A Talent for Trouble (9 page)

“Come now, Clara,” Grayson said. “Didn't we enjoy a lovely drive just the other evening? If memory serves me correctly, it was quite remarkable.”

“You're right, Frank,” Felicia said, “but I distinctly remember you making a rather abrupt departure while we dined a few days ago. That led me to believe we were no longer in accord.”

“That's the reason I've sought you out, Fel . . . er . . . Clara. I wanted to speak with you about the incident.”

“Pull up a chair, then, Frank,” the toothless man said. “I'm Jessie, and I love a good tale. Care for a whiskey?”

“No, thank you,” Grayson said as he sent a look to a man
on Felicia's right, which had the man bolting out of his chair and scooting away. Felicia rolled her eyes before resuming her seat. Taking that as a sign it would be safe to join her without any physical repercussions, such as a slap across the face or a whiskey poured over his head, he settled into the chair. “Care to explain what you're doing here?”

“I thought we were going to discuss you, not me.”

“Seems as if I might need another drink,” Jessie muttered. “Now, don't say a word until I get back.”

“You can have Clara's drink,” Grayson said. “She doesn't care for whiskey.”

He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth.

Felicia's face turned red, and she glared at him for a brief second before she grabbed her glass, sent him a rather mocking salute, and bolted down the contents as if she were an old hand at imbibing in hard spirits—an old hand until the glass dropped to the table with a thud and she turned her head and spit the contents of her mouth onto the floor. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and, without a single glance to him, lurched to her feet and dashed through the throng of people crowding the pub.

Grayson pushed back his chair but didn't have an opportunity to rise because Jessie stopped him with a hand to his arm.

“She won't appreciate your help,” Jessie said. “Women like to be alone with their embarrassing moments.”

“But . . . she's probably off to toss up her accounts.”

“Yep, she probably is, which is why you should stay here. She'll be back. I promised the little lady she could accompany me when I play the piano.”

Grayson tilted his head. “When you say ‘accompany' you, what exactly do you mean?”

A man sitting on the other side of Grayson leaned forward
before Jessie had an opportunity to respond. “The lady told us she loves to sing, and she agreed to entertain us.”

The day just kept getting better and better. What could have possessed the woman to agree to sing in this derelict pub where the majority of patrons were men? Didn't she realize the danger? Didn't she realize that most of the men were three sheets to the wind, a certain recipe for disaster? He got to his feet. “I really must go fetch Clara.”

“She's fine,” Jessie said with a jerk of his head. “See, she's over there with Dot.”

Grayson peered through the crowded pub and breathed a silent sigh of relief when he located Felicia chatting with a woman who looked vaguely familiar. He frowned and leaned forward.

“You said that woman's name is Dot?” he asked.

Jessie nodded. “Yep.”

Here was yet further proof that Felicia spent a great deal of her time mingling in places she didn't belong, with people she probably shouldn't even know. Dot was an acquaintance of Theodore Wilder, and Grayson knew perfectly well she spent quite a bit of her time working the streets.

“That's it,” he muttered, ignoring the men who hissed advice behind him as he stalked across the room and stopped in front of Felicia. He blinked when he noticed she didn't look the worse for wear. She certainly didn't look as if she'd recently gotten sick.

“Are you all right?” he asked, more annoyed than he cared to admit that she looked to be in the best of health.

“Frank, you're still here,” Felicia said with a smile that was entirely too charming. “I thought you'd leave.”

“As if I'd even consider that option,” Grayson muttered. “Again, are you all right?”

“I'm fine, although I willingly admit the taste of that whiskey was simply dreadful. Thank goodness I ran into this lovely lady.
She fixed me up a special concoction to get the taste out of my mouth, and now I feel back to my old self.”

“You drank something a complete stranger gave you?”

“Dot's hardly a stranger, Frank, seeing as how she's acquainted with Agatha. Granted, I've never actually made her acquaintance until just a few moments ago, but I knew who she was and was more than appreciative when she handed me that tonic as I made my way past the bar. Drinking her remedy was certainly preferable to a trip to the back alley. And just so we're clear, I'm not a complete idiot. Do you really believe I'm so naïve that I'd accept a drink from a stranger?”

Grayson arched a brow. “Did that whiskey just appear on its own, Clara?”

“Jessie procured it for me, and I'll have you know, he's a nice man.”

“He's barely coherent.”

“Nonsense. He seems perfectly sober, or mostly so.” Felicia lifted her chin. “If you must know, I made his acquaintance when I was strolling down the sidewalk and saw him stumble to the ground when his cane got stuck in a hole. He was appreciative when I came to his assistance, and . . .” She lowered her voice. “I know full well this is hardly the place I should be patronizing, but I didn't have the heart to refuse his offer of a drink, and it's not so bad in here. I mean, it has its own charm in a strange sort of way.”

Grayson glanced around and suppressed the urge to strangle her.

It was a rough and derelict place, and she had absolutely no business being there, no matter that it seemed as if she'd been invited in because of yet another good deed she'd been doing.

Sometimes he expected to find a halo circling her bright locks.

“We're going to leave . . . now, and I don't expect you to give me any trouble,” he finally said.

“I'm not going anywhere with you, Frank. In fact, now that I think about it, what are you even doing here? It seems a little convenient that you'd just happen to stumble into me in a place like this.”

“Why, this is delicious,” Dot said as she stepped forward, sent Grayson a subtle wink, and saved him from an immediate response to Felicia's question. “I never took you for the type of gentleman who would assume a secret identity, Lord Sefton.”

Felicia's eyes suddenly began to gleam in the dim light. “You know Frank?”

“Of course I do,” Dot purred, which caused Felicia's mouth to drop open and Grayson to grin.

“Not intimately, and you need to behave, Dot.”

For some odd reason, his response caused Felicia to smack him upside the head.

“That was a rude thing to say to Dot, Frank. You need to apologize to her.”

Grayson felt the strangest desire to laugh. Here they were, in the midst of a disreputable pub, and she was demanding he apologize to a woman of the night whom he was fairly certain he hadn't actually insulted.

The day was becoming stranger by the second.

He assumed what he hoped was an adequately somber expression and nodded as he turned to Dot. “Forgive me, Dot, if I offended you, because that was not my intention.” He took a deep breath. “Now, since that is firmly behind us, I really must insist we take our leave.”

“I can't leave yet,” Felicia announced. “I promised Mr. Jessie I would sing. I would hate to disappoint the darling man. He and his friends were enthusiastic when I agreed to entertain them.”

Grayson reminded himself it would hardly be considered appropriate if he flung Felicia over his back and carted her out of the pub. “This is not the type of establishment where you
should promise to entertain anyone, Felicia. They might have misunderstood your intentions.”

Dot nodded. “He's right, Clara, or Felicia, or whatever your name is. You probably should reconsider your offer.”

Felicia's expression turned mulish as she crossed her arms over her chest and began tapping her foot against the dirty floor.

He blew out a breath. “If you insist on being so unreasonable, may I at least inquire whether or not you have the ability to sing?”

“My mother claims I'm very proficient.”

“Oh . . . no . . . not again.”

“And,” Felicia continued as if she hadn't heard him, “everyone at our church believes I have a
delightful
voice, and I sing in the choir whenever my services are required.”

“Do you stand in the front?” Grayson asked hopefully.

“Surprisingly enough, I don't.”

“This should be entertaining,” Dot said, taking Felicia by the arm and escorting her rapidly across the floor before Grayson had the presence of mind to stop them. Apprehension settled over him when Dot brought Felicia to a stop beside a rickety old piano right as Jessie ambled over to join them. His apprehension increased when Jessie handed Felicia a piece of sheet music. She looked it over briefly and then leaned over and whispered something into the man's ear.

Surely she wasn't requesting a hymn, was she?

Felicia straightened, clasped her hands demurely in front of her, and sent Grayson a smug smile.

Knowing he had no choice but to see the fiasco through to fruition, he moved to an empty space along the wall and slouched against it, trying to prepare himself for what was about to occur.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sounds that came out of Felicia's mouth.

They were a cross between the cry of a wounded animal and the shrieking of an unknown creature, but the sight of Felicia
belting out a tune he'd never heard before, and was fairly certain
she'd
never heard before, did strange things to his heart.

Not wanting to dwell on that disturbing notion, he shifted against the wall and tried not to wince as Felicia tried to hit a particularly high note, something, it turned out, she wasn't remotely capable of reaching.

I
t was incredibly liberating, abandoning one's normally reserved demeanor and bellowing out a song in the midst of the seediest establishment Felicia had ever frequented. She knew she was making a complete mess of the words to the little ditty Jessie was banging out on the piano, but she really wasn't that concerned about it. She probably should have taken a closer gander at the notes on the page he'd handed her, but she wasn't exactly competent when it came to reading music, much to her mother's despair. Oh, she'd tried her best throughout the years, but for some reason, notes on a page just seemed like a bunch of random dots and lines to her. She could only hope her enthusiasm made up for the liberties she was currently taking with the tune.

The words to the song were a bit of a puzzle to her too. It seemed as if the theme of the story was something regarding a dock, a sailor, and some woman who didn't return said sailor's affections. She heard her voice wobble just a touch when the realization came to her that the lyrics might be referring to an
illicit liaison. It was probably best not to contemplate the matter too closely. She shook the thought away, increased her volume, and stifled a laugh when she noticed a man standing close to her take a few steps back.

She was perfectly aware she couldn't carry a tune.

Taking a deep breath, she hit the last high note of the song and held it for as long as she was able. She finally ran out of air and closed her mouth, feeling a stab of disappointment run through her when Jessie abruptly stopped playing and jumped to his feet.

She smiled at him. “Shall we do another?”

A slightly pained expression slid over Jessie's face before he sent her a toothless grin. “My fingers ain't what they used to be, Clara. It might be best if we call it a day.”

Bless his heart. Lurking underneath that shabby exterior lived the soul of a true gentleman.

Felicia smiled, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek, causing Jessie to turn a deep shade of red even as his grin widened. She took the arm he offered her but ended up helping him back to the table when he began to wobble. Pulling out a chair, she held on to him as he lowered his lanky frame, then released his arm and turned, feeling a sudden need to find Grayson and learn what he'd thought of her performance.

She still had no idea what he was doing here, not that she'd had much time to contemplate the matter. Logic told her he had to have been following her, but why he would have been doing that, well, she couldn't really say.

Taking a deep breath, she set her attention to where Grayson was lounging against the wall on the opposite side of the pub. She'd known his position the entire time she'd been singing but had deliberately avoided his gaze. Sometimes he was simply too aristocratic, too proper, and since she'd hardly been behaving in a manner that anyone could have called proper, she'd kept
her attention front and center, directed at the gentlemen who'd lined up to hear her sing.

In hindsight, that might not have been the best decision she'd ever made, especially since, when those gentlemen weren't grimacing in obvious pain over a sour note she'd hit, they'd been staring back at her with expressions that were somewhat frightening.

Taking another deep breath, she began to weave through the crowd, a grin edging her lips when she realized everyone seemed to be giving her a bit of a wide berth.

Perhaps they were afraid if they so much as smiled at her she'd jump back over to the piano and belt out another tune.

She slipped around a dirty table filled with empty glasses and looked up, her steps faltering ever so slightly when she caught Grayson's gaze. All the air squeezed out of her chest when she noticed something warm and more than a little disturbing in his eyes.

“Well?” she asked when she stopped in front of him. “What did you think?”

Grayson pushed away from the wall and smiled, causing what almost felt like disappointment to flow over her. He was going to tell her she'd been wonderful, just like all the other well-meaning people in her life. She felt tears well in her eyes and blinked rapidly to hold them at bay.

“You're a horrible singer.”

Her blinking stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

“As you should, since my ears will never be the same.”

Right then and there, Felicia's heart began to beat a rapid tattoo, even as her knees went a little weak.

He'd actually proclaimed, out loud, the fact that she was horrible.

Blood rushed through her veins, and she felt a little light-headed. She planted her hands on her hips and attempted a scowl, even though she was completely delighted with him.

“I've been told I have the voice of an angel.”

“A demon more like.”

“I'm not
that
bad.”

Grayson released a bark of laughter. “You are, and I think you're perfectly aware of that. The question I must ask now is why you would even consider singing in front of people. You possess absolutely no ability to carry a tune.”

Her delight with the gentleman immediately increased. She took the arm he offered, shivered when the heat from his skin scorched its way through the sleeve of her gown, and allowed him to escort her through the crowd. Surprise stole over her when, instead of immediately hustling her out of the pub, he steered her to a table for two, held out a chair for her, helped her into it, and once she was settled, took a seat.

“So?” he prompted as he reached over the small table and placed his hand over hers, causing a small shiver to travel up her arm. “How long have you been aware you're a horrible singer?”

“You don't really need to continue using the word
horrible
, Grayson. I got your point the first time you used it.”

Grayson smiled. “But if I bring it up often, perhaps it will compel you to refrain from singing, and that will save people from experiencing such pain in the future.”

“I wouldn't go so far as to claim I cause people pain.”

Grayson rubbed his ear. “That's debatable, but again, how long have you known you can't sing?”

“Forever.”

Grayson arched a brow, causing Felicia to laugh. “Maybe not forever, but at least since I was fourteen or fifteen.” She shrugged. “When you're young, everyone is more tolerant and finds you adorable, no matter your abilities.” Drumming her fingers against the sticky table, she released a breath. “I only started singing again in the choir at church about four years ago.
I knew, as did everyone else in the choir, that I didn't possess what anyone could call dulcet tones, but . . .”

“Ministers' wives are expected to sing in the choir,” Grayson finished for her.

It was unsettling, the way he seemed to understand her.

“Tell me, were you truly in love with Reverend Fraser, or were you in love with the thought of becoming a minister's wife?”

She pulled back the hand that had been resting under his. “That's somewhat insulting.”

“It might be insulting, but I notice you're not exactly denying it.”

Felicia blinked. He was right. She wasn't denying it, probably because that particular thought had crossed her mind on an annoyingly frequent basis of late.

“Did he compliment you on your singing abilities?”

The man was too astute for his own good.

“Reverend Fraser never complimented my voice, but he never tried to dissuade me from singing in the choir.”

“He seems like a kind man.”

“I'd prefer not to talk about Reverend Fraser, if it's all the same to you.”

“That's fine by me. What would you care to talk about?”

Tilting her head, she thought for a moment, then smiled. “Didn't you mention something earlier about your having something to say to me about the café incident?”

“I might have.”

“And?”

Grayson shifted in his chair, regarded the ceiling for a long moment, switched his attention back to her, stared unblinkingly at her for a good long time, and finally opened his mouth. “I behaved like an idiot at the café, and for that I truly must beg your pardon.”

Good heavens, he was apologizing. She hadn't expected that.

She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Thank you for that, but since we're clearing the air, I must admit to you that, after a thorough consideration of what I said that day, I believe I owe
you
an apology. I fear my words came across in an accusatory manner, but I certainly didn't mean them as such.”

Grayson smiled. “I'm perfectly aware that you didn't mean to insult me. If you must know, your words struck a nerve, hence my abysmal behavior.” He paused for a moment, glanced to the right, and then a scowl crept over his face. “We're going to have to continue this conversation elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“Evidently, I've been an idiot once again by not escorting you directly out of here after you finished your song. You've picked up some admirers, and unfortunately, they're heading this way.”

Felicia swiveled her head and found a group of slovenly dressed and staggering men making their way toward their table.

It hit her then—the danger she'd allowed herself to so ridiculously stumble into. Granted, she'd only entered this deplorable pub to assist poor Jessie, but she should have seen him into a seat and taken her immediate leave. Her curiosity regarding the seedy establishment, and a longing to embrace a life she'd hidden from for far too long, had obviously made her lose all good sense. She looked back to Grayson. “You have no idea how thankful I am you somehow managed to find me here.”

“Save your thanks for later,” he muttered. “I need to get you away from here—now.”

Before Felicia could even push back her chair, Grayson was right next to her, offering her his hand. She looked up and blinked, finding that somehow, in the span of a few seconds, the charming and agreeable man who'd been sitting across from her had been replaced once again with the dangerous man from the café. Her heart began to beat a little faster.

“I say there . . . Frank, wasn't it?” one of the men asked, coming to a stop in front of the table. “Where are you going with fair Clara?”

“That's really none of your concern.”

The man cracked his knuckles. “I'm making it my concern.”

One minute Felicia was sitting in her seat, and the next she was standing against the wall, Grayson blocking her from the men, who were now looking remarkably ugly as they crowded closer to them. She found herself admiring the width of his shoulders and then shook herself. It was a completely inappropriate moment to ogle the man. Their lives appeared to be at risk, or at least Grayson's did. The men didn't seem to have a problem with her, which, now that she thought about it, might not be a good thing.

“Gentlemen, I suggest you maintain your distance,” Grayson drawled, sounding for all intents and purposes the aristocrat he actually was.

“Oh . . . fancy,” one of the men hooted. “I have a feeling you're no ordinary Frank.”

Felicia watched in stunned disbelief as Grayson shrugged out of his jacket and calmly handed it to her.

“Watch this for me, love.”

Even though the word
love
in regard to her was entirely too appealing, Felicia didn't have a moment to savor the appeal. It seemed as if Grayson was actually considering engaging in a brawl with these men. She clasped his jacket to her chest, stepped forward, and tugged on his arm.

“Grayson,” she whispered.

He turned his head ever so slightly. “Yes?”

“This is madness. There's at least six of them and only one of you.”

“True, hardly fair odds,” Grayson said with the strangest smile on his face. “Perhaps I should give them one last chance to back down.”

Clearly the man was a lunatic. Before she could voice that opinion, Grayson spread his hands out. “I don't want to hurt any of you, so if you'd be so kind as to move, we'll just be on our way.”

“You're one of them fancy toffs from across the sea,” a big, brawny man with wild eyes said. “I don't much like foreigners.” With that, he hurled himself at Grayson.

A small squeak was all Felicia could manage as bodies began to fly through the air. Grayson was moving fluidly across the floor, almost like a dancer—although no dancer Felicia had ever seen radiated the sheer raw power and destruction Grayson was emitting. He suddenly turned, caught her eye . . . and grinned.

Felicia lost the ability to breathe.

He was not the gentleman everyone assumed him to be. He was dangerous, exciting, and seemingly insane, but there was something incredibly compelling about him that—

Her breath came back in a split second when she realized one of the men had noticed Grayson's distraction and was stealthily advancing on him, rage evident in his eyes. She tried to yell a warning, but her voice wasn't up for the task of traveling through all the grunts and moans. She waved her hands to capture Grayson's attention, but he'd already turned to deal with another one of the rowdy patrons. Not knowing what else to do, and fearing the advancing man was going to do Grayson a good deal of harm, she snatched up a large tankard filled with ale from a nearby table, rushed up behind the man, and swung with all her might.