Jacquie D'Alessandro (22 page)

“You have something to say to me.” It was a statement rather than a question.

A dull flush crept over the young man’s face. Reaching out one hand to balance himself, he drew himself up to his full height and glared at Philip. “I don’t like the way ye look at her.”

Philip didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Damn it, he knew how he looked at her. And in all fairness, he couldn’t blame Goddard. Philip would feel precisely the same way about any other man who looked at Meredith with the desire he knew he himself was unable to hide. And he also couldn’t stop the sympathy coursing through him. He had no wish to stomp upon Goddard’s emotions. While he hadn’t suffered from a physical affliction as serious as Goddard’s, he’d been physically awkward, clumsy, and pudgy until he reached his majority. He recalled the pain all too well.

Yet he knew that while Meredith’s feelings for Goddard ran deep, she was not in love with him. She wasn’t
the sort of woman who would kiss him as she had if her heart belonged to another man. What exactly was the nature of their relationship?

Keeping his gaze steady on Goddard, Philip said quietly, “And I can tell by the way
you
look at her that you love her.”

“Damned right I do, and that gives me certain rights. Like warnin’ off fancy blokes what look at her like she’s some tasty morsel to sample, then spit aside when the flavor’s gone.”

“That is not my intention.”

“Is that so?” Goddard stuck out his jaw at a belligerent angle. “What exactly are yer intentions, then?”

“That is personal, between Meredith and me. But, knowing how you feel about her, I want to assure you that I…care for her. And would do nothing to hurt her.”

“Ye already have, you and yer bloody curse. Her reputation is
everything
to her. Ye’ve already damaged her business. And the way ye look at her makes it obvious ye think to ruin her as well.” Goddard’s lips curled back in a sneer. “Ye high-and-mighty lords think that any piece that catches yer fancy is fair game for yer attentions. But Miss Merrie’s too smart to fall victim to that. She’s run her whole life from it.”

“What does that mean? Run her whole life from what?”

Something flashed in Goddard’s eyes, something that clearly indicated he’d said too much, and he pressed his lips together. When it became clear Goddard wasn’t going to elaborate, Philip asked, “And how do you know that
your
feelings won’t get the better of you, won’t lead you to do something that could compromise her?”

A muscle jerked in Goddard’s jaw. His gaze raked over Philip, as if trying to decide how to answer. Finally he said, “I love her, but not in the way ye’re implyin’. She ain’t old enough to be my mum, but that’s what she’s been to me, and that’s how I love her. She took care of me all
those years, and now that I’m old enough, it’s my turn to look after her. I’d do anythin’ for her.” Goddard’s eyes narrowed to slits. “
Anythin’
.”

There was no mistaking the young man’s meaning. Clearly if Meredith said,
Chop off Lord Greybourne’s head,
Goddard would sharpen his axe. One could only hope she wouldn’t make such a request. There was no denying his relief that Goddard wasn’t in love with Meredith. Yet his words only led to more questions.

“What do you mean, she’s been a mum to you?”

Again he hesitated, as if debating whether to answer or not. Finally he said, “Had no mum or dad, least not as I can remember. Only person I had was Taggert, the chimney sweep. I was one of his climbin’ boys.” Goddard’s eyes and voice went flat. “He had others besides me. Kept us all together in a small, filthy room. One day, while cleanin’ out a chimney, I fell.” His gaze flicked down to his leg. “I remember fallin’, but I must have hit my head hard, ’cause I don’t remember nothin’ else till I woke up and found meself starin’ into an angel’s blue eyes. Thought I’d died and somehow made it to heaven. Soon found out that the angel was Miss Merrie, a stranger to me. She’d picked me up out of the gutter where Taggert had dumped me. I weren’t no use to him anymore.”

“Good God,” Philip muttered, a sensation akin to nausea rolling through him at such unspeakable cruelty. “How old were you?”

He shrugged. “Not sure. ’Bout eight. At least that’s wot Miss Merrie figured. Didn’t know when my birthday was, so Miss Merrie named that day my birthday. She’s given me a fine party every year since, with cake and biscuits and presents.”

“What ever happened to this Taggert?”

A combination of hatred and fear burned in his eyes. “I don’t know. I can only hope the bastard’s dead.”

“So Meredith brought you home to live with her family?”

“She took me in to live with
her
. She were like a mum to me. Fed me, clothed me, taught me to read and cipher numbers. It were just Miss Merrie and me till five years ago when Charlotte and Hope came along.”

“She lived
alone
when she found you? She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, sixteen. How—?”

“Forget that. Don’t matter none.” Goddard’s voice resembled a low growl, and his hands fisted at his sides. “Wot’s important is you knowin’ wot kind of lady she is. Kind. Respectable. I owe her my life, and by God, I won’t let you or anyone else do her harm in any way.”

A fissure of shame snaked down Philip’s spine. The bumps he’d viewed as hardships in his privileged life faded to insignificance when compared to the horrors this young man had suffered.

His gaze steady on Goddard’s, Philip said, “I would never harm her. And even before you told me your story, I knew she was kind and respectable.”

“And what of this lust ye feel for her?”

“I won’t deny I feel it, but it is only one portion of the emotions she inspires. You’re assuming that this is only one-sided. What if she has feelings for me as well?”

Uncertainty flickered in Goddard’s eyes. “I hadn’t considered that,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “If she decided you made her happy…well, I want her happy.”

Philip nodded. He felt a strong need to say something, but damned if he knew exactly what. His gaze involuntarily slipped down to Goddard’s damaged leg. He instantly sensed the young man’s tension.

“I don’t be wantin’ yer damn pity.”

He looked up and met Goddard’s glare. “That’s not what I was thinking at all, although I cannot help but feel
sorry for what you suffered as a child. No one, most especially a child, should be treated in such an inhumane manner. Indeed, rather than pity, you have my deepest admiration. Not many people would have been strong or brave enough to overcome such adversity. Thank you for telling me something so personal and painful, Goddard. Your loyalty and bravery toward Meredith are commendable.”

Goddard blinked in clear surprise, then his tense features relaxed a bit. “I thank God every day she found me. I’m a lucky man.”

Philip extended his hand. “I think you’re
both
lucky.”

The two men shared a measuring look. Then, after a nod, Goddard gripped his hand in a firm clasp. “Thank ye. Have to admit, ye’re not exactly what I expected. Ye don’t seem too bad, for a titled bloke, that is.”

“Thank you. Now let’s see if we
all
can’t get lucky and find the missing piece of stone.”

They walked back to where they’d left Meredith and the earl, this time walking along the outer wall, near the windows. They’d just turned the final corner when Philip halted so suddenly, Goddard bumped into his back. An arc of broken glass littered the wooden floor, sunlight pouring in from the broken window glinting off the jagged shards.

Goddard stepped around him and surveyed the situation. “Miss Merrie told me ’bout last night’s break-in. This window’s probably how the bloke what hurt yer friend got in.”

A frown pulled down Philip’s brows. “Perhaps…but from what Edward described, I thought the robber had subdued the guard, then simply walked in.” Hell, had someone
else
broken in? After Edward’s altercation? The sound of the heavy wooden door opening interrupted his thoughts. Brisk footfalls, obviously a man’s, thudded on the floor. Seconds later, Mr. Danpry, the warehouse manager, rounded the corner. Philip had met the large-boned
man the day the
Dream Keeper
had docked and his crates had been delivered.

Danpry stopped short at the sight of Goddard and Philip. “Lord Greybourne. I just heard about what happened here last night.” His gaze skimmed over the broken glass, and his jaw hardened. “I’m confident they’ll catch the fiend, my lord. The magistrate wants him, and the warehouse owner has personally hired a Runner.”

“Excellent. I’ve looked around. It appears that nothing other than two of my crates were disturbed.”

“You might have been the only one robbed, my lord, but this ain’t just a simple burglary.”

“Of course not. My friend and quite possibly your guard, were injured.”

“The guard, Billy Timson, was more than injured, Lord Greybourne. He was found an hour ago. Floatin’ in the Thames. This is now a murder.”

They paired off, Meredith and Albert taking one crate, Philip and his father the other, a fact which relieved Meredith greatly. It was difficult enough being in the same room with Philip; standing shoulder to shoulder with him, their hands brushing as they removed the delicate artifacts, would prove pure torture.

For more than two hours, conversation consisted solely of naming items as they were removed from their respective crates and settled on the blankets covering the floor, during which time the air had grown unbearably warm.

Slipping her handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at the moisture beading on her neck. Although she’d had no intention of looking at him, her errant gaze wandered toward Philip. He was lifting a small statue from the crate, his back toward her. Dusty streaks marred his white linen shirt, which also bore a T-shaped darkened stain that ran across his wide shoulders and bisected the center of his back where the material rested against his damp skin.

Her gaze traveled downward, over his hips and buttocks, continuing down the backs of his long, muscular legs, all of which his snug breeches accentuated in a way that did absolutely nothing to cool her.

At that moment he turned around, and her gaze snapped upward, mortified to be caught staring. But his attention was riveted on the palm-sized statue he held. Just as her attention was riveted by the sight of him.

His hair was damp, the burnished streaks darkened by the result of his toils. His glasses had slid down his nose, and she had to plant her feet to keep from giving in to the temptation to walk over and adjust the spectacles for him. But even as the thought entered her mind, he pushed them up himself.

Her gaze again wandered downward. Along with his jacket, he’d discarded his cravat and loosened his shirt around his neck, allowing her a pulse-quickening glimpse of his tanned throat and a bit of his chest. She caught a flash of shiny metal. The chain that held his gold coin. A coin she knew lay nestled against his vibrantly warm skin.

Thanks to his labors, the front of his shirt also bore a T-shaped stain, the material clinging to his chest and abdomen in a way that fired her imagination and curiosity. His sinewy forearms drew her avid gaze next, and she vividly recalled the feel of those strong arms holding her, urging her closer. To his hands…strong, sun-browned hands that now gently cradled a piece of ancient history. Magic hands, with callus-tipped fingers that belied his status as a titled gentleman, that had sifted through her hair. Touched her lips. Caressed her breasts.

Down, down trailed her gaze, over his flat stomach, then lower, to linger over the material stretched snugly over the part of him that fascinated her in a way she desperately did not want to be fascinated.

Tearing her gaze away from
that,
she continued tracking lower, over his muscled thighs, down to his dusty,
scuffed black leather boots. He was dirty, disheveled, sweaty. She shouldn’t find him the least bit appealing. And in truth she didn’t. In truth, she found him
devastatingly
appealing.
Dangerously
appealing. Instead of being put off by his disordered appearance, she wanted nothing more than to strip him of his dirty clothing, then offer to bathe him.

Heat that had nothing to do with the oppressive warehouse air whooshed through her at the disturbing, unwanted erotic image of her running slick, soapy hands over a naked, aroused Philip. Giving herself a mental shake, she raised her gaze. And met his intense stare.

Behind his lenses his eyes burned with compelling awareness, the flames smoldering in those dark brown depths, leaving no doubt that he knew she’d looked at him in a way that no one would ever call proper. While he could not divine her exact thoughts, he clearly recognized the gist of them.

“Feeling overheated, Miss Chilton-Grizedale?” he asked in a silky voice.

Yes, damn you, and it’s entirely your fault.
“I think we are all suffering from the furnacelike temperature in here.”

His gaze skimmed over her, and she inwardly grimaced. Surely she must resemble a bedraggled, limp dust rag. When their eyes met again, his expression was no less compelling, but now tempered with concern.

“Please forgive me. I was so wrapped up in my work, I failed to realize how uncomfortable you must be. As much as I appreciate your help, these are no conditions for a lady. I would be happy to escort you home.”

“Nonsense. While I appreciate your concern, I am not a hothouse flower in need of pampering. I insist upon helping with the search. Time is of the essence, and I’ve a vested interest in you locating the missing piece of stone.”

“Vested interest meaning that without the missing
stone, you will not be able to marry me off, preferably to one of those hothouse flowers whom I met last evening.”

“I prefer to call them properly bred young ladies—”

“I’m certain you do.”

“—and yes, marrying you off is the plan. We both stand to lose a great deal if you cannot break the curse.”

Something she could not decipher flashed in his eyes. “No argument here on that point.”