Who Will Take This Man?

“Is that so?” Goddard stuck out his jaw at a belligerent angle. “What exactly are yer intentions, then?”

“That is personal, between Meredith and me. But, knowing how you feel about her, I want to assure you that I… care for her. And would do nothing to hurt her.”

“Ye already have, you and yer bloody curse. Her reputation is everything to her. Ye’ve already damaged her business. And the way ye look at her makes it obvious ye think to ruin her as well.” Goddard’s lips curled back in a sneer. “Ye high-and-mighty lords think that any piece that catches yer fancy is fair game for yer attentions. But Miss Merrie’s too smart to fall victim to that. She’s run her whole life from it.”

“What does that mean? Run her whole life from what?”

Something flashed in Goddard’s eyes, something that clearly indicated he’d said too much, and he pressed his lips together. When it became clear Goddard wasn’t going to elaborate, Philip asked, “And how do you know that your feelings won’t get the better of you, won’t lead you to do something that could compromise her?”

A muscle jerked in Goddard’s jaw. His gaze raked over Philip, as if trying to decide how to answer. Finally he said, “I love her, but not in the way ye’re implyin‘. She ain’t old enough to be my mum, but that’s what she’s been to me, and that’s how I love her. She took care of me all those years, and now that I’m old enough, it’s my turn to look after her. I’d do anythin’ for her.” Goddard’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Anythin‘. ”

There was no mistaking the young man’s meaning. Clearly if Meredith said, Chop off Lord Greybourne’s head, Goddard would sharpen his axe. One could only hope she wouldn’t make such a request. There was no denying his relief that Goddard wasn’t in love with Meredith. Yet his words only led to more questions.

“What do you mean, she’s been a mum to you?”

Again he hesitated, as if debating whether to answer or not. Finally he said, “Had no mum or dad, least not as I can remember. Only person I had was Taggert, the chimney sweep. I was one of his climbin‘ boys.” Goddard’s eyes and voice went flat. “He had others besides me. Kept us all together in a small, filthy room. One day, while cleanin’ out a chimney, I fell.” His gaze flicked down to his leg. “I remember fallin‘, but I must have hit my head hard, ’cause I don’t remember nothin‘ else till I woke up and found meself starin’ into an angel’s blue eyes. Thought I’d died and somehow made it to heaven. Soon found out that the angel was Miss Merrie, a stranger to me. She’d picked me up out of the gutter where Taggert had dumped me. I weren’t no use to him anymore.”

“Good God,” Philip muttered, a sensation akin to nausea rolling through him at such unspeakable cruelty. “How old were you?”

He shrugged. “Not sure. ‘Bout eight. At least that’s wot Miss Merrie figured. Didn’t know when my birthday was, so Miss Merrie named that day my birthday. She’s given me a fine party every year since, with cake and biscuits and presents.”

“What ever happened to this Taggert?”

A combination of hatred and fear burned in his eyes. “I don’t know. I can only hope the bastard’s dead.”

“So Meredith brought you home to live with her family?”

“She took me in to live with her. She were like a mum to me. Fed me, clothed me, taught me to read and cipher numbers. It were just Miss Merrie and me till five years ago when Charlotte and Hope came along.”

“She lived alone when she found you? She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, sixteen. How-?”

“Forget that. Don’t matter none.” Goddard’s voice resembled a low growl, and his hands fisted at his sides. “Wot’s important is you knowin‘ wot kind of lady she is. Kind. Respectable. I owe her my life, and by God, I won’t let you or anyone else do her harm in any way.”

A fissure of shame snaked down Philip’s spine. The bumps he’d viewed as hardships in his privileged life faded to insignificance when compared to the horrors this young man had suffered.

His gaze steady on Goddard’s, Philip said, “I would never harm her. And even before you told me your story, I knew she was kind and respectable.”

“And what of this lust ye feel for her?”

“I won’t deny I feel it, but it is only one portion of the emotions she inspires. You’re assuming that this is only one-sided. What if she has feelings for me as well?”

Uncertainty flickered in Goddard’s eyes. “I hadn’t considered that,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “If she decided you made her happy… well, I want her happy.”

Philip nodded. He felt a strong need to say something, but damned if he knew exactly what. His gaze involuntarily slipped down to Goddard’s damaged leg. He instantly sensed the young man’s tension.

“I don’t be wantin‘ yer damn pity.”

He looked up and met Goddard’s glare. “That’s not what I was thinking at all, although I cannot help but feel sorry for what you suffered as a child. No one, most especially a child, should be treated in such an inhumane manner. Indeed, rather than pity, you have my deepest admiration. Not many people would have been strong or brave enough to overcome such adversity. Thank you for telling me something so personal and painful, Goddard. Your loyalty and bravery toward Meredith are commendable.”

Goddard blinked in clear surprise, then his tense features relaxed a bit. “I thank God every day she found me. I’m a lucky man.”

Philip extended his hand. “I think you’re both lucky.”

The two men shared a measuring look. Then, after a nod, Goddard gripped his hand in a firm clasp. “Thank ye. Have to admit, ye’re not exactly what I expected. Ye don’t seem too bad, for a titled bloke, that is.”

“Thank you. Now let’s see if we all can’t get lucky and find the missing piece of stone.”

They walked back to where they’d left Meredith and the earl, this time walking along the outer wall, near the windows. They’d just turned the final corner when Philip halted so suddenly, Goddard bumped into his back. An arc of broken glass littered the wooden floor, sunlight pouring in from the broken window glinting off the jagged shards.

Goddard stepped around him and surveyed the situation. “Miss Merrie told me ‘bout last night’s break-in. This window’s probably how the bloke what hurt yer friend got in.”

A frown pulled down Philip’s brows. “Perhaps… but from what Edward described, I thought the robber had subdued the guard, then simply walked in.” Hell, had someone else broken in? After Edward’s altercation? The sound of the heavy wooden door opening interrupted his thoughts. Brisk footfalls, obviously a man’s, thudded on the floor. Seconds later, Mr. Danpry, the warehouse manager, rounded the corner. Philip had met the large-boned man the day the Dream Keeper had docked and his crates had been delivered.

Danpry stopped short at the sight of Goddard and Philip. “Lord Greybourne. I just heard about what happened here last night.” His gaze skimmed over the broken glass, and his jaw hardened. “I’m confident they’ll catch the fiend, my lord. The magistrate wants him, and the warehouse owner has personally hired a Runner.”

“Excellent. I’ve looked around. It appears that nothing other than two of my crates were disturbed.”

“You might have been the only one robbed, my lord, but this ain’t just a simple burglary.”

“Of course not. My friend and quite possibly your guard, were injured.”

“The guard, Billy Timson, was more than injured, Lord Greybourne. He was found an hour ago. Floatin‘ in the Thames. This is now a murder.”

They paired off, Meredith and Albert taking one crate, Philip and his father the other, a fact which relieved Meredith greatly. It was difficult enough being in the same room with Philip; standing shoulder to shoulder with him, their hands brushing as they removed the delicate artifacts, would prove pure torture.

For more than two hours, conversation consisted solely of naming items as they were removed from their respective crates and settled on the blankets covering the floor, during which time the air had grown unbearably warm.

Slipping her handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at the moisture beading on her neck. Although she’d had no intention of looking at him, her errant gaze wandered toward Philip. He was lifting a small statue from the crate, his back toward her. Dusty streaks marred his white linen shirt, which also bore a T-shaped darkened stain that ran across his wide shoulders and bisected the center of his back where the material rested against his damp skin.