Free Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] by More Than a Scandal

back to Dunn and launched into another whispering tirade.
    He’d been too bloody long without a woman, Marcus realized. He was starting to see nymphs where there were trolls. Well, not exactly a troll, more like a fishwife.
    She was stabbing her finger in the air to make a point, for heaven’s sake! His father was taking it quite well, listening patiently and trying valiantly to insert a remark here and there. Marcus wondered if he was used to her sharp tongue and those flashing eyes.
    He couldn’t quite tell their color, neither the darker agate gray nor pigeon-wing pale. They reminded him of tempests that traveled on the wind, darkening the clouds to swirls of iron, then lighting to vapor when the storm had passed.
    When she was younger, her huge eyes had overwhelmed her pale, heart-shaped face, giving her a haunted look. Now the wide-set eyes were well balanced by wheat-colored winged brows above and lush, pink, bowed lips below. A small upturned nose was the onlything dainty about her compelling features. Especially when she was scowling like a disapproving matron.
    He didn’t know what he’d been thinking a moment before. Cat was a spinster, a bluestocking most likely, who’d rather stick her little nose in a ledger or argue about the price of bread than dance on a moonlit night. What other kind of woman would clean closets on a glorious day like today?
    She was certainly nothing compared to Angelica, the raven-haired, dark-eyed beauty he’d left behind in Portugal. It was the abstinence, it had to be. And so long as he needed to maintain the appearance of his “injuries,” bed sport was not an option. Typically, while occupied with a mission this would not have bothered him, and he wondered why it seemed more of a trial today.
    “Enough, I said,” Dunn bellowed, then blinked as if surprised that he’d raised his voice.
    Cat crossed her arms, obviously not cowed. “But sir—”
    “We are leaving.” Dunn nodded to Marcus and grabbed his cane.
    Cat’s pink lips pinched and she glared, but kept her peace. Somehow he doubted that she would let the matter lie. Like any fishwife worth her salt, she could probably kick a dead topic to life at the drop of an innocent comment.
    Grabbing his hat off the pedestal, Dunn set it on his head and headed out the door. Marcus followed close behind, not limping too badly on his crutches. He really was growing almost accustomed to the bloody things.
    Catherine trailed him like a hound on the scent of a fox, only one kept on a tight leash.
    Dunn hurried down the steps and climbed into the gig. It was an open black box with well-oiled springs and wide smooth wheels. Not nearly as fancy as others whipping about London, Marcus could see as he climbed in, butsturdy and well maintained. The breeze pressed against his face, carrying the familiar scents of horse, leather and oil.
    “When will you be back, sir?” Cat called with obvious restraint, as Dunn accepted the reins from Timmy the stable lad.
    “Not until late.”
    “Good day, Cat,” Marcus called with a tilt of his shako. “I hope to see you again soon.” He realized that it was true. Doubtless they would cross swords and he was looking forward to it. He almost groaned, knowing he was near bottom if he was seeking amusement from exchanging insults with a harpy.
    Her eyes clouded dark to iron and a deepened scowl was her only response.
    He really needed to find some entertainment while he was back in town.
    Flicking the leathers, Dunn clicked his tongue and the horses sprang forward.
    Marcus adjusted his crutches and settled into the seat as the familiar scenery rushed by, seemingly unchanged by the passage of time.
    Columns of trees guarded the orphanage in squared formation, reminding Marcus of the battlefields where he’d rather be. Still, if one had to be in London, at least it was on a splendid day like today. The landscape was washed golden in the sun, the trees were heavy with emerald leaves and the fresh scent