The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(12)

Mr. Glass's long legs unfolded from the cabin and he stepped onto the pavement. "Good morning, Miss Steele. Mr. Mason," he added, holding his hand out to Catherine's father. "Pleased to see you again, sir."

Mr. Mason had avoided me all morning. Well, perhaps not avoided me. He'd gone to his workshop before I'd woken. While I wanted to know for certain why he no longer thought me a good influence on Catherine, I also didn't want to be told to my face that I was a poor example. My stretched nerves couldn't take any more strain. Besides, I was grateful not to have been thrown out of the house.

Mr. Glass shook the hand of each member of the Mason family as the head of the household introduced them. "You're still looking for your watch's maker?" Mr. Mason asked.

"I am," Mr. Glass said.

"My offer from yesterday still stands. I'll see if I can repair it for you."

"Thank you, but I prefer the original watchmaker himself to do it."

"Most watches don't differ greatly from one another, you know. I'm sure I can manage to work it out if it's one I haven't seen before." He laughed a little nervously, making his jowls shake.

"Not this watch." Mr. Glass folded the carriage step down for me then held out his hand. "Where to first, Miss Steele?"

"Oxford Street, at the Marble Arch end," I said. "Do you know where that is, Mr. Cyclops? It's not far from Mayfair."

Cyclops studied a dirty and much crumpled map spread out on his lap. "I know it. And it's just Cyclops, miss, no mister."

Mr. Mason clasped the button edge of his waistcoat over his stomach. Mrs. Mason was an excellent seamstress and could modify a great many items of clothing, but she couldn't make her husband's waistcoat larger to fit over his increasing girth.

"What makes this watch particularly special?" Mr. Mason pressed. The nervous laughter had died, and he now seemed anxious to catch every word that fell from Mr. Glass's lips.

Mr. Glass bestowed a smile on him, but his shoulders had gone quite rigid. "If I knew that, I wouldn't need to find the original watchmaker."

He climbed in and Gareth folded up the step and closed the door. Cyclops had the horse pulling away from the curb before Mr. Mason could speak another word. The poor man stood there, his mouth open, his eyes darting between Mr. Glass and me. He'd gone a little pale, which hadn't escaped his wife's notice. She clutched his arm but he seemed not to register her presence.

I waved to Catherine through the window and tried not to show her how anxious I felt. By the look on her face, she was anxious enough for us both.

Mr. Glass angled his legs so that they did not touch my skirts. "I hope you're refreshed, Miss Steele. We've a lot to do this morning."

"There are several watchmakers in and around Oxford Street," I said. "Cyclops can remain near Marble Arch and we can walk from there. It will take longer than the morning, however. As you said, there's a lot to do."

He leaned his elbow on the window ledge and rubbed the back of his finger over his lips in thought. Shadows flickered through his tired eyes. "We can return this afternoon after luncheon."

"There are some excellent chop houses in the area. We can dine at one of those and resume our investigation immediately."

"I prefer to return home for an hour or two."

I was about to protest that no one needed that long to eat luncheon, but held it in check. Perhaps long lunches were an American custom. It wasn't my place to disagree with him when he was paying me. Nor was it my place to ask him why he was so tired this morning, although the curiosity would probably force me to at some point during the day.

"As you wish, Mr. Glass," I said. "But we do have quite a lot of watchmakers to visit, and I require some time to myself."

"For shopping?"

"For making inquiries at employment agencies, as well as lodging houses."

He arched his brows. "You're not staying with the Masons?"

I had to tell him at some point that he wouldn't be collecting me from there tomorrow morning, but I hesitated nevertheless. In the end, I could only do it while not looking directly at him. "I don't want to inconvenience the Masons any more than I have."

He was silent a long time in which I could feel his gaze on me as I pretended to take interest in the passing scenery through the window. "You can stay in my house for the duration of your employment," he finally said.

I gasped and snapped my gaze to his. I was lost for words, something that happened rarely.

He smiled, sending my already rapidly beating heart plunging. "Well?" he prompted.

"I… I…" I sounded witless, but I couldn't think of an excuse to refuse him. Live under the same roof as a foreigner who was quite possibly a gunslinger? I'd be mad to consider it. "I shouldn't. It wouldn't be proper."

"You don't seem like you're in a position to worry about what's proper." At my second gasp, he merely shrugged. "Are you?"

"No-o," I hedged, "but it's not polite to point that out to a woman in reduced circumstances."

"My apologies. The rules surrounding politeness here are numerous. I'm not familiar with them all yet."

"You're forgiven."