The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(3)

I glanced up at the giant who held both my wrists and blinked back hot tears. "Please let me go," I whispered.

"Can't, miss," he said in a booming voice with an accent similar to the gentleman's but from the gutters rather than the townhouse. "You just stay out here with me and let Mr. Glass finish his chat."

I sniffed. "So you won't let me go, even if I promise not to go back inside?"

He shook his head.

"I won't be long," the gentleman behind me said.

"I see." I drew in a breath, let it out, and stomped my heel into the giant's boot.

He winced and his one eye widened, but he didn't let me go.

The gentleman laughed softly. "Good shot."

The giant grunted. "Not bad for a little thing."

I ought to have been frightened witless, but their light-hearted banter quelled my fear. Not that I felt safe and confident, but I no longer felt like the giant or his master wanted to hurt me.

"Sir, if you please," Eddie said in a sickeningly sycophantic tone. "We'll finalize our business inside."

"I need to ask you some questions first," the gentleman, Mr. Glass, said.

"Questions? About the watch? Of course."

"Sir," I said over my shoulder. I had only moments in which to ruin this for Eddie, as he'd ruined so much more for me. "Mason And Sons have a finer hunter minute repeater than the one you were admiring in…there." I couldn't bring myself to call it Hardacre Watchmakers. It was still Steele Watchmakers to me and always would be. "If you want my advice, you ought to spend your money at that establishment. Not only will you get excellent service, but you'll be supporting an upstanding family."

"India!" Eddie shouted. "If you don't calm down, I'll send for a constable." He clicked his fingers at Jimmy, the boy who occasionally ran errands for the shopkeepers in the street. He was the only one who'd not retreated indoors, but that would be because Jimmy wasn't allowed in the shops. None of the shopkeepers trusted him not to steal from them. None since Father had died and Eddie had evicted me, that is. He strolled over, hands thrust deep into his pockets, but hung back, clearly not willing to take Eddie's side but unable to do anything to help me.

"I've already been to Mason And Sons," Mr. Glass said to me, ignoring Eddie. "There was nothing to interest me there. I wish to look at this watch."

"Come, sir," Eddie said, grasping Mr. Glass's arm. Mr. Glass narrowed his gaze at him and Eddie let go with a loud swallow. "I'll give you a good price on the watch."

"You cannot have been to Mason And Sons," I said to the gentleman. "Mr. Mason truly does have a finer example of the same timepiece. I saw it late yesterday, and I doubt he has sold it already."

Mr. Glass turned a curious expression toward me. Where before he'd looked tired, he was now alert. It was as if he'd just realized something of monumental importance to him—and it involved me. His gaze focused on mine with fierce, driving intensity. It was an unnerving experience to be the object of it, more so than the physical presence of his coachman. If I weren't restrained, I would have left and been glad to have escaped—from what, I didn't know.

"You're familiar with Mr. Mason and his work?" he asked me.

"I am. He was both a friend and rival of my father's." Their relationship had been a complicated one. While they respected and liked one another, they had to compete for customers among London's elite. Fortunately there were enough wealthy in the city to keep them, and several other watch and clockmakers, in business. Mr. Mason had been the first person I'd gone to after Eddie had ended our engagement, but he'd not been able to employ me with three sons and a daughter of his own.

Mr. Glass closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as if trying to remove an ache. It was so odd, coming after his intense glare, that I checked with his servant to see if he thought it out of character.

The coachman frowned at his master. "Matt?" He called his master by his first name? What a peculiar arrangement. "Er, sir? You need to…?"

"I'm fine," Mr. Glass snapped.

"Don't bloody look fine," the coachman muttered, sounding a little hurt.

"Your father is a watchmaker?" Mr. Glass asked me, lowering his hand. He patted his coat, as if feeling for something in the pocket. Perhaps it was snuff or a pipe that he wished to smoke to return the color to his cheeks. He looked quite peaky.

"Was." I spread my hands to indicate the shop windows with the watches set out on the lower shelf and the higher shelves filled with clocks of all shapes and sizes. "He owned this establishment under the name Steele until his death, two weeks ago." I swallowed the lump rising up my throat, but the tears welled nevertheless.

"He left it to me in his will," Eddie cut in quickly.

"Because you assured him that you would keep your promise to marry me, and my fool of a father believed you. I believed you," I choked out. I no longer cared what the gentleman or his servant thought of my behavior. Two weeks ago I'd been too sad and shocked to tell Eddie what I thought of him, but not anymore. I was still sad, but those two weeks had given me time to think. I wasn't shocked now, I was mad.

"I wasn't to know then that you were such a strong-willed creature," Eddie said. "If I had, I wouldn't have asked for your hand. Take this display, for example. One doesn't need further evidence of your willfulness."