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the fo'castle deck at those silky tones. Sydney's chin came up.
"Yes, sir, I considered myself fortunate to acquire the services of an
experienced lady's maid."
Sydney could not like the expression on Mr. Randall's face. He might
have been an uncommonly attractive man but for the disfiguring bruises
and the unfortunate continual scowl. Right now his eyes were narrowed
and his mouth was pursed and Sydney thought she'd be more comfortable
back in her carriage after all.
"Well, sir, I shall be going, then, seeing that you are determined to be
unaccommodating. Far be it from me to tell you how to conduct your
business, but I should wonder at your making a living at all, turning
customers away." The moneylender growled. Yes, Sydney was sure that
sound came from him. She edged closer to the door. Then she recalled her
desperate need and the basket in her hand. She held it out. "Do you think,
that is, if you could& ?"
Take her dog in pawn? The female must be queer in the attics for sure!
The viscount backed away lest she put the plaguey thing in his hands. Only
the desk kept him from backing through the wall.
"If you won't direct me to another moneylender, could you help me find
someone who buys hair?"
"Hair? The dog is your hair? I mean, you have your hair in the basket?"
Lord Mayne knew he was blathering. He couldn't help himself. That
glorious red-gold shade, that sun-kissed honey fire, was her hair? He
collapsed unawares into the chair. Brassy Pekingese? What addlepate
thought that?
Sydney took the chair opposite, ignoring its missing arm and her host's
lack of courtesy in not offering her a seat. One had to make allowances for
the lower orders. After all, one should not expect polished manners from a
usurer, nor from a madman for that matter. So far Sydney could not
decide which he was, hostile barbarian or befuddled lack-wit, sitting there
now with his mouth hanging open. At least he seemed more disposed to
assist her. Subtly, she thought, she used her foot to nudge the bag of
weapons closer to her side of the desk, then started to lift her veil. "May
I?" she asked.
"Oh, please do." The viscount gave himself a mental shake to recall his
surroundings. "That is, suit yourself." Still, he held his breath. That
gorgeous, vibrant mane could not belong to a shriveled old hag. Life could
not be so cruel.
"You're& you're& " He couldn't say exquisite, he couldn't say ravishing.
One simply didn't to a young lady one hadn't even been introduced to.
Hell, he couldn't have said anything at all, not past the lump in his throat.
Forrest thought of how she would have looked with a cloud of that hair
floating over her warm, glowing skin, highlighting the golden flecks in her
greenish eyes, and he nearly moaned out loud. Enough for a small dog, the
hair would have come well over her shoulders, maybe to her waist, veiling
her oh, God. Not that she wasn't adorable as she was, with shaggy curls
like a halo framing her lovely face. The curls gave her a pixieish look, a
fresh, young innocence. "My God, you're a child!"
Sydney raised her chin. "I am eighteen, Mr. Randall."
"Eighteen?" Now the viscount did groan. "At eighteen females who look
like you shouldn't be allowed out of the house without an armed guard!
And where do you go, missy, leaving your sturdy footman outside, but into
a nest of thieves?"
Oh, dear, Sydney thought, he was getting angry again. "Please, Mr.
Randall, I only need "
"You need a better haircut." Forrest almost bit his tongue for saying
that. What he was going to say was "You need a spanking," which only
sent his rattled brain reeling in another direction. He compromised with:
"You need a keeper. And I am not Randall, for heaven's sake."
"Oh, I am sorry." And Sydney was sorry their conversation had to end;
she was finding this man a fascinating study, almost like a new species.
"Could I speak with Mr. Randall?"
"He's, ah, tied up at the moment. I'm Mayne."
Sydney bowed slightly in her seat. "How do you do, Mr. Mean, er,
Mayne. I am Miss "
He held his hand up. "No names, please. The walls have ears, you
know." He also knew that deuced door was partly open.
Sydney nodded wisely, humoring the man. He was obviously dicked in
the nob. She could hear grunts and thuds coming from the connecting
room as well as he.
"Newlyweds next door." He shrugged, then almost blushed at her blank
look. Gads, he wasn't used to such innocence. Which reminded him again
of the hobble the chit had nearly landed in, a little lamb prancing into the
wolves' lair. "Miss, ah, miss, I am sure you think your situation is dire, but
coming here is not the solution."
Sydney was confused. "If you can't go to a moneylender for a loan, were
can you go?"
Forrest dragged his hands through his hair again. He vowed never to
introduce this featherbrain to his mother. "Let us start over again, shall
we? Has no one warned you that moneylenders are unscrupulous?"
She nodded, and he looked pleased. "Has no one warned you that you
end up paying, and paying again, far more than you borrow?"
She nodded once more. Mr. Mayne seemed almost pleasant now. "And
finally, has no one warned you that moneylenders are the last resort of
even hardened gamblers?" He was positively grinning, a lovely boyish grin
despite the rumpled, battered look. He had nice eyes, too, she thought,
May-sky blue and not the least bit shifty. Why had no one warned her that
moneylenders could be such handsome rogues?
6
Cads and Collateral
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ut I only need a thousand pounds, Mr. Mayne." He didn't think to
B
correct her about his title. The determined little baggage must be the only
female in London not conversant with his office, income, and
expectations, and some devil in him wished to keep her that way. As
infuriatingly pigheaded as the chit was, at least she wasn't simpering and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]