Whisper To Me of Love Page 8

  Pip was aghast at his words and helplessly she looked across at Jacko and Ben where they stood just beyond the gentlemen. This was terrible! Newgate would be greatly preferred!

  “Do you think it wise to introduce such a creature into your own home?” Newell asked curiously.

  Royce looked down at Pip, who scowled up at him, the gray eyes promising all sorts of vengeance. Sighing, Royce admitted, “Probably not! But at the moment I see no help for it.”

  When it had become apparent that there would be no further opportunity to vent his spleen against the American, the Earl had lost interest in the affair and was already strolling away with his two unpleasant cronies at his heels. George, too, having blithely consigned Pip’s welfare to Royce, had now, for the time being, put the affair from his mind, and placing his arm through Newell’s, suggested to the others that they toddle on over to St. James to see if any amusement could be found there. “And Manchester?” inquired Newell gently. “What is he to do?”

  George looked pained. “My cousin will be occupied this afternoon seeing to the welfare of his little thief!”

  A faint smile on his lips, Royce watched as George and the others wandered on their way, leaving only himself, the pickpocket, and Zachary. Even the two young men who had offered to turn the boy over to the watch had disappeared.

  Pip couldn’t believe it when, with a sly wink and a nod of the head, Jacko and Ben had faded away. They had deserted her! Up to this point she had waited almost passively to see what would transpire, but now that Jacko and Ben had left her to her own devices, she realized that if she was to escape, she would have to do it on her own. All on her own! With that in mind, she aimed a vicious kick in the direction of the American’s shin and began to struggle violently to free herself.

  Her foot connected painfully with Royce’s shin, and as he had been caught off guard due to the boy’s quiet manner until now, the suddenness of the unexpected attack almost loosened his hold on the thief’s jacket. Ignoring the explosive pain below his knee, Royce cursed furiously, and grimly set about keeping hold of the biting, kicking, scratching little hellhound who had tried to rob him.

  It was an uneven contest, and though Pip did her best and managed to inflict a certain amount of damage before Royce finally had her forcibly subdued, there had never been any doubt about the outcome. Snatching a lap rug from his gig and throwing it over the squirming, astonishingly bloodthirsty creature his pickpocket had suddenly turned into, Royce quickly and efficiently trapped the thrashing little body in its heavy folds. Breathing heavily from his exertions, for Pip, driven by an almost blind panic, had fought with every bit of strength and cunning that she possessed, Royce nursed his bloody hand, which now bore a perfect imprint of the thief’s teeth, and with a decidedly less than gentle movement, picked up the wiggling, rug-shrouded figure and tossed it roughly into the gig.

  Turning to Zachary, who had stood there watching the proceedings with a huge grin on his face, Royce snarled, “If you are through gaping like a country bumpkin at the fair and unless you want me to drive off and leave you stranded here, I recommend that you get into the vehicle at once!”

  Meekly Zachary did as he was ordered, and wisely he kept his mouth shut during the wild ride that followed through London’s streets. Royce was a notable whip, which was fortunate—only an expert could have driven those hot-blooded, high-strung horses at that speed along the crowded, twisting streets without coming to grief. It was only when they pulled up in front of the elegant house on Hanover Square that Zachary realized that he had been holding his breath practically from the moment Royce had set the horses in motion.

  As for the rug-covered object pressed between them, it had continued to thrash about with alarming savagery, and the fluency and originality of the muttered curses that had come from beneath the heavy folds had even caused Royce’s eyebrows to raise. His normally unruffled manner reasserting itself, Royce suddenly grinned at a particularly gruesome fate promised by his captive and shook his head. Alighting gracefully from the gig, Royce said with a hint of laughter in his voice, “Yes, I am quite certain that you would indeed enjoy slicing off my, er, privates and stuffing them in my bone box—but fortunately for me, I shall take great care that you have neither the means nor the opportunity!”

  Trapped beneath the folds of the rug, Pip heard the amused note in his voice and went silent with shock. What sort of depraved monster had captured her? Any man worth his salt would have taken grave offense at the various insults she had hurled at him, but this bloody American seemed to find the entire situation something to laugh about! Blast his eyes!

  But Pip had no time for further reflection. Feeling those strong hands fastening about her, she began to struggle more fiercely, and though she managed to inflict the occasional blow, the big American carried her effortlessly into the house. It was only after she had been dumped unceremoniously onto the floor that she was able to fight clear of the enveloping folds of the rug and face her captor once again.

  Like a spitting, clawing pantheress, she came up off the floor, the gray eyes nearly black with fury and the ebony curls almost bristling with defiance. Breathing heavily, as much from her exertions as from the anger, mingled with fear, that was pumping through her veins, Pip wasted not a moment before launching herself at Royce. She had paid no heed to her surroundings beyond ascertaining that the American stood between her and a pair of heavily carved doors, which she assumed led to freedom, and her one thought, much like a cornered animal, was escape.

  If Royce found the boy’s fierce and persistent attempts to escape surprising, his handsome features gave no clue as he easily blocked the frenzied attack. Catching the boy by the shoulders, with humiliating ease he lifted his attacker off the floor and with no discernible effort held him at a distance, the vicious kicks and blows aimed at him barely making contact.

  Infuriated, as well as chagrined by her situation, Pip completely lost her head, and forgetting for a moment her dual language, through gritted teeth she snarled, “If I ever get free of you, I will indeed slice up your liver and bit by bit make you eat it!”

  “Will you indeed, my little tiger cub? But aren’t you mistaken?. . . Wasn’t it my, er, privates you wanted under the knife?” Royce asked lightly, one haughty eyebrow cocked at the beautifully accented English that came from the boy’s mouth. Interesting. Not only did the child bear remarkable resemblance to the Earl of St. Audries, but it appeared he spoke, in addition to the rough language of the slums, also the King’s English. How very bizarre! Scenting a mystery, Royce felt his curiosity about the boy intensify, and whatever half-formed plans he may have had for him changed in that instant. It wasn’t just a matter anymore of redeeming the boy from a life of misery and crime; there was a puzzle to be solved....

  Pip realized her mistake at once, and her eyes widened with dismay. Desperately trying to undo the damage, she began to struggle wildly again and muttered, “Aye, Oy will! Oy’ll dice it up fine afor Oy stuff it down your bloody throat, Oy will.”

  “Oh, I’m quite certain that given half the chance, you would not hesitate to dismember me, but I’m afraid that as I have grown rather attached to my body, I cannot allow you to take that sort of liberty,” Royce remarked with a faint smile. A black look was the only answer to his words, and realizing from the way the boy’s struggles had weakened that the child was worn out, Royce stopped teasing. “If I set you down, have I your word that you will not attack me or the members of my household again?”

  More exhausted than she had realized, Pip longed to accept this unexpected offer, but fear and the overwhelming need to escape still dominated her. Again she began to wiggle in his grasp.

  While Royce might admire the child’s spirit, he was also growing short-tempered, and giving the boy a brief and less than gentle shake, he said bluntly, “You have nothing to fear from me or my household. We mean you no harm, although I’m sure that you would disagree on that particular subject. You cannot escape, and since I am much
bigger and stronger than you are, we can remain here in this position until you pass out or you can accept my offer. Whether you continue this uneven struggle or not, the results will still be the same—you will remain under my control. Now, have I your word?”

  Reluctantly Pip nodded her curly, dark head. But defeat left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the gray eyes were angrily defiant and the slender body stiff with resentment as Royce slowly lowered her until her feet touched the floor and then released her. A surly cast to the delicately curved mouth, she stood there glaring at her captor, wondering what he intended to do with her next.

  Unhappily surveying his unwilling dependent, Royce was wondering much the same thing. The Lord knew that benevolence was not one of his more developed qualities, and if it were not for the mystery the boy represented, Royce was uneasily aware that he would have cravenly let the boy go. Immediately and with no further thought on the subject! Since by his own choice, that was an option no longer open to him, Royce continued to study the scrawny boy, considering precisely how the child could be made to fit into his already well-run and more than adequately staffed household.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Royce asked abruptly. He wasn’t the least surprised when the boy shot him a dark look and lifted his chin haughtily. It seemed the Devlins were arrogant from birth! Holding on to his temper, Royce tried again. “What about your parents? Won’t they be worried about you? Won’t you tell me anything about yourself?”

  A hostile stare was his only answer, and sighing, Royce let his gaze travel over the glowering, unimposing figure cluttering up his usually immaculate foyer. The boy looked to be far too small and delicate for his age, but Royce assumed that several weeks of decent food and sleep would help alleviate that fact. Having felt the force of the boy’s teeth, fist, and feet, he knew, despite the puny size, that the child was strong and healthy—if undernourished. Food, clothing, and quarters were no problem, but what the hell was he to do with the vicious little monster once it had been fed, bathed, and put to bed?

  Oblivious to Zachary standing to his left and his butler staring with astonishment from him to the boy, half-angrily, half-ruefully, Royce stared back at the dirty, shabby figure before him. His gaze eventually alighted on the boy’s sullen face, and he was suddenly conscious of what a very pretty boy he had captured. Almost an exotically beautiful boy, he thought to himself, his eyes slowly moving over the startling aristocratic features. Those damned Devlin eyes, he mused silently, they are unmistakable! And yet it wasn’t just the memorable gray eyes that bespoke good breeding; it was also glaringly apparent in the haughtily tilted little nose, the sculpted cheeks, and the full, enchantingly curved mouth. Aware his thoughts were wandering, he snapped to no one in particular, “Well, what the hell are we going to do with this surprising addition to our household? Make him my damned page?”

  There was a choking sound from the direction of his butler, and since Zachary, a grin upon his mouth, remained mute, Royce rounded on that poor individual. “Ah, Chambers, you have a suggestion?”

  Chambers, like all of the other servants, had not been in Royce’s employment long—just as George Ponteby had procured the house for his cousin, so had he seen to the hiring of an exemplary staff.

  The sight of his employer dumping a dirty little street boy onto the gleaming floor of the foyer had given Chambers pause, but rising to the occasion, he said calmly, “Perhaps, after the boy has been, er, cleaned and fed, you shall have come up with a better idea, sir.”

  “Don’t like that one?” Royce asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Chambers bowed slightly. “I believe, sir, that after you have enjoyed the light luncheon that is waiting for you in the sun-room and have had some time for reflection, you will be thinking more clearly. In the meantime, if I have your permission, I shall take the boy away and see to it that he is fed and garbed more appropriately for a gentleman’s household.”

  Relieved that for the moment, the boy’s welfare was being taken care of, Royce nodded and said happily, “Very good, Chambers. I shall leave the boy in your capable hands.” Royce started to turn away, but conscious that his unwanted dependent might make a break for it, he looked back at Chambers. “See to it that someone is with the little beggar at all times, and take precautions that he can’t escape—I have no doubt that if you turn your back on him, he will be out the door before you can say, Jack be quick!”

  Royce clapped a hand on Zachary’s shoulder. “Shall we eat? This morning’s events have left me, for one, famished.”

  Zachary agreed with alacrity, and leaving Pip staring with mistrustful eyes at Chambers, Royce and Zachary disappeared in the direction of the sun-room.

  CHAPTER 5

  Upon entering the sun-room, Royce and Zachary discovered a delicious repast laid out on the long buffet that graced one windowed wall. Within moments they had heaped their plates high and were sitting at a filigreed black iron table enjoying the mouth-watering efforts of Ivy Chambers.

  It was some time later, as Royce was leaning back in his chair, having just finished eating a particularly tasty bit of lemon tart, that a harried and disheveled Chambers entered the room. Replete and feeling much more in charity with the world, visions of Della’s opulent charms beginning to swirl through his brain, Royce glanced inquiringly at Chambers. The anguished expression on Chambers’s usually good-humored features, as well as his bedraggled appearance, banished Royce’s feeling of contentment.

  Half rising from his chair, Royce demanded, “What is it? The boy? He hasn’t escaped?”

  Wringing his hands, Chambers said unhappily, “Sir, I have tried my best, we all have tried to carry out your orders regarding the, er, child, but ...” Indignation got the better of him and he burst out resentfully, “Sir, it is impossible! The dirty little beast has a knife and will not let us near him! I barely escaped with my life!”

  His golden eyes flashing with irritation, Royce flung down his napkin. “I see I’ll have to settle this matter myself—and in a manner I’m certain won’t please our unwilling guest! Take me to him!”

  The kitchen, which also served as the servants’ hall, was a large, cheerful room; a huge black iron stove dominated the area, and an enormous open fireplace, originally used for the majority of the cooking, took up nearly an entire wall. The floor was brick, and from a few of the heavy, smoke-blackened beams of the ceiling hung bunches of onions, garlic, and various pungently scented herbs. The air was filled with the pleasant aroma of roasting meat and baking pies, but Royce wasn’t aware of it, his whole attention focused on the grim-faced little creature half-crouched in the far corner, a wicked-looking knife held in one grubby hand.

  It was obvious from the condition of the room—overturned stools and buckets, broken crockery, and a great deal of spilled water—that a mighty battle had taken place. Chambers’s appearance had prepared Royce for what he would find, so the damp, disheveled state of the women—wet aprons twisted and rumpled, and their normally neat white caps decidedly askew—came as no surprise to him. I knew that blasted imp was going to be trouble the moment I laid eyes on him! he thought angrily as he strode into the center of the kitchen.

  The maids nervously moved away as Royce approached, and surveying the pugnacious tilt to the boy’s chin, the feral glitter in the gray eyes, and the decidedly competent way the boy held the knife, Royce sighed impatiently. It was obvious that getting the boy into the copper tub, which had been filled with steaming water and placed in front of the fireplace, was not going to be an easy task, but irritated as he was, Royce almost looked forward to the tussle that was going to take place.

  Curtly he ordered everyone from the kitchen. “And don’t come back in here until I call for you—no matter how much noise you hear!”

  Pip stiffened at his words, a wary expression leaping in her eyes, her heart banging painfully in her chest. Dirty street fighting was nothing new to her, and once she’d gotten her hands on the knife, defending herself from th
e combined staff had been relatively easy. A cocky little smile suddenly flashed across her face. The knife had scared them all to death, and they had scattered squawking like chickens before a hawk!

  Watching the servants hurry from the kitchen, Pip carefully eyed the tall man who dominated the room. She should have been relieved that there was now only one person to face, but there was something about the aggressive stance of the big American that made her very uneasy. He took a step forward, and her hand tightened on the knife.

  “Stay away!” she snarled. “Stay right there or Oy’ll split your gullet, Oy will!”

  His mouth tightened, and holding on to his temper with an effort, Royce said more amiably than he felt, “We can do this two ways—easily and with a minimum of exertion on both our parts or ...”

  Pip glared into his handsome face and sniffed contemptuously. “Or wot?” she sneered. “You’ll send me to Newgate? Wot will your fancy friends think of that, after your fine words about takin’ care of me, Oy’d like to know?”

  Why she was goading him, she didn’t know, but there was something about him that made her skin prickle and aroused some demon of mischief within her. With bated breath she watched a muscle jump in his hard cheek, and at the angry glitter that blazed in his golden eyes, she suddenly wished she hadn’t been quite so brazen.

  “All right, that does it!” Royce exclaimed explosively, his temper getting the best of him. “I gave you a chance, but I’m through humoring you!”

  Uneasily she stared at him as he whipped off his fine jacket and began to wrap it around his arm, but that same demon that had prompted her before took control again, and to her horror, she heard herself saying, “’umoring me! Wot a bloody jest!”