Barely a Lady by Dreyer Eileen

Author:Dreyer, Eileen [Dreyer, Eileen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance - Historical, Regency, American Light Romantic Fiction, General, Romance, Fiction, Fiction - Romance, Man-Woman Relationships, Love Stories, Romance: Historical, Historical, American Historical Fiction, Romance - Regency, Divorced women, Romance & Sagas, Historical Romance, Historical Fiction, Regency novels, Regency Fiction, Napoleonic Wars; 1800-1815 - Social aspects, secrecy, Amnesiacs
ISBN: 9780446542081
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2010-09-15T18:58:21.421000+00:00

Chapter 14

Thrasher was back. Jack looked up from another circuit of the room to see the imp sneak through the door as if being chased by runners, his spotless uniform traded in for stained and torn rags and a disreputable-looking cap.

“Don’t tell me,” Jack said from where he stopped by the window to look out at the darkening sky. “You couldn’t help it if those snuffboxes fell into your pocket.”

Thrasher drew himself up as if Jack had accused him of treason. “I’ll ’ave you know, y’r worshipness, that I stays on the windy side of the law these days. ’Er Grace wouldn’t like it above ’alf ifn I didn’t.”

Jack gave a formal bow. “My apologies, lad. How was your afternoon?” Not waiting for the answer, he took off again, forcing his still-wobbly legs to keep moving him forward. He had to get back on his feet as soon as he could. Something tucked away in his memory felt dangerous, and he had the feeling he was going to need to be solidly on his feet to face it.

Stepping up next to him as if accompanying him on the stroll, Thrasher scratched at his chest. “Amazin’ what coves’ll say round a street sweep. You know some cully named Surgeon?”

Jack shuddered to a halt. Surgeon. It sounded familiar, and not as in ‘do you know a doctor?’ He frowned, searching his memory like a cloudy crystal ball.

He could hear himself yelling. But he wasn’t yelling Surgeon! He was yelling Chirurgien!

French.

He must have spoken out loud, because Thrasher frowned. “What?”

Jack snapped back to attention. “Sorry. Must have been woolgathering.”

The boy huffed impatiently. “Sounded like you was talkin’ to a Frenchie.”

For a moment, Jack could only stare at him. He was right. But did he want to know why?

“Weren’t no Frenchie,” the boy was saying, bending over to peek at Jack’s bed. “Was a English toff, sure as shift.”

“Is he someone I would wish to know?”

Thrasher’s laugh was far too old. “Cor, luv ya, guv. With a name like the Surgeon? Nah. Skinny toff what ’as a phiz like a lizard and a nasty habit o’ playin’ with his pocketknife. Seems ta think you might be somewhere near somebody ’e called the ‘cyprian countess.’ Know the mort?”

Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar at all.”

Could that have been Mimi? He didn’t think so. It didn’t sound right.

“The Surgeon also said as ’ow you was in trouble with the lions.” The boy shot Jack a cheeky grin. “You sure you wasn’t lost in a zoo?”

Jack came to a halt by his bed. “Lions. I do know lions.” Grabbing hold of a bedpost, he shook his head. “I know something about them. British lions.” Again he struggled for clarity. All that came to him was that odd thought that they were looking the wrong way. Who? The lions? The British?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed a fist to his temple. God, if only he could remember!

“I don’t suppose he was thoughtful enough to explain himself?” he asked.

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