A Kiss In The Dark (14 page)

Anger shooting through him at the merchant’s blatant attempt to extort more money from Deirdre, Tristan released the girl and took a step forward, straightening his shoulders in a menacing manner. “I believe her ladyship said that should more than cover it.”

The man quickly backed away, surveying Tristan’s imposing breadth with trepidation. “Very well, then. Just don’t let me catch ’er ’anging around me stall again.” With that, he plodded off, grumbling under his breath.

As soon as he was out of sight, Deirdre offered Tristan a tentative smile that had his heart stuttering in his chest, then turned back to the child. “I suppose we should take you home. Quite obviously, I need to speak to your mother.”

“Oh, no, m’lady!” Jenna gave her a pleading look. “I promise I’ll never do it again!”

Deirdre sighed and wrapped an arm about the girl’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, darling, but I must.” She glanced over at Tristan. “You don’t mind, do you? I promise, it will only take a moment.”

Tristan contemplated the angle of the sun in the sky. It must be almost noon, and she was well aware that he’d given her a deadline. But somehow, he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her no. “Very well.”

This time, her smile made him feel as if he’d captured the moon.

Jenna’s “home” proved to be a dilapidated cottage at the very edge of the bog-laden fields themselves.

As Tristan assisted Deirdre and the girl down from the carriage, he couldn’t restrain a slight grimace as he took in the scene before him. Surrounded by a rickety, tumbledown fence, the house was a dismal sight, with its patched roof, crumbling eaves, and sagging shutters.

Looking as if she were on the way to her own execution, young Jenna shoved her hands in her pockets and trudged ahead of them up the path to the gate. When Deirdre didn’t immediately follow, Tristan glanced over at her, only to find her watching him with trepidation.

He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t exactly been circumspect in his actions up until now. But he hated that the tension he’d thought had disappeared seemed to have returned.

Sending her a sardonic smile, he swept a bow. “You needn’t look so concerned, my lady,” he murmured. “I promise, no more throttling the local citizenry. From this moment forward, I shall be on my best behavior.”

She seemed far from convinced. “I cannot say that your words inspire me with confidence, my lord,” she said frostily, her shoulders stiffening. “And though I am grateful for your intervention on Jenna’s behalf, I can assure you of this. If you dare to treat anyone in this household with the same contemptuous attitude you displayed earlier with Mouse, I shall be obliged to knock you on your bloody bum.”

With that, she turned and marched toward the cottage.

To his surprise, instead of being angered by her ultimatum, Tristan felt a wave of amusement wash over him, and he had to stifle a chuckle. He couldn’t say he’d ever been threatened with being knocked on his bloody bum before.

He squinted up at Cullen, who still sat on the box. The big coachman merely shrugged, his expression impassive, as always. But Tristan could have sworn he detected a hint of laughter lurking at the corners of that hard mouth.

Pivoting, he fell into step behind Deirdre.

Jenna waited for them on the front stoop of the cottage, arms crossed in a defensive manner and her expression anxious.

“Please, m’lady,” she begged as they approached, her tone plaintive. She cast a wary glance over her shoulder at the house. “I promise, I’ve learned my lesson.”

Before Deirdre could answer, the door of the cottage suddenly flew open, and the figure of a plump, dark-haired woman filled the opening.

“Jenna McLean, do you know how worried I’ve been?” she began, her eyes shooting sparks. At the sight of Deirdre, however, her scolding came to an abrupt halt and she let out a gasp. “My lady!”

“Hello, Rachel.” Deirdre offered her a reassuring smile. “I apologize for showing up so unexpectedly, but I need to speak to you. May we come in?”

“Of course, my lady.” Stepping aside, the woman allowed them to move past her into the dark interior of the cottage.

Once within, Tristan stopped to take stock of his surroundings, noting the worn furnishings and general state of disrepair. A little girl several years younger than Jenna sat on a stool in the far corner of the room, a thumb in her mouth as she contemplated the visitors.

Jenna’s mother shut the door and turned to face them, placing her hands on her ample hips as she regarded her daughter shrewdly. “What’s the child done this time?”

Shamefaced, the girl ducked her head as Deirdre reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a problem.”

As she proceeded to relate the story of Jenna’s brush with the stall owner, Tristan watched Mrs. McLean’s face grow paler and paler, until she finally turned on the girl with a cry of alarm.

“Jenna McLean, how could you? We talked about this the last time. Do you want to wind up like your father? Do you want them to take you away from me and throw you in prison?”

The child blanched. “No, Mama. I’m sorry, but I was only trying to ’elp.” She nodded in the direction of the little girl still seated across the room. “Gracie kept crying because she was ’ungry and I know you were upset because there wasn’t anything you could do about it. It was only a few apples.”

Mrs. McLean looked stricken, and Deirdre quickly moved forward, reaching out to touch the woman’s arm. “Rachel, is there anything I can do? Do you need money, food—”

“No, my lady. You do too much for us already. I don’t know what the people of Tothill would do without you. But could you excuse us for a moment? I need to speak to my daughter.”

“Go right ahead, and take all the time you need.”

The woman drew Jenna to a shadowed corner and began to speak in vehement tones, and Tristan turned to Deirdre, studying her with interest as the light dawned.

“That’s what you do here in the Fields, isn’t it?”

She surveyed him out of the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable in the dimness. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you help people here in the rookery. Like my mother did.” Somehow, the revelation didn’t seem to surprise him. He supposed a part of him had suspected ever since their visit to Lilah that morning.

She shrugged, her gloved fingers toying with the strings of her reticule. “I hope you aren’t too disappointed, my lord. I know you thought I was a rather notorious sort.”

“No, my lady.” He tilted his head, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “No, I’m not disappointed at all.”

There was silence for a long moment as they stood close together, their eyes locked. The only sound in the room was the murmur of Rachel McLean’s voice as she continued to admonish her daughter. The air between the two of them thrummed with a sensual awareness that had Tristan feeling a sudden overwhelming urge to pull her close and take her lips with his own. In fact, he found himself tightening his hands into fists at his sides in an effort to keep himself from reaching for her. That delectable-looking mouth, the soft glow in her green eyes, the sweet perfume of her skin—all were an invitation he was having a difficult time ignoring.

With a glance in the direction of the two females in the corner, he took a deliberate step away and cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “I am curious about something, however.”

Taking a deep breath, Deirdre swallowed visibly, and he felt a surge of satisfaction that he obviously affected her as powerfully as she did him. “And what would that be, my lord?”

“Why not just come clean with society, announce to all what you do and be done with all of this ridiculous gossip?”

She stiffened. “I shouldn’t have to. I owe them no explanations. They will believe what they want to believe, regardless of what I say. To be truthful, their opinion has never really mattered all that much to me.”

Tristan didn’t think that she was being entirely honest with herself. He could still recall with vivid clarity the wounded look on her face in the carriage earlier when she had first brought up the stories being bandied about regarding her and her activities.

But before he could call her on it, a soft brush against his hand drew his attention. Looking down, he found that Jenna’s little sister had ventured out of her corner and now stood next to him, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he bent over and gave her an encouraging smile. “Hello, little one. Is your name Gracie?”

She gave a small nod.

Noticing the bedraggled doll she carried in the crook of one arm, he inclined his head at it. “Is that your doll?”

She nodded again.

“Does she have a name?”

For a second he thought she wouldn’t answer, but after studying him with a solemn countenance, she finally removed her thumb from her mouth and replied shyly, “Dolly.”

Tristan couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “What a remarkably inventive name.” Reaching out, he gave the doll’s hand a firm shake. “Hello, Dolly. What a pleasure to meet you.”

Gracie giggled, and the sound arrested him with its simple, childish joy. As he stared down at her, he was struck by a sudden vision from the past. Six-year-old Emily, laughing with carefree abandon as he picked her up and swung her around and around.

At that moment, the little girl reminded him so much of his sibling at that age that he felt it like a blow to his chest. True, she was dark where Emily was fair, but there was a trust, an innocence in her eyes that his sister had once possessed, before it had been so cruelly shattered.

As Gracie skipped away, his smile faded and he straightened, to find Deirdre watching him with a strange expression.

He quirked an eyebrow in an inquiring manner. “What?”

Blushing as if embarrassed to be caught studying him with such intentness, she shook her head and looked away. “It’s nothing. Just …”

“Just what?”

“Thank you for being so gentle with her. She hasn’t had much male attention, so she’s a bit wary whenever she’s around a man. But she was different with you.”

He peered over at Gracie, who had seated herself on the floor next to the fireplace and was rocking her doll in her thin little arms; then he let his gaze travel around the cottage again. This time he noticed the small touches someone had added in an attempt to make things more cheerful, despite the dreary surroundings. The colorful, quilted curtains at the windows, the chipped vase of wildflowers that sat in the center of the dining table, the patterned cushions decorating the wooden chairs. But despite the valiant effort, nothing could disguise the unmistakable signs of poverty.

“Where is their father?” he asked, discovering with surprise that he was truly interested.

Deirdre raised her chin, her jaw tightening. “He’s in Newgate. One of those people you just can’t turn your back on, according to you.”

Her gaze narrowed on him before going back to Mrs. McLean and Jenna. “From what I understand, he had a job in one of the local factories up until last year. The pay wasn’t all that much, but it was enough to get by. When it closed down without any warning, Mr. McLean had trouble finding other employment, and he finally had to resort to thievery in order to take care of his family. The watch caught him one night stealing a loaf of bread and arrested him. Never mind that he was only trying to feed his starving children.”

Tristan examined the overlarge, threadbare boy’s clothing shrouding Jenna’s slim form, the faded, much-mended rag doll Gracie played with, and he felt an unexpected tug of sympathy. For the first time, he had no trouble understanding why his mother had been so touched by the plight of people in the rookeries. But for the whim of fate, he and Emily could have been born into a life much like this one. It made his own travails in dealing with his disapproving father seem small by comparison.

Unaware of his thoughts, Deirdre continued to speak. “I wish I had known them then. There might have been something I could have done. But I only met them a few months ago, when I caught Jenna trying to lift my reticule.” She sighed. “Apparently, she’s picked up a few of her father’s talents.”

Tristan looked over at her. “And you decided to take them under your wing, of course.”

“Of course. I’ve done what I can, but there are so many here who need my help....” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. “Sometimes it’s hard to make sure they all have everything they need, and I simply don’t have the time to check in with all my charges every day. Rachel does what she can to make ends meet by taking in mending from some of the locals. But as you can imagine, there are few who can afford to pay her for it.”

At that moment, Mrs. McLean came toward them, one arm wrapped around her daughter’s shoulders. “Jenna told me what you did, my lady. About you paying that stall owner for the apples and dissuading him from having her arrested. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

“It’s all right, Rachel. I would have done the same for anyone. Now, tell me what else I can do to help.”

The woman flushed and let go of her daughter to wring her hands together in the material of her apron. “Oh, nothing, my lady. As I said before, you’ve done enough.”

“Nonsense. It’s obvious you’re having some sort of difficulty, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Deirdre smiled at the woman and ducked her hand into her reticule, withdrawing a small drawstring bag from its depths with a jingle. “Now, tell me how much you need. I insist.”