Lyn Stone - The Arrangement

He gave Kathryn a piteous look and whispered, “Please.”

She patted his hand tenderly and squeezed it. “Of course. I’ll go find them for you. Lie back and rest now.”

“Don’t fall down,” he added as she started for the door.

As soon as he heard the stairs creaking, he beckoned Grandy closer. “She doesn’t know I’m Jon, and you’d better not muck me up here, old woman. Do you understand?”

Grandy snorted. “I ain’t helpin’ ye trick no gel into yer bed, Jonny.”

She had not been a decent nursemaid when she really was one, and he certainly didn’t need her services. He held on to her faded sleeve. “That’s not it, Grandy, I promise. Now listen to me carefully. Bunrich has bought up Maman’s markers, and if I don’t come up to scratch in a week or so, I’m cooked. This Wainwright woman writes for the newspaper, and if she learns Jonathan Chadwick is up to his ears in gambling debts, it will be all over London with her next column. There won’t be any more concerts, for the nobs or anybody else. No patrons for the opera, either. Neither of us will eat, do you understand? If I can turn her up sweet on Pip, she won’t go after Jon.”

“What’s all th’ Pip business, then?” she asked, rubbing her bulbous nose with a callused forefinger.

“I told her that’s my name. Can’t you imagine what a joke all of London would make of it should she describe Chadwick looking like an overgrown pig boy? She thinks I’m Jon’s dim-witted brother, and she feels sorry for me. As long as she believes I’m Pip, she won’t write anything bad about me—us. Just bring the meals and see you don’t give me away, or I’ll have your hide. And then you’ll starve!”

“Don’t ye threaten me, ye wee turd. I’ll pin yer ears back to yer head wi’ roofin’ nails!” She gave his hair a tug for emphasis.

“All right, please, then. C’mon, Grandy, help me out here.”

“What about this Bunrich? He th’ one what kicked ye around today?” Grandy asked, poking roughly at his head.

Jon winced as he endured her prodding. “Uh-huh. I’ll have to worry about him after I get her out of here. Shhh, now, she’s coming. Mind your mouth.”

Kathryn sailed into the room, her arms full of his musical instruments. “Here are your ladies, Pip!” Carefully she laid each one on the bed beside him. “Now lie back like a good boy and let Kathryn see to your hurts. Mrs. Grandy, would you heat some water and bring it up? Also, he’ll need a towel and some soap, if you have it....”

“Humph, no chance o’ that. Canna see t’ take th’ stairs totin’ nothing. He’ll live.”

Jon watched Grandy shuffle out of the room with her usual rolling gracelessness. “Bye, Gran,” he said, as lovingly as if he were her very favorite grandchild. He ought, by rights, to go trip her on the top step, the fractious old wart.

At least she wouldn’t give him away. Grandy’s instinct for survival surpassed even his own. And, deep down in that mass she called a body, Jon suspected she had a heart.

“She’s a mean old woman!” Kathryn said, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. “You rest a bit and I’ll go get something to wash you up.”

“Kathryn?” Jon said, grabbing her hand in both of his. Her tender smile nearly stopped his heart. He had to close his eyes against it so that he could think of something to say.

When he opened them, they felt unfocused, rolled around like marbles in a bowl. Maybe he did have a concussion after all. It wouldn’t do to have her here after he gave in to sleep. He had to get rid of her now. Discounting the secrets she might unearth by snooping around the house, there was always a chance Bunrich would begin to suspect the trick Jon had planned. He might come back and finish what he had started.

“Go get Jon,” he said. “Please?” He knew that was the only way he would get her out of the house.

“Where is he?” she whispered, leaning over him to examine the lump on his head more closely. Her soft palm slid down to the uninjured portion of his face and rested lightly against his left cheek.

Jon breathed in her scent, hoping to hold it until he could fall asleep and dream.

“Town,” he answered. His need for sleep battled with his reluctance to make her leave. “Go to town.”

“Will you be all right until he gets here?”

“Um-hmm. So tired,” he mumbled, and turned away from her.

Ten minutes later, Jon relaxed for the first time since entering her room at the inn that morning. The sound of her carriage wheels crunching down the driveway provided much-needed relief. And a surprising sadness.

Why did he yearn so for her to stay, when he knew it was impossible? The woman could wreck his life, for pity’s sake. He ran a tentative finger over the swelling at his temple. That fall on his head must have left a severe dent in his brain. It had definitely mangled the section dedicated to self-preservation. Too bad it hadn’t numbed the region that ruled his nether parts.

He wanted her. Craved her. Not like the tasting of a sweet roll or a snifter of fine brandy. More like drawing his next breath. Damn.

But would he be satisfied by a mere tossing-up of her skirts, if and when she ever allowed it? He let his fingers drift down the side of his face, where she had last touched him.

Probably not.

Chapter Four

Kathryn set aside her lap desk, glanced out the window of her second-story room and wondered again how poor Pip was getting on today. She didn’t think he had been seriously injured, but Chadwick surely would want to know about it.

She had left word with the landlady at Jonathan’s rooms the moment she arrived in town the day before. Since mid morning she had searched for him. She’d sent Thom to the servants’ entrances of the gentlemen’s clubs with questions, and contacted everyone Chadwick had performed for in the past few weeks. By midafternoon, Kathryn had decided to give it up and come back to Uncle Rupert’s. Either no one had seen Jon or they were helping him avoid her.

Perhaps she should have mentioned the reason she wanted to find him in the inquiries she made. Even then, everyone would probably believe she was only after a story for the paper. Her “secret” occupation was hardly a true secret.

Working did nothing to alleviate her worries. The article on Chadwick was a futile effort, anyway. All the way back to London yesterday, she had thought of little else. Aside from his obnoxious public arrogance, she had found nothing derogatory to write about. Of course, she could expose his secret about using Pip’s music. That, coupled with his nose-thumbing superiority, would have everyone believing him as reprehensible as she had at first. Such a story would set London on its collective ear. But it would destroy Jonathan, and probably Pip, as well.

She laid the pen aside and crumpled the paper in her fist.

Where the devil had Jon gotten to, anyway? She had turned the city upside down, and he was nowhere to be found. As far as she could discern, he wasn’t performing anywhere in town tonight. Kathryn thought again of poor Pip, wounded and waiting in that sorry excuse for a home, with no one but that crotchety old crone to look after him. She had half a mind to go back there tonight and make certain he didn’t go hungry. If there was no word from Jonathan Chadwick, she’d go first thing in the morning, she promised herself.

Right now, she had problems enough of her own to face. Uncle Rupert would fly into a rage when she told him she had decided not to make Chadwick her subject for the week.

If only she could beg off doing the column for two months, she wouldn’t have to write anything about anyone. She would be twenty-five and financially independent. Well, just how independent remained to be seen. But however much she received from her inheritance must suffice. Maybe she should be grateful to Uncle Rupert, but living under his thumb was becoming increasingly intolerable. There were times when she thought him a bit unbalanced, especially when he nagged her so about the articles. Chadwick did not seem to warrant ruining, as the others had.