“You’ve noticed that.”
“I’m in awe of her powers of deduction.”
Mr. Howard smiled then looked toward the door again. Miss Howard was still in the shop. “She uses words as a shield. She’s had to develop a tough exterior. Most people never see her softer side. She doesn’t trust easily.”
“That’s a trait we share, though for me it’s due to my work.”
“I certainly didn’t think you’d been mocked for your appearance.”
Hew cocked his head.
Mr. Howard touched the side of his face. “The scars from smallpox,” he explained. “She was teased about them mercilessly as a child, and now she’s routinely pitied.”
Hew had to think for a moment, to imagine her face.
“You won’t pretend you hadn’t noticed them,” her father said.
“I notice everything,” Hew said, and this was true and part of his training. “But I can’t say I particularly noted the scars. They certainly don’t take away from her beauty.” Hew was aware that sounded like false flattery, but he’d been sincere. Yes, he’d seen the smallpox scars, but they hadn’t stood out to him. She was beautiful, and the scars didn’t make her less so. But her father’s words did unlock several questions he’d had about her—the way she tilted her head down when she spoke to him and how she brushed her hair over the left side of her face. He had wanted to push it back behind her ear several times but resisted as the gesture would have been overly familiar.
She was hiding her scars from him.
She probably didn’t even realize she had those habits. He imagined hiding one side of her face had become habit to her.
Hew supposed many people felt sorry for her, but pity wasn’t an emotion he could conjure toward her. Not when lust was so easily at hand. And there was definite lust after he’d had her in bed beside him. He’d meant only to comfort her, but waking with a woman in his arms, one that was so lovely and receptive to his touch—better not to tell her father that bit of information. Hew wished he hadn’t recognized the feeling himself, but as an agent, he couldn’t afford to ignore his emotions. He’d been trained to confront them, to use them if possible, and to understand how they might be used against him.
Hew hadn’t intended on having any feelings toward either of the Howards. But it was difficult not to admire Miss Howard’s beauty and cleverness. In his fever-ridden state, admiration might have been the extent of it, but then he’d heard her crying. At first, he’d thought he’d been dreaming. His fever dreams were strange and nonsensical. But when he opened his bleary eyes, she’d been sitting next to the bed, head in her hands, weeping. In that moment, he’d felt a dozen emotions. First, he was grateful she hadn’t gone after her father. He’d known she had sense, and she’d proved it. Secondly, he felt empathy. Of course, she was worried about her father. Hew wished he could tell her the man was not in any danger, but they both knew that wasn’t true.
All Hew could do was offer comfort. It had started innocently enough when he’d put a hand on her shoulder. But the next thing he knew, he was pulling her into his arms and holding her against his chest as she shook with weeping. She didn’t go into his arms easily. She didn’t fit there as though she was always meant to be there. She’d been stiff and awkward and clearly hadn’t wanted to want his comfort. But in the end, she’d given into it and cried herself into exhaustion. In sleep, her body relaxed, and Hew had been forced to lie there and feel her soft curves against him.
It had been years since a woman had slept in his arms. Years since he had gathered a woman close, inhaled the scent of her hair, kissed her temple. These were intimacies he didn’t want. He supposed Miss Howard didn’t want them either, but perhaps in that moment, they both needed each other. Hew thanked God for the first, and last, time that he was injured. If he hadn’t been, he might have taken advantage of the situation. Or at least tried.
Fortunately, all he could do was imagine taking advantage of the situation. He’d imagined that in detail until her warmth and softness had finally lulled him back to sleep.
Hew looked at Mr. Howard now and wondered how much he suspected. Nothing had happened between the two of them, but clearly her father had seen something of Hew’s interest as he’d baited Hew with a comment about his daughter’s attractiveness. Hew would have to guard his thoughts and expressions from now on.
“Of course, Miss Howard’s appearance is neither here nor there,” he said dismissively. “The more important issue is the matter of the man or men trying to kill me.”
Miss Howard chose that moment to return to the flat, and she stopped just inside the doorway. “You could at least wait for me to brew the tea before starting to talk of murder.”
“We’ve only just begun,” her father said. “You haven’t missed anything.”
She made a sound that indicated she doubted that very much then began the routine of brewing the tea. And it was a routine. She moved quickly and efficiently, as though she had boiled the water and prepared the tea a thousand times. And Hew supposed she had, but though her movements were economical, they were also graceful. He could have watched her all day. But considering her father was watching him, Hew looked away.
“Now that we’re all here,” Hew said, “tell us what happened.”
“First, I have a question,” Mr. Howard said to Hew. “Did Randall know he was putting us in danger when he sent you here?”
“I don’t think so,” Hew said. “If his wife hadn’t gone into labor at almost the same moment I was attacked, he might have put the pieces together, but I believe he assumed the attack was random. Regardless, I don’t want to be there anymore than I want to be here. I’m not eager to put either of you in danger, especially not Mrs. Randall, when she is attempting to deliver a child.”
“The babe has been born,” Miss Howard said, pouring hot water into the teapot. “The doctor came by while you were sleeping and said the Randalls have a new baby boy. He is a bit small but doing well.”
Hew smiled. “That is good news.” He rubbed his temple. “I don’t seem to remember the doctor visiting.”
She looked up at him. “I’m not surprised. You were rather feverish at the time. The doctor didn’t examine him,” she said to her father, taking cups and saucers from cupboards. “He said to give Mr. Arundel more laudanum and that he’d probably die. That was the extent of his visit.”
Hew laughed. “That sounds like most doctors I know. I can’t even argue with him. I feel like I’m about to die.”
Miss Howard gave him a sharp look. “Perhaps you should go lie down.”
“Not until I try this hibiscus tea.”
“Too late,” she said, pouring a cup of tea from a second pot he hadn’t noticed before. “I made you the Earl Grey.”
Hew opened his mouth to ask how she’d known then closed it again. Clearly, she possessed some sort of witchcraft when it came to tea. She placed the steaming cup before him, and Hew made himself wait before sipping it. He’d rather not have both a burnt tongue and a knife wound.
“Putting aside the doctor’s incompetence,” Mr. Howard said, “clearly, someone wants you dead, Mr. Arundel. Any idea who?”