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bad idea, he mentally grumbled as he led her inside. Demirep or not, she was a gently bred young woman
and had no business exposing herself to such a place. Still, he had to admire her sense of a daughter s
duty.
He could feel her trembling slightly. She stayed huddled close to him as they walked in together, clinging
to him when they passed the office of the warden of the Fleet. The door was ajar. Belinda was walking
on the opposite side of him, her face hidden behind her poke bonnet, but Hawk glanced in curiously at
the sound of rough shouting.
A scarred brute obviously the warden was dressing down one of his cringing subordinates. He
shook his head. What a hellhole, he thought.
A guard led them through various corridors. Everywhere the prison was cramped and foul smelling,
chaotic and noisy, with prisoners begging and cursing at them through the bars. Grimly Hawk clenched
his jaw and put his arm around Belinda s shoulders, pulling her closer under his arm, wishing he could
protect her from the filth.
On the far end of the corridor they were brought to a more decent ward. His defensive stance eased
only mildly when they were led up a flight of stairs to where the more genteel debtors had private rooms.
When they stopped at a solid wooden door before one of the private cells, Belinda pushed back her
bonnet. Her face was a sickly shade of white. Hawk pursed his mouth and hung back, not sure if she
wanted him to follow her inside or wait. Belinda stared straight ahead. He saw her lift her chin; he saw
her plaster on a smile. Something inside of him wrenched at the way her slender shoulders squared.
The jailer opened the door, and her face suddenly beamed.
 Papa!
She threw out her arms and rushed into the cell with a laugh that sounded oddly brittle. Hawk stepped
into the doorway and saw her throw herself into the arms of a white-haired, bespectacled man.
 Lindabel! Oh, welcome back, dear, welcome back! You are looking better than when I saw you last.
Must be the French food that agreed with you, hey, hey? So tell me how did you like Paris?
For no apparent reason and entirely without warning, she burst into tears. The old man pulled his
spectacles up higher on his nose and peered at her.  What is this foolishness, you little watering pot?
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She was quite too hysterical to answer. Hawk decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.
He cleared his throat to make his presence known and strode into the room, swept off his top hat and
gestured his footman in with the goods.
 Mr. Hamilton, I presume? He offered the old scholar his hand.  Robert Knight, at your service.
Her father shook his hand hesitantly, peering up at him.  Mr. Knight, you say? How do you do? Are you
a friend of Bel s, and if you are, can you tell me why the chit s crying?
Belinda hung around her father s neck.  It s just that I m so happy to see you, Papa. I missed you so
while I was in  she looked pleadingly at Hawk  Paris.
Hawk furrowed his brow and stared at her, then abandoned his attempt to make sense of it.  Your
daughter has brought you a few trifles for your comfort, Mr. Hamilton.
 He s not a mister, Papa. He s the duke of Hawkscliffe. He s very modest. To a fault, she whispered,
sniffling.
 Oh! Alfred laughed with delight at his error.  I beg your pardon, Your Grace.
 It is of no consequence. Hawk knew he was turning imperious and curt, but he couldn t help but glare
at the old scholar for the wretched look on Belinda s lovely face. What was the man thinking? Illuminated
manuscripts over this precious girl?
 I m sorry, she sniffled.  You re right I m being quite absurd. I just missed you, you old enchanter.
Now have a look at what I ve brought you. Wiping her tears away quickly, she moved to the cot where
Hawk s servant had placed the gifts.  See here, Papa? A new pillow and blanket, brandy and some
snuff 
 Do I like snuff, Lindabel? Why, I don t recall! He laughed as though his empty head was the funniest
thing in the world.
Hawk scowled and turned away.
 I don t know, Papa, but you can bribe the guards with it, if nothing else.
 Oh! Right. So clever, my girl! You didn t happen to bring me any, er ... books, did you? he asked,
fidgeting like a child on Christmas morning.
 Of course I did.
Father and daughter proceeded to coo over the trio of new books she had brought for him, exceedingly
dull treatises on medieval and classical history that made Hawk and his footman exchange a nonplussed
look.
At last the old fellow turned to him.  Your Grace, why don t we open the brandy Bel has brought and
give it a nip, hey?
For his easy, gentlemanly manner, one might have thought they were standing in Hamilton s study rather [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]