knife.
Anna snuck another glance at him, brows scrunching together in a frown.
When a sufficiently large group of people walked by, Rein brought the knife down with enough force to shower lettuce pieces through the air.
“Bloody hell,” Anna cried.
Rein smiled at the startled crowd. “If you think that is amazing, just envision what it would do to a side of beef.”
Everyone but a woman looked away. Rein came around the side of his crates, going over to her holding out the knife. “See, not a nick in the edge. Truly an amazing device,” he said with a smile normally used for the women of his social set, the ones he wanted to bed.
“How much is it?” the woman asked, thrusting her gaze down.
“For you,” he said, “a special price.”
The woman giggled, and without asking what that price was, opened up her reticule.
Rein wanted to throw back his head and laugh. He was doing it. Not only that, but he was bloody good at it, and earning more money than Anna. When he glanced at Anna, it was to see her staring at him with her hands on her hips. He had to give her credit, for she didn’t give up. No, indeed, what she did surprised him, for she went and bought her own head of lettuce, only she chose to behead hers in midair, one of the two halves landing at the feet of a bloke whom she smiled at winsomely. She sold the knife for more than Rein had sold his.
Thus began a competition the likes of which Covent Garden Market had never seen. Many a good head of lettuce went to the guillotine that day, the area around Anna’s barrow looking like a produce cart caught in an accident. But Rein had an advantage that Anna did not. Most patrons were women and Rein had no compunction about using the skills he’d acquired in ballrooms to charm the coins out of a lady’s purse.
Thus, at the end of the hour, Rein had won, not only that but he had sufficient profit to pay off Anna. Anna knew it, Rein could tell, for she shot him a glare when a nearby clock tower chimed the hour.
“Cheat,” she said, standing among lettuce entrails as if it were a park and not the remnants of their war.
“Mimic,” he answered back.
“You left me with no choice.”
“You were afeared of losing,” he offered as the true explanation.
But rather than deny it, rather than look away, Anna said, “I was.” And then she did something else that surprised him. To Rein’s utter delight, he gave him a brief smile, just a small one, but one filled with grudging admiration.
“You can stay,” she said.
And he did. The whole day. And at the end of it, Anna had to admit that she liked Rein Hemplewilt. She truly liked him. Perhaps it was the way he’d come to Molly’s defense. Maybe it was the way he’d been so determined to help. But whatever the reason, as she prepared herself for bed that eve, she admitted he was quite a bonny man.
That worried her. That worried her a great deal.
With a sigh, she sat down on her bed, tilting her head back and stretching her spine. She had so much work to do, and the last thing she needed was a man to complicate matters. In the corner of her room lay her life’s work—well, what would become her life’s work. Material for her sails. A pile of fabric she’d scrimped and saved to buy, having spent every last farthing on the extravagant purchase. She needed to convert that material into the triangular design she’d invented. And she needed to do so in time to test the real sails on a ship—for the smaller version sail—her “kite”—needed to be enlarged in order to see if it would work.
But she refused to think of that. Or Mr. Hemplewilt. She stood up. Well, stood up as much as she could in her little attic room, removing her white cotton apron as she did so. The ceiling sloped down on either side of her. But the room was warm and hospitable, the bones of the walls exposed without any boards to cover them. She’d made it her own in recent years, covering the tiny little windows with scraps of
Anna snuck another glance at him, brows scrunching together in a frown.
When a sufficiently large group of people walked by, Rein brought the knife down with enough force to shower lettuce pieces through the air.
“Bloody hell,” Anna cried.
Rein smiled at the startled crowd. “If you think that is amazing, just envision what it would do to a side of beef.”
Everyone but a woman looked away. Rein came around the side of his crates, going over to her holding out the knife. “See, not a nick in the edge. Truly an amazing device,” he said with a smile normally used for the women of his social set, the ones he wanted to bed.
“How much is it?” the woman asked, thrusting her gaze down.
“For you,” he said, “a special price.”
The woman giggled, and without asking what that price was, opened up her reticule.
Rein wanted to throw back his head and laugh. He was doing it. Not only that, but he was bloody good at it, and earning more money than Anna. When he glanced at Anna, it was to see her staring at him with her hands on her hips. He had to give her credit, for she didn’t give up. No, indeed, what she did surprised him, for she went and bought her own head of lettuce, only she chose to behead hers in midair, one of the two halves landing at the feet of a bloke whom she smiled at winsomely. She sold the knife for more than Rein had sold his.
Thus began a competition the likes of which Covent Garden Market had never seen. Many a good head of lettuce went to the guillotine that day, the area around Anna’s barrow looking like a produce cart caught in an accident. But Rein had an advantage that Anna did not. Most patrons were women and Rein had no compunction about using the skills he’d acquired in ballrooms to charm the coins out of a lady’s purse.
Thus, at the end of the hour, Rein had won, not only that but he had sufficient profit to pay off Anna. Anna knew it, Rein could tell, for she shot him a glare when a nearby clock tower chimed the hour.
“Cheat,” she said, standing among lettuce entrails as if it were a park and not the remnants of their war.
“Mimic,” he answered back.
“You left me with no choice.”
“You were afeared of losing,” he offered as the true explanation.
But rather than deny it, rather than look away, Anna said, “I was.” And then she did something else that surprised him. To Rein’s utter delight, he gave him a brief smile, just a small one, but one filled with grudging admiration.
“You can stay,” she said.
And he did. The whole day. And at the end of it, Anna had to admit that she liked Rein Hemplewilt. She truly liked him. Perhaps it was the way he’d come to Molly’s defense. Maybe it was the way he’d been so determined to help. But whatever the reason, as she prepared herself for bed that eve, she admitted he was quite a bonny man.
That worried her. That worried her a great deal.
With a sigh, she sat down on her bed, tilting her head back and stretching her spine. She had so much work to do, and the last thing she needed was a man to complicate matters. In the corner of her room lay her life’s work—well, what would become her life’s work. Material for her sails. A pile of fabric she’d scrimped and saved to buy, having spent every last farthing on the extravagant purchase. She needed to convert that material into the triangular design she’d invented. And she needed to do so in time to test the real sails on a ship—for the smaller version sail—her “kite”—needed to be enlarged in order to see if it would work.
But she refused to think of that. Or Mr. Hemplewilt. She stood up. Well, stood up as much as she could in her little attic room, removing her white cotton apron as she did so. The ceiling sloped down on either side of her. But the room was warm and hospitable, the bones of the walls exposed without any boards to cover them. She’d made it her own in recent years, covering the tiny little windows with scraps of
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