“You’ll help her?” Joshua asked.
“No,” Violet said.
King raised a hand. “I don’t know. I need more information, but if there’s something I can do—wecan do”—he looked at Violet—“I think we should consider it.”
“Yes!” Joshua smiled broadly. Violet blinked. She hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long. “Thank you.” He surprised her again by embracing King before rushing out of the room, presumably to the flat upstairs. King looked surprised too. He straightened his coat and cleared his throat.
Violet crossed her arms. “And how exactly do you think you’re going to help the girl one of the most powerful gang leaders in Seven Dials has laid claim to?”
“I don’t know yet. I probably can’t help her.”
She pointed to the ceiling. “You have him thinking you can. What do you think he’ll do when he realizes you’re just smoke and mirrors?”
“Is that what you think of me?”
“Do you claim to be genuinely interested in helping Lizzie? To be genuinely interested in helping us? I know your type, my lord. The only person you want to help is yourself.”
“I don’t deny that,” he said.
“That’s a start.”
“But it doesn’t follow that helping myself and helping your brothers is mutually exclusive.”
“It does when Ferryman will kill you if you so much as look at Lizzie. If you really want to help Joshua, then be honest with him. Tell him she’s a lost cause.”
“But young love, Miss Sunshine!” His voice dripped sarcasm when he used the name he’d given her. “That would break his heart.”
“And while you’re at it, tell Georgie you’ll never be his pa either.”
“And breakhistender heart? I think you’re better at that than I am.”
She laughed and looked him up and down. “I’m sure you’ve broken your share of hearts, my lord. What’s two more?
“Maybe I’m done breaking hearts.”
Violet turned and walked away. “That, I very much doubt.” She was absolutely certain he’d end up breaking all three of theirs.
Chapter Eight
Since Miss Sunshine,who was no ray of sunshine at all, had deigned to allow him to eat with her upstairs, King ducked his head and trudged upstairs. For the first time he thought of his father, a duke, sitting in the Tower while the lords debated stripping him and King of all his lands and titles. Were they passing the attainder by verdict at this very moment? He could just imagine the chatter at White’s—hisformerclub, as he would surely be stripped of membership if he hadn’t been already. His so-called friends would be saying things likeoh, how the mighty have fallenandhow the tables have turned.
And they’d be right.
In a single day he had gone from a powerful peer with dozens of servants and hundreds of tenants to a man who couldn’t even afford a loaf of bread. He’d lived in Mayfair, slept on the softest sheets, had his every whim catered to. Now, he would sleep on the floor of the back room of a tavern.
What had he done to deserve this?
Stolen from the witch.
He jerked his head up at the unwanted thought and smashed his forehead on the lintel. “Damn!” he cursed, putting a hand to his head and stumbling into the flat.
“Uh oh,” said a little voice. “Vi doesn’t allow that sort of language, Pa.”
“Georgie,” came a female voice. “Come here a moment.”
Still holding his head, King stumbled to a chair at the table. In the corner, he could hear Violet telling Georgie that she knew he wanted a new father, but that King was not that man and would never be that man, and not to become attached. The description of him was entirely accurate, but for some reason it made King sad to think he’d never be the sort of man who could be a father to little Georgie. He was thirty years old. Old enough to be a father.
“The washbasin is over there,” Joshua said. King’s head was still throbbing violently, but he lowered his hands and looked at the screen the boy pointed to.
