by Wendy Vella
Her face was like an ever-moving collage of expressions; now it was screwed up in concentration.
“Nuisance?” The topic was dire, but he had to admit to enjoying himself now. She was an entertaining woman.
One gray-gloved hand flicked at him.
“Silly fool believes himself in love with me, and presents me with dreadful poetry.”
“Pauline?” he asked, almost desperate now to know her name. She shook her head.
“I was leaving Mr. and Mrs. Hardy's house after taking tea, and as I walked along beside the Thames, hands lifted me up and threw me over.”
“Into the water?”
She nodded.
Dear God. Now he really did feel faint.
“Luckily, even though I had on my thick coat, I am a good swimmer, as my parents ensured all of us could swim well because we lived beside a river.”
“And where are they?”
“Who?” She cast her large eyes his way again.
“Your parents.”
“At home, I should imagine, in Kent.”
“So that's the accent.”
She nodded again.
“So you swam to safety?”
“Actually, I was struggling, and had gone back under the water a few times, but as luck would have it two men saw the fiend throw me in, and came to my aid.”
Her eyes looked clear, but that could be a trick of light. He wondered in fact if she was unbalanced, and this entire story was made up.
“Do you not believe me, my lord?” She leaned forward, searching his eyes, and obviously she was not happy with what she saw. Her shoulders drew back and her chin rose. The glare coming from her now was fierce.
“As to that—”
“No, please say no more.” She raised a hand, then started for the door before he could stop her. “I have no time to waste on someone who believes I would lie, which, by the way, I never do. I was raised a vicar's daughter, and let me assure you, my lord, that I was forced to read from the bible so many times when I was caught in the act of misconveying the truth, that I no longer do so.”
She had the carriage door open now.
“Lie that is, not read the bible. Of course I do that, should I need to... which I don't, as I know it near word bloody perfect.”
She spun to face Jacob, looking horrified.
“Forgive me, I had not meant to curse. It seems the circumstances have distressed me more than I had realized.”
“Miss March, please just—”
“There is nothing further to say, my lord. I can see you do not believe me; therefore, I shall find someone who does.”
“Miss March—”
She jumped from the carriage, which luckily had slowed to turn a corner, and stumbled, then fell on her bottom. She then leapt to her feet and disappeared before he could finish the sentence.
“Good Lord!” Jacob shook his head to clear it. He was a logical man. For the most, he was calm and even-tempered, but right at that moment he wasn't sure if he was standing on his head or feet. “Bloody hell,” he said for good measure.
Rising, he looked out the carriage door and saw Miss March passing beneath a streetlamp. She was striding down the road, alone and unprotected. It was freezing out there; even wrapped up, Jacob was cold. The woman must be chilled to the bone, and now bruised and battered from her fall.
“Hamley, follow that silly woman.”
“At once, my lord.”
Why he was following her, he couldn't say. Perhaps it was because she had mentioned Lady Revel, or perhaps it was because she intrigued him, and he hadn't been this entertained in years, or perhaps it was because he was a good judge of character, and knew that what she had told him was indeed true, even though he had not told her that.
“Who would make up such a ridiculous story?” he muttered.
CHAPTER TWO
The carriage pulled alongside and slowed to a crawl as they reached Miss March. Opening the door, he stepped down before her.
“Are you completely witless, Miss March?”
“Step aside, my lord, I have no time for more of your insults!”
She moved left, and Jacob did the same.
“To have leapt from my carriage in such a reckless manner does not suggest an intellect worthy of respect.”
“You insulted me!”
“Are you hurt, Miss March?”
“I am not.”
“That is something then,” Jacob exhaled loudly. “Now if you will—”
She prepared to step around him once more, but he intercepted her, grabbing her arm.
“Unhand me, my lord!”
“God’s blood, madam. I did not say that I did not believe you, I was merely shocked at what had transpired, and to be fair, who would not be?”
She looked at him, eyes steady, and Jacob felt a desperate need to really see her in the light of day.
“I concede that perhaps it did sound far-fetched, and perhaps I could have handled the telling better.”
“Perhaps?”
She sighed. “The thing is, my lord, I tend to get nervous around people I do not know, and most especially nobility.”
“We are no different than the next person, surely, and certainly not fearful enough to have you leaping from a moving carriage?”
“You cannot possibly be serious? Just finding money for food is a daily struggle for most of us. Can you say the same?”
To his shame, he could not, and wished he hadn't spoken impulsively. He knew how many suffered while he did not... at least not in the way she believed.
“You are of course quite right. Forgive me.” Jacob then did something he’d rarely done before. He agreed to take on the case of Lady Revel without looking into the matter or checking with his friends first. “If you still wish it, I would like to help. We,” he added. “The Lords of Night Street.”
Her mouth formed a perfect kissable circle, and then she smiled. It was wide and changed her face once more, to a thing of beauty.
“Oh... oh dear, I do believe I feel tears, and as I n-never cry—”
“Think nothing of it, Miss March.” Jacob led her to the carriage. “Let us return to the warmth, and I will take you home. If it is acceptable to you I shall ask some questions so I can start the investigation tomorrow.”
“You have no need to take me home, my lord. I live nearby, and assure you I walk these streets alone often.”
“Why would you do something so foolhardy?” These streets were not fit for her to walk alone. Any number of nefarious individuals could be out there awaiting the opportunity to pounce on a woman. “Furthermore, that is hardly wise, considering someone has tried to dispose of you three times. You are merely giving them a fourth opportunity.”
She tilted her head slightly to the right to study him, as if he were some kind of specimen she had never seen before.
“You are of noble birth, so I understand that a carriage and transportation is readily available, my lord. But I do not have such luxuries.”
“I understand not everyone has a carriage, Miss March, but is there a need to walk about at night?”
“If I am to work, then yes, there is.”
“I thought you were a companion?” Jacob hustled her into the carriage before she could protest further.
“I was a companion. The agency I am registered with is having trouble placing me, as I was dismissed without references.”
Bastard. Lord Revel and some of the others who shared the title of “nobleman” would have no idea the impact being dismissed without a reference would have on their staff.
“So what is it you are doing now?”
“I clean premises.”
“What kind of premises?”
“It matters not,” she dismissed. “Now, what is it you wish to know, as I am due to start work shortly.”
Jacob wanted to ask more, in fact he even opened his mouth, and then shut it again. It was none of his business what she did.
“What address shall I dr
op you at, Miss March?”
She looked uncertain.
“Come, for tonight enjoy the comfort of my carriage.” He felt ridiculous after saying that, like he was some benefactor bestowing a great gift on her.
“If you would have your driver drop me at Dingly Lane, please, my lord.”
“Dingly Lane?”
“That is what I said.” She nodded regally.
Jacob knew Dingly Lane. He also knew it housed two brothels and a gaming establishment.
“Miss March, are you sure that is the street you require?”
She nodded again, so there was little Jacob could do but give his driver the instructions.
“Now please ask whatever it is you need to, my lord.”
“Why have you not returned to your family?” Jacob's mind was going in circles, wondering what she was doing in Dingly Lane.
“My parents have nine children, my lord. They do not have room for me, and surely this is not relevant to the investigation.”
She was right, of course. The problem was, she intrigued him, and when he was intrigued he delved deeper. Was she a prostitute? The thought of her being forced into such a profession was not a pleasing one.
“Will you go through the details once more of the day you were dismissed, Miss March?”
He listened as she talked, her words precise and detailed, and Jacob made mental notes. His memory was such that once a fact was in there, he never lost it. When the carriage started to slow, Jacob had all the details he needed to start his inquires. His friends were still in town, as they had been concluding an investigation. He would speak with them tomorrow about the case.
“I believe that is all I need for now, Miss March.”
“Thank you, my lord. Shall I call at your premises or will you send word when you have information for me?”
“If you give me your address I shall send word when I have anything I think you would be interested in hearing.”
She gave him an address, not far from where they were but thankfully in a slightly better location.
“As to money—”
“We do not accept payment, Miss March, nor do any of us need it.” Jacob moved to open the door when she reached for it.
“I see. Well, thank you.”
“You're welcome.” He jumped down and held out his hand.
“Thank you.” She dropped into a curtsey and then started down Dingly Lane.
Jacob stayed where he was and watched until she disappeared inside a brothel.
“She went into Lady Saffron's.”
“I see that, Hamley.”
Climbing back into the carriage, Jacob let Hamley take him home while he thought about what he had learned tonight… or more importantly, why Miss March had walked into that brothel.
She was not meant to be a prostitute. She spoke well, had impeccable manners, and was raised a vicar's daughter. The thought of her even now leading a man into a room, to do.... “Christ.” The vision was not a pleasing one. Pushing that thought aside, he concentrated on Lady Revel. She was his concern now, not Miss P. March and her occupation. Whatever that may be.
Poppy knew he was watching her, Lord whatever his name was. Lord Dangerous, she would call him, but only in her head. He had been softly spoken in the Hen and Duck, and she'd thought him slight of build, but then he'd stood and she'd seen that in fact he was big, with broad shoulders. His dark hair was slightly too long, eyes intelligent, and dressed in that black coat he'd appeared big and forbidding.
Poppy had obviously seen noblemen before, but had spoken to only a few, and none like him, Lord Dangerous. There was a calmness about him that she thought a façade. A stillness that was almost unsettling. But all that had changed when she'd annoyed him.
Entering the brothel, Poppy suppressed the shudder. She loathed the place and everything it stood for. But most of all she hated him, the man who seemed to know when she arrived. Lord Kinsale. Lord, she hoped he had not come here tonight.
Poppy hurried past the women, all dressed in low-cut gowns of silk and satin edged with lace and feathers. She called out greetings, which most answered, but ignored the men who watched her as she walked.
She hated the men who came here. They leered at her, and some tried to engage her in conversation, but none were like Lord Kinsale. He touched her, and had once cornered her and kissed her. She'd spent five minutes washing her mouth that evening.
Reaching the second floor, she opened her cupboard and hung up her hat and bonnet, then removed her gloves. Dragging out her cleaning things, she headed for her first room of the night.
“Hello, what do we have here? Is it my sweet Miss March?”
She didn't let him see her fear, instead carried on doing what she needed to. But she was braced and ready should he touch her.
“Playing coy again, Miss March?”
“No, I am merely a cleaner who is not interested in what you are proposing, Lord Kinsale.” Poppy lifted her mop and wielded if before her, and the man backed away.
“With that body, you could make a fortune, my sweet. But I want you for myself, and I will have you, Miss March. Many different ways.”
“You know nothing about my body, nor will you ever lay another hand on me, you foul man.”
He lunged at her. Taller than her by a few inches, and with considerable body weight, he had her pinned to the wall in seconds. His breath rasped into her ear as he ground his hips into hers.
“I'll have you, Miss March. You've become something of a challenge for me and I love a challenge.”
He released her, but not before his hand ran over her breasts.
Poppy was still clasping the mop so she swung it at him. It connected with his arm. He simply smiled and grabbed it, jerking it from her hands to throw it to the ground. He then walked away.
Poppy felt ill, as if something nasty were crawling all over her flesh. Inhaling several times, she got herself under control. Lord Kinsale could not hurt her; she had to believe that.
Making her way to the third floor, she tapped on a door, and then entered when called.
“Hello, Miss March.”
“Miss Saffron.”
“Clean the floors in my bathing room, please, and then tidy my bedroom and change the sheets.”
“At once.”
She looked to where Charlie sat to Miss Saffron's left. He gave her a nod and followed it up with a smile of encouragement.
Charlie had grown up in the same village as Poppy. They'd been schooled together and played on the village green. She'd seen him the day Lord Revel had dismissed her, and he had offered to help her if she could not secure work. After the initial shock had worn off that sweet-faced Charlie Mallory was now working in a brothel, she'd acknowledged that a person must do what they must in London to survive. He hadn't hesitated to help her by getting her the cleaning position when she could not secure work herself. Of course, it helped he was also intimate with Miss Saffron, the brothel's owner. Once that would have shocked Poppy to her toes; now it did not. Life in London had opened her eyes to a great many things, and not all of them were good. He had said he would keep an eye on her, and for the most he did, but there were times when she was trapped in a hallway with a man and only her wits to help her escape.
“Are you sure I cannot convince you to work for me in another capacity, Miss March? You really are extraordinarily beautiful, and your body would earn both of us a great deal of money.”
Poppy’s guess was Miss Saffron was close to forty years of age. Tall and lithe, she was a woman who had confidence in herself. Her clothes may be neat and no different from any lady on the street, and her golden hair always immaculate, but there was something about her that made men look. A sensuality she had never seen in another. Poppy had been downstairs once when Miss Saffron appeared at the top of the stairs, and the men had been drawn to her like bees around a honey pot.
“No indeed, but I thank you for the offer.”
Miss Saffron sighed and waved Poppy away. Noddin
g to her and Charlie, Poppy carried her bucket and mop into the room and started cleaning.
Lord Dangerous slipped back into her head. He'd made her babble. Like Miss Saffron, there was something about him that drew a person in. Power, yes, but there was more. Poppy could imagine him in the ballrooms of society, his dark hair glittering under the chandeliers, wide shoulders encased in an elegantly tailored jacket, legs in evening trousers and large feet in polished shoes. He would have women falling over themselves to attract his attention, she was sure.
“He is helping you, Poppy,” she reminded herself as she slapped the mop onto the floor, “and nothing else matters.” It was not important that he made her pulse flutter, or her palms tingle, or that she could still feel where his fingers had touched her through the sleeve of her dress. Lady Revel was her only concern now.
Two years, she had worked for her, and in that time they had become friends. She had learned much from the older woman, and relished the days spent with her. They had argued and laughed, and Poppy missed her dreadfully. Something was wrong, but she would see that it was righted if it was the last thing she did—which, if she was honest, it could be. It was very worrying that someone was trying to harm her, but she could not step off the course she had set. Lady Revel needed rescuing, and Poppy would see she was.
She worked for three hours. Backbreaking work that had her hauling linen and buckets upstairs. Work that exposed her to naked flesh. She saw women's breasts and men's bottoms, and it was proof of how tired she was that after three weeks, no sight shocked her anymore.
Her parents would be horrified if they knew what she was doing, and she battled back the tears that thinking of her home always induced.
When family friends had offered to take her to London for a visit, Poppy had leapt at the chance, and her father had agreed. If she secured work and lodgings that her companions were happy with, she could stay; if not, she must return with them. She had found work immediately with Lady Revel, and for a while, her life had been all she’d hoped it would be.
Lord Dangerous had asked why she had not gone home after losing her position, and she'd told him the reason was due to the number of children in her parents’ household, which was only partly true. Failure was to Poppy a bitter pill that she had no wish to swallow. Going home with her tail between her legs was not an option. Pride was a terrible thing, she thought, opening the side door to the brothel and slipping out. Looking around, she saw no sign of Lord Kinsale. The man worried her; she'd be lying if she said otherwise. It was pride that kept her going each day, pride and the knowledge that if she returned home her eldest brother would say “I told you so,” and that would never do.
