Page 17 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)
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Emma couldn’t focus on her needlework in the sitting room. She loved needlework. It relaxed her, and creating beautiful compositions of flowers was a form of art. But after the meeting with Marcus, she kept thinking about him; she kept worrying about him.
He was leaner than she remembered but with taut muscles and the wary expression of someone who expected a beating at any moment. And goodness, that house! Damp and dark with cold draughts and the smell of mould.
She wanted to drag him out of that horrible place, make him warm and comfortable, and give him a good portion of stew. But no. Instead, she’d babbled some nonsense about having thought of him. Not very helpful to him.
She tossed the needlework on the sofa and marched to Trevor’s study.
“Trevor?” She inched the door open.
He was hunched over his desk, surrounded by documents and papers. “Yes?”
“Listen—”
He closed his fists against his eyes. “No, please! My ears work perfectly. I can’t help but listen to every sound, including your voice.”
“No, you mean hearing. You can hear everything, but you don’t always listen. It’s different, like seeing and observing.”
“I’m listening,” he said, drumming his fingers on the desk.
“Stop being so dramatic. I’m thinking about Marcus. We should have been more insistent with him. Why didn’t we insist more?” She paced over the carpet. “Perhaps we should see him again.”
He leant back in the chair. “Marcus is an adult with a troubled past. He’s used to doing everything on his own. Insisting wouldn’t lead anywhere. Let him mull the offer over, and he might change his mind. If he doesn’t reply in a few days, we’ll see him again.”
“He didn’t trust us when we said we could protect him from Sir Horace.”
“Can you blame him? To be honest, I’m not sure if we can. Sir Horace seems to have friends everywhere. The prime minister is less popular.”
She threw a hand up. “I should have told Marcus we would take care of the boy as well. Maybe he thought that, if he worked for us, he would need to leave the boy behind.”
Trevor arched his brow. “Take the boy here? You must be bloody joking.”
“Oh, Trevor. You wouldn’t have to deal with the boy.”
“But he would live here. I would hear his screams, hysterics, and tantrums, and he is what? Ten?”
“He looked like twelve.”
“That makes the whole difference.” He waved dismissively. “No children. We can take care of the boy from a safe distance.”
“You’re impossible. One day, you’ll get married and produce an heir. What will you do then?”
“Pay someone to take care of the child until he’s one and twenty.”
She shot her gaze upwards. “Never mind. I’ll go to Marcus right now.”
“Emma, please.” He stood up. “Leave him be for now. Let him think our offer through. He has our address. If he changes his mind, he knows where to find us. Don’t push him. Please. We’ll try again in a few days if he doesn’t send word.”
She exhaled. “All right. But if Marcus eventually decides to work for us, the boy is going to stay here.”
“No.” He pressed a finger to the desk. “No children. And that’s my last word on the matter.”
A week had passed since Marcus had seen Emma and Trevor, and Jesse hadn’t improved. He kept coughing and shivering in the cold flat. The fever had returned, even though Marcus had followed the physician’s instructions religiously.
He hadn’t recovered from the shock of seeing Emma again and still hadn’t decided if it was a good or a bad shock. One smile from her, and his pulse raced, erasing the smiles and touches of all the women he’d been with. Emma destroyed the memories of any other woman with one glance.
But if he’d been beneath her years ago, now he wasn’t worthy of polishing her slippers. She was a dream, returned to torment him.
He added another blanket over a shivering Jesse. Thunder and rain battered the house, reminding him of that fateful night in Newport-on-Tay when his life had changed.
“Jesse?” He touched the boy’s forehead. It was boiling. “How do you feel?”
Jesse’s face was red and sweaty, and his pupils were so dilated the brown irises weren’t visible. A gurgling noise came out of him when he tried to speak.
As Marcus rummaged through the bag with the drugs and potions the physician had given him, a noise coming from the kitchen caught his attention. Water was gushing inside the flat from underneath the front door. A pool gathered quickly in the middle of the kitchen, fuelled by the torrential rain.
Jesse coughed again. The cough was so strong he convulsed in the bed, teeth chattering. Cold gusts swept the room. The water trickled farther into the kitchen, and his fear grew with the rising level of the water.
“Enough.” He put his coat on and wrapped all the blankets he had around Jesse before gathering him up in his arms.
Jesse muttered something unintelligible.
He made sure the boy was properly covered before carrying him out of the bedroom. “We’re leaving. I’ll get you somewhere better.”
The water reached his ankles in the short time he crossed the kitchen.
Before leaving, he snatched Trevor’s calling card from the table.