Page 4 of The King’s Man (Guardians of the Crown #2)

She glanced at the window, where snow now tumbled softly against the heavy glass, and before she could answer he raised a hand.

‘I’ve not gone to all the trouble of pulling you out of the gutter just to send you back out there on a cold, February night.

The landlord of this establishment, Jem Marsh, is a friend of mine. He’ll give you lodging.’

She frowned. ‘As we may have already established, I’ve no means of paying for this meal let alone lodging.’

‘Can you cook?’

‘No.’

‘Wash dishes?’

She paused. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Make beds?’

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘As long as I’m not expected to lie in them.’

Kit stood up and beckoned May. She sauntered over to the table and he put an arm around her waist, drawing her in towards him. ‘May, my dear. Can you fetch your brother for me?’

May’s mouth drooped. ‘That all?’

‘That’s all.’ He released her and gave her a playful slap on the rump. The girl squealed and with a coquettish glance over her shoulder to him disappeared into the kitchen.

Wiping his hands on a grubby apron, Jem Marsh appeared in the kitchen door and lumbered over to the table.

The badly tied patch over his left eye didn’t quite disguise the ugly scar that ran from his temple to his cheekbone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kit saw Thamsine recoil as he loomed over them.

What Jem Marsh lacked in looks he made up for in his good nature.

‘Well, Cap’n Lovell. The girls said you was out of the Clink. You must have the luck of the Devil. I thought you was locked away for a goodly time.’

‘Mercifully, Jem, that little misunderstanding was resolved. Now, old friend, I have a favour to ask of you.’

‘Anything, as long as ’tis legal.’ The big man laughed.

Kit indicated Thamsine. ‘This is my friend, Thamsine Granville. Mistress Granville is a lady, who through the vicissitudes of fortune with which we are all familiar, finds herself in somewhat dire circumstances. Thamsine this is my old sergeant, Jem Marsh.’

Jem looks Thamsine up and down. ‘She doesn’t look much like a lady.’

‘Well she is, and she needs some work, Jem, to pay for lodgings and food.’

‘What’s she good at?’

Kit gave Thamsine a quick, appraising look and said, ‘Not much that is useful, but I’ll warrant she’s a quick learner.’

Doubt creased Jem’s brow and he cast a glance at Thamsine.

‘You wouldn’t want to work here, love.’

‘I have little choice, Master Marsh.’ Thamsine looked up at him.

‘Jem to me friends, miss.’ He scratched his head.

‘Well if you’ve a mind to it and can manage a few rough sorts, I’ll take you on Capn’ Lovell’s recommendation.

’ He tapped his patch and in a lowered voice, added, ‘If you’ve a mind to making a few shillings on the side, I’m willing to turn a blind eye, lady or no. ’

‘No,’ Thamsine said, the colour staining her cheeks as she caught his meaning. ‘I’ve no need of those sorts of shillings. I am happy to serve drinks, sweep floors, wash dishes, anything, Master Marsh.’

Jem shrugged. ‘You can doss in with the girls. You met my sisters, Nan and May? Nan’s got a bit of a tongue in her head but she don’t mean much by it. You won’t mind, will you, girls?’ he bellowed across the room.

Nan and May poked their heads out of the kitchen. ‘Mind what?’ Nan asked.

‘This here’s Cap’n Lovell’s friend, Thamsine. She’s coming to work for us. You don’t mind her dossing down with you?’

The ensuing pause indicated that neither girl thought this arrangement particularly satisfactory.

‘Just as long as she’s the open-minded sort,’ May said at last.

‘Good. That’s settled.’ Kit drained his cup and rose to his feet. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Thamsine, I have an appointment to be kept.’

‘Will I see you again?’ Thamsine clutched his sleeve.

He looked down at the small, cold, chapped hand and put his hand over it, squeezing the fingers. ‘My friends and I meet here regularly for a drink and a game of cards. You will probably see me tomorrow night.’

She released her grip on his arm and straightened. A small smile caught at the corners of her mouth. ‘Good night, Captain Lovell, and thank you.’

He inclined his head. ‘Until next time, Thamsine. Keep her away from brickbats, Jem.’

The big man frowned. ‘Brickbats?’

Thamsine stared at Kit, the alarm shining in her eyes.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Kit said and winked at her. ‘Until tomorrow.’

‘Private parlour?’ Jem asked.

Kit nodded, shrugging his cloak across his shoulders. As he opened the door on a flurry of snow, he turned to look back.

Thamsine had turned to face the Marsh twins, who regarded her with such intensity that she looked like a moth trapped in a flame, her wings singeing under their gaze.

‘So, m’lady, fancy yourself as a taproom wench, do you?’ Nan flung a grimy apron at Thamsine. ‘Well, you can start with washing the platters.’

Kit smiled and shut the door.

***

Kit walked through the snow-driven streets to High Holborn where Lucy Talbot, the widow of the late Martin Talbot, wine merchant, had a small, comfortable dwelling above what used to be the wine shop.

‘Kit!’

He barely had time to shut the door against the snow as Lucy hurled herself down the stairs and into his arms, covering his face with kisses.

‘Where have you been?’ she cried, repeating the phrase between kisses.

He disengaged her, allowing himself the luxury of one last, lingering kiss. ‘Lucy, dearest, I’m cold and wet and longing for the warmth of your fire.’

She fumbled at the sodden knot on his cloak, pulling the wet garment from his shoulders and abandoning it in a soggy pile on the floor.

Kit retrieved it and, carrying it before him, followed Lucy upstairs into the warmth of her parlour.

He flung the cloak over the back of a chair to dry, together with his hat and gloves.

He gave the dispirited feather in his new hat a regretful glance, setting it down to take the glass of wine that Lucy offered him.

He held up the fine glass, his fingers ridiculously large for the slender, twisted stem, and swirled the ruby contents, watching the play of light from the candles through the liquid before taking a deep draught of the excellent vintage.

He silently thanked the good fortune that had thrown him in the path of a wealthy wine merchant’s widow.

Lucy traced a finger across his brow and down his nose. Her touch sent lightning bolts of desire shooting through his body.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Lucy pouted. ‘Where have you been these last weeks?’

‘Ah!’ Kit set the glass down and took a seat by the fire, stretching out his long legs to dry the damp boots. He took Lucy’s small hand and drew her down onto his lap. ‘I have a confession, Mistress Mouse.’

‘What confession?’ she asked.

‘I’ve been in the Clink.’

‘Again!’ Lucy squeaked with indignation and thumped him firmly in the chest. ‘What over this time?’

‘The small matter of a horse.’

‘A horse is not a small matter!’

‘Well, no, it was quite a large horse.’

‘And who paid your debts this time?’ Her lip curled in derision.

‘The matter was settled amicably.’

‘Cards, I wager!’ she spat at him. ‘, Kit Lovell, you are incorrigible.’

‘But you must admit you missed me,’ he wheedled, curling his mistress’s blonde locks around his finger.

‘Not for a moment!’ she protested without conviction, her head tilting backward as his fingers strayed to the soft part of her throat, tracing a line down to the top of the bodice.

He replaced his finger with his mouth, blowing soft butterfly kisses on her clean, soft, white skin, while his fingers grappled with the knot on her bodice laces.

She moaned as his kisses dropped lower and his hand fought with the layers of skirts and petticoats, finding its way up past the wool of her stockings to the smooth skin of her upper thigh and heaven where he could lose himself.

As he fumbled with his belt, Lucy took advantage of the distraction and with a shriek of laughter, gathered up her skirts and ran from the room. He caught her on the staircase and together they slithered and tripped up the stairs to the warmth and comfort of Lucy’s large tester bed.