Page 108 of Thief of the Ton
“Houseman is, I’m afraid, the sort of man who’ll stoop to anything to further his own ends. He’s not interested in justice—he merely relishes the chase. And, like a dog, he’ll relish the kill even more.”
Her stomach tightened with fear. “The…kill?”
“Aye,” he said. “Houseman is determined to see the Phoenix subjected to the harshest punishment possible. I fear that, if apprehended by Houseman, the Phoenix will suffer at his hands.”
A ripple of dread rolled through her.
“Is all well, my love?”
“Of course,” she said. “But I…I almost feel sorry for the Phoenix—whoever he is.”
“Don’t,” he replied. “Clever he may be, but he’s broken the law, and must therefore reap the rewards of his sins.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “But let us not speak of him while there are more pleasurable pursuits to indulge in. I fear I have acted abominably by taking you on the morning room floor. Perhaps, when I am ready for you again, we might enjoy a little sojourn to my bedchamber.”
She nodded, then turned away to disguise her disappointment.
She couldn’t ask him to help her return Mama’s clock to Papa. In doing so, she’d run the risk of revealing her identity as the Phoenix. Though she could trust him with her body and her heart, she could never trust him with her secret.
She would have to steal Mama’s clock, as originally planned. The Phoenix would complete one final quest before disappearing into obscurity forever.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“You have avisitor, Lord Marlow.”
Peregrine set his fork down and glanced at the footman in the doorway. “At this hour?”
“It’s Mr. Houseman.”
Bloody Houseman.Didn’t he know the impropriety of visiting while a man was supposed to be enjoying his breakfast?
“He was somewhat insistent,” the footman continued.
And, in all likelihood, angling for a free breakfast.
Peregrine sighed. “I suppose you’d better let him in.”
Moments later, the footman ushered Houseman into the breakfast room. He glanced at the buffet table and raised his eyebrows.
Peregrine nodded to the footman. “Would you set a place for my…guest?”
“I’ve no wish to inconvenience you, Marlow,” Houseman said, his nasal tone grating on Peregrine’s senses.
Yet I find myself inconvenienced.
Without waiting for an invitation, Houseman took a seat opposite Peregrine. When the footman returned and placed a plate in front of him, he stared pointedly at it, then back at the footman.
“You help yourself,” Peregrine said, gesturing toward the buffet. “Something I’m sure you do on a regular basis,” he added in a low whisper.
“I beg pardon?”
“Isaid, help yourself. I recommend the bacon.”
“Oh…yes…of course.” Houseman approached the buffet and piled several rashers of bacon onto his plate, followed by a spoonful of eggs. Then he returned to the table and began eating.
Peregrine pushed his plate aside. Not only did he have to endure the man’s company, he was also subjected to an assault on his senses—did the man not know it wasn’t the done thing to chew with one’s mouth open?
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Houseman?” he asked.
“I’ve made a breakthrough in our quest to find that ruffian,” Houseman said through a mouthful of bacon.
