When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,28
manner in which Lord Coxson looked at you?”
As if he were a worm beneath Coxson’s shoe.
Gideon said grimly, “Oh, it bothers me. But unlike you, I’m used to that expression.”
She was silent as they strolled up Bond Street.
Finally he said, “Perhaps you think that dirty looks are no more than I deserve.”
She said pensively, “I’m not certain anymore what you deserve.”
“Aren’t you?” He watched her as she seemed to contemplate the matter.
“No,” she said, turning to give him a searching glance. “You’re so obviously a blackguard on the outside—you seem to revel in it, in fact. And yet I see these glimpses of another man sometimes.”
“And what do you think of this other man?” he asked politely, even though he knew well that there was no other man. He was exactly what he appeared—a man who would do anything to get what he wanted.
“I don’t know yet. I’ve only seen him once or twice.” She hesitated, then said, “I saw him last night, I think. When you gave Sam the job of taking care of that puppy.”
He grunted. “Don’t mistake practicality for kindness.”
“Practicality would have been dismissing a servant caught stealing.”
He frowned at that thought. “Sam has no family. Pea said that Sam stole the candlestick for a gang of older boys. I doubt they would still be friendly to him were he dismissed. He’d starve on the streets.”
“Starve?” Messalina stopped suddenly.
He turned to look at her.
Messalina’s eyes were wide in alarm. “But there must be places he could go?”
Gideon shrugged. “The poorhouse. But it’s overcrowded and nasty. He might beg on the streets. He’d probably not make enough to feed himself. If he did, any coin he gathered would be stolen from him.” Gideon didn’t mention the less savory ways a small boy could make money on the streets. “He’d likely be dead within the year.”
“That’s awful,” Messalina whispered. “I suppose I never thought of what happened when a servant is turned off.”
“You never had to,” he replied, urging her to continue walking.
“No, you’re right,” she said pensively. “But it makes your decision to keep Sam all the more laudable.”
The look she gave him was a new one—one he’d never seen directed at him by her.
She looked approving.
And something within him sank. Because he wasn’t a kind or gentle man. He was going to kill her brother.
That didn’t matter. What he did for the duke and his marriage to Messalina were separate things. And if she never found out how her brother had died…Well, then it wouldn’t affect him. He wouldn’t let it affect either him or Messalina.
She must never know the price he paid for keeping her.
He stopped and pulled open a door beneath a huge, showy sign that read, Harrison & Sons Fine Furnishings.
“After you,” he said, letting her precede him.
The room they entered was a wide space lined with all manner of furniture, from tiny ornate tables on spindly legs to massive bed frames with carved posts.
A young, bewigged clerk hurried forward and bowed. “May I be of service, sir, madam?”
Messalina smiled easily at the man. “Not at the moment, no. We would like to look at your wares first.”
“Naturally. Naturally. Please let me know at once should you have any questions.” The clerk bowed again and went to lurk near the door, most likely the better to pounce on any entering customers.
Messalina inhaled deeply as if tasting fresh ocean air. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
Without waiting for his reply, she strolled deeper into the maze of ridiculous furniture. Gideon trailed her, watching her skirts swish as she flitted from piece to piece. She seemed to be in her own dream, delighted by the wealth of choices before her.
Gideon’s lips twitched.
Messalina stopped to trace her fingers over the mother-of-pearl inlay on a small table. Both impractical and very, very expensive-looking. “So pretty.”
Gideon felt his jaw clench.
As if aware of his silent criticism, she peered up at him through her eyelashes. “You look as if you’ve swallowed something disgusting.”
“Such extravagance”—he gestured at the room—“makes me feel…”
“Miserly?” she cut in, and then, before he could answer, came back with, “Parsimonious? Closefisted? Penurious?” A smile was flickering about her lips.
Her smile could stop a man’s heart.
“Your vocabulary is excellent, madam,” he said drily. “All this makes me uneasy.” He laced his hands behind his back as they continued their meander. “It isn’t in my plans to furnish my house like a princeling. Why spend money on items made more for show than for function? One eats the same whether on rough