The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(2)

"You ended our engagement because you got what you wanted, and what you wanted wasn't me. It was Father's shop."

I only just heard the gentleman behind me clear his throat over the pounding of blood between my ears. Eddie must have heard it too, and he collected himself. He licked his lips again, a habit that I now despised.

"Sir, I do apologize." Eddie bobbed his head in imitation of the little automated bird that emerged on the hour from the cuckoo clocks. He looked as ridiculous as he was pathetic. "India," he snapped at me. "Leave! Now!"

I thrust my hand on my hip, smiled, and spun round to speak to the gentleman and make an even bigger scene. An extremely tanned man with dark brown eyes, striking cheekbones and thick lashes stood there. If it weren't for his scowl, and the signs of exhaustion around his mouth and eyes, he would be handsome. He was everything Eddie was not—tall and dark and broad across the shoulders. He wore a well-tailored black suit, untroubled by his impressive frame, a silk hat and gray silk tie. While his clothing screamed gentleman, his stance did not. He leaned one elbow on the counter as if he were half drunk and needed propping up. A gentleman would have straightened in the presence of a woman, but this man didn't. Perhaps he wasn't English. The deep tan would suggest not.

It took me a moment to remember what I'd been about to say, and in that moment, he spoke first. "I have business to conduct with Mr. Hardacre," he said in a flawed upper class English accent. It was plummy enough, but the crispness had been sliced off and replaced by a slight drawl. "Please take your argument with you when you leave." He held his hand out, showing me the door.

I remembered what I wanted to say all of a sudden. "Mr. Hardacre is a liar and a scoundrel."

Eddie made a strangled choking sound.

"So you already pointed out," the customer said. He sounded bored, but that could have been a result of his accent.

"Is that the man you want to give your custom to?" I pressed.

"At the present time, yes."

Eddie chuckled. My hand slid off my hip and fisted at my side. I swallowed down the sense of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm me. My scheme to discredit Eddie was quickly unraveling before my eyes. "Then you're aiding and abetting a man with the morals of a rat. He doesn't care who he ruins to get what he wants, only that he gets it in the end, by whatever means necessary." I heard how pathetic and desperate I sounded, yet I couldn't stop the words from spilling forth anyway. I was tired of holding them in, of smiling and telling acquaintances that I would be all right. I wasn't all right. I was pathetic and desperate. I had no employment, no money, and no home. I'd lost my fiancé and my father, within days of one another, although I'd never really had the fiancé, as it turned out. Our engagement had been a ruse, a way to get Father to sign over the shop to Eddie.

"I am sorry, miss," the gentleman said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

"I'm sure you are now. Eddie is no better than the muck on your boots."

He sighed and the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. "No, I mean I'm sorry for doing this."

Two long strides brought him to me so that I got to admire his impressive height and frame. But not for long. Two large hands clamped around my waist, lifted me, and tossed me over one of those brawny shoulders I'd been admiring.

"What are you doing?" I cried. "This is outrageous! Let me down at once!"

He did not. With one arm clamped over the backs of my thighs, he strode to the door as if I were nothing more than a sack of flour. The blood rushed to my head. My hat hung by its pins. I pounded his back with my fists, but it had no effect. I was utterly helpless and I did not like being so, one little bit.

Behind me, Eddie roared with laughter. I felt the gentleman's muscles tense and heard a sharp intake of breath. He didn't slow, however, but merely pushed open the door and deposited me on the pavement. I stumbled and he clasped my shoulders until I regained my balance, then he let me go.

"My apologies, miss," he said with a curt nod. "But your conversation was taking too long, and I'm a busy man."

I fixed my hat and straightened my spine, mustering as much dignity as I could. It wasn't easy with all the shopkeepers and their customers looking out of doors and windows to see what had caused the commotion. "I don't care!" To my horror, my voice cracked. I did not want to cry. Not anymore. I'd shed enough tears over Eddie and the things I'd lost. "I don't care if I make you late for an appointment, or if I cost Eddie your custom. You are a brute! A fiend! You may look like a gentleman, but you most certainly are not one!"

"Cyclops," the man said to someone over my shoulder.

I glanced around to see a giant figure with a black patch over one eye jump nimbly down from the coachman's perch and advance on me. I swallowed a scream and shrank away, but he caught my arm. I tried to pull free but he caught my other arm and his grip tightened. The red, lumpy scar dripping from beneath his patch stood out against his charcoal skin, the white of his teeth even more so as he bared them in a snarl.

"Let me go!" I screamed, pulling harder. "Mr. Macklefield! Help!"

Mr. Macklefield, the neighboring tailor, took one look at the giant and fled back inside his shop. Up and down the street, shopkeepers shut their doors. Folk I'd known my entire life cowered inside. Even the painter went very still on the top of his ladder, as if he hoped no one would notice him there. No one came to my rescue. I'd never felt more alone or so vulnerable.