Page 8 of A Duke's Keeper
Life came back to her eyes when her suspicious glare surfaced. “There aren’t any dwellings on this side of the docks.”
Even half-conscious, the woman’s mind was sharper than an officer’s sword.
“He lives in his workshop,” he said.
Gregori never stopped working. When Renard’s oldest friend, the Duke of Camine, had brought the crackpot back to London after one of his tours of Europe, Renard had watched the young man work on a pair of spectacles, his first ever, for four days straight—longer, since Renard had blacked out at some point after finishing a fine barrel of German beer.
He grinned at the memory. “I’m not sure the man sleeps.”
“Why would a doctor need a workshop?” Her face paled under the moonlight. “You’re bringing me to a coroner?”
His brows rose at that. “Squeamish, are you?”
The woman was willing to make a trio of corpses not twenty minutes ago. He said as much.
“I was defending myself,” she spat, then bit her lip and muttered, “Most people find dead bodies unsettling.”
If he knew her better, he’d think her pouting over the fact that he’d found a weakness. Any true gentleman would’ve stopped and apologized.
He didn’t apologize.
He’d been known to poke a beehive upon discovery, loving the excitement and terror of the potentiality of being stung.
“That grey skin,” he said, then he grimaced. “And that awful, musky smell—”
“Stop!”
How lovely her brown eyes sparkled against her sour-colored skin. “You’re looking a bit green around the gills, miss.”
“Must be the pain.” Her expression was dead. “My arm hurts like a bitch.”
Renard nearly stumbled at the profane language.
She glanced at him. “You all right there, Dandy?”
He adopted his best ‘insulted’ expression, hard to do when he was smirking. He threw her earlier words back at her. “My name isn’t ‘Dandy.’”
“No, it’s Reynolds or something.”
“You can do better than that.”
“Reginald?”
“You’re not even trying!”
Her mouth twitched. What a difference humor brought to her features. Features too soft and feminine for such a severe frown. Dear God, if she actually smiled, he may be rendered speechless.
“You’re staring again,” she said.
He noticed her accusing tone was absent this time around. He had been staring, and he found he didn’t wish to stop.
He dragged his gaze away and nodded towards the warehouse at the end of the street. “We’re nearly there.”
She eyed the dark building and then turned a dragon-glare on him. “If you’re luring me into a trap,Renard, I will make you bleed.”
He laughed, a real one. “I may be a sorry excuse for a gentleman, but I’m not an imbecile. The way you busted Hawkins’s face, I believe you,Miss Forthright.”
She huffed and turned away.
