Free Whisper To Me of Love by Shirlee Busbee Page B

dispersing by now, and Royce was on the point of bodily picking up Zachary and carrying him to the gig when Zachary looked at him and grinned. “I suppose,” Zachary said sheepishly, “you are ready to leave now.”
    His face wearing an expression of long-suffering boredom, Royce answered dulcetly, “It would be pleasant.”
    â€œOh, I say!” exclaimed George. “We can’t have the afternoon end yet! Shall we all retire to one of the clubs for a game or two of hazard or faro?”
    Royce demurred, the vision of lovely Della waiting for him on the soft feather bed in the discreet little house he had obtained for her making him distinctly disinclined for more masculine company. His hand firmly on Zachary’s upper arm as he edged away from George and his friends, Royce said smoothly, “Some other time for me. I’m afraid I have other plans.”
    There were murmurs of regret from the others, but Royce did not allow himself to be swayed and doggedly kept Zachary moving along with the remnants of the crowd. At this point the majority of the throng had thinned out and disappeared, and although there were still groups of stragglers here and there, Royce and the others were able to move more freely in the direction they wanted.
    Royce’s group had passed several men on horseback and had dodged between a few carts and curricles when at last Royce saw his pair and gig. Concentrating on reaching his horses, he was not consciously aware of the small figure in the green jacket and gray pantaloons who had been dogging his heels for quite some time. It was only when the boy appeared to stumble and fell against him that Royce’s sharp senses took over and he realized in an instant what was happening.
    Pip had grown almost desperate while waiting to snatch Manchester’s valuables, and if it hadn’t been for the one-eyed man’s express wish that Manchester be robbed, she would have given up on him long ago. Though she had found him early on and had remained as close to him as possible, there had never been just the right opportunity to pick his pockets. Someone was always right by his side, and instead of mingling with the crowd as it gradually dispersed, Manchester and his friends had lingered, talking, until Pip had feared someone would notice her lurking about and comment on it. No one had, and just when she thought she was going to have to risk being spotted, Manchester and his chatty friends had finally started to move. But the crowd that she had relied upon to cover her movements had disappeared, and while there were still many people about, they were too widely scattered to give her much protection.
    She glanced around, hoping to see Ben or Jacko. Maybe between the three of them, they could maneuver Manchester into an alley and rob him before he reached his vehicle and anyone knew what was happening. As she caught sight of her brothers where they lounged near several gigs and curricles, a feeling of relief swept over her. Good. Once they saw her, they would realize that she needed help.
    But Jacko and Ben were not looking in her direction, and Pip’s heart sank when the American suddenly swerved and began walking purposefully toward a pair of chestnut horses which were harnessed to a stylish gig. Once Manchester climbed into the gig, the chance was lost; shuddering at the thought of facing the one-eyed man’s wrath if she failed to carry out his command, Pip gamely attempted to do what she had been trained to do all her life—pick a pocket.
    Pip’s stumble as she fell against the tall American was a thing of grace and skill. So were the nimble fingers that deftly lifted his golden seal and the heavy gold watch from his vest pocket. The watch and seal slipped instantly into the capricious pockets of her own coat, and Pip was almost on the point of congratulating herself for accomplishing such a risky venture when an iron-fingered hand suddenly clamped