Free Brook Street: Thief by Ava March Page A

a chance, a real chance to get to know each another and not just highly pleasurable time spent on his study floor, then it could lead to so much more.
    And so he remained at that table until the hell closed its doors for the night, determined to do everything in his power to not let that chance slip away from him.

Chapter Six
    Cavin rapped on the ceiling. The hackney slowed to a stop at the corner of Bond Street and Brook. He exited the carriage and handed a few coins to the driver. “Come along, Sam,” he called over his shoulder.
    The shadows from the building behind them stretched across the street, blanketing sleek black town carriages, prime horseflesh and ordinary hackneys as others busily went about their day. Twilight would soon be upon them, and the last thing he wanted to do was call during supper again.
    The boy hopped down to the street and glanced around. “He lives on Bond Street?”
    Cavin waited until the driver snapped the reins. The horse slipped into a trot, the carriage pulling away from them. “No. A little ways up on Brook Street.”
    “Then why did ye have the driver stop here?”
    “Because it’s better this way.” He wasn’t about to have the driver drop them off at Benjamin’s doorstep. It just wouldn’t feel…right.
    “But, Cavin—”
    “Don’t, Sam.” Cavin took a deep breath, briefly closing his eyes on the exhale. “Please don’t, Sam,” he repeated, this time without the harsh snap.
    Hale had actually approached Sam last night. Asked the boy if he’d be keen to earn a couple of pounds. At least Hale had asked. That was something Cavin should be grateful for. Still, that the notion had even entered the man’s head…
    With effort, Cavin pushed the surge of impotent frustration aside. Palming Sam’s slim shoulder, a shoulder that nearly reached his own, he guided the boy around the corner and onto Brook Street. When he’d last walked up this street, he promised himself he would never return.
    Odd, how never had turned into a week later.
    He shouldn’t be upset or angry with himself, though. He should be grateful the option even existed. And grateful that Sam had told him about the incident before the boy had been fool enough to take Hale up on the offer.
    But there shouldn’t have been an incident. He should have taken Sam from Hale’s long ago, shielded him from turning out like himself. Sam was smart and quick. Traits that made him an excellent thief, but he could be so much more if just given the opportunity. And that opportunity did not involve dropping to his knees in the front parlor of Hale’s house.
    It had taken a bit of doing to convince Sam to come with him to Mayfair, to leave his old life behind, but eventually the boy had agreed. Why exactly, Cavin couldn’t say. Sam had simply stopped questioning, stopped protesting, and shrugged his agreement. The trick would be keeping him in whatever position could be found for him, but Cavin would worry about that later. First, he needed to find Sam an honest position.
    Once they crossed Avery Row, he pulled Sam against the side of a white stucco town house and passed a critical eye over the boy. The plain brown trousers and coat he’d had the foresight to purchase a couple of days ago for him weren’t the height of fashion but the clothes fit properly and, most importantly, were clean. “Smooth your hair.”
    The request earned him a scowl, but Sam did as bid, passing a hand over the top of his head.
    Didn’t do a bit of good. The unruly mop of dark waves was too short to pull back into a queue and too long to lie neatly against his head. At least it wasn’t a knotted mess, and at least Sam had washed up that morning. With new clothes and without the layer of dirt and grime, the boy was somewhat presentable, even if his hair refused to cooperate. “When we get there, just nod and smile politely. Let me do the talking. If he asks you a direct question, please speak in proper English and address him as ‘my