Free Beloved Beast by Lois Greiman Page A

She looked into the woman’s eyes, catching her full attention as they clasped fingers. “I fear I am a dreadful clod. Murdoch always says as much.”
    “You’re no such thing,” said the lady. “Is she, Henry?”
    The man seemed late to the party, but rallied when he realized he was about to look the clod should he fail to show some sympathy posthaste. “Certainly not,” he said. “’Tis these damnable cobbles. Rough as the sea at midday. You didn’t twist your ankle did you?”
    “No.”
    “Better let me take a look. I’m a physician, you know, and-”
    “No!” she repeated and jerked her feet more firmly beneath the lacy hem of her stolen skirt. If the damned thing had any more frippery, she’d be tripping for real and earnest. “I’m quite well. Not to worry.”
    “Ahh, well, can I give you a hand up at the least?”
    She caught his gaze with her own lavender eyes. He had a long, hooked nose, a narrow face, and sallow skin. While Swift was…well…today she had chosen to be almost plain. She’d made certain of that in the small shard of mirror she kept stowed beneath her bed.
    “That’s ever so kind of you,” she said, and carefully keeping her homely footwear well hidden, shifted her feet beneath her. She was the best dipper in all of Edinburgh, but it was entirely possible that she’d have to be hot-footing it down Hanover Street in another few seconds. Reaching for his hands, she held his gaze as they rose in unison.
    “My thanks, good sir,” she said and smiled tremulously into his eyes.
    “'Twas nothing at all. Are you certain you’re quite all right?”
    “Of course,” she said then let her eyes drift closed and bobbled as if about to faint.
He caught her about the waist. “Here now,” he crooned and drew her close to his chest… and his wallet.
    “Oh my,” she said and lifted her hand to her heart as if to still its palpitations. It was just a matter of inches and nerve to his inside pocket. Inches, nerve, and the innate ability to appear to be what you are not. “Oh, my most abject apologies.” She stood with her back to the lady and steadied herself on the gentleman’s chest for a fraction of a second. If what Terrible Tull said was true, most things involving men took no longer than that.
    “You’d best sit.”
    “No, no,” she said and straightened resolutely. Her cheeks felt flushed. It was one of her most notable abilities. “I’ve inconvenienced you and your beautiful lady far too long already.” She stepped back, goods firmly stowed away. “Please, do be about your day,” she said, and, happy with her morning’s work, stepped carefully past them.
    She hadn’t taken five full strides before a voice from her right startled her. “Nicely done, luv.” A man stepped out of an alleyway, lips twisted with derision. “Quite impressive.”
    Her heart stopped dead in her chest. Indeed, she no longer cared if the couple behind her realized she’d robbed them or not. Knobby Hooks had seen her poaching birds in Cryton’s territory. And that was enough to strike terror in any dipper’s heart had she half a brain in her noggin. But she forced a cocky smile, curtsied prettily, and matched his harsh Glasgow accent. “My thanks, good sir. Praps you’ll give us a bob for the performance.”
    “A bob is it?” He stepped forward. There was something in his eyes, uncertainty maybe. Could it be that he thought she actually hadn’t recognized him? She would remember Knobby Hooks till the day she died twitching on the gallows and probably long after.
    “A bob ain’t nothing for a gent like you,” she said, edging her voice with just a sparkle of flirtation.
    “And what would I get for my coin?” he asked and stepped up close.
    “You want a wee sample, do ya?” she asked.
    He shrugged, mouth tilted up, smug as hell.
    She smiled as she reached for his shoulders, tilted her head prettily then slammed her knee into his crouch. But her aim was a little off. He jerked