“Argg… Liam.” Becca picked up his greatcoat, holding it out in front of her and eyeing it like it might come alive and attack her at any moment. “We’ll never get this smell out of here.”
He picked up his fiddle. “Take that down to Mrs. Anderson for me, will you?”
Her eyes narrowed.
Liam smiled and bowed out a reel. “That’s a good girl.”
Shaking her head, she left, banging down the stairs to his landlady’s rooms.
“It doesn’t smell that bad,” he said after her. He tested the air then went back to his music.
Becca returned, Mrs. Anderson with her. She was the mother of a grown son, Kendrick, an undertaker Liam had befriended years ago while in school. He’d gotten numerous specimens from her son over the years, including the thumb that Molly had overturned.
Mrs. Anderson’s hair, once blonde, but was now predominantly gray. She had a stout, hearty build, and an even sturdier constitution.
“See,” Becca said. “He must have been wrestling some sailor down on the docks last night.”
Liam lifted his brows at her. “You can see with your nose? How talented of you, Becca.”
“Open the windows,” Mrs. Anderson said. “We’ll air it out in here.”
“How long before my coat can be cleaned?” he asked. “I hate the blue one.”
“Blue too cheerful for you?” Becca said.
Mrs. Anderson pushed open a window. “I will have it sent out immediately. Believe me, when I say immediately, I mean immediately.”
“He has a lady coming over today, and we need to get rid of this smell,” Becca said.
Liam put down his fiddle. “Bloody, Becca. Will you leave my mess and my love life to me?”
“What love life?”
“I’m leaving,” he said, setting aside his fiddle. He knew when she started talking like that, he had might as well throw in the towel and admit defeat.
“Your mess is atrocious, and I happen to adore Molly.”
“So her name is Molly,” Mrs. Anderson said, smirking, the skin around her eyes crinkling with matronly mischief. “Will I be having another border here soon?”
“I’m trying,” Becca said, waving her arms at the window as if to push the foul air out.
“I really am leaving,” Liam said, taking up his blue coat. “I hate this thing,” he said, shoving his arms into it.
“But what about Molly?”
“I’m going to get her now. Are you coming?”
She nodded, then stopped and shook her head. “No. You will have to get her by yourself. All by yourself in your little gig.” She smiled.
Liam turned for the door. Little did Becca know that the cramped quarters, Molly’s thigh against his, was actually the better end of gratification.
“How are you going to get her out without her mother knowing?” Becca asked.
Mrs. Anderson clucked her tongue. “What are the two of you about? Or should I say, three of you.”
“It’s a long story,” Liam said. “But I have to protect her from a certain gentleman who has pointed her out as being on the receiving end of his unwanted amore.”
Mrs. Anderson frowned. “But if that is so, then why would you have to sneak her away from her mother?”
“Because her mother is an idiot,” Liam said without apology. Molly was raised by her governess, and it showed. She was, thank God, nothing like her mother.
“The woman is quite horrid,” Becca said. “She never listens to Molly, ever. The sooner my brother can marry her, the better.”
“Becca,” he warned.
She put a finger to her mouth but he knew by the glint in her eyes that she was far from finished.
Darcy Branwyn 
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