Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,97

“Nothing.” It was the second time in his life he’d been forced to admit to leaving a household . . . without. The only time before that had come when he’d gotten himself caught in the act and nearly hanged.

“Nothing,” Avery repeated. The other man rocked back on his heels and rubbed at his chin. “You’re . . . done, then.”

He felt Chance’s gaze taking in the exchange.

You’re done . . . And it would have been easier and more welcome had there been judgment and not the same relief Temperance had revealed when she’d learned he’d been unable to go through with his last heist. Sweat slicked Dare’s palms and entire body as he confronted just how far he’d gotten from his path. “I’m not done,” he said, a defensive edge creeping in.

Avery snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with it if you are. Like I said before, you should be. Enjoying trips to the park and spending time with your family.”

Dare felt his face heat. “You’ve heard about that.”

The other man picked up a paper on the edge of Dare’s desk.

Dare plucked the copy of The Times from the other man’s hands. “It’s just gossip. I’ve no intention of quitting my work. Just . . . perhaps taking a different path.”

“A different path?”

He nodded. Only . . . what did that even look like? Could he be the man Temperance thought he could . . . the man she urged him to be . . . and still do that which he needed?

The answer came immediately. No.

While he’d been playing at family, there’d been others starving and struggling. Men like Joseph awaiting a date with the gibbet.

“Grey, it’s not a bad thing if you quit. But if you aren’t coming back, they need to know that, too. They need to know that it’s time to stop relying on you and see to their own needs.”

Every word was a blade of guilt, twisting and turning and then twisting back again.

He’d been playing at another life. Playing house here with Temperance and Rose and . . . Kinsley, Dare had enjoyed himself more than he had ever in his remembering. But he’d also forgotten everyone else, too. It was what Temperance wanted. For him to immerse himself in this world and leave the one he knew and wanted behind.

Feeling Chance’s stare on them, taking in the entire exchange, Dare cleared his throat. “This isn’t why I’ve asked you here.” He motioned for both men to sit.

Dare proceeded to explain about Joseph Gurney and the other man’s circumstances.

“Well, what do you need?” Avery Bryant asked when he’d finished.

That had always been the other man’s way. Despite Temperance’s resentment and mistrust of the street thief who’d trained Dare, Avery Bryant was one who’d quit what he’d been doing and accompany a servant to the other end of London and ask how he might help.

“Wylie,” Dare said.

Avery sat back in his chair. “Wylie’s gotten more grasping. And you being a marquess now?” He shook his head. “He’s going to want even more. Expect it.”

“What are his rates?”

“Bribes from a lord?” His partner looped a boot across his opposite knee. “Hard to say. I’ve heard anywhere from one to two thousand pounds.”

Chance promptly choked. “We don’t have that to save Gurney.”

Bloody hell. “The marquessate is bankrupt,” Dare said flatly, never regretting more that he’d not returned when Connor Steele had urged him to. Instead, he’d allowed that wastrel to squander it all . . .

“No Newgate guard is going to believe that, even if it is true.”

Except . . . it wasn’t altogether true. There were items to be sold. A lot of fripperies and baubles. “You’ll handle the transaction?”

Avery nodded. “You write the note, put your seal on it all fancy-like.” His partner grinned. “I’ll see it gets to his hands, along with the money for the transaction.”

Dare reached for a sheet of parchment and proceeded to write.

Chance frowned. “I don’t know about this. Perhaps I might try to reach Mr. Buxton once more?”

Both men ignored him. A moment later, Dare had blown powder upon the note, stamped it with his seal, and handed the folded sheet over.

Avery looked down at it several moments before tucking it in his pocket. “Now, the items to sell?”

Chapter 18

“The day . . . was nice,” Kinsley said, perched sidesaddle on the wooden, painted rocking horse.

“You sound surprised,” Temperance noted as Rose splashed paint upon the little canvas that had been set up for her. After their outing at