mistaken last night. That sense of comfortable ease, of rapport, had definitely been there. “I can have my carriage brought round to take you home.”
Cavin shook his head and snatched his coat from the floor. “I’m quite adept at hailing a hackney.”
There went another attempt to try to gain Cavin’s address. “Do you need fare?”
Chin tipped down, Cavin went still, hands poised over the fabric buttons of his black coat. The same coat from last night, and the only piece of clothing on his body that didn’t appear as if it had been worn many, many times over. “No,” he murmured, short and curt, the line of his shoulders tense with unease.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…” Well, yes, he had meant to imply the man hadn’t the funds for the fare, else he wouldn’t have asked the question. “It doesn’t matter to me if you need fare or not. I just want you to reach home safely.”
Cavin nodded. A tug on the bottom of his coat to straighten it, and he finally met Benjamin’s gaze once again.
Benjamin hated the awkwardness that had sprung up between them, but he had no idea how to fix it. He knew one thing for certain, though. For reasons known only to himself, Cavin had not been completely honest with him. All was not well in Cavin’s world, wherever he came from.
He held Cavin’s gaze. “If you ever have need of anything. Anything at all. You know where to find me.” He did not want Cavin to leave, but the man was adamant. If he pushed much harder, he’d end up pushing Cavin away forever. At least this way, he held a chance of seeing him again.
Cavin grabbed the black silk from the chair and turned back to Benjamin, a melancholy smile on his lips. “My apologies again for borrowing your waistcoat.”
Benjamin returned that melancholy smile. “I’m glad you did.”
Chapter Five
Cavin padded down the dark corridor on silent, bare feet. Not in the drawing room, not in the dining room, not in the study or morning room. Must be in the bedchamber. It was the only place left to look in the house, unless the owners had stored it in the garret or taken it with them with the intention of hanging it in their country house.
His fingertips found the brass knob and he opened the door at the end of the corridor. Please, let it be in here. Hale did not deal well with disappointment. It wouldn’t matter if Hale had picked the wrong house, or if the owners had taken the painting with them, or if Sam and Jim, the other boy he’d brought with them, found a hoard of gold hidden in the silver cabinet. If Cavin returned without the painting, Hale would have his head.
Leaving the door half-open, he entered the room. The silvery light of the full moon cut through the breaks in the drapes, illuminating the shadowed forms of a four-poster bed, a dresser, a writing desk and a pair of armchairs. He scanned the walls covered in pale paper, skipping over a trio of small rectangles—likely portraits of family members or watercolors of some sort, an oval mirror flanked by sconces, and stopped on a square frame above the mantel.
His pulse sped up as he crossed the bedchamber. Intricate carvings on the gilded frame that appeared to be three feet by three feet, just the right size per the description Hale had given him. He ran a finger over a spot on the canvas, felt the faint ridges of the brush strokes in the paint. Definitely done in oils. He could make out a dark shape dominating the canvas, but just to be certain, he tugged the curtain of a nearby window, letting in a bit more moonlight.
He let out a sigh of relief. That could only be a black horse painted on the canvas.
Why Hale had developed a fondness for the painting, Cavin had no idea. The man wanted it, so it was Cavin’s job to get it for him. He adjusted the strap slung across his chest, centering the bag against the small of his back. Then he reached out, but stopped, fingertips inches from the gilded frame.
Cavin glanced over his shoulder.
Cavin shook his head and snatched his coat from the floor. “I’m quite adept at hailing a hackney.”
There went another attempt to try to gain Cavin’s address. “Do you need fare?”
Chin tipped down, Cavin went still, hands poised over the fabric buttons of his black coat. The same coat from last night, and the only piece of clothing on his body that didn’t appear as if it had been worn many, many times over. “No,” he murmured, short and curt, the line of his shoulders tense with unease.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…” Well, yes, he had meant to imply the man hadn’t the funds for the fare, else he wouldn’t have asked the question. “It doesn’t matter to me if you need fare or not. I just want you to reach home safely.”
Cavin nodded. A tug on the bottom of his coat to straighten it, and he finally met Benjamin’s gaze once again.
Benjamin hated the awkwardness that had sprung up between them, but he had no idea how to fix it. He knew one thing for certain, though. For reasons known only to himself, Cavin had not been completely honest with him. All was not well in Cavin’s world, wherever he came from.
He held Cavin’s gaze. “If you ever have need of anything. Anything at all. You know where to find me.” He did not want Cavin to leave, but the man was adamant. If he pushed much harder, he’d end up pushing Cavin away forever. At least this way, he held a chance of seeing him again.
Cavin grabbed the black silk from the chair and turned back to Benjamin, a melancholy smile on his lips. “My apologies again for borrowing your waistcoat.”
Benjamin returned that melancholy smile. “I’m glad you did.”
Chapter Five
Cavin padded down the dark corridor on silent, bare feet. Not in the drawing room, not in the dining room, not in the study or morning room. Must be in the bedchamber. It was the only place left to look in the house, unless the owners had stored it in the garret or taken it with them with the intention of hanging it in their country house.
His fingertips found the brass knob and he opened the door at the end of the corridor. Please, let it be in here. Hale did not deal well with disappointment. It wouldn’t matter if Hale had picked the wrong house, or if the owners had taken the painting with them, or if Sam and Jim, the other boy he’d brought with them, found a hoard of gold hidden in the silver cabinet. If Cavin returned without the painting, Hale would have his head.
Leaving the door half-open, he entered the room. The silvery light of the full moon cut through the breaks in the drapes, illuminating the shadowed forms of a four-poster bed, a dresser, a writing desk and a pair of armchairs. He scanned the walls covered in pale paper, skipping over a trio of small rectangles—likely portraits of family members or watercolors of some sort, an oval mirror flanked by sconces, and stopped on a square frame above the mantel.
His pulse sped up as he crossed the bedchamber. Intricate carvings on the gilded frame that appeared to be three feet by three feet, just the right size per the description Hale had given him. He ran a finger over a spot on the canvas, felt the faint ridges of the brush strokes in the paint. Definitely done in oils. He could make out a dark shape dominating the canvas, but just to be certain, he tugged the curtain of a nearby window, letting in a bit more moonlight.
He let out a sigh of relief. That could only be a black horse painted on the canvas.
Why Hale had developed a fondness for the painting, Cavin had no idea. The man wanted it, so it was Cavin’s job to get it for him. He adjusted the strap slung across his chest, centering the bag against the small of his back. Then he reached out, but stopped, fingertips inches from the gilded frame.
Cavin glanced over his shoulder.
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