Chapter Nineteen
"They are looking for you, Lady Hawkins-Dean. I was able to hold them off last time, but they begin to threaten me.”
Susannah hurried through the rain, the skirts of her gown in hand. Mr. Goulding had looked very concerned, and much older than she had seen him before. She had given him what she could and he had been satisfied, compared with her usual amounts, but then he had set it aside and said those words to her. She promised that she would take care of it, and begged to hold them off as long as possible.
He had not been pleased, but he had given her his word, and he had never treated her wrongly before.
She had known for some time that the men she owed were looking for her; the thugs she had run into on the streets before had given her that indication. But according to Mr. Goulding, now the collectors themselves were getting involved. And if she could not give them the amounts they demanded for their patience, they would see her in a debtor’s prison and force her son into indentured servitude.
She need not give them the full amount, he had assured her, for they knew very well the complete balance would be impossible for now. But the payment they wanted was more than she had earned at this point, considering she’d had to give some to Mr. Jacobs for her family.
She should ask for help. A loan, perhaps, to keep herself out of prison and to keep Freddie safe. But who could she ask? Tibby was already so generous with her, to ask for more would be impossible. Colin and Kit claimed to have plenty, but considering the strain on their relationship, she could hardly ask for anything from them. And Colin would demand that she explain, and he already knew she had debts. If he knew the extent of them, and the rest of the story…
A loud crash of thunder made her jump and she turned to cut through Hyde Park, rather than going around. The trees would provide her some shelter, though not much, considering her hat had proven useless. She needed to get home as soon as possible, she could still take whatever money that remained to Mr. Goulding. Perhaps this close to the payment requested would satisfy them until she could get more. She could go to Mrs. Randall and ask for more work, her niece was apparently worse help than she previously thought.
But would any of it be enough? No one had dared to threaten Freddie before, and the merest hint that he should be in danger…
She jerked at another flash of lightning and accompanying thunder. The rain picked up its intensity, sweeping sideways and pummeling her clothing and skin. Her feet were slipping in the damp grass, and she was going to do herself injury if she were not careful. The raindrops were becoming painful as they hit her, and she winced as there was another crash of lightning and thunder.
She spotted a gazebo not far off, and hurried towards it. She did not need to be reckless, even if she did wish to be expeditious.
She would be no good to anyone injured or worse.
The rain picked up even more as she made her way over there, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she was at last beneath it. She removed her sopping hat and tossed it aside. Her spencer was absolutely drenched, so she unbuttoned that and removed it, wringing it and shaking it out. Then she hung it on a railing and shivered. It was a cool day, and while there was no possible way the jacket would be dry by the time she would leave, it might at least be less sopping.
She rubbed her arms quickly, trying to restore some warmth to her, when she heard someone else arrive in the gazebo just as the rain began coming down in torrential sheets, and the wind whipped the drops around viciously. The air blew through the gazebo, drawing another shiver from her and she tucked against a pillar to attempt to shield herself more.
She laughed a bit shakily. “It seems you’ve made it just in time,” she said, turning to the other person. “You would be swimming if you still…” She broke off with a faint gasp when she saw the person she was now sharing the gazebo with.
Colin stared at her as if he had been struck from behind, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, and his expression spoke of the temptation to turn and run, despite the storm.
The thunder and lightning picked up in their volume and intensity, and Susannah felt her heart echoing them. She could not look away from Colin, no matter how her heart and mind told her to. His chestnut hair was clinging to his face and dripping visibly. His cravat hung limply against his soaked linen shirt, which clung to his skin. His fine waistcoat and jacket were drenched, as were his fawn-colored breeches, while his boots were caked with mud and blades of grass.
She realized she could not have looked any better. She felt her hair dripping on her neck, and damp tendrils stuck to her cheeks and forehead. Her green muslin, though fine and impressive usually, was now limp and faint, not to mention filthy, considering her traipse through the park. Her petticoats were clinging to her legs, and the long sleeves of her gown had become a second skin to her. She dared not look at her bodice, but thankfully, she had folded her arms across it before she had seen who it was.
She swallowed hastily as she continued to look at Colin, and saw him do the same. His eyes left hers to take her in, as she had done with him, and her cheeks flushed as she saw his gaze darken. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and his eyes came back to hers, but he said nothing.
He moved to one of the posts and leaned against it, eyes still trained on her, as if he were waiting for something.
Suddenly nervous, Susannah broke eye contact and moved to the furthest part of the gazebo from him. She pushed a dripping lock of hair behind her ear with shaking fingers. Her face was warm to the touch, or perhaps her fingers were chilled. She glanced surreptitiously at Colin, who watched her still, and she looked away, swallowing again.
She could not feel her knees at the moment, and it really was, quite suddenly, fairly warm out. She brushed at the tendrils clinging to her brow and tried to wring out some of her hair without letting any of it tumble down. That would not help matters at all. An odd coiling sensation was building somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach, yet she felt it down to her toes and in the tips of her fingers.
She shivered again, and rubbed her arms, looking up briefly.
Colin had not moved. He leaned against the post still, just as he had with the doorjamb at Tibby’s that day. He looked perfectly at ease for all his posture, yet there was a visible tension riding through his entire frame. His face was taut, his eyes focused, and she was not entirely sure if he were angry or callous or intrigued. She could see traces of all of them, along with something else.
Something that terrified her.
She looked out at the rain, still coming down impossibly hard, lightning and thunder rolling on. She would never be able to make it back to Tibby’s in this, and there was not a thick stand of trees in sight. She could not escape. She bit her lip and moaned softly, then caught herself and covered her mouth at once.
Somehow, her eyes went back to Colin. His jaw had tightened more, his throat worked once, and his chest moved unevenly with each breath.
He should not be here with her. But she could not find it in her heart to wish him away. He was so alluring in this manner, as if the elements could not affect him, as if he had been perfectly disordered by nature to grace him with sinfully attractive airs. His eyes were so dark now, their blue depths captivating in their strength.
Her hand fluttered from her mouth to her throat, where her pulse throbbed painfully and every breath caught. He watched her for so many heartbeats she lost count, his eyes measuring every breath she took, as he if knew exactly what turmoil was raging within her. He barely blinked as he stared at her, nothing moving but the increasingly unsteady rise and fall of his chest and shoulders. The coiling in her swirled and rose, threatened to consume her, and all she could do was exhale a soft, gasping breath.
Colin shoved off of the wall and came towards her, brows narrowed, eyes focused on her lips, and before she could move or breathe, his mouth was on hers, hungry and insistent. There was a fury that drove him, his hands seizing the sides of her head as if in a vice, locked in his hold, captive to his desires.
The tension within her burst into a thousand pieces as a sob of relief and agony escaped her. She latched her hands into his hair, pulling herself closer than she thought she could, pressing herself along every inch of him, her need suddenly overwhelming and consuming.
He tilted her head for a better angle, and his groan of satisfaction seem to catch in her own throat as her fingers clenched more tightly into his hair. Suddenly he forced her back against the post, the rough wood pressing and catching on the back of her delicate dress. She gasped and pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his neck as her other hand rubbed and stroked along his stubbled jaw.
He bracketed one of his hands against the post, leaning more fully into her, while the other still held the side of her face, his fingers clenching slightly into her skin as his lips devoured every coherent thought, every fluttering sensation now coursing through her in waves. Their breath mingled as one, panting and gasping, a new tension rising between them as the thunder roared around them.
It was not enough. It was too much.
It was everything.
She felt her tears flowing, could taste the saltiness of them in their impatient and frenzied kisses. Colin was wild and unrestrained in his passion, thrilling her with his strength and the force of his emotions, the strength of his hold, and the desperation in his lips. She was no match for him.
His mouth suddenly slid from hers to her cheek, his breath rasping against her skin as his lips wandered across her face. He grazed her jaw with his teeth, then whispered, “How can you kiss me like this and refuse me?”
Her heart stopped in her chest at his harsh words and just as suddenly, he shoved off her, backing away, his chest and shoulders heaving, his eyes wild. His expression was cold, and bordered on disgust, despite the trembling now visibly coursing through them both.
Susannah clamped a hand over her mouth as her desperate emotions recoiled into sobs.
Colin shook his head slowly, eyes hard, then turned and walked out of the gazebo, back out into the still raging storm, head held high.
Susannah inhaled sharply as her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, her sobs coming at a frantic pace. She was drowned out by the noise of the storm, and she clawed at the wood, wishing she could sink herself into it, that she could expunge any and all feelings out of her soul. She had destroyed Colin, and he held all power to destroy her.
He wanted her, and he hated her for it. That was what she had tasted in his kisses. Anger. Seething, burning anger that consumed him just as much as his desire did.
She had wounded him beyond reckoning and he was not going to stand idly by this time. He was not going to be made a fool the second time. He would exact his revenge, knowing that she was not immune to him.
And yet, she would cling to this just as fiercely as she had her other memories of him. This feeling of being wanted so madly, so desperately, even if it killed her, would live with her forever.
She had to be strong, to move forward, to go on and face her future. The future she always knew she would face. Alone. Without him.
Broken hearted or not.
But for now, while the storm raged outside, and within, she curled up into a ball on the floor of the gazebo, and sobbed.
Colin sank into a chair once he was alone, after having forbidden Mrs. Creighton to let the girls near Susannah any more, and put a hand to his head. He was never going to be able to face the world if he could not find some control. And every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that blasted gazebo, heart and soul and body aflame.
He ought to have had more control than to assault her in such a way, particularly when he was furious with her. When she wore more masks than he had the patience to reveal. When she had apparently gone the way of her family and found him lacking in every respect that mattered.
His heart still leapt in excitement when he recalled her eager response to his kiss, the fervor in her arms, and tears of relief. He’d not meant to be cruel, he’d been helpless in the face of his love, his need, his yearning for all that she was. His mind had been obliterated by the thrill of having her in his arms again, in surrendering to her, in grasping whatever glimmer of hope she would give him. Only at the end had his thoughts been clear, and the dark, bitter monster within him had roared in the indignity of once more being ensnared by her. Those words, harsh and cruel and biting, yet poignantly true, had been ripped from him, and he found he did not wish them back.
He wanted her to hurt as he did.
He wanted her to suffer.
He wanted her to understand just how deep his feelings for her went.
He slammed his hand down on the desk and cursed once more. Why could he not be rid of her?
The storm had done nothing to cool him, and it had taken him a full day to be able to speak anything of sense to anybody, and even now, he was tormented with an inferno of rage unlike anything he had ever experienced. Mrs. Creighton felt the force of it just now, the girls avoided him as if he was the devil himself, and the servants were hesitant and cowering in his presence.
His upending the tea tray yesterday may have had something to do with that.
Quick, brisk footsteps brought his head up to see his brother entering the study and closing the door, his jaw and neck so tense Colin could see it from where he was.
He glowered at Kit’s back, knowing he was in for another pompous speech from his always-perfect brother.
“Colin, I need to say something to you,” Kit said slowly, hand still on the door, his voice remarkably calm.
Colin snorted. “Spoken with Mrs. Creighton, have you?”
Kit turned and looked at him with marked coldness. “And Bartlet. And the maids. And Rosie and Bitty.”
“Oh, yes, you’ve made the rounds, I see,” Colin retorted, propping his feet on the desk and crossing his ankles. “A few more people, and you could hold a trial for me.”
Kit’s brows snapped together. “You would not speak to me after the ball, but so help me, you will speak with me now.”
“I thought you said you were not my lord and master,” he sneered.
“That was before you were being an imbecile.”
“Go to hell.”
Kit exhaled slowly through his nose, hands on his hips. Then he looked at Colin once more, apparently calm. “Colin, you are losing yourself in your hatred and anger towards Susannah. You are going to suffocate everything good about you and her. I don’t think you are being fair with her. In fact, I think that…”
Colin held up a hand, his jaw working a bit. “Kit, you are my brother and my friend, and I value your opinion in all things. But just this once, shut up. I will hit you, if I must. I mean it. Stop.”
Kit’s eyes widened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Colin pushed to his feet, temper rising further. “Kit, I have never said a word about your obsession with Marianne Bray, mostly because I generally trust your judgment and Lord knows you deserve a lapse of it now and again.”
Kit slowly straightened at that, any warmth disintegrating from his features.
Colin allowed himself a cold smile. “Because I have not said anything and you have been very kind about Susannah all these years, I will remain calm. But if you push me on this and do not shut up this instant, you will find yourself flung out of that window and landing on the unfortunate side of the stables.”
“I am not obsessed with Marianne,” Kit growled.
Colin tilted his head. “And I am not an idiot. So who is lying here?”
His brother pointed a deadly finger at him. “Do not talk about Marianne. Ever. You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Then it appears we are both clueless,” Colin sneered with a shrug, folding his arms tightly.
Kit raised his chin, his eyes frigid. “I have a clue. Several, in fact. And I will employ them as I see fit. And because I am your older brother by forty minutes, I will tell you now that if you ever mention my feelings for her, whatever they are, again, I will see to it that the unfortunate side of the stables will be your warmest thoughts of home.” He bowed as if Colin were nothing more than a guest in his home, turned on his heel, and stormed from the study, the door slamming against the wall with the force of his exit.
Colin stared at the open door for a moment, then turned and punched the bookshelf with a violent curse. He had never said anything like that to his brother, and had never intended to, but he had never been so riled and unhinged in his entire life. For Kit to mistrust his judgment was unsettling. Though they might not see things the same way, he had never been so directly attacked or questioned. And he had certainly never lashed out in the way he had.
It felt good. In a horrible, vindictive way, it had felt as thrilling as he always imagined a victory in battle would be. His blood still burned as it coursed through him like fire, and his breathing was ragged.
So people were curious about him, were they? Concerned about his behavior? Well, that was all well and good. They had no idea what had seethed beneath his surface for his entire adult life. They could not begin to imagine what his heart endured daily.
A shuffling sound met his ears and he turned, looking back towards the door, but nothing was there. He glanced around the room, unable to place it, and then he saw a small, dark, curly head appear from beneath his desk.
His breath caught as Ginny turned to see him there, her blue eyes wide, shining, and terrified.
He nearly swore again, but caught it in his throat. He swallowed and said, “How long have you been there, poppet?”
It was a stupid question, she had obviously heard everything that had transpired in here for at least an hour. He should not have been surprised, Ginny hid in the oddest places at will. But for her to have been witness to what had just happened…
He held out a hand and started towards her. “Come here, little one,” he murmured, keeping his voice as gentle as he could.
Ginny skittered back immediately, her back coming in contact with the sideboard loudly. A soft, childish whimper escaped her trembling lips and his heart shattered.
“Ginny,” he whispered, unable to move.
She turned and shuffled quickly out of the room, never once looking back at him.
For a moment, he did nothing. He could not move, or breathe, or think.
He ran his hands through his hair, not surprised at how they shook. He was in tatters, nothing left of respectability or goodness, and no good to anybody.
He had to get out, before he hurt anyone else, before he was entirely consumed by his wrath.
Colin grabbed the jacket he’d thrown on the floor and was out of the house before he’d managed to get it completely on. The evening was upon him, and the chill in the air suited his mood too perfectly. The sky above was blanketed with clouds, no hint of stars or moon, which was also too appropriate.
People milled about, no doubt leaving for fine events about Town, hopes high and energy spirited. They paid him no mind, which he was grateful for, considering he might well have snapped their heads off, and that would not have done at all. He needed to be alone. He needed to go somewhere to cool off, to regain himself.
Or to forget himself entirely.
He was not prone to drinking strongly, he found it did not suit nor sit well. But at this moment, it was the only thing he wanted. And he would do so in the darkest corner of the world he could find.
Hopper’s Tavern, known for its underhanded dealings, gambling with more than cards, and the ability of its proprietor to look the other way, was the perfect means to the end he had in mind. No one would suspect him of being there. No one would know him there.
And once inside, seeing the dank and oppressive scope of the place, he was quite sure he would not know himself either.
Darkness settled on his heart and he felt it seeping through him like an illness. He moved to a corner of the room, sat at an old, worn, suspiciously stained table, and signaled to the homely barmaid for a drink. She gave him a bawdy wink that made him shudder, and he promptly ignored her when she returned with the overflowing tankard.
Another replaced it before he was completely finished, but he did not mind. He would rather be insensible, and the faster he could get there, the better.
A man in dirty, common clothing approached him. “You ignored my message,” clipped a familiar voice.
Colin looked up into a bearded, tanned face with imperious dark eyes boring down on him. Cap on head, the top of his face was slightly shadowed, but there was no mistaking the command of his tone. The Gent had found him, even here.
Colin shrugged. “It hardly seemed important.”
The slight stiffening of his companion nearly made him wince. “Did you read it?” he asked in a low tone.
Colin shook his head slowly, focused more on trying to place the man before him, now he had seen his face. But it was just as unfamiliar as the voice had ever been. He would never know the identity, it seemed, and that irked him.
“Why not? You sent me on this errand, and now that I have results, you would want to know them, would you not?”
Colin did not care for the faint taunting in his voice, the hint of a sneer, though his face held nothing of the sort. He pushed himself back from the table and rose, moving to push past him. “I don’t want to hear this,” he muttered.
His shirt was suddenly seized and he was thrown back against the wall and into his seat. “I don’t care,” the Gent snarled, releasing him and taking the seat next to him. “You will hear me out, and then we will see what is left of your indignation.”
The bite in his words left Colin stripped of resistance, his curiosity unwittingly aroused, and the dark feeling from before now flooding through him with sharp pains. Something was not right, he could see it in the Gent’s face. A strange tingling prickled the back of his neck and started making its walk down his spine.
The Gent gave him a hard look, disapproval wafting off of him. “Do not ask me how I know this, I will not share my methods or my sources. And none of this, I repeat, none of this is to be shared beyond those of the utmost discretion and trustworthiness, if you choose to include anyone at all.”
Colin swallowed and nodded only once, involuntarily inching a bit closer.
The Gent released a soft exhale. “Your Susannah Merritt was indeed married at sixteen years of age. To Sir Martin Hawkins-Dean. Heard of him?”
Colin shook his head quickly.
There was a low grunt. “That does not surprise me. He was, in life, the most vile, depraved, pathetic sort of bottom dweller that ever slithered on this earth, and I have known a great many villains. Her family married her off to save their fortune, which was rather efficiently milked away by poor management and poorer investments. They knew of the rumors surrounding him, but so desperate were they for monetary salvation, they practically sold their daughter to him.”
His now-constant companion of rage burned fiercely and he curled his hands into fists as he stared at his associate.
“Sir Martin was a simple knight, nothing worthy of honor or acclaim, but it did not stop him from trying,” the Gent continued, shaking his head. “His holdings are in one of the furthest points in Northumberland, a little place called Milfield that most people have never heard of, which was perfect for his means. He squandered his fortune regularly and without a care for its effects. He left the management of his wife’s family to her and the allotment of funds that had been agreed upon in the marriage negotiations. But it did not take long for him to lose so much that those funds were no longer available. His lands were sold off, piece by piece, until only Pavel House and its immediate gardens remained in his care. And then he partitioned that off as well, the staff dwindling into complete nothingness. And do you know who served him then? As footman, butler, housemaid, cook, and valet?”
Colin’s eyes widened and his throat worked absently in an attempt to formulate some response.
The Gent nodded slowly. “He owned her, so he used her. He ran up debts upon debts, keeping up the appearances of his wealth and prestige. No one suspected that he was so in want of funds that he rid himself of the responsibility of his son’s inheritance in order to attempt to satisfy a portion of it.”
He looked at Colin with an increased intensity, and Colin sat back hard against the wall. “What did he do to Freddie?” Colin whispered.
The Gent’s eyes shuttered and his mouth tightened. “He declared the boy illegitimate, provided apparent proof of the lady’s indiscretion, and thus negated the terms of the will. The house was mortgaged over to the creditors as part of his debt.”
Colin put his head into his hands with a hiss. Then he looked over at the Gent as he replayed the words. “Part?”
The Gent nodded slowly. “A mere percentage of what was owed. And somehow, Susannah managed to set aside some meager amounts to send to her family.”
Colin shook his head quickly. “But there must be some way to prove that Freddie was his son, that he can inherit…?”
“No,” the Gent overrode with a shake of his head, “there isn’t. It is as irreversible as it is false. Sir Martin went a step further and declared himself to be impotent, which no one would dare refute, as such a thing would never be admitted by any man of sense and title. But the claim was complete nonsense, as he had fathered several illegitimates over his lifetime.”
Colin groaned and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Never had he imagined it could be so bad, that anyone could be forced to live in such circumstances, that Susannah had endured such a life.
“The debts piled up continually during the course of Sir Martin’s life,” the Gent continued, “and when he died, courtesy of a violent fever, justice came to claim them. And the widow of Sir Martin had no idea how extensive they were. The house was seized, and all has been sold for a pittance of its value to Sir Martin’s cousin, who wanted to claim the inheritance that is not his. Nothing was left to satisfy the creditors, and though Susannah was liked in Milfield for her service in the village, and with the nuns, and at the hospital, there was no one to help her. She gave over the funds she had, and began to work in the village she was once the lady of. And when that did not satisfy the demand, she took her son and fled rather than face the poorhouse or debtor’s prison.”
“To London,” Colin rasped, running shaking hands through his hair.
The Gent nodded, waving aside the barmaid who was coming to ask after him. “She changed her name often, worked as she could along the journey here, and arrived in the heart of the city, where she worked for their boarding. And even now, she pays amounts to the solicitor for her husband, and to the one she hired for her family, who are now almost completely destitute and have no way to alter their circumstances without her.”
“I had no idea,” Colin whispered. He shook his head, attempting to swallow multiple times before he succeeded. “No idea.” His eyes began to sting suspiciously and he pinched at the bridge of his nose.
The Gent said nothing for a long moment, then he sighed heavily. “There is more.”
“How much more could there be?” Colin asked, his voice croaking.
“I have only spoken of money and situation.” There was another long hesitation, and then, “I have not said anything at all about what life was like for Susannah. What horrors she endured.”
Slowly Colin lowered his hand, his eyes fixed on the Gent in dismay. “What else?” he asked, his words scraping against his throat.
The Gent looked down at his hands on the table. “Anyone who ever went to Pavel House was going into a den of the foulest, most unspeakable sort of place. Ruination was commonplace. Nothing respectable ever entered or came out. There was no secrecy or discretion about it, rather it was on grand display. Reckless extravagance and wildness fueled behaviors that would scandalize even the darkest parts of London. Greed, deception, and lust were all that ruled there, and there was not any member of the house that was spared in the undertakings. Saving for one small child, whose father hated him with such ferocity that he was never mentioned and never allowed any sort of privilege.” There was a very faint shadow of a smile. “But his mother found ways around that as well. He was remarkably sheltered for the hellhole in which he was raised.”
“And Susannah?” He could barely get the words out, could hardly manage to speak her name.
The Gent looked at him now, expression and eyes hard and cold. “She was forced into whatever her husband saw fit. Commands and edicts were obeyed or she was punished, sometimes brutally. She was continually and publicly mocked, derided, and humiliated, and she had to bear it all with silence, for anything else was punishable. Abuse in every form was her daily promise, and every bawdy, disgusting event Sir Martin hosted she was forced to attend. To host alongside him. But never as his lady, he would never raise her to his level. She was less than a servant to him, and to all that attended there. Never a participant in what took place there, but she was forced to be witness to it, and refusal was impossible. She had to obey. She always had to obey.”
Colin stared at the Gent without seeing him, his eyes unfocused as his body roiled with the revelations. His head swam and his fingers shook, and suddenly he was ill. He latched onto the table, and retched on the far side, emptying his stomach again and again.
Shame poured over him in unending waves, and still he felt sick. Why could he not see it? He had been so intent on what he wanted, what he could see, what his injuries had been, that he had missed what had been right before him. He knew that she had suffered, had seen it from the beginning, but never could he have imagined that it would have been so horrific, so beyond words.
And he had wanted to force her to tell him all?
He could barely stand to hear it from someone completely unattached, he would never have survived hearing it directly from her lips. And how could he have expected her to relive such horrors?
He’d thought it all about money. Such a simple, childish assumption. It might have been the cause of her desperation now, but it was hardly relevant by comparison.
He righted himself and set his elbows on the table, covering his face. How he had misjudged her. How he had betrayed her with his anger and his mistrust. He was hardly worthy of a woman who could endure so much and still find the autumn beautiful. Who could still hope. Who could love so tenderly.
“I trust you have all that you need to proceed as you will,” the Gent murmured, getting to his feet. “If I can be of any further assistance, you know how to contact me.”
Colin did not respond, his face in his hands, faint convulsions racking him.
A coin landed on the table near his elbow.
“Get yourself a hack and get home,” the Gent suggested firmly. “You are in no condition to walk there, and this is not the place for you.”
Colin heard the rustle of his clothes and the fading footfalls. “Gent?” he called.
The footsteps stopped. “Yes?”
He rubbed at his eyes. “How much?”
There was a pause, and then he heard the boots shift against the wood floor. “How much what?”
Colin dropped his hands, met his friend’s eyes steadily, and swallowed hard. “How much money, exactly, remains to be paid?”