Her gaze flicked to his chest again, then she drew in a breath and fixed her gaze on his face. “I don’t want company, no. Especially notyourcompany.”
She was lying. He could see it in her eyes. “I think you’d enjoy my company. I think you’re blushing because youknowyou’d enjoy it.”
“Goodnight, my lord,” she said again, this time giving him her back.
“I’ll be here if you need me,” he said, his hope beginning to fade.
“I won’t,” she said, opening the door at the top of the stairs and then closing it behind her. King heard the bolt slide home and smiled. Was she locking him out or herself in?
Maybe he wasn’t doomed to sleep on the floor for the next few weeks after all. Maybe he could persuade Violet Baker to share her bed. He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing those lips that scolded him all day soften and beg him for more at night. He’d give her more, right after he stripped off her ugly dress and put his hands on the warm, soft flesh beneath it.
King shifted uncomfortably and blew out a breath. Maybe one night, but not this one. With jaw clenched, he finished washing with the cold water, trying to feel grateful for the soap and the rough cloth.
When he was as clean as possible in this place, he dressed in unsoiled clothing, crawled under the counter, and tried toget comfortable on the hard wooden floor. Though he hated to wrinkle his coats, he finally gave in and laid a few on the floor then dropped his greatcoat over himself as a blanket. Thank God for Henry having retrieved his clothing. King offered up a prayer that his friend was winning at the tables right now.
But Henry couldn’t save him from a witch’s curse. King fisted his hands. Why the devil was he thinking about that witch? He’d been drunk and half-asleep the night before. She was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. But why think about her after all these years, and why imagine her ranting about a curse?
Was that his problem?Washe cursed?
King threw an arm over his head. Ridiculous. A curse didn’t make his father sell secrets to the French. He was being punished for his father’s sins, not his own. Not for stealing that cask of whiskey and dropping it so it spilled upon the ground.
There had been many times in the seventeen years since he, Henry, and Rory had pulled that prank that King had wished he had not gone along. He’d been the leader of their trio and all the underlings at St. Andrew’s Preparatory for Boys. He could have suggested another prank. He could have simply said no. He and his friends had engineered many pranks in their lives, but King only regretted a handful. Stealing the Scottish witch’s cask of whiskey was one of them—not because he believed in curses. He didn’t. But because she and her sister had been poor, and that whiskey was valuable to them. When the prank had gone wrong and the cask broke, they’d probably watched the liquid flow away and saw their food, kindling, and means of survival washed away.
He hadn’t thought that way when he was thirteen. He rarely thought that way as a man, but since he’d reached adulthood, he’d seen his share of beggars and unfortunates thrown on the street. He pitied them, and he was sorry that he had been the reason the witch might have suffered.
Not that being sorry would change anything. He had lost everything. He was suffering and would suffer more.
Maybe before Miss Sunshine kicked him out, he could help her and her brothers. He knew how he wanted to help Violet specifically, but perhaps he could also protect her and her brothers from this Ferryman and make sure they had the means to stay afloat.
King rolled over, and his back gave a twinge of complaint.
What was the matter with him? Had hunger and poverty warped his mind? He didn’t usually want to help people. He might feel sorry for a beggar, but he never gave them any coins. He’d stick his neck out for Henry and Rory, but that was it. Why should he help Violet?
No answer came to him. There was no reason he should help her…except that he wanted to.
It was lust, he decided. Hunger, cold, and lust were working together to turn him into some sort of philanthropist. The word was like a curse in his mouth.
Considering his present circumstances, the word was also not one he was likely to claim. He had to think of himself. He was only here until Henry returned with some blunt. Then he’d walk away and never have to think about hard floors, empty bellies, and Miss Baker’s blue eyes.
No. He pulled his thoughts away from her eyes.Think about yourself.That was what he was best at. No point in changing now.
Chapter Nine
Violet woke inthe morning when she heard Joshua moving about. He tried to be quiet, but she’d learned that young boys were about as quiet as a drove of pigs. She knew it was Joshua because Georgie was not an early riser. He’d lie abed half the day if permitted. She and Joshua often teased him, saying he should have been born a lord, since he liked to keep the same hours as the rich and titled.
The Marquess of Kingston was most certainly still sleeping. It was his fault she’d had a restless night. She should have sent Joshua down with the washbasin last night, but she hadn’t thought that King would be half-naked already. And then when she’d seen him—well, she hadn’t been able to think at all. She’d seen plenty of naked males, mostly her little brothers, but a few adults as well. She was generally unimpressed by the species.
But she had never seen a man who looked like King. The way the muscles of his back had rippled when he turned to look at her! His shoulders had been so broad and his waist so narrow. His breeches had dipped down, giving her the most tantalizing glimpse of his firm bottom. She’d tried not to look at him below the waist, but dear God, even his bare arms had tempted her. How did he have arms that looked like that? She thought the upper classes lounged about all day eating candied violets.
And then when he’d touched her, she’d had to use all her willpower not to wrap her arms around him and feel thatpowerful chest against her own. His hands had been cold, but she thought she could warm them up quickly enough.
Of course, he’d had to ruin everything by opening his mouth. As soon as he’d spoken, the spell was broken. Well, not completely. She was almost ashamed to admit she’d considered his suggestion to join her in bed. But she’d only entertained it for a split second. The last thing she wanted was an arrogant, entitled lord in her bed. Not only did she not want to risk pregnancy, being with King in that way would send the wrong message to Joshua and Georgie. King was not staying, and she wouldn’t pretend otherwise. Besides, he’d probably behave in bed exactly as he did outside of it and think only of himself.
Violet sat up and opened her door, peering out. “Joshua!” she whispered.
He peered around the clothes on the line a moment later. “Did I wake you?”
“Where are you going?”
