Stranger in My Arms(47)

Bug hunters-the men who robbed drunks who wandered the streets at night. Hardly a top-drawer criminal… just one of the various scum that populated the London underworld. Hunter concealed his distaste and shifted the boy in his arms. “Where is your mother?” he asked.

“Mama’s in ‘eaven.” The boy had no one, then.

An innocent smile crossed the boy’s face, as if he could somehow read Hunter’s thoughts. “You an’ milady got me now, aye?”

It was only now that Hunter began to understand Lara’s attraction to the child. “Yes, I’ve got you,” he found himself saying, without any trace of sarcasm.

Well, the boy could do worse than have the knack of making people want to take care of him.

They reached a small room fitted up with a water supply, privy pan, and waste pipe, and Hunter set down his charge with care. “Here you go.”

He paused and asked uncomfortably, “Do you need help with, .... . this sort of thing?”

“No, I can do it.” The boy entered the little room and looked back anxiously. “You’ll be ‘ere when I come out?”

“I’ll be here,” Hunter replied, and stood staring at the door when it closed. He was unwillingly touched by the child, the small misplaced duckling brought to live among swans. Except that Hunter himself was no swan.

It wouldn’t be comfortable to live with a child who unwittingly reminded him of his greatest weakness, day after day. A Hindu would shrug and say that it was the gods’ will. Each man is responsible for his own salvation, a holy man had once instructed him-blasphemy to a Christian, but it had made sense to Hunter. In some cases salvation will happen only when one breaks with society. Johnny would come to the same understanding, if he was to survive in this corner of the world called England.

Captain Tyler sat heavily in a leather chair, the gentlemen’s room lit only by a small fire in the grate. He held a glass of brandy in both hands, letting his palms warm the liquor. He sipped it slowly, in the manner of a man who deeply appreciated small luxuries.

Morland Manor, a small but well-maintained house, was poised on a hill like an elegant little bird that had established its preferred territory. The cloudless night loomed around them, vast and cool, making Tyler glad of his cozy sanctuary. The hour was late, and his attractive wife slept peacefully upstairs, her waist slightly thickened by a pregnancy in its early stages.

The joy of expecting his first child should have filled Tyler with contentment. And being back in England, something he had fiercely desired for eight years, should have given him the peace he had long expected. However, the well-deserved peace and contentment eluded him, driven away by a most unexpected turn of events.

“Damn you,” Tyler murmured, gripping the brandy tightly. “Why didn’t you stay in India?”

And then something amazing happened… something he would later acknowledge he should have expected. The shadows in the room seemed to shift and alter, and a dark figure emerged from the corner.

Too stunned to react, Tyler watched as the current Earl of Hawksworth walked toward him.

“I had better plans,” Hunter said softly.

To his credit, Tyler remained outwardly calm while he struggled to collect himself. The trembling of the glass in his hands was all that betrayed his agitation. “Cocky bastard,” he said. “Only you would dare to accost me in my place of residence.”

“I wanted to see you m private.”

Tyler buried himself in his brandy, not stopping until he had drained it. “Until last night I thought you were dead,” he said gruffly.

“What the devil are you doing in England?”

“That’s not your concern. I only came to warn you-don’t interfere.”

“You dare to give me orders?” Tyler turned purple.

“What of Lady Hawksworth? That poor woman has a right to know-” “I’m taking care of her,” Hunter said, his voice softly menacing. “And I’ll have your silence, Tyler * .. one way or the other. After all I’ve done for you, I deserve it.”

Tyler seemed to swallow back a reprimand, while his conscience warred with a bitter sense of obligation.

Eventually his shoulders sagged with defeat “Perhaps you do,” he muttered. “I’ll have to think on it. For pity’s sake, leave now. You remind me of things I’m trying damned hard to forget.”

Chapter 12

TO LARA’S FRUSTRATION, the promised report concerning English houses of correction did not come the next week, or the next. She was almost grateful for the refurbishing of the house, which occupied much of her attention as Possibility Smith and an army of craftsmen and assistants went about their work. She also visited her friends at Market Hill, and the orphanage. Most of her waking hours, however, were consumed by Johnny and the task of accustoming him to the new world he had been introduced to.

And of course, there was Hunter.

He managed the family’s affairs, dutifully attended social events, and listened to his tenants’ concerns. In addition, he managed the tricky and unorthodox strategy of involving the family more deeply in trade, when other peers were aspiring to do the opposite.

A man had much higher social standing when he had completely withdrawn from mercantile concerns and concentrated solely on the aristocratic business of landowning. However, Hunter demonstrated a remarkable willingness to sacrifice pride in favor of practicality.