Wedded in Sin (12 page)

Chapter 7

Well, that was expertly done! thought Samuel with a
grin. Not only had he made great strides in discovering her thief, but he had also begun Penny’s seduction with a clumsy but effective move. Samuel regretted that their first kiss had been fumbled and by necessity brief. But “clumsy” and “awkward” were the perfect descriptions for his social skills. Fortunately he was brilliant enough to make that seem endearing.

So he relaxed back into the perfume- and sweat-stained squabs of the carriage and tried not to grin. He failed, of course, as he always did when things were going well. But that was just as well, too, because it was relatively dark inside the carriage and he liked that she might be able to see his teeth. Of all his physical attributes, he believed his teeth were the best. Hadn’t many a lady told him he should smile more often? But then his grin faded as he began tallying accomplishments from this morning and which questions they led to and in what order those questions would need to be answered…

“Exactly how am I to get my home back from Mr. Addicock?”

Samuel blinked, forcibly bringing his mind into the present. He did not like doing that. He thought much better when he was not interrupted. “Mr. Addicock doesn’t have your property. Cordwain does.”

“And how am I going to get it back from him?”

“He doesn’t have the property either. He’s just living there.”

“But—”

“Please, I’m sorry. But I’m trying to think. Did we not just agree to allow all explanations to wait until after a meal?”

“You might have agreed, but—”

He raised up his hand and glared through the gloom at her. She glared right back. “I believe,” she said in frosty accents, “that I am the employer here. As my employee, you have an obligation to answer my questions.”

“What an amazing thing that accent is. Where did you learn it? Your background is decidedly middle class, and yet you sounded just like a duchess right then. Do it again. I think I recognize the accent. You learned it from the Duchess of—”

“Astonberry,” she said with a tight-lipped anger. “Her husband got his boots from my father—”

“No, I was going to say Westbrook. You sound much more like the Duchess of Westbrook. You should work on the vowels a bit if you want Astonberry—”

“Samuel!”

“And as this is a wager, not an employment arrangement, I owe you nothing until the wager is complete.”

“But you told your sister that I was a client.”

“Sister-in-law. Do try to be precise—”

“Samuel, I believe I am about three heartbeats away from kicking you. As hard as I can manage.”

He paused a moment, waiting in silence for exactly four heartbeats. “No. I don’t believe you had that right—
ow!
”

She did. She kicked him hard right in the shins. But he believed the trigger was his words, not the count of her heartbeats. And as he grasped his aching shin, he couldn’t help grinning at her.

“You are a most lively woman. I believe I like you. Damned if I don’t. Most lively!”

She stared at him hard. Glared actually, in exactly the perfect imitation of the Duchess of Astonberry. He was on the verge of saying so when her expression crumpled. It simply wrinkled up as her jaw clenched and she started to blink past tears. Not of weepy sadness. That was not Miss Shoemaker’s ilk. He’d already deduced that her tears stemmed from fury. A frustration so deep that it etched itself into her features and slipped out of her eyes.

It made him immediately contrite. After all, this was mostly a game to him. He tended to forget that her very survival was at stake. Or so she believed.

“You know you will get your life back, Miss Shoemaker. Even were I to fail completely—which I assure you I will not—you will continue to live above the dress shop until you earn enough money to find a new shop. Then with the likes you have—or rather my nephew Max has—you will send round a special note from ‘Tommy’s father’ expressing your desire to make a special boot or shoe or whatever at a special price. That will bring in a few gents, to be sure, especially if I drop a word here and there.”

“I doubt you’re a fashion leader,” she snapped.

He waved away her objection. “You’ll hire a front man or someone to pose as Tommy’s father. In the end, if the workmanship holds up—or should I say workwomanship? Difficult thing, language. For all its marvelous ability to allow one to order lunch and the like, it’s terribly imprecise. In any event, before long, you shall have everything just as it would have been whether at your father’s shop or elsewhere. In truth, I believe selling shoes for ladies will likely take all your time anyway and that has already been established at the dressmaker’s shop. And really, I’m very glad Lady Helaine changed the shop’s name from Lady Caniche’s. She looks nothing like a poodle, so A Lady’s Favor works much better.”

He wound up his words and smiled benignly at her, pleased to see that she was no longer making fists or leaking fury. Instead, she was staring at him, her mouth compressed into a long flat line.

Oh, dear. He’d forgotten that she was possessed of a marvelous intellect. Especially for a woman. Her next words confirmed that.

“Do you usually babble when confronted by a woman’s tears?”

“Fists and feet,” he corrected. His shin still ached like the devil. “Sometimes tears. But usually fists can be most easily deflected with a wall of words.”

“Male or female?”

“Both, really. If the mind is occupied with interpreting a rolling wave of words, then it cannot order the fist to strike. And if it does, the blow is usually slow and obvious.”

She nodded slowly. “I can see that you do it well. And you are correct. I am not likely to hit you now.”

“I am gratified to hear it.”

“But I am not reassured either. I have lost everything this day to a thieving solicitor. And I intend to get it back.”

He huffed. “But Mr. Addicock did not steal your home. Did you not hear that he had not profited from his work?”

“He’s lying!”

Samuel ignored her outburst as an emotional reaction and therefore not relevant. “And neither was it Mr. Cordwain. He spent the money—a great deal of money—and was quite put out about it. Those two are merely pawns in a larger game. Both are villains of a sort, Addicock more so because he created the theft. But we have to find the larger game.”

“There is no larger game,” she growled. “I need my home and my shop back. Cordwain has it, Addicock sold it.”

He sighed. She was a practical woman, focused on the simple necessities of life. “But what of justice?”

“What of food and shelter?”

“Both of which you have at the moment. Or will in a moment.” He glanced out the window. They were nearing their destination.

She shook her head and he could see her shoulders bunch with tension. She didn’t speak but he could feel the anxiety pressing upon her. In truth, it had been a very hard, long day for her and it was barely half over.

“They say patience is a virtue.”

“
I
say that I shouldn’t put all my eggs in the one brain basket of a mad toff.”

He blinked, startled. “That was very clever.”

She sighed, the sound coming from deep inside her. He was well versed with the sound, hearing it often from friends and family alike. But he felt hers more keenly. Something inside him did not like that he frustrated her. So he leaned forward and touched her hand. It was a gesture he did not usually make. A comforting touch had never been something he excelled at. But with her, he did not mind making the effort, and she seemed to need it.

“I will not fail you,” he said, stunned by the weight of his own words. Especially as he continued, his mouth working despite the fact that his mind was reeling. “You shall have a home and a shop. This I swear.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Double the wager?”

He nodded. “Done.”

Then the carriage stopped at his brother’s home. Odd how he usually despised the time spent traveling from one home to another, and yet, he wanted to stay here in the dark with her. He leaned forward.

“Penny…” he began, his thoughts on how he could manage a kiss before they had to disembark.

“I will kiss you, Samuel, when the wager is done and I have a home again.”

His mouth curved into a rueful kind of smile. He might be a master of deduction, but she was a master of motivation. And with that thought in mind, he pushed open the carriage door.

Penny was just stepping out of the carriage, blinking at
the afternoon sunlight, when Samuel stepped in front of her, blocking out everything but the worn fabric of his coat.

“Pray remember not to look around. We are at my brother’s home, and if you recall, you do not wish to know where it is.”

She sighed. They were back to this ridiculous game? “I am perfectly capable of lying when asked where my ‘likes’ are. I have no idea where they are. After all, I don’t know where Max has put them or even if they are in your brother’s home. And as I absolutely do have an idea—or could deduce their location—it would be a lie whether or not I looked about this lovely…” She looked past his shoulder, narrowing her eyes. As she had spent many a year running shoes to customers throughout London, she quickly figured out their location. “This lovely home on Portugal Street.” Though it wasn’t quite the neighborhood of the
haut ton
, she recognized it as a respectable location near enough to the city’s elite. Clearly, his brother was doing well.

Samuel nodded slowly. “Lying is difficult for most people to accomplish credibly. At least to a trained observer.” Then he frowned. “And you told Georgette that you are a terrible liar.”

She snorted. “I lied.” Then as he gaped at her, she shrugged. “Fortunately, I doubt the question will ever be posed—”

“Of course it will!” he said as he grabbed her hand and began escorting her up the steps. “Mr. Cordwain is likely right now demanding their location from your friends back at the dress shop.”

She winced at the idea of dropping such a disaster on her friends’ doorstep, and she glanced behind her, wondering if she should return. But he gripped her arm.

“Don’t be foolish. That is expressly why you are here. So as to avoid being put in the awkward position of trying to lie.”

Meanwhile, they were halfway up the step when the cabbie called after them. “Oi! What about me fare!”

Samuel waved distractedly at him without even turning his head. “Braxton will see to it.” Then he stepped up to the door as it opened, where a large and very imposing butler was grimacing at him. “Ah, there you are, Braxton—”

The butler looked over their shoulders at the angry cabbie. Then he nodded and held up a small purse. Penny frowned at Samuel.

“Your brother pays your cab fare?”

“What? Oh, no. It’s a loan of sort. Braxton keeps the total. I’ll repay it on quarter day.” Meanwhile, the butler had not gone out to pay the cabbie, but was grabbing Samuel’s hat. “Mind you go straight back and don’t make noise. Mum has the headache.”

“Worse than usual?” Samuel asked.

Braxton didn’t answer except to roll his eyes. Samuel snorted and grabbed Penny’s hand, ducking his head as he pulled her along. She had the feeling that they were two children rushing through the hallway on the way to some mischief. But halfway through the house he stopped to whistle like no bird she’d ever heard. It was a rolling cascade of notes that ended with a flourish. Penny turned to stare at him, but his attention was focused upstairs to where a boy’s head abruptly appeared over the railing.

“That’s a new one,” the boy said in a whisper.

“White-browed scrub robin from Africa.”

The boy—presumably Max—frowned down. “Really? From Africa?”

“So says Professor Lowth, who has just returned from there, but I sometimes wonder if the man is completely sane.”

Max nodded sagely, then pursed his lips and echoed the birdcall back exactly—near as Penny could tell, at least.

Samuel grinned. “Excellent!” Then with another tug, he pulled her quickly through the house and into the kitchen.

The cook was there, already setting out two plates on the long servants’ table. But as Penny stumbled in, the woman narrowed her eyes. Fortunately, the toff was already making introductions even as he pulled out a seat at the table for Penny.

“Chef Winnie Cook, may I present Miss Shoemaker? Miss Shoemaker, this is the woman who can make even the most horrible meat divine.”

The woman grimaced but blushed prettily. “Don’t be Frenchifying me name. I’m just plain Cook as it should be in all decent homes. So you’re the fancy piece.” She narrowed her eyes at Penny. “Don’t look fancy or a fool. Means the mum’s got it wrong.”

Penny opened her mouth to say something—she had no idea what—but was forestalled as Samuel tugged her into the chair. She flushed, embarrassed that he’d had to remind her to sit. What was he doing holding out a chair for her? No one held out a chair for the likes of her.

Meanwhile, Samuel was gesturing to a maid. “Jenny, sweet girl. Been out back, have you? Come, luv, get us another plate and a pie, what, and give me a gift?”