Lady X's Cowboy Read Free Page B

considered where he said he was staying—a “flophouse,” which did not sound particularly pleasant or accommodating.  And Wapping certainly wasn’t known as one of the finer neighborhoods.  So she did what she had been trained to do: throw cash at people.  “Of course, a reward.  Some money, perhaps.  Arthur?” she asked, since her few shillings were lying in the street.
    “Yes, my lady.”  The coachman reached into his pocket.  She would reimburse him later, since she never traveled with more than a sovereign.  Everything was on account, and everyone accepted her credit.  She was the widow of a businessman, a successful business owner, and more likely to pay her bills than a peer’s spouse. 
    “Keep it,” Will Coffin said.
    She looked at him with surprise.  He was angry.  And angry in a different way than when he was fighting the thugs.  This was a deep, personal anger that vibrated off of him like inaudible sound. 
    “But—”
    “I don’t want your money.”
    “I’ve insulted you.”
    Will Coffin put his hat back on, and what she had seen of his face became obscured.  She suddenly felt very foolish and gauche, younger and more awkward than she had felt in years.  
    “Ma’am.”  He stepped back.  “I’ve got to get back before this damned fog turns me blinder than a mule in a mineshaft.”
    “Really, Mister Coffin, can I not—?”
    “You get on home, and don’t go walkin’ by yourself in mean territory.”
    Before she knew it, her footman was helping her into her carriage.  “Can I at least give you a ride?”  Again, she was violating the rules of propriety by inviting a man into the carriage with her.
    She need not have worried.  Even as the words were leaving her mouth, Will Coffin tipped his hat, a definitive dismissal.  But courtly, in its way.  Like him, a strange amalgam of coarseness and chivalry.  Once more she felt his eyes on her, one final, measuring gaze that swept over her in a warm tide.  She kept one hand braced on the open carriage door as Will Coffin turned and, in the arc of his coat, disappeared into the foggy London evening.  Strange how such a big man could vanish so completely.  She strained, and could just make out the fading sound of his boots against the pavement.  In his wake, the commonplace and often irritating fog became a spectral coda, an annoyance turned enigmatic through his presence and absence.
    “We really ought to go, my lady,” Arthur said worriedly.
    She barely noticed when the footman closed the door after her and the carriage began to move north, across the river and back to Bayswater, back to everything familiar.  She kept staring out the window, hoping to catch another glimpse of Will Coffin, but finding in his place only fog.
     
     
     

Chapter Two
     
     
    George Pryce entered the Three Graces Pub on the Strand looking for his failed henchmen.  He was furious, more furious than he had been since they’d tried to throw him out of Cambridge for cheating.  His father’s authority had kept him ensconced at university for two more years, but the outrage remained.
    He slid into an empty booth at the back and ordered a beer.
    “Greywell’s or Bass, sir?” the publican asked.
    “Bass,” Pryce snarled.  His mood blackened even further.  It always came back to that damned brewery.  He still lived with his parents, the last remaining son at home.  His three older brothers had all married and set up their own prospering households.  They had taken up mundane responsibilities such as sessions of Parliament, arguing bills, and calculating interest.  But as the fourth son of an earl, Pryce did not desire the things his brothers had been so eager to claim.  He loved his life of leisure, the only true life of a gentleman as far as he was concerned.
    But still Father would fix him with his piercing, critical glare and demand to know what his youngest son was doing with his life.  Apparently, being a gentleman wasn’t