made his ears go hot. She reached for his hand. “There is nothing to be ashamed of in enjoying literature, Tynan,” she said softly, her voice several decibels lower than before in a nod to the fact that, this time, she at least respected his desire for privacy from potential listeners at the door. “We all cope with life’s struggles in different ways.” She lightly squeezed his hand.

“Says who?” He nudged his chin at her. “You? And furthermore, I don’t have struggles! I’m resilient and strong and—” Realizing how utterly ridiculous he sounded having to state his strength, rather than have her already know it, he shut his damned mouth.

Alas, it was too much to hope she was done with him and this. She gave him a pointed look. “Everyone has struggles, Tynan.”

He barked with laughter, the sound harsh and empty of amusement. “What are your troubles?” Tynan scoffed. “Less servants than you’re accustomed to? Perhaps colder fires and smaller meals? You have all the time in the world to be ensconced in your comfortable house, sipping your pleasant tea in front of a