Free The 7th of London by Beau Schemery Page A

for a silent moment.
    “Thanks. I wouldn’t o’thought o’that,” Sev acknowledged.
    Jack nodded. “That’s a nasty scar.” Sev didn’t say anything but touched his brand. “I’d heard the stories.” Midnight dropped his gaze. Sev wondered if the criminal could feel ashamed. “It’s worse than the rumors,” Jack breathed.
    “Every time I look at it, every time I feel it pull at my good skin,” Sev explained, “it’s a reminder. The bastards can’t stop me. They can take my whole life away, but they can’t stop me.”
    “You’re one tough bugger, Seven.” Jack looked his guest in the eyes. “I picked the right man for the job.” Jack exited before Sev could answer. Standing alone once again, Sev dropped the towel and eased into the hot water he’d drawn. His muscles relaxed as he submerged himself in the bath, which turned almost instantly gray. Damn , Sev thought. Jack was right. Sev scrubbed the surface dirt from his skin before emptying the filthy water and drawing another, proper bath.
    Sev stayed in the tub until the water started to cool. He reached for the towel, the skin on his hands wrinkled from the bath, and dried his body and hair. Satisfied, he plucked a sleeping gown from a peg on the back of the door and slipped it over his head. The flannel garment was soft and clean. Sev couldn’t remember the last time something felt so good against his skin.
    He slipped from the bathing room into the bedroom to his left. An elaborate gas lamp burned invitingly on the nightstand by the bed. The furnishings were just as fine as the rest of the building, if a little simpler. The oriental carpet that covered the hardwood floor was lush and intricately woven. Sev used his bare feet to grip the fabric as he paused on his way to the large, four-poster bed. He tested the resistance on the mattress and gasped, surprised. This is even finer than Annie’s , he thought while he tentatively reached for the covers as if he were afraid they would burn him. They didn’t, quite the opposite. The silk of the sheets was cool to Sev’s touch, and he peeled them back. The bedclothes had an oriental pattern echoing the carpet, and Sev slid in between them, pulling the blankets around his body. Heaven must feel like this, he thought, his head sinking onto silk-sheathed down pillows. His eyelids dropped like bricks as he relaxed into the bed’s divine embrace. He retained his senses long enough to extinguish the lamp before he slipped into the deepest, most comfortable sleep since he’d been a child who had never heard of Sir Langdon Fervis.
     
     
    S EV awoke from a dreamless sleep to the rap of knuckles on his forehead. He shielded his face with his hands, his sleep interrupted too soon. “Aah! What’s the bloody problem?”
    “Time t’get up, mate,” Rat answered, arms folded impatiently.
    “What time is it?” Sev rolled over, folding the pillow over his head.
    “Too early fer me t’be up, so you’d best get yer sorry arse out o’that fancy bed before I put the boot in.”
    “Bugger off, Rat,” Sev’s muffled voice ordered from beneath the pillow.
    “His Nibs wants y’out. And so does this fella.” Rat’s words were followed by a contented hoot.
    “Henry?” Sev asked as he flipped the pillow and threw back the covers. “Henry!” he exclaimed, landing on the carpet. Rat stood with an elaborate filigreed birdcage. Henry flapped his wings happily within. Sev unlatched the door and the little owl swooped out, flew around the room once, and landed on Sev’s forearm. “Hey, friend. It’s good t’see ye.” Sev scratched the bird beneath his beak as Henry cooed happily.
    “All right,” Rat interjected. “Reunion’s over. Get dressed. Jack’s in the dinin’ hall. Get yer arse down there.”
    “Fine.” Sev rolled his eyes at the filthy urchin, but he reached up, urging Henry onto one of the bed’s posts. “I’ll be right there.” Rat grunted in response and exited the room. Sev looked