“He ate the bread? I was saving that for supper,” Vi said.
“That’s not all he did,” Georgie said.
“Who?” Joshua asked again. “Who ate the bread?”
“The markiss.”
Joshua looked at Vi.
“He’s upstairs,” she said. She explained about going to his home and finding him overrun with creditors and how he promised to pay her seven pounds, fifteen shillings once he reached out to his friends. “I was hoping you could take the letters he’s written and deliver them, Joshua.”
“Oh, he ain’t writing any letters,” Georgie said.
“What’s he doing?” she asked, her eyes narrowing again.
“Sleeping,” he said. “In your bed.” He pointed at Vi.
Joshua had seen her angry before. He knew the signs. Her cheeks went pink, her eyes went dark blue, and her lips thinned.But this time her cheeks went bright red, her eyes black, and her lips all but disappeared. She muttered something under her breath and, still clutching her pie, stomped across the public room and through the back door. Joshua and Georgie glanced at each other and ran to follow.
*
Violet marched intothe flat, immediately spying the open cupboard where she’d stored the bread, followed by the crumbs and unwashed glass on the table. The gall of the man. Not only had he eaten her bread, but he also hadn’t even cleaned up after himself. She strode across the room and pulled the door to her closet open. There he lay, on his back, her quilt thrown over his midsection, snoring softly. Her gaze roved over him, and she drew in a sharp breath. He hadn’t even removed his boots.
Georgie was behind her. “See. I told you he was sleeping.”
“Give me something heavy,” she said.
Joshua handed her a scrub brush from the pail under the clothesline. She aimed and threw, hitting King smack in the middle of the chest. He came awake with a start, sat up, and knocked his head on her low ceiling. Served him right.
“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
He put a hand to his head, turned bloodshot eyes toward her, and promptly bumped his head again. This time with less force. Unfortunately.
“What the holy hell?”
“Get out of my bed or I’ll show you holy hell.”
His red-rimmed eyes seemed to focus, and he studied Violet then seemed to dismiss her. Anyone who knew her would have told him that was a mistake.
“Go away. I need to sleep for another hour or two.”
The marquess lay back down.
“Joshua, hand me another scrub brush.”
King sat up again, this time careful not to hit his head. “Listen, you little termagant. Do not throw anything else.”
“What did you call me?”
“Whatever it was, it didn’t sound like a compliment,” Joshua said. He’d hefted another brush into his hand and was holding it menacingly. “Say the word, Vi, and I’ll show this fellow what for.”
King tried to rake a hand through his hair and ended up just stroking the ceiling. “This is ridiculous. A farce.”
Violet held out her hand, and Joshua placed the brush in her palm.
The man held his hands out in surrender. “Fine! Fine! You want me out of bed, then I’ll rise.” He made a shooing motion with his hands, crouched, and stumbled out of her room. Of course, then he rose to his full height, and Violet was forced to look up at him, as were Joshua and Georgie. She’d forgotten how tall he was, and how imposing. In these cramped quarters, she could feel the warmth of him, the pull of him, and her body swayed toward him before she forced her feet to stay in place. She began to wonder if bringing King here had been her best idea.
“This is my brother Joshua,” she said, pointing to him with her hand. “And you met my brother Georgie. Joshua has offered to deliver the letters you wrote, King.”
