When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,86

brother talks when ’e’s in his cups.”

Gideon merely grunted in reply to this.

The day was stupidly lovely, the sun blazing in the sky. Around them London surged and whirled, delirious in the good weather. A gap-toothed pieman bawled his wares in a particularly grating voice. Chairmen jogged past, their burden a ruddy gentleman with an enormous bobbed wig. A gaggle of urchins played knucklebones in a doorway while a wagon driver cursed his enormous draft horses.

The entire scene was enough to make a man spew. Or possibly that was just Gideon’s reaction.

They walked in silence for some twenty minutes before turning into a narrow lane, the space above their heads filled with shop signs.

Keys darted Gideon a nervous glance. “It’s just past here.”

“I know,” Gideon snapped, then winced. “Sorry.”

Another corner, and then Opal’s was suddenly on their right. In contrast to the other businesses crowded into the narrow lane, Opal’s bore no sign. In fact, the only clue to its presence was the rich aroma of coffee.

Gideon ducked as he entered the low doorway.

Inside, tall booths enclosed cramped little tables. The patrons of Opal’s, unlike those of almost every other coffeehouse, had no urge to be seen. Long, blackened beams crossed the ceiling, and the only light was from a row of small, smudged windows facing the lane. At one end of the room was an elderly woman presiding over her tankards, coffee beans, and fire like an ancient priestess of some particularly malignant god.

“There.” Gideon indicated with a jerk of his chin a booth set within the shadows of the far side of the room. “That’ll give us a view of the door so we won’t miss Greycourt.”

Keys nodded, and they claimed their table.

Immediately a small, grubby boy slid two steaming tankards of coffee onto the table and accepted a handful of pennies in return without saying a word.

Gideon took a sip of his coffee, nearly singeing his tongue, and felt a loosening in his chest. Coffee was one of the seven wonders of the world, and those who favored tea were daft.

Well…except for Messalina. She used to close her eyes in bliss at the first sip of her tea.

The thought made him scowl at his tankard.

“’Ave you considered pretty talk?” Keys interrupted his sulk.

“What?” Gideon barked.

Keys’s sky-colored eyes widened. “I just meant you seem, erm…down in the mouth, guv. And it’s no secret there’s been a bit of a dustup between you and the missus.”

Gideon felt his upper lip rise. “And I suppose my domestic life has set Reggie, you, Pea, and his boys all atwitter. Bunch of gossiping old women, you lot.”

Keys pursed his lips, screwing up his face as if judging the matter soberly. “That we are, fair enough. But, see, what ’appens to you, guv, it’s sort of our business, too. If’n you’re in a glum mood, why, that’s ’ow our day goes. And mind, if’n you’re thinking on the missus and what’s not ’appening in your bedroom instead of work, some might take advantage, like. It’s when the old tomcat is thinking on something else that all the other cats attack.”

Gideon’s lips twitched. “An authority on cats, are you, then?”

“Awful lot of them in the courtyard where I grew up,” Keys said with great dignity.

Gideon nodded, fighting down the curl of his lips, for he had no wish to hurt the younger man’s feelings. “You’re a wise man, Keys.”

Keys flushed with evident happiness at the praise. “Kind o’ you to say, guv.”

Gideon tilted his mug to Keys in salute before drinking. “What would you suggest, then, to win back my wife, since you’re such a philosopher? God knows I’ve tried everything. I even bought her a bunch of flowers. She gave them to the scullery maid.”

“Well, and I’m sure that most ladies do love flowers.” Keys cleared his throat. “But I’m wondering if’n Mistress ’Awthorne might like something else.”

“Like what?” Gideon asked impatiently. He hated being ignorant at any time, but with this—how to woo Messalina—he felt a right fool. He glared at Keys. “Bonbons?”

Keys cocked his head. “Are bonbons what she really wants?”

Gideon frowned as he kept his eye on the entrance to the coffeehouse. It was true that he hadn’t much experience with wooing women. His infrequent trysts in the past had mostly been of the one-time variety: enjoyable to both parties, but also, by silent agreement, not taken seriously.

But now he was very serious.

What did Messalina truly want? What would win her over?

Because Keys was right: his mind was divided, constantly