When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,104

been cruel for cruelty’s sake.

He’d been protecting the boy as he hadn’t been able to protect Eddie.

“Oh, Gideon,” she said, feeling sad. “It was never your fault that they hanged Eddie.”

“Wasn’t it?” He looked at her fiercely. “I was the only one to watch over him. I was the only one he turned to.” He fumbled suddenly with his neckcloth, jerking it so hard she thought he would strangle himself. “Do you know what he did, the last time I saw him? Before he went out pickpocketing and was caught?”

He yanked open his shirt, wrenching a couple of buttons off, sending them pinging to the floor.

He ignored the buttons to hold up the worn farthing he wore always around his neck. “He gave me this—to buy a bit of bread for our supper. I had a half dozen pennies but I took his farthing anyway—and when he went to prison he had nothing.”

The helpless rage, the overwhelming grief she saw in his eyes staggered her. Made her wonder how she’d ever thought him without emotion.

Messalina wrapped her arms around him. “You did your best. You watched over Eddie as well as you could.” He shook his head violently, but she insisted because she knew now. “You loved your brother, and that farthing is the proof.”

Chapter Eighteen

The days passed one after another with very little difference until one evening the fox returned home with a limp and a pair of red shoes in his paws.

“For you,” he said to Bet.

She took the shoes and tried them on, finding that they fit perfectly. “Why have you given me these?”

“To remember me by,” he replied mockingly.…

—From Bet and the Fox

Messalina lounged in the sitting room late that night after dinner, clad in a comfortable wrap in preparation for bed. Lucretia was beside her, nibbling on a lemon tart. Her sister appeared to have Hicks entirely in her thrall. Gideon had disappeared as soon as dinner was done.

Messalina had meant to examine the new psalter on her lap, but she kept remembering that afternoon instead. How Gideon had been so hesitant when he’d taken her to the auction. His satisfaction when he realized she loved his gift.

And the rage and grief he’d let spill afterward when he told her about Eddie. He’d never have spoken so frankly, without scheme or guile, when they’d first married. She knew that.

She felt honored that he’d revealed his hurt to her.

Tiny, sharp teeth nibbled at her fingers, dangling from the side of the settee. Messalina glanced down and saw that Daisy had decided that her fingers were a late-night snack.

“Ow,” she said in a scolding tone of voice. “No biting, please.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Sam had been lying on his stomach by the fireplace, carefully turning the pages of the illustrated atlas she’d brought back. He jumped up and ran to the settee.

“You needn’t worry, Sam,” Messalina said. “Even the most well-behaved puppies like to nibble.” She set the psalter down on the settee beside her and lifted Daisy onto her lap. She glanced at Sam. “That is, I hope Daisy has been well-behaved?”

The boy suddenly looked guilty. “’E may’ve found one of Mr. ’Icks’s shoes.”

Lucretia glanced up. “Did Daisy eat the shoe?”

“Oh no, not eat.” Sam stared down at his toes. “Although he did chew them up a bit.”

Lucretia widened her eyes with what seemed like alarm. “We must get Mr. Hicks new shoes at once. He’s been coming along so nicely with his roasts.”

The boy looked worried.

“It’s all right,” Messalina reassured him. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault Daisy found the shoes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam didn’t seem nearly as convinced of his own innocence.

Messalina suppressed a smile and petted Daisy, who had curled up on her lap. She watched as Sam returned to the atlas, and a sudden thought struck. “Sam?”

The boy lifted his head from the book. “Ma’am?”

“If you could do any work in the world when you grow up, what would you like to be?”

Lucretia raised her eyebrows. “What—?”

“Shh,” Messalina murmured.

Sam gave the question serious thought, a heavy frown wrinkling his forehead, and then his brow cleared and he said, “A schoolmaster.”

Messalina blinked, surprised. “Really? Why is that?”

“Well,” the boy replied. “Schoolmasters don’t live in St Giles. An’ they’re clever-like. Real clever. They read books.”

It seemed a little unlikely that there were no schoolmasters living in St Giles, but Messalina could concede the other points. “I see.”

Sam nodded and returned to the atlas.

Daisy stood at that point and yawned, and Messalina was reminded of how tiny