his expression turned into something remarkably like a leer. Bloody hell, the fellow didn’t have that proclivity, did he?
“Haven’t found the”—Pettigrew waggled his brows—“boy’s brother yet?”
Or perhaps he was merely drunk.
Shakespeare snarled more loudly, punctuating his displeasure with a few well-placed barks.
“Shakespeare, some manners, please!” Jack said. Pettigrew was still staring at Francis, and Francis was glaring back at him, though the boy’s face was very pale.
Perhaps he should encourage Shakespeare to use his teeth to advantage on Pettigrew’s person. “Yes, well, it turns out the brother married and moved away. The landlady has no idea where he’s gone.”
“Married, eh?” Pettigrew was still looking at Francis with that odd light in his eyes. “Speaking of marriage, my poor friend Littleton, the one who had the shrewish spinster bolt on him—”
Had Francis just flinched? The boy dropped his eyes to stare down at his hands, his face now completely white. He wasn’t going to faint, was he? Jack tried to put a hand on his arm, but Francis leaned away from him.
“—has come to Town to shop the Marriage Mart.”
Ah, well, perhaps it was a good thing they’d encountered Pettigrew. If the man was finally willing to share information about the runaway girl, Jack might be able to find her and offer some help. “Has anyone had word that the girl is safe?”
Pettigrew actually chuckled. Bloody hell, the villain had no heart.
“No, but I’m quite sure she’s landed on her feet—or perhaps her back.”
“Ohh!”
Jack jerked his head around to look at Francis. The boy had one hand over his mouth and the other clutching his stomach.
“I believe we’d best be going.” He should get Francis to Greycliffe House as soon as he could.
Pettigrew was already backing away. “Yes. Do take good care of the . . . boy.” He waggled his damn brows again and rode off.
If the man wasn’t drunk, he was touched in the head. Perhaps he’d had a fall on the ride up to Town.
Jack encouraged his cattle to pick up their pace. He would prefer not to entertain the ton with the spectacle of Francis shooting the cat in his curricle. “That came on suddenly.”
Francis, having hidden his face in his hands, just nodded. At least Shakespeare, after a “good riddance” bark to Pettigrew, had regained his equanimity.
“Are you feeling better now?”
Francis nodded again.
“Maybe you have a touch of travel sickness. Hold on. We’ll be at Greycliffe House shortly.”
“Um.”
It was odd Francis had taken ill so suddenly. The boy hadn’t shown any signs of sickness coming up from the Crowing Cock or on this trip to Bromley. In fact, he’d been fine until they’d encountered Pettigrew.
Hmm. The runaway woman . . . Pettigrew’s odd behavior...
Oh God .
Jack’s head snapped round to regard Francis—his long, thin hands and narrow shoulders, his smooth cheeks without even the faintest hint of a beard. He was a pretty boy, or . . .
Of course.
How could he have been so blind? So stupid ? Back at the Crowing Cock, Francis had looked ill when Pettigrew had mentioned a Frederick Hadley, a man whom Francis apparently resembled and whose only sibling was his twin ginger-haired sister.
Francis—no Frances —had some explaining to do.
Chapter 6
There is always a price to pay when one tinkers with the truth.
—Venus’s Love Notes
Lord Jack was angry. Frances glanced at him as they turned off the main road. He didn’t look angry, but she could tell he was. There was a tightness about his face that hadn’t been there before. A coldness. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left Mr. Pettigrew.
He had guessed her secret.
No, she would not leap to that conclusion. He’d been in her company—she flushed—in her bed, and he’d given no indication that he suspected she was anything other than a grubby schoolboy.
If he had guessed, he’d probably have tried to seduce her.
“Haven’t found the”—Pettigrew waggled his brows—“boy’s brother yet?”
Or perhaps he was merely drunk.
Shakespeare snarled more loudly, punctuating his displeasure with a few well-placed barks.
“Shakespeare, some manners, please!” Jack said. Pettigrew was still staring at Francis, and Francis was glaring back at him, though the boy’s face was very pale.
Perhaps he should encourage Shakespeare to use his teeth to advantage on Pettigrew’s person. “Yes, well, it turns out the brother married and moved away. The landlady has no idea where he’s gone.”
“Married, eh?” Pettigrew was still looking at Francis with that odd light in his eyes. “Speaking of marriage, my poor friend Littleton, the one who had the shrewish spinster bolt on him—”
Had Francis just flinched? The boy dropped his eyes to stare down at his hands, his face now completely white. He wasn’t going to faint, was he? Jack tried to put a hand on his arm, but Francis leaned away from him.
“—has come to Town to shop the Marriage Mart.”
Ah, well, perhaps it was a good thing they’d encountered Pettigrew. If the man was finally willing to share information about the runaway girl, Jack might be able to find her and offer some help. “Has anyone had word that the girl is safe?”
Pettigrew actually chuckled. Bloody hell, the villain had no heart.
“No, but I’m quite sure she’s landed on her feet—or perhaps her back.”
“Ohh!”
Jack jerked his head around to look at Francis. The boy had one hand over his mouth and the other clutching his stomach.
“I believe we’d best be going.” He should get Francis to Greycliffe House as soon as he could.
Pettigrew was already backing away. “Yes. Do take good care of the . . . boy.” He waggled his damn brows again and rode off.
If the man wasn’t drunk, he was touched in the head. Perhaps he’d had a fall on the ride up to Town.
Jack encouraged his cattle to pick up their pace. He would prefer not to entertain the ton with the spectacle of Francis shooting the cat in his curricle. “That came on suddenly.”
Francis, having hidden his face in his hands, just nodded. At least Shakespeare, after a “good riddance” bark to Pettigrew, had regained his equanimity.
“Are you feeling better now?”
Francis nodded again.
“Maybe you have a touch of travel sickness. Hold on. We’ll be at Greycliffe House shortly.”
“Um.”
It was odd Francis had taken ill so suddenly. The boy hadn’t shown any signs of sickness coming up from the Crowing Cock or on this trip to Bromley. In fact, he’d been fine until they’d encountered Pettigrew.
Hmm. The runaway woman . . . Pettigrew’s odd behavior...
Oh God .
Jack’s head snapped round to regard Francis—his long, thin hands and narrow shoulders, his smooth cheeks without even the faintest hint of a beard. He was a pretty boy, or . . .
Of course.
How could he have been so blind? So stupid ? Back at the Crowing Cock, Francis had looked ill when Pettigrew had mentioned a Frederick Hadley, a man whom Francis apparently resembled and whose only sibling was his twin ginger-haired sister.
Francis—no Frances —had some explaining to do.
Chapter 6
There is always a price to pay when one tinkers with the truth.
—Venus’s Love Notes
Lord Jack was angry. Frances glanced at him as they turned off the main road. He didn’t look angry, but she could tell he was. There was a tightness about his face that hadn’t been there before. A coldness. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left Mr. Pettigrew.
He had guessed her secret.
No, she would not leap to that conclusion. He’d been in her company—she flushed—in her bed, and he’d given no indication that he suspected she was anything other than a grubby schoolboy.
If he had guessed, he’d probably have tried to seduce her.
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