Whisper To Me of Love (7 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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Wetherly broke eye contact first, his gaze slowly moving a scant second later back to the inhabitants of the ring, making Royce wonder if he had mistaken the ugly look in the dark eyes. Deciding that he was letting the unfortunate antagonism that existed between himself and the Earl color his thoughts, Royce gave himself a mental shaking. There was probably nothing in Wetherly's stare to give him pause—he really must make an effort to stop reading sinister motives in simple actions.
Royce forced himself to concentrate on the activity in the ring and for the next hour or so managed to appear enthralled by the two bruisers. Fortunately, before he became too bored again, the match ended, the fellow in the black breeches knocking his opponent down with a furious blow to the jaw. But for Royce, escape was not immediate—he had to wait for Zachary to re-join him, and Zachary, of course, full of excitement about the fight, was in no hurry to join in the mass exodus that was taking place. Royce listened patiently to Zachary's colorful descriptions of the fight they had both just watched, but when he finally thought he had Zachary slowly moving in the direction of their gig, George and several of his friends chimed in and proceeded to go over all the various highlights of the match, no one except Royce, apparently, willing to move a foot until the subject was satisfactorily exhausted.
The crowd was rapidly dispersing by now, and Royce was on the point of bodily picking up Zachary and carrying him to the gig when Zachary looked at him and grinned. “I suppose,” Zachary said sheepishly, “you are ready to leave now.”
His face wearing an expression of long-suffering boredom, Royce answered dulcetly, “It would be pleasant.”
“Oh, I say!” exclaimed George. “We can't have the afternoon end yet! Shall we all retire to one of the clubs for a game or two of hazard or faro?”
Royce demurred, the vision of lovely Della waiting for him on the soft feather bed in the discreet little house he had obtained for her making him distinctly disinclined for more masculine company. His hand firmly on Zachary's upper arm as he edged away from George and his friends, Royce said smoothly, “Some other time for me. I'm afraid I have other plans.”
There were murmurs of regret from the others, but Royce did not allow himself to be swayed and doggedly kept Zachary moving along with the remnants of the crowd. At this point the majority of the throng had thinned out and disappeared, and although there were still groups of stragglers here and there, Royce and the others were able to move more freely in the direction they wanted.
Royce's group had passed several men on horseback and had dodged between a few carts and curricles when at last Royce saw his pair and gig. Concentrating on reaching his horses, he was not consciously aware of the small figure in the green jacket and gray pantaloons who had been dogging his heels for quite some time. It was only when the boy appeared to stumble and fell against him that Royce's sharp senses took over and he realized in an instant what was happening.
Pip had grown almost desperate while waiting to snatch Manchester's valuables, and if it hadn't been for the one-eyed man's express wish that Manchester be robbed, she would have given up on him long ago. Though she had found him early on and had remained as close to him as possible, there had never been just the right opportunity to pick his pockets. Someone was always right by his side, and instead of mingling with the crowd as it gradually dispersed, Manchester and his friends had lingered, talking, until Pip had feared someone would notice her lurking about and comment on it. No one had, and just when she thought she was going to have to risk being spotted, Manchester and his chatty friends had
finally
started to move. But the crowd that she had relied upon to cover her movements had disappeared, and while there were still many people about, they were too widely scattered to give her much protection.
She glanced around, hoping to see Ben or Jacko. Maybe between the three of them, they could maneuver Manchester into an alley and rob him before he reached his vehicle and anyone knew what was happening. As she caught sight of her brothers where they lounged near several gigs and curricles, a feeling of relief swept over her. Good. Once they saw her, they would realize that she needed help.
But Jacko and Ben were not looking in her direction, and Pip's heart sank when the American suddenly swerved and began walking purposefully toward a pair of chestnut horses which were harnessed to a stylish gig. Once Manchester climbed into the gig, the chance was lost; shuddering at the thought of facing the one-eyed man's wrath if she failed to carry out his command, Pip gamely attempted to do what she had been trained to do all her life—pick a pocket.
Pip's stumble as she fell against the tall American was a thing of grace and skill. So were the nimble fingers that deftly lifted his golden seal and the heavy gold watch from his vest pocket. The watch and seal slipped instantly into the capricious pockets of her own coat, and Pip was almost on the point of congratulating herself for accomplishing such a risky venture when an iron-fingered hand suddenly clamped itself around her slender wrist.
Not aware of her danger yet, appearing to have regained her balance, Pip grinned saucily in the direction of the American and said cheekily, “Thanks, mister! Oy would have fallen 'cept for you.”
“I don't think so,” said a cold voice. “And I would appreciate it if you handed back the watch and seal you have just stolen. Then we shall see how you like a trip to Newgate!”
Her heart thumping frantically in her breast, Pip made a valiant attempt to brazen her way out of this disastrous situation. “Blimey, mister! Oy don't know wot you're talkin' about!”
“Oh, I think you do; in fact, I think you know
exactly
‘wot' I'm talking about! Now, hand over my watch!”
It was by far the most dangerous predicament Pip had ever been in, and her blood ran cold when several of the gentlemen who had been with the American at the sparring match formed a small, curious group around them. Reminding herself not to panic, to remain calm, no matter how bad it looked, Pip glanced quickly around to see if Jacko and Ben had noticed her difficulty.
They had. Even as Pip twisted uneasily in the grasp of the well-dressed gentleman, Jacko and Ben were walking rapidly in her direction, the carefully bland expression on their faces letting her know that they had something planned to extricate her from this unpleasant situation.
Relaxing slightly, knowing that her brothers wouldn't allow her to be carried off to Newgate without a fight, Pip put on her most innocent expression and, not looking at her captor, glanced hopefully around at the other gentlemen. “Lord luv us! Now, Oy ask you fine gentlemen—do Oy look like a bloody thief?”
Pip did appear beguilingly innocent as she stood there, an appealing smile on her soft lips, her small body half-hidden by the ill-fitting clothes, the visor of her black cap pulled low on her forehead, hiding the too old gray eyes. She had the look of a little lost waif, and as the seconds spun out, a flicker of doubt was seen in some of the eyes that stared at her.
But Royce wasn't the least bit fooled, and seeing that his friends were wavering, he snorted and, in one swift movement, reached into Pip's pocket and withdrew his watch and the seal as well as a silk handkerchief, which George fumingly identified as his own. Whatever doubt may have been engendered by Pip's innocent air was immediately banished.
But Pip was not without resources, and pushing back the cap with her free hand, she opened her eyes very wide and said in tones of amazement, “Well, bugger me blind! Where the 'ell did those come from?”
Torn between the desire to laugh at this outrageous scamp's antics and a strong desire to box his ears, Royce transferred his hold to the collar of the green jacket and contented himself with giving the little devil a brief shake. “And that will be enough out of you!” he said with just a suspicion of a laugh in his voice.
Pip heard the note of laughter and wiggled around to stare up in astonishment at the tall, tawny-haired gentleman. It had been her observation that
most
people would have been furious in this situation, but the American seemed, for some incomprehensible reason, to have found something amusing about being robbed!
For as long as she lived, Pip would never forget the sudden leap her heart gave the instant her eyes fell upon Royce Manchester's hard, handsome face. He was not the handsomest man she had ever seen before, his features too broadly defined to be considered classically handsome, and yet there was something so commanding, so striking, about that lean-planed face, the high cheekbones and unyielding jaw, that Pip was conscious of a shiver of excitement sliding down her spine. For the first time in her entire life, she was suddenly aware of a man in a way that startled and confused her. The full mouth above that very formidable chin was elegantly chiseled, and the arrogant nose with the slightly flaring nostrils only added to the powerful impact his features made upon her. But it was his eyes, those thickly lashed, compelling topaz eyes and their heavy black brows, that made her breath catch in her throat. Tiger eyes, she thought half-hysterically, and steeled herself to stand as unflinching as possible beneath their bright examining gaze.
Staring down into the upturned face of his little thief, Royce suddenly frowned, realizing that there was something
very
familiar about the boy. And yet ... Almost absently, Royce pushed the cloth cap farther off the boy's face. A wealth of grimy black, curly hair was exposed to his contemplative stare, and for the first time he got a clear view of those distinctively arched black brows and unforgettable gray eyes. Now, where, Royce wondered scowlingly, have I seen a face like this before?
“Having trouble, are we, Manchester?” inquired a hatefully silky voice.
Lifting his gaze from the boy's face, Royce looked at the speaker, who had just strolled up. It was the Earl of St. Audries, and he was flanked by his two cronies, Stafford and Wetherly. It was obvious that they had come not to help but to gloat, and Royce felt a stab of irritation. Not now, he thought irascibly; I am in no mood to fence with you, you sarcastic bastard! But then, as he stared into the Earl's cat-shaped gray eyes, he sucked in his breath as realization dawned. I know
precisely
where I've seen this boy's features before, he admitted grimly to himself, and I'm staring at them right this very moment!
Ever eager to seize any opportunity that might arise, Pip twisted around in the direction of the new voice, hoping that she might be able to take advantage of this unexpected encounter. But her heart sank as her eyes fell upon the trio of elegantly attired gentlemen who had just walked up. Despite the slight hint of animosity that she had detected in the speaker's voice, it was apparent that they were not going to help
her!
Her agile brain busy with seeking a way,
any
way, out of her current dilemma, after the first cursory glance at the three gentlemen, she started to look away when something about the taller of the three men caught her attention.
The Earl of St. Audries was a tall, slender man nearing fifty years of age. Like Newell, he was undeniably a credit to his tailor, his form-fitting coat of maroon cloth clinging lovingly to his shoulders, and his buff-colored breeches displaying admirably the muscled length of his long legs. He carried a slim walking stick and, unlike most of the others, was hatless.
Perhaps it was the lack of a hat that caused Pip to take a second, longer look at the Earl, and when she did, she gasped and stiffened. In stunned disbelief she stared openmouthed at the Earl's carefully arranged black curls—curls very like her own—but it was the strikingly arrogant arch of the black eyebrows above his exotically shaped smoky gray eyes that held her frozen with shock.
Pip had often wondered what her father had looked like, had often wondered if she resembled him at all, for her features bore no similarity to Jane's. And now, when she least expected it, she discovered that the features she stared at every morning were merely a younger, softer near mirror image of the slim, elegant gentleman standing in front of her!
C
HAPTER
4
P
ip's soft gasp had not gone unnoticed by Royce, nor the stiffening in the small body, and almost the instant he realized that his young thief could be none other than a bastard child of the Earl of St. Audries, he also understood the significance of the child's reaction. Until this precise moment, the boy had never known that his father had to have been this man standing in front of him—how else could one explain the little street rat possessing those unmistakable Devlin eyes?
Not quite able to believe what she was seeing, hungrily Pip cataloged every feature of the Earl's dark, haughty face. The shapes of their faces were not exactly alike, nor were their mouths and noses literally duplicated, but those brows and eyes ... Those brows and eyes marked her as having this man's blood in her veins, and there was no doubt in Pip's mind that this man was her father. Giddy as she was with that knowledge, for an instant the gravity of her situation disappeared and she choked back a half-hysterical giggle as she envisioned the gentleman's reaction if she were to suddenly fling herself onto his chest and exclaim,
“Father!
I have searched everywhere for you! Don't you recognize me? I am your
daughter!”
Staring at the aloof, disdainful features, she got the decided impression that the gentleman would
not
be pleased! In fact, as the first shock wore off and she began to study him more objectively, noting the sulky mouth and chilly expression in the gray eyes, she came to the conclusion that she didn't think she would care to know the man any better than she did at this moment. He looked to be an arrogant, cold-blooded fellow, and almost unconsciously she pressed nearer to Royce, as if seeking to repudiate any connection between them.
The Earl, intent upon baiting the American, had not paid the least heed to the grubby street urchin in Royce's grasp, and when Royce had remained silent, the Earl murmured, “Have you decided to consort with the lower orders? Perhaps you feel more comfortable in their company?”
Royce smiled, not a very nice smile. “Well, their manners are certainly better than some I could name.”
The Earl's face darkened and he stepped forward aggressively, but George Ponteby, ever the peacemaker, spoke up quickly. “It is the most amazing thing, Stephen—Royce here caught this little beggar stealing from us. Imagine that!”
The small pickpocket held captive by Royce's firm hold on the collar of the green jacket suddenly became the focus of all eyes. Ever after, Royce wondered precisely what prompted him to casually pull the black cap down low on the boy's face, effectively concealing his resemblance to the Earl before anyone else could notice it. Had he been trying to avoid an embarrassing scene? Or ... or had he known instinctively that the boy needed protection ... that the child's life might very well be in grave danger if his relationship to the Earl was perceived by others?
“A thief, eh?” said Wetherly, his dark eyes sweeping over Pip's small figure. “What do you intend to do with him?”
It was a question that only moments before Royce could have answered without hesitation; but now, in light of what he suspected, he found himself reluctant to simply turn the boy over to the watch. Yet what else was he to do? He could hardly shove the boy at the Earl and say, “Don't you think
you
ought to do something?” Somehow he didn't think that the Earl would appreciate having a bastard child suddenly thrust upon him. So what was he to do? Turn the wretched little devil loose to rob again?
As Royce hesitated, one of the two tough-looking young men who had approached about the same time as the Earl and his companions spoke up. “We'd be 'appy to 'elp you, sir. We can turn the bloody little bloke over to the watch for you. Be 'appy too! Save you the trouble, it would.”
Royce glanced at the two young men, noting their hard young faces and the odd eagerness of their manner. It was their very eagerness that aroused his suspicion—they were just a little
too
keen in their professed desire to help. Both men looked to be in their early twenties, although it was difficult to tell; the rough life they lived had left its inevitable mark on their faces and they could have been much younger than they appeared. No fool, Royce guessed immediately that they were probably the pickpocket's companions, and the wary stillness, the almost bated breath of his captive, gave the game away. Smiling grimly, Royce replied, “Thank you very kindly for your generous offer, but I'll see to it myself.”
Pip's heart sank and surreptitiously she sent Jacko a look of half bravado, half fright. It seemed that, unless Jacko and Ben acted fast, she would find herself in Newgate very soon.
“Seems a pity to turn over such a young creature to the mercy of the watch,” drawled a new voice, and undaunted, Pip glanced around hopefully.
It had been the Earl's other companion, Rufe Stafford, who had spoken. “Being an American, you wouldn't know the fate that will probably await our young thief here. More than likely the boy will hang. And all because he dared to steal a few trinkets from you.” His gaze lifting to meet Royce's eyes, he added with a note of censure, “It seems rather unfair—the boy was probably only stealing to put food in his belly, while you would never miss the items he had taken, and yet he will very likely lose his life over the incident.”
“Perhaps you would like to see to the boy's welfare?” Royce asked sarcastically. “Since you seem to have his best interests at heart, am I to understand that you wish to take responsibility for him?”
Stafford's eyes narrowed. “That wasn't what I meant, and you know it! I was merely pointing out what his fate might be.”
Newell, who had been standing next to Royce, entered the conversation at that point. “It
does
seem a shame that the boy should hang for such a minor offense. After all, you
did
get your belongings back.”
There were some murmurs of assent from the various other gentlemen gathered around, and George Ponteby said uncertainly, “Er, it
does
seem a bit extreme for the little fellow to suffer such a grievous fate. He's a mere child.”
Speculation gleaming in her gray eyes, Pip looked optimistically from one well-dressed gentleman to another, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Who could understand the gentry? She had been caught red-handed, yet these wealthy, aristocratic gentlemen actually seemed to care about what happened to her, and if she was lucky, she might yet escape a trip to Newgate. Unconsciously the beginnings of a cocky little grin twitched at the corner of her mouth.
“I see,” Royce said slowly. “It is the consensus that I should let the boy go?”
Pip was very nearly openly grinning at this point, and she stood a little straighter, certain that she would go free.
“Hmm, I don't know about that,” George admitted unhappily. “If you let him go, he'll just rob someone else.”
Royce had found this sudden concern over the fate of one small London thief amusing up to this point, but his patience was wearing thin, and with more than a little exasperation evident in his voice, he demanded, “Then what in God's name do you suggest I do? Adopt him and introduce him into my household? Remove him from the temptation of evil?”
George brightened. “Oh, I say, Royce, what a splendid idea!”
Pip didn't think it was a splendid idea at all and sent a black look in George's direction. Why couldn't he keep his bloody mouth shut?
But the idea, once proposed, seemed to catch the fancy of several of the other gentlemen. Even Francis Atwater, another of George's friends, who had remained silent up until now, spoke up. “You know, that is not such a ridiculous idea. Perhaps if you were to find him honest employment, it would be the making of him.”
In growing disbelief Royce stared at his friends. They couldn't really expect him to take this filthy little devil into his household, could they? From the encouraging expressions on several of the faces, it was obvious that his companions expected him to do precisely that! Feeling decidedly beleaguered, Royce glanced around, hoping to find an avenue of escape from what was rapidly becoming an extremely sticky situation. He certainly didn't want to see the boy hanged, but on the other hand, he was
not,
he thought grimly, about to have the thieving bastard son of the Earl of St. Audries foisted off on him!
“Of course,” Martin Wetherly said suddenly, “if you don't want to see the boy hanged and you don't want to take on the responsibility for him yourself, you
could
simply let him go. As someone pointed out—you have retrieved your belongings. You could just cry quits.”
But George was having none of this. His blue eyes very earnest, he said quickly, “Oh, no. That would never do! The little fellow would probably continue to thieve and would end up in Newgate anyway. No. No. We must think of something else.” George was an extremely amiable gentleman, but until this moment, Royce had forgotten one particularly irritating trait of George's—once he got an idea into his head, there was no swaying him from it. And George, it appeared, had decided to embark on a crusade, the hapless pickpocket inadvertently becoming the object of his good intentions.
The light of a social redeemer glinting in his eyes, George said firmly, “You
should
take him home, Royce. Find something for him to do in your household. See to it that the boy is removed from his usual criminal haunts. Train him to be a footman or the like. You are such a clever fellow, I'm sure you could think of something.”
Royce was rather fond of George in a vague fashion, but at this very moment his thoughts about his cousin were definitely
not
affectionate and he nearly groaned out loud when, once again, several of the other gentlemen joined in, seconding George's suggestion. But worse was to come. Zachary, of all people, suddenly said warmly, “You know, Royce, George is right. You can't want the boy to hang, and you can't just let him go on thieving either. Why not see if the butler or the cook can't make use of him?”
Royce made a face, and sending Zachary a dark look, he growled, “Et tu, Brute?”
Zachary smiled sunnily at him. “Yes, I'm afraid that I side with George in this matter. Think of it as a good deed.”
Royce still might have found a way to escape being saddled with a “good deed” that he certainly didn't want if the Earl hadn't spoken up just then. A sneer in his voice, the Earl remarked to no one in particular, “Oh, my! How very droll! Our visiting American is going to take it upon himself to teach the little guttersnipe some manners. This should prove most amusing! Rather like the kettle calling the pot black, don't you think?”
Apparently only Stafford and Wetherly found the snide comment amusing, the other gentlemen, George and his friends, closing ranks behind Royce, the expressions on their faces revealing their distaste for the Earl's words. Fighting to keep a grip on his temper, Royce narrowed his eyes, and his hand tightened on Pip's collar. For one long, dangerous moment, he seriously considered calling out the Earl. He would have liked nothing better than to meet the Earl on the dueling field, and if the man persisted in baiting him this way, sooner or later they
would
end up settling their differences in the time-honored way—pistols at twenty paces!
Fortunately, before Royce's temper got the better of him and he challenged the Earl to a duel, George gave a nervous laugh and defused the increasingly tense situation by saying lightly, “Hmm, yes, that might be true, except my cousin is more of a
silver
-plated kettle, wouldn't you say?”
Francis Atwater instantly followed his lead, and looking at the Earl, he said with a titter, “Oh, my, yes! Especially since he won that enormous wager from you, I would most definitely say silver-plated!”
For a moment it looked as if the Earl would continue with his offensive behavior, but seeing that Royce's friends were determined to deflect his malevolent remarks, he gave it up for the time being. Smiling nastily, he bowed and murmured, “As you say. But luck will not always be on his side.”
Royce would have liked to mention that it was
talent,
not luck, that had enabled him to best the Earl so far, but George must have read the intent in his eyes, for he promptly and very painfully trod on Royce's booted foot. Royce muffled a yelp and glared at George. But George was too busy speeding the Earl and his friends on their way to pay Royce any further heed. Smiling sweetly at the Earl, George murmured, “Yes. Yes. You are entirely right. If you will excuse me now, we must be on our way.”
“What about the boy?” asked Wetherly.
“Oh, my, yes, the boy!” exclaimed George fussily. “Don't give him another thought!” Smiling angelically at Royce, he said happily, “Royce will see to him.”
Recognizing defeat when it faced him, Royce put on a very good face of it. “Yes, I intend to take the boy home with me and see if we can't convince him that honesty and hard work are far more profitable than thievery,” he said blandly. He glanced down at the filthy little creature in his hold and muttered, “I'm sure that after a bath and a change of clothes, one would not recognize him.” He added dryly, “Whether he can be convinced not to rob me blind as I sleep helplessly in my bed remains to be seen!”

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