“The children would be you and the other boys? What is a plight? A burden?”
“I assume it’s the witch’s curse. She’s looking for a way to counteract it. She’s easing our punishment. We’ll lose all that we hold dear”—he pointed a finger at her, giving her a moment to remember what had happened to Rory and himself—“but there’s a path to clean the smear—the, er, stain of our wrongdoing. There’s a way to reverse the curse.” He lifted the paper. “This is torn. There’s more. Where’s the rest of it?”
“That was all she gave me,” Violet said, patting her dress, which was the same one she had worn yesterday. “There wasn’t any more.”
“Was it torn when she gave it to you?”
“I don’t remember. Possibly. It was in my pocket all day. I forgot about it and didn’t take it out until you—we—”
“Check your pocket. I must read the rest of it if I’m to know how to reverse the curse.”
She reached into her skirts, but her hand came out empty. No, that was not true. She opened it and showed him a hairpin. “That’s all I have. No paper inside.”
“Damn it.” He pounded a fist on the bar, and she jumped slightly. He hadn’t meant to scare her. “I’m sorry. I need that paper.” He gripped the bar and closed his eyes. Then he was the one to jump when she put a hand on his shoulder.
“King, I know you want the rest of the poem, but do you really think any spell could reverse what has happened? How could magic, if it even exists, change that your father committed treason?”
“It can’t.” He didn’t dare move now. Her hand was warm and her touch comforting. King hadn’t realized how much he neededthat comfort, and the last thing he wanted was for her to move away. “But the attainder might be challenged.”
“How is that accomplished?’
“In court.”
She took his shoulders and turned him to face her. Rather, he allowed himself to be turned. She was strong but petite, and he could have easily resisted her. He looked down at her and her pretty blue eyes, made all the prettier by the way they softened as she looked at him. He’d rather that softness wasn’t the result of pity for him, but he supposed he wasn’t in any position to inspire lust. “Don’t you think your time would be better spent planning how to challenge the attainder?”
“I’d like nothing better than to do that, but I need a lawyer, and not just any lawyer, one familiar with arguing before Parliament. I need money for that, and I have none. Even if I did, not many lawyers of that caliber would take my case. Prinny—the prince regent—has never liked me, not since I played a small joke on him, and no one wants to incur his displeasure.”
“You played a prank on the prince?”
“It was harmless—quite funny, actually. How was I to know he would fall over and split his breeches?”
“Oh dear.” She covered a smile with her hand. “And you wonder where your friends are?”
“Once Henry has blunt, he’ll come. I just need to go to the country and regroup, make a plan.”
“What about your father? You can’t go to the country until—”
“If you are about to suggest I should visit my father, don’t. You imagine some sentimental scene, where we embrace and forgive each other. It won’t be like that. He hates me as much, if not more, than I hate him.”
“I don’t think that’s true, and I do think you should visit him, for your own sake, if not his. You might not think this now, but when he’s gone, you’ll wish you’d told him goodbye.”
Her words landed like an arrow in his heart. She hadn’t said anything he hadn’t thought before, but he’d always shoved the thoughts aside before he could examine them. It was easy to remind himself he hated his father and leave it at that. But now Violet’s words hung between them, and King had to acknowledge that deep down he did want to see his father. Inside of him was still that young boy hoping his father might magically come to love him.
Idiot.
“But that isn’t what you must do before you leave for the country,” she said.
“Don’t tell me this is about the pound I owe you.”
“Two pounds and—”
King kissed her. Ostensibly, he’d done it, firstly, to get his mind off his father. Secondly, kissing her was the only way he knew to make her shut up about the two pounds, fifteen shillings. She was like a dog with a bone. But there were advantages to kissing her as well—namely, that he had another opportunity to claim that lush mouth and taste her. This morning she tasted of peppermint and smelled of soap. He’d expected her to object to the kiss and pull away. He probably deserved a slap across the face for his impertinence.
But she didn’t pull away, and she didn’t slap him. Instead, she moved closer, deepening the kiss, leaning into him.
King had to hold back a groan. Was it possible she wanted this as much as he? She thought he hated her, and King had let her believe that even as he himself realized he rather liked Violet Baker. Liked her more than he was comfortable admitting. He was almost certain she hated him, but perhaps he could turn that hate to something else.
His hands left her shoulders and moved, seemingly of their own accord, to her hips. He wanted to cup that bottom of hers again, feel its plumpness in his hands.
