Brazen and the Beast (The Bareknuckle Bastards #2)(59)

“Does she?”

“Don’t you?” she asked, not waiting for him to answer before she added, “I would wager you do. Some kind of lair deep in Covent Garden. Filled with . . .” She stopped, and he hung on the pause. “. . . plants or something.”

He blinked. “Plants?”

“You seem the kind of man who has plants.”

“Potted plants?”

“No.” She shook her head, as though this were all perfectly normal. “Exotic plants. Things a body could not find without a serious tour about another continent.”

He laughed at that, surprising himself with the way she made him lighter. “I’ve never been outside of Britain.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

He shrugged. Where would a boy raised in the gutter go?

“Well then,” she said, waving away the moment. “Potted plants, then.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have plants.”

“Oh. You should get some.”

He resisted the urge to continue down her mad path and instead said, “And what of you . . . do you have a home in mind? In which to keep your own plants?”

She smiled. “In fact, I do.”

“Where?” He shouldn’t care. But he did—he wanted to know about this dream she had—the part that went far beyond what he’d already seen. He wanted her to share it with him. To choose him to share it with.

The pleasure he felt when she did just that was immense, filling the darkest parts of him when she reached out and clasped his hand, leading him to the far side of the gardens. It was no wonder that he followed without question.

Hattie drew him to a small stone bench several yards away, perched against the brick wall that separated the Warnick gardens from the neighbor’s. Twisting her hand in his clasp, she used her free hand to lift her skirts, and stepped up onto the bench. He instantly helped her, providing strength and balance as she gained her footing there.

“Thank you.” She released his hand, immediately reoffering it to him. An invitation.

He didn’t take it, but joined her anyway. “This is unexpected.”

She grinned, her excitement heady. “You do not spend a great deal of time standing on benches with ladies?”

He offered a little grunt in reply.

“But you’ve scaled a wall in your day.”

His brows shot up. “Are we scaling a wall tonight, my lady?”

“I would not want to ruin your handsome attire,” she teased, “but we can look.” She pointed over the wall. “Look.”

He did, seeing what anyone might see in such a situation. A dark garden, a darker house beyond. He didn’t understand immediately—not until he looked to her, his gaze locking on her in profile, her skin glowing pale in the light from Warnick House, her eyes tracking the darkness, as though she could see every nuance of the home and gardens without need for light.

There was more than that, though. Alongside the perusal was something else entirely—desire.

“This is the house,” he said.

She turned to him. “Number forty-six Berkeley Square. The former home of Baron Claybourne.”

“And you want it.”

She nodded. “I do.”

“And you want the business.”

She met his eyes, honesty clear and unyielding in her gaze. “I do.”

And why couldn’t she have it? Why shouldn’t she? “Take it.”

She cut him a dry look. “I had intended to. Augie was going to step aside and tell my father to give it to me. If I kept you from him.” She gave a little shrug. “That’s all gone pear-shaped.”

Whit’s fists clenched. He could not guarantee that if he ever met August Sedley he wouldn’t put a fist directly into the man’s face. What kind of a man sent his innocent sister to wage his war? The same kind of man who came for the Bastards without thinking.

No. August Sedley did not come away from this unscathed. Even if he hadn’t thrown his lot in with Ewan, Augie could not be trusted to run one of the biggest shipping businesses on the docks, and run it well to keep men in work and families in health.

But Hattie . . . Hattie, who loved French beans in Covent Garden and bought day-wilted flowers for thruppence—she could be trusted.

She wanted the business and Whit could give it to her.

“And if I helped?”

Suspicion flared in her eyes. “Why would you do that?”

Because I want you to have everything you desire. “Because you should have it. Because Sedley Shipping would thrive with you at the helm. Because the docks need businessmen who know that workers make a world. And you’re strong enough to be one of them.”

She met his gaze. “To be the best of them.”

One side of his lips lifted in a small smile. “Yes.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“So what, you add it to the list of demands for my father? My brother gives up your true enemy, and my father installs me as his successor, and you don’t bring the whole thing down around us?”

Clever girl. A pause fell, the truth in it.

“So I get it . . . because of your benevolence.”

A thread of unease whispered through him. “For God’s sake, Hattie, who cares how you get it?”