Part 3 (1/2)

'Half.'

'A quarter.'

'Half.'

A long, long pause. The blood was pounding in my ears. What was I doing, bargaining with a man who could break my jaw with one swipe of his fist? But I couldn't resist it; I was almost feverish with excitement. My G.o.d I hadn't felt this alive in months.

Fleet leaned forward until our knees were almost touching. He stared deep into my eyes. 'Now here's a man I can work with,' he murmured. 'A third.'

I held out my hand. By some miracle, it wasn't shaking. 'Agreed.'

Chapter Four.

Kitty was closing the shop by the time Sam and I returned from St Giles and a hurried chophouse dinner. She hummed to herself as she tidied books back on to the shelves, tucked a sheaf of nude line drawings into a leather wallet. I loved her more than anything in these moments. They reminded me of the first time I'd seen her in the Marshalsea, making a pot of coffee, the simple grace as she moved back and forth, the quick and capable way she worked.

She saw me and her face lit up the warm gleam of pleasure that I was home. A blink and it had vanished. Kitty would walk about our bedchamber without a st.i.tch of clothing and not give a d.a.m.n how hard I looked at her. But she kept her deepest feelings hidden from me as much as she could, as if they were a poor hand of cards I might play against her one day.

'And are you staring at my a.r.s.e now, Tom Hawkins?'

'Always.'

She grinned and wrapped her arms about my neck. 'Where have you been?'

'St Giles. Fleet wanted to see his boy.'

Kitty stiffened and glanced at Sam, who was pouring himself a mug of small beer. Sam's uncle, Samuel Fleet, had been her guardian and she had loved him fiercely, for all his faults. This was the only reason she allowed Sam to live under her roof. She did not trust or like James, his father. 'Dangerous place to be strolling about,' she said, running her fingers down my waistcoat. 'I hope you took care of him.'

'It was perfectly safe, we-'

'I was talking to Sam,' she laughed, letting me go.

Sam's cheeks flushed pink. It was hard to read his thoughts in the main, but where Kitty was concerned he might as well have shouted them from the rooftops. She was a lively, pretty young woman. He was a fourteen-year-old boy. Not everything in life is a mystery.

'You are in a merry mood,' I said, smiling down at her. I was pleased she had recovered from Gonson's visit.

'I have a gift for you.' She kissed me upon the lips, stopping the question. 'Tonight.'

A gift. My mind wandered over the delicious possibilities. Was it too much to hope she'd found a willing friend and asked her to join us . . .?

Yes, most likely it was.

She removed the ap.r.o.n she'd tied about her waist and shook out the dust. 'You must change before we leave, Tom. I can smell the stews on your clothes.'

I frowned, sniffing my s.h.i.+rt cuff. 'Leave? Where?'

Her lips pinched into a hard line. She folded the ap.r.o.n hard. Snap. Snap.

Oh, Lord. 'Supper . . .?' I guessed.

'Supper. Theatre. The Eliots.'

d.a.m.n it. I had clean forgot. John Eliot was Kitty's lawyer, and an old, trusted acquaintance of her father. He and his wife Dorothy were fond of Kitty and saw a good deal of her at the risk of their own reputation. An unmarried woman, sharing my bed and running a notorious print shop? As far as good society was concerned, Gonson spoke the truth Kitty was nothing more than a wh.o.r.e. 'Better a wh.o.r.e than a slave,' she would say with a curl of her lip. But her defiance starved her of companions. She was not a wh.o.r.e, nor a servant, nor a lady. She did not fit. The Eliots, thus, were precious friends. Dorothy who was much younger than her husband was expecting her first child in the spring. Kitty had taken to visiting her several times a week, basket br.i.m.m.i.n.g with fresh fruit and home-made tinctures.

The Eliots were pleasant enough company and I loved a night at the theatre, for the audience as much as the play. There was always some great spectacle or scandal, and it was amusing to watch the n.o.bs rub shoulders with the rest of us. But I had made a deal with James Fleet and I could not free myself of it now. 'Kitty . . .'

Her eyes widened. 'Don't you dare.'

Quietly, stealthily, Sam drifted upstairs to hide.

I reached out to touch Kitty's shoulder.

She pulled away. 'You promised. You don't even remember, do you?'

'Of course I remember,' I lied. 'It's just that I have an appointment tonight. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it's important.'

'More important than me?'

Well there was a question not to be answered.

Kitty turned away so that I couldn't see the disappointment in her eyes. She began to shuffle the books upon the shelf. 'Who is it you're meeting?'

I searched for an answer that wouldn't create more trouble, but what could I say? I was drunk and bored, so I told the most dangerous villain in London I might work for him. 'I'll take you another night. I promise-'

'I don't give a d.a.m.n about the theatre!' she cried, gripping my s.h.i.+rt so hard I thought she'd tear it. 'What's the matter, Tom? Why are you acting in such a strange, sneaking fas.h.i.+on? Tell me! Where are you going?'

'For pity's sake!' I snapped back. 'Would you stop all this nagging. You're not my wife, d.a.m.n it.'

She flinched and drew back, as if I'd slapped her.

I hadn't meant to hurt her only to stop her questions. The words had flown from my lips without thought. But they were mean, and the message behind them was cruel. That we were not bound together after all. That I might abandon her whenever I chose broken-hearted and ruined. 'Oh, Kitty,' I groaned, reaching out for her.

She hugged her arms across her chest, stepped beyond my grasp. 'No. It's true,' she said, cool and remote. 'I'm not your wife. And you are free to do you as please.'

With that she stalked silently from the room.

Kitty left for the theatre an hour later, too angry even to call a goodbye. She took Sam with her in my place.

I sighed and trudged slowly up the stairs to change. I knew nothing about the woman I was to meet tonight, except that she was a courtier, afraid and desperate enough to seek James Fleet's help. I selected a black silk coat and breeches, and a red waistcoat. Sober, dependable, with a military dash. That would do well enough. I tied my cravat with a flourish, gathered my hat and cane from the hallway, and stepped out into the night.

A couple of young rakes and their companions were sauntering down Russell Street, away from the Garden. I recognised one of the girls. She winked at me as they pa.s.sed. That young fool with his arm about her waist would most likely find his purse missing in the morning. But for now they were a merry bunch. I stood in the middle of the street, tempted to slip into their wake. That way lay Lincoln's Inn Fields, the theatre, Kitty and the Eliots. I could still go to them forget all about my secret a.s.signation. James Fleet could always find another gent real or otherwise to complete his business. There was no need for me to risk my easy, contented life for a stranger. Head east. Head east and chase after Kitty.

But then I would never know who was waiting for me in St James's Park, would never learn the secret they wished to spill. A mystery left unsolved for ever. d.a.m.n Fleet, the cunning b.a.s.t.a.r.d. How could I resist the intrigue? It was like putting a bowl of punch in front of a drunk.