The Piper's Paramour, page 13
Tory instructed the driver to wait for her as she got out of the carriage and sprinted across the street. Other than the laughter and sneers from the onlookers, she could hear the grunts from the two men as they continued to battle.
Another sickening thud sounded and she shuddered, sure that Rhys was being beaten to a pulp. But as the crowd parted long enough for her to glimpse what was going on, she saw Rhys curl his fist, preparing to deliver a punishing blow to the man he was straddling.
Before he could follow through, Tory shouted, “Rhys, stop!”
He paused and whipped his head in her direction — just long enough for his challenger to fight dirty and punch him directly in the solar plexus. Rhys doubled over and fell to the side, gasping for air. Tory pushed her way through the crowd and bent down at his side. “Dear God, what were you thinking?” she chided as she brushed a strand of his blond hair back from his forehead.
Other than a trickle of blood near his mouth and an eye that was turning suspiciously dark, he looked to be none the worse for wear. Once he’d caught his breath, his gaze bored into her — and he didn’t seem pleased. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Her cheeks flooded with warmth. How to explain… “Well, I needed some help with—”
“If ye need anythin’, I’d be glad t’ assist ye!”
Tory glared at the burly man who had spoken in a mocking tone, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “No, thank you.”
As Rhys slowly sat up, a youth that couldn’t have been more than seventeen years of age ribbed, “Now we know why ye haven’t been ’round lately, Gray. Ye’ve been keepin’ yerself busy wit’ th’ ladies!”
A round of guffaws sounded all around and Tory pursed her lips together to keep from replying to his crass comment as Rhys rose to his feet. “You’ll kindly keep your opinions to yourself, Alfie, or you’ll be the next to meet my fists.”
This effectively silenced the youth, but not without a crude gesture in return.
“I assume ye’ll heed my warnin’, Gray?” The man Rhys had been grappling with addressed him. He definitely looked worse than Rhys with a split lip and two blackened eyes, one of which was already starting to swell. His dark gaze shifted to Tory. “It would be a shame, after all, for somethin’… unfortunate t’ happen t’ those closest t’ us.”
Tory gasped in outrage, but before she could deliver a proper set down of her own, Rhys returned smoothly, “Loud and clear, Shaw.” With that, he took hold of her elbow and not so gently, steered her away from the assemblage. “I assume you still have a carriage at your disposal?”
“There.” She pointed toward the hansom, and stumbled to keep up with his firm stride, but she didn’t say anything else as he nearly tossed her in the cab and tapped on the roof.
It wasn’t until they set off that his darkened glare fixed on her. “Would you care to explain what possessed you to follow me here?”
Tory crossed her arms, wanting some of her questions answered as well, but she replied, “Cinnamon is sick. I set out for your house, but you were leaving as I arrived.”
“So you thought it best to trail me to a shady part of town and wait in the shadows for me to emerge?” he snapped.
She lifted her chin. “I was getting ready to leave when I witnessed that horrid display. If I hadn’t have arrived when I did, you might have ended up interred in that grave site across the street!”
“So I should thank you for losing when I was doing perfectly fine on my own?”
Tory reluctantly admitted that she had been a distraction, for he’d had the upper hand until she arrived, although she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Just what was all that about anyway?” she demanded.
“Apparently, we had a disagreement.”
“That’s not funny,” she snapped.
He reached out and pulled her forward, trapping her on his lap. His eyes were intense, his jaw clenched with a light golden stubble. He’d wiped the blood away from the side of his lip, but his eye was still shadowed, giving him a rather dangerous appearance. He certainly didn’t look like the Rhys she’d known all this time.
“No, it’s not,” he ground out. “But neither is the fact you thought it was acceptable to get involved in a fight that could have easily turned into a brawl at any moment.”
“What was I supposed to do?” she cried. “I couldn’t just sit by and watch you get hurt!”
“So you thought to reverse the roles and become the dashing heroine who swoops in to rescue the flailing suitor in distress?” he scoffed. “Not with that group of riffraff, I’m afraid.”
She resisted the urge to lash out at his baiting comments. “Who were they?”
He regarded her a moment, and then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “The Blue Anchor Tavern is the main rat-baiting pit in the city. It’s run by Jimmy Shaw, the man I was engaged in a disagreement with—” She rolled her eyes at this. “—but it’s also where the rat gangs tend to congregate. You had the misfortune to meet two of the leaders, Alfie Augustine and Tom Smith, already.”
Tory’s eyes widened. “There are actually rat gangs?”
He sighed, and some of the steam seemed to leave his expression. “It’s a lucrative business ever since Jack Black staked his claim with the monarchy. All of them vie for the top position.”
She crossed her arms. “You never did answer my question. What were you doing there?” She stilled. “Rhys, you’re not involved in anything illegal, are you?”
He interrupted with a snort. “Hardly. Remember me telling you about my suspicion that someone has been smuggling rats into the city?” After she nodded, he said, “I went there tonight to try to find out who could be responsible when Jimmy decided he wanted a word.” His expression turned grim. “He doesn’t appear to be a fan of our successful fancy rat endeavor, as it’s taking money out of his pocket. And now that he knows my weakness…” He ended on a sigh.
“What exactly is your weakness?”
He looked into her eyes and said, “You shouldn’t even have to ask.”
With that, he slid his arm around the back of her head and drew her in for a kiss.
Chapter Thirteen
Rhys woke early the next morning, before the sun had yet to grace the sky with its precious light. He turned his head and looked at Tory where she lay sleeping beside him in her bed. She was on her stomach with her brown hair in disarray all around her head and shoulders. He gently brushed it back so he could see her beautiful face. She didn’t even stir. He smiled, for he had already found that she slept rather deeply.
He eased out of bed and dressed silently, and then went to check on Cinnamon and Sugar. He had returned to the studio with Tory the night before to check on her rats, but while Cinnamon had appeared to be a bit more lethargic than usual, Rhys didn’t think there was anything severely wrong. This morning he was glad to see that Cinnamon appeared to be back to his usual self and whatever malady he’d suffered had passed.
He headed downstairs and checked to make sure the other rats were acting as they should, and after he was satisfied that they were, he headed out the back entrance of the studio, making sure to lock the door behind him. He didn’t like feeling as though he was sneaking out, like some sort of rake who’d had his sordid way with his latest paramour, but in essence, he supposed that’s what his relationship with Tory was currently like. He didn’t care to put what they shared into quite those terms, as he thought what they had was rather special, but unless there were some permanent changes, he knew discretion was of the utmost importance if he wished to keep Tory’s reputation intact.
Nevertheless, he had to decide the best way to proceed with his investigation into the smugglers; especially now that Jimmy had him in his sights. He had blatantly threatened Rhys the night before, and it wouldn’t take much for his wrath to come crashing down. The miscreant certainly wouldn’t hesitate to use Tory as a way to seek his revenge, if it came down to it.
But what could Rhys do?
He shook his head and started walking toward Tavistock Square, rather than hailing down a hansom. Walking tended to clear his mind, and he was in dire need of it at the moment.
Rhys didn’t want to give Shaw the satisfaction of bowing to his demands, thus affording him even more of an upper hand, for that would make Rhys appear weak in the eyes of the others, potentially causing even more of a problem. But with the rats being displayed at Tory’s shop, he feared that any retaliation would end up causing her more trouble. He supposed he could suggest that she spend her nights at his townhouse, ensuring himself of her safety, but that could be detrimental to her business if the truth of their illicit affair were made public.
Unfortunately, without some sort of permanent plan in place…
Rhys nearly stopped in the middle of the road, his heart pounding in his ears. In truth, there could be a way he could keep her under his protection — forever. Of course, the thought of marriage had crossed his mind several times since he’d met Tory, but until now he’d dismissed most of them the moment they materialized. As he’d told Harry, it was just way too soon to be thinking of anything beyond their current arrangement — wasn’t it?
As a physician of the sciences, he’d never believed in such a thing as love at first sight. It was just as unbelievable as walking on the moon. And as much as he’d fancied himself in love with Marissa, he had never felt this all-consuming passion that Tory inspired in him. She’d nearly made him spout sonnets the second time they’d met, for Christ’s sake!
He scrubbed a hand down his face. He might as well admit that he was in love with her. There was no use denying the sensation that pulsed beneath his breastbone when she was near. But did she feel the same?
To be honest — he wasn’t sure. Even if she did love him in return, Rhys knew that Tory was independent, determined to make her own way, so if he did manage to bring up the subject of an association more steadfast than their current one, she would likely refuse him.
He supposed that was the crux of the matter. With the risk of impending menace, how could he hold on to the best thing that had ever happened to him while allowing it to be free?
***
Tory reached out and sighed when her hand met an empty bed. With the feel of Rhys’s lingering warmth at her fingertips, she didn’t want to open her eyes against the sight of that blank space.
Instead, she rolled over on her side and pulled the covers up to her chin, fighting the melancholy that swept her whenever he left. She hated it, this misery at his loss, but she had no right to beg him to stay. It’s not as if he didn’t have his own responsibilities, his own life to return to. She was his friend, a pleasant diversion, but with each day that passed, she was starting to yearn for something… more.
It was selfish on her part, greedy to want love that he certainly wasn’t ready or willing to give, but that didn’t make it any less true.
Tory shook off her sudden melancholy and heated some water for a bath. Mrs. Wood would be returning later that morning and she wanted to look her best for when she picked up the photograph of her granddaughter.
After she’d washed and dressed in a plain, gray gown, Tory pinned up her hair and checked on Cinnamon and Sugar. Rhys had suspected it was no more than a brief upset when he’d looked them over the night before, so she was relieved to see that they had returned to being their usual, playful selves.
After that, she went downstairs and cleaned up the rats’ cages, making sure they had plenty of food and water. She unlocked the door and busied herself in her darkroom for a time before a few customers began to trickle in, inquiring about the rats.
When there was a lull in the activity, she kept a broom and bucket nearby to clean, finding that there was always something to be done.
At precisely eleven o’clock, Mrs. Ellen Wood arrived. Her daughter wasn’t with her this time. Tory greeted her with a small smile. “How did the service go yesterday for Gwen?”
“Quite well.” She paused. “I regret that Phillipa couldn’t join me today, but…” Again, she faltered. “I’m sure you understand.”
“I do.” Tory said softly, as she picked up the portrait from the counter. “I hope this will offer her some comfort. I thought it turned out rather nicely.”
Tory held her breath as the other woman took the framed photograph. For the longest time, she just stared at the image. When she lifted her gaze at last, there were unshed tears in her eyes. “You truly have a gift for capturing innocence, Miss Jones, and I will make sure everyone in London knows it.”
Tory didn’t want to put too much hope in the woman’s promise, but when Rebecca dropped by to pick up her portrait later that day, she couldn’t help but express her excitement.
“You’ll soon be the most famous photographer in London,” Rebecca gushed, but only when Tory handed her the portrait of her family did she put a hand dramatically over her heart. The blond curls beneath her bonnet bounced with her excitement. “You’ve captured our essence perfectly! I just know Harry is going to love it!”
With that, she reached out and gave Tory an impulsive hug, after which she reached into her reticule and gave Tory more than her requested amount. When Tory tried to refuse the extra payment, for she now looked at this woman as something of a friend, Rebecca closed her hand around her palm and said, “Trust me. You’ve earned every shilling.”
“In that case, I hope you’ll at least join me for some tea.”
Rebecca grinned. “Now that I’ll do.” She held up a finger. “But before I forget…” She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small, silver bell. “I brought you a belated welcoming gift. Now, when someone comes in, you’ll be comforted by the fact an angel has earned their wings.”
Tory smiled. “What a lovely sentiment.”
Rebecca shrugged. “It’s something my mother used to say.”
Tory accepted the offering. “I’ll hang it up right now. If you go upstairs and get settled, I’ll join you in a moment.”
Tory was glad that the previous owners had left behind a few, random tools, including some nails and a hammer, for she used these to hang the bell above the door. She opened and shut the door to test it, smiling when she heard that light tinkle.
“I hear it!” Rebecca called down from the top of the stairs, making Tory laugh.
But just as she was about to lock the door to partake of a light luncheon with Mrs. Veltree, the bell chimed behind her and she turned to acknowledge the incoming customer — at the same time a brute of a man grasped her about the waist and put a hand over her mouth, effectively cutting off any alarm she might raise.
“I was told t’ deliver a personal warnin’ t’ ye, Miss Jones.” Tory froze in fear as the tip of a cold, knife blade pierced the skin at her neck. “Mr. Shaw doesn’t wan’ ye t’ associate wit’ Gray any longer, if ye wan’ t’ keep yer precious shop. Ye should know tha’ accidents happen in London all th’ time. I assume ye get my meanin’?”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she nodded.
He inhaled the scent of her hair and she fought the urge to retch out of a combination of fear and revulsion. “O’ course, I’d make sure nothin’ happened t’ ye, if ye were t’ become my paramour.” He slowly released her. “Consider my offer, Miss Jones. I’ll be back in a few days t’ see if ye kept yer word.”
After the bell signaled the man’s departure, Tory locked the door with a trembling hand. She put her forehead on the glass and breathed deeply, trying to return to normal. She’d never been so frightened in all of her life, not even the night in the tunnel with Rhys when gunshots had whizzed beside her head. However, this time it wasn’t just a scare tactic — the malicious intent was all too real, and even though Rhys had warned her of the consequences, she hadn’t thought the villains would attack so soon. If she wasn’t careful, she could easily lose everything that she’d done her best to build.
But even that didn’t compare to how she felt about Rhys. Her heart ached at the idea of losing him, but if it meant it was the only way to keep him safe…
“Tory?” Rebecca’s concerned voice broke through her haze at the top of the stairs.
She moved away from the door and smoothed her hands down her dress. “I’m coming!” she called; glad to find that her voice hardly shook at all.
***
That night, when Rhys called upon Tory, he knew something was wrong, but no matter how much he tried to coerce her into telling him what it was, she was rather tight lipped. In the end, she claimed that she was tired and told him that she wanted to spend the night at home.
Alone.
Her rejection crushed him, but he acted as though nothing was amiss as he took his leave. He headed out for the night with his recorder and managed to catch two more sacks of rats, but as he walked in the door of his residence, his arms were caught behind him and he was shoved forward, the wood slamming shut behind him and his assailants.
“’Ello, Gray.” A familiar voice snarled behind him.
He rolled his eyes as Jimmy Shaw came into view, taking note of his wicked looking black eye that he’d taken pleasure in giving him. “You’re looking well,” he drawled. His mockery earned him a punch to the gut, doubling him over and briefly robbing him of air. Rhys was quickly yanked back upright. “I assume this isn’t a social call?”
In reply, a sharp knife was removed from the other man’s belt. Shaw grinned as he held the metal up to the light, causing the blade to glint. Rhys knew it was an intimidation tactic, but he refused to be cowed. It was what Shaw wanted. “If you’re wanting to compare weapons…” Rhys glanced down at his trousers. “I have a feeling I’d win.”
His opponent snorted. “Always been th’ cheeky one, ain’t ye, Gray?” He made a slow circle around where Rhys stood, still held by one of his devoted thugs. “Ye may no’ be laughin’ much longer, once tha’ pretty paramour o’ yers is gone.”
