Tiger's Eye (13 page)

“What a loyal little wife you are!”

Isabella met his gaze steadily. “If you would quit sneering and think, you would see that it is far likelier that the ruffians who kidnapped me merely heard through a servant’s perfectly innocent gossip that I would be travelling to London, knew that I was the daughter of a duke—my papa is very flush in the pocket, you know—and the wife of an earl. Then, when the ransom was paid, the kidnappers decided—on their own—to dispose of the evidence: me. Admit it; that scenario is far more plausible than your contention that my husband, for no earthly reason that comes to mind, paid those men to kill me.”

Alec was silent for a moment. “Yes, it’s more plausible, I suppose,” he said, and the very tone of his voice told Isabella that he thought otherwise.

She sighed, unwilling to quarrel with him again. “Since we are obviously not going to agree on this, we must agree to disagree and change the subject. Tell me about yourself. How you got to be the Tiger, or whatever.”

Unexpectedly Alec grinned, and rolled on his side to prop his head up on one hand. The movement brought him nearer, so close that his chest nearly touched her small feet where they burrowed beneath the covers. Isabella looked at him, so handsome and so familiar and so close, and felt her heart speed up just a little. But he was talking, and she forced herself to ignore her sudden tingly awareness of him to listen.

“I detect a lamentable lack of respect in your voice when you call me that, my girl. I’ll have you know that strong men the length and breadth of England—aye, and some on the Continent, too—cringe at the mere mention of the Tiger.”

“Ah, but I am not a strong man—and you don’t look very dangerous to me.” Her eyes twinkled as she bantered with him.

Alec’s grin broadened. His golden eyes gleamed at her. “I don’t, eh? I can see I’ll have to work on my image where your ladyship is concerned.”

“So tell me,” she prompted when Alec fell silent again. “You’ve heard the story of my life. The least you can do is reciprocate.”

“Such big words as you use, Countess,” he mocked. “Clearly you’ve had the advantage of a proper education.”

“A governess, is all,” Isabella replied. “Did you not have a tutor? Or go to school? You’re very well spoken, for a—” She broke off abruptly, afraid of hurting his feelings with her thoughtless words.

“For a ruffian?” he guessed, smiling again but without the humor that had sparked the last grin. “Aye, I suppose I am, but I owe it neither to school nor tutor, for I had none.”

Isabella looked at him inquiringly. Obligingly, he went on.

“As a young lad, I … uh … made the acquaintance of an old bawd—uh, female—who had once been an actress. Not a beauty, was Cecily, nor ever had been, but she had a wonderful way with words. She took me under her wing a little, and bullied me until I learned to not drop my
h
’s nor add them where they weren’t needed. As to other education, why, I learned as I could. I did a fair amount of reading—where I learned that, I couldn’t tell you, just picked it up—and read what I could find. Most of which would singe your eyeballs, I’m sure.”

“What of your parents?” Her voice was soft as she tried to picture the young man he had been. Thin, she thought, but still so handsome, and eager to learn.…

Alec shrugged. “I’m sure I had some, but I never knew them. I’ve been on my own since I was a wee lad. I ran the streets as a youngster, eating what scraps I found in the gutter, sleeping in doorways or barrels or whatever I could find. There were lots of us out there, and we kind of hung together. That’s where I met Paddy. I must have been about five when he pulled a bigger boy off me when we were fighting to the death over a meat pasty that I had pinched and the other boy wanted. Paddy was bigger even than the other boy, and he knocked the daylights out of him. We’ve been friends ever since, fought our way out of the slum together.”

“What of Pearl?”

Alec smiled reminiscently. “Ah, Pearl’s a right one, ain’t she? She was a regular little spitfire when she was younger, out on the streets with the rest of us. Of course, she sold what she had to sell, but she didn’t turn to the bottle or get caught with the pox like a lot of ’em do. She always had more to eat than the rest of us because she was earning money, and she’d share what she had with Paddy and me. When we went, we took her with us.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

“Aye, she is. And rare popular with the gentlemen belowstairs. Of course, nowadays she can afford to be choosy about who she shares her favors with.”

As the sense of this sank in, Isabella blinked at him. “Don’t you care?” she blurted before she could catch back the words. As he looked at her, brows raised, she turned a bright pink.

“I’ve got no leading reins on Pearl, just as she has none on me. She can do as she pleases, just as she has been for years. Indeed, I’d like to see the man who could stop her.”

Alec chuckled, apparently picturing such a scenario. Isabella concluded that, however Pearl felt about Alec, he had no intention of wedding her. Unless, of course, ruffians were less than nice in their notions of proper marital fidelity.

“How did you get to be what you are? The Tiger?”

“ ’Tis naught but a silly nickname.” His tone was repressive.

“You know what I mean.” Isabella refused to be sidetracked.

“Aye, I know what you mean.” Alec’s eyes slowly narrowed as if in thought, and then he shook his head. “No, Countess, I’ll not sully your ears by recounting the details of that. Suffice it to say that I found, as I grew, that I’d a knack for thinking of things quicker than most, for running operations that were successful, for directing things. I was a good leader, Paddy a good enforcer. We climbed through the ranks together, and here we are.”

Isabella guessed that the “details” he refused to recount were both extremely interesting and extremely unsavory, but she was willing to let it pass for the moment. There was one thing, however, that was piquing her curiosity.

“Mr. Tyron …”

“Alec, Isabella. Come, ’tis an easy name. Al—ec.” As his mouth teasingly formed the syllables, Isabella had to smile.

“Alec, then. Would you please tell me what is a—a sneak?”

Alec looked at her hard, then laughed. “So Pearl’s jabbering didn’t go totally over your head after all, hmm? Very well, Countess, let me educate you. A sneak is one who’ll pull the gold watch from a gent’s pocket, or the pound notes from your reticule one bright afternoon in Piccadilly. A pickpocket.”

“Oh.” Isabella was fascinated. “So you’re the boss of the pickpockets?”

Alec sighed. “I’m the boss of all the games there are in London: the pickpockets and burglars and thugs-for-hire like the ones who kidnapped you. I watch over the bawds, and the abbesses, the Charley-boys, and the Lazarus lay—”

“Lazarus lay?” Isabella breathed, fascinated.

“There are those who sell dead bodies for anatomy lessons,” he answered. “And those who don’t care if the bodies are killed for precisely that purpose, though I’m no advocate of that. I oversee most of the back-street hells, and I know all the men who lose money in them, like your Bernard. I’m the one men come to when they need a job done, and if I accept the commission, I choose the men to do it. Nothing gets done out of London without my say-so.”

“So then the men who kidnapped me usually worked for you—”

Alec nodded. “In your case, they were freelancing. Not to do so is a lesson well learned in my ken. But Parren and his fellows were never particularly bright.”

“What else do you do?” Isabella stared at him wide-eyed. The fear of him that she’d completely gotten over days ago stirred again as she realized just how truly wicked his mode of living was.

Seeing the sudden shadow darken her eyes, Alec frowned, then gave her a lopsided smile.

“I play a mean hand of piquet.”

“Piquet?”

Alec sighed. “ ’Tis a card game, Countess. I can see you’ve never played it.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll teach you.”

“But …”

“But what? Have you anything better to do? A pressing appointment, perhaps?”

Isabella had to laugh. “No.”

“Well, then.”

Still Isabella shook her head. She’d never played at cards in her life, and to do so with Alec could not be a fit and proper way to pass an afternoon.

XVII

I
t was long after dark by the time Pearl and Paddy, both bearing loaded supper trays for the invalids, interrupted the game. Isabella, having lost every one of her hairpins to Alec, was laughing, her hair tumbling around her face, her cheeks flushed rosily, her eyes sparkling. Alec was laughing too, his eyes gleaming at Isabella as he soundly trounced her for the dozenth time that afternoon. With thirty-two cards higher than seven to keep track of, piquet was a complicated game, and Alec was a master at it. The stack of guineas he had wagered against her hairpins had not suffered a single loss. But even as she lost repeatedly, Isabella had fun. More fun, she thought, than she had ever had in her life.

Pearl preceded Paddy into the room, and stopped short on the threshold, her eyes widening as she took in the pair on the bed. Behind her, Paddy nearly bumped into her, just managing to stop in the nick of time with a clatter of dishes. He, too, stared at the scene before him in amazement.

Alec was sprawled lazily on his side, a hand of cards in front of him and more spread out on the blue silk coverlet, looking more relaxed than either of them had seen him in years. As they watched, he slapped a card down with an air of triumph, grinning broadly as he took a final trick. Given his grumpiness over the last twenty-four hours, his present good humor was even more amazing. Isabella, who both Paddy and Pearl had privately considered a little mouse of a thing, was giggling like a child, her eyes alight with mischief as she plaintively accused Alec of cheating. As she laughed at him, wrinkling her delicately freckled nose, exposing small teeth as white and even as a row of matched pearls, it occurred to both Pearl and Paddy at the same time that she was a very taking little creature after all.

Alec apparently thought so, because as she held out empty hands and shook her head to indicate that she was out of something he claimed as forfeit, he grinned at her devilishly. Paddy, for one, had seen that grin before, and knew what it signified.

Pearl wouldn’t like it that Alec was interested in the little countess. In fact, knowing Pearl, she was likely to be mad as hell.

Hurriedly Paddy cleared his throat, the sound making a loud “Harumph!” that could hardly fail to be heard. Both Alec and Isabella looked around, becoming aware of their audience at the same time, which was exactly the effect Paddy had hoped for. Pearl was staring at the pair of them with narrowed eyes. Moving quickly and gracefully despite his great size, Paddy sidestepped around her, blocking her view of the transgressors and their view of her, lifting his tray high.

“I’ve been pressed into maid service, as ya see,” he said mock-plaintively, his back unconsciously tensed as he waited for Pearl’s reaction to the unexpectedly cozy scene they had interrupted. Very possessive of Alec, was Pearl, and very quick of temper, too.

“And here I thought we’d been left to starve to death.” Alec levered himself up off the bed with easy grace, and negligently began to gather up the cards. He grinned at Isabella as she scooped up her forfeited hairpins and began to twist up her hair. Her expression was self-conscious as she felt herself scrutinized by three pairs of eyes, one smiling, one dismayed, and one actively hostile.

“Alec—Mr. Tyron—has been teaching me piquet,” Isabella offered, feeling compelled to explain the obvious as both Paddy and Pearl stared at her. Pearl set the tray she was carrying down with a clatter on the dressing table near the door.

“Oh, aye, our Alec’s a wonderful teacher. He’s taught me scores of things over the years.” Pearl’s lip curled, and she threw a hard look at Isabella, whose eyes widened in response. “Take care he don’t do the same for you, angel. I doubt you’re up to his weight.”

“And just what does that mean, exactly?” Alec frowned at her. Pearl tossed her head at him, making her curls bob fetchingly even as she glared.

“You’re so smart, you figure it out. I’m needed below. I do have other gentlemen who need taking care of besides you, you know. Just because you own the place doesn’t mean you have me at your beck and call,” she said coldly. Alec said nothing, just stared after her as she stomped from the room.

“What the devil ails her?” he asked Paddy after Pearl had left. Paddy, still holding the second tray, shook his head. He had no intention of getting involved in a clash between the two people he cared for most in the world. Either one of them was perfectly capable of annihilating him in the scramble for the other’s throat.

Alec shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, she’ll get over it, I suppose. She always does.”

“Aye,” Paddy said, sounding strangled. Isabella, feeling guilty as she, not being a dense male, had no trouble divining the cause of Pearl’s annoyance, looked up at Paddy with large, troubled eyes.

“If you’ll bring me my tray, please, I would eat and then read awhile. I’m quite tired.” Her voice was very small.

“Of course, miss. Uh, my lady.”

Alec looked from Isabella’s uncomfortable face to Paddy’s equally uncomfortable one as Paddy deposited the tray across Isabella’s lap.

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on? I suddenly feel like I’m at a funeral.” Alec’s eyes swung to fasten on Isabella. “You weren’t tired a minute ago.”

Isabella’s chin came up. “Well, I am now.”

If he didn’t recognize Pearl’s very obvious jealousy, she was not going to point it out to him. It was too ticklish a topic, implying as it did that Pearl had thought Alec found her, Isabella, attractive. The thought was both unsettling and exciting, but Isabella had no intention of dwelling on it. She would eat her supper, read and go to sleep. Alec Tyron’s opinion of her, for good or ill, interested her not at all. Or so, at least, she told herself.

“I take it that you would prefer to dine alone?” Alec’s voice had a clipped undertone to it that told her that he was not pleased, to put it mildly.