When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,27
an eye, held out a tin cup in mute supplication.
And on every street corner a gang of small boys with ragged brooms stood in the way of those wishing to cross and demanded pennies to sweep the street clean.
As they neared a cluster of the boys, Hawthorne withdrew a handful of pennies from his pocket and gave one to each. The children scampered into the street, ignoring the shouted threats from a dray driver passing by. They swept with great vigor, though Messalina wasn’t entirely sure that the street was any cleaner than before.
She leaned a little closer to Hawthorne. “I would’ve thought that you’d consider paying the street sweeper boys a waste of money.”
She felt him stiffen fractionally. “It’s just pennies.”
“Mm,” she murmured. “And yet it’s rather kind of you.”
She looked at him just in time to see him make a grimace of irritation. “Kindness has nothing to do with it. I was once a boy like that. The pennies they earn in a day might feed not just them but—”
“Miss Greycourt!”
Messalina stopped. It was either that or walk into the handsome gentleman before them.
Lord Coxson’s gaze flicked from her face to Hawthorne’s, and her heart dropped as a malicious smirk crossed his face. “Oh, but I beg your pardon. It’s Mrs. Hawthorne now, isn’t it?”
* * *
His knife slipped into his palm as naturally as breathing.
Gideon narrowed his eyes at the aristocrat blocking the walkway. The man wore a greasy grin beneath an overcurled wig and carried a long ebony cane as an affectation. Gideon couldn’t remember his name, but the face was recognizable enough—the lordling had courted Messalina two years ago. His self-importance had set Gideon’s teeth on edge. It had been all the more satisfying, then, when Messalina had turned him away.
He could feel Reg and Johnny behind him, and Gideon gave a hand signal meaning stay back.
He examined the fop blocking their way.
“Stand aside,” Gideon said, and for some reason that made the ass’s grin widen.
He’d wipe that grin right off—
Messalina laid her palm on Gideon’s chest, surprising him into immobility. “Now, darling, you mustn’t be so impatient with well-wishers.” She turned to the man with a suspiciously placid smile. “Lord Coxcomb, isn’t it?”
“Coxson,” the man snapped. His grin had slipped.
“I do beg your pardon. Lord Coxson, of course,” Messalina replied, waving aside his correction as if his name mattered little. “This is my dear husband, Gideon Hawthorne.”
The adoring smile she turned on Gideon made something in his chest trip. Fool! She was obviously acting for the dandy.
“Hawthorne.” Coxson tapped his forefinger against his chin, making a play out of pretending to think. “Why, don’t you work for your wife’s uncle? Please tell me if I misremember.”
Gideon rolled his shoulder in preparation for—
“Oh dear,” Messalina cried, looking concerned. “Forgetfulness at your age, my lord? Indeed, you must see a physician immediately. What if it’s a symptom of some concerning—perhaps fatal—disease of the mind? I should hate to see you die at so callow an age.” Coxson frowned, but before he could reply, Messalina pulled insistently at Gideon’s arm. “We must be away, but I do thank you for your gracious felicitations on our marriage.”
Gideon glanced at her.
Messalina widened her eyes pointedly.
He sighed and reluctantly slipped his knife back up his sleeve as they walked on.
They were several yards distant from Coxson when Messalina whispered, “Was that a knife in your hand?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t stab a man on Bond Street,” she hissed.
He glanced at her pinkened cheeks and pulled her closer. “I assure you I can.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
“No?” He suppressed a smirk. “Then what is?”
She heaved a gusty sigh as if terribly burdened. “You must be on your guard.”
“I rather thought I was.”
“Oh, my Lord,” she muttered under her breath. “Not that sort of guard.”
“Then?” he demanded. “What are you trying to say?”
She was silent for several steps and he was surprised.
He didn’t think her so easily silenced.
She said, slowly, “You need to watch for people like him, and you can’t use your knife, no matter the mockery and sly glances. There’ll be more of those, you know, especially if you truly want to somehow enter society. The aristocracy will close on you like wolves on an injured rabbit and tear you apart.”
“That’s quite a bloody image,” he said mildly. Did she really think an aristocrat could ever touch him?
She made a sound almost like a growl under her breath.
An elderly gentleman passing them shied away.
Messalina didn’t seem to notice. “Doesn’t it bother you? The