by Wendy Vella
She sighed, her breath brushing his chin. She was light and felt ridiculously good in his arms. It was obviously time for Jacob to seek out another mistress. This woman was playing hell with his thoughts.
“I have plans to move as soon as I secure another position, but this is all I can afford at the present time.”
Jacob knew what his money afforded him, and it was times like this that he felt the weight of his birthright. The fact that he'd always had a full table, warmth, and a comfortable bed was something he often took for granted. Yes, he had other problems, but his basic needs were always well met.
“Put me down, please.”
“No, Patralina, I will not.”
“That is not a name.”
“I'm sure it is.”
“However, it is not mine, and I wish to stay here. There can be no possible reason for you to help me. I am no business of yours except as a client.”
All true, to be fair, but for some reason he was loath to leave her here alone and hurting in this small, cold room. Leave her with some money, Jacob thought.
“Let me help you.”
“No, I have no wish for your charity, or anyone else's for that matter. I am young and healthy and can care for myself.”
“Apparently not.”
Jacob would like to go a few rounds with whoever was responsible for her current condition, and he would when he found him.
She attempted to glare at him, but it was a pathetic attempt.
“It is hardly my fault someone is trying to dispose of me.”
The sound of footsteps had her tensing, and then she relaxed as a young man appeared in the doorway.
“Unhand her at once!”
The young man stepped into the room and glared at Jacob. Tall and thin, he had a head full of blond hair that fell straight, without an ounce of curl around his head. Eyes of blue were set in a pale, long face.
“He means me no harm, Niven.”
“He's holding you.” The man thrust out his jaw in a belligerent way.
“Put me down at once, my lord.”
He didn't want to, but as she was wriggling, Jacob lowered her to her feet.
“Now listen to me, Niven,” Miss March said, stepping between them. “This man is merely a... well he's a....”
“Friend,” Jacob supplied, taking pity on her. He wondered what that long brown coil of hair would feel like if he wrapped it around his fist.
“Friend, exactly, and when I did not arrive at our... ah....”
“Arranged meeting at the museum,” Jacob added.
“Yes, that.” She shot him a look, and he wondered if she knew she looked entirely rumpled and unkempt. In fact, she looked like she'd just got out of the bed behind her, that she'd possibly shared with him. Well, at least that's what he thought Niven was thinking. If the fool before her actually cared to look closer, he would also see the pain in her eyes.
Her coat was creased, and her boots were unlaced. Jacob wondered if she'd simply come home from her work and fallen into bed.
Was she a prostitute? No, her pride would never allow that, Jacob knew.
“Yes, and when Paisley did not turn up, I came looking for her, worried she was unwell,” Jacob said, seizing the opportunity to find out her name.
“Paisley? Who is Paisley, Poppy?”
“Forgive me, I meant Poppy. My dog is called Paisley. Sometimes I get confused,” Jacob lied smoothly. He was incredibly skilled at making up stories. Her name was Poppy. Jacob hadn't thought of that one, and yet now he did, it suited her.
“You never mentioned him?”
“Why would I?”
Poppy was growing irritated, exacerbated, Jacob was sure, by the pain in her fingers and head.
“Because you and I, we're—”
“Nothing but friends,” she interrupted him.
“Why was he holding you?”
The man had a belligerent look about him now that made Jacob's fingers twitch to smack it from his face. Stepping around Miss March, he instead put an end to the conversation.
“Mr.?”
“Hardy,” Niven reluctantly supplied.
“Mr. Hardy, Miss March and I are old friends, and as she has hurt her hand, I am taking her to see a doctor.”
“I'll take her home with me, and me ma will fix her up.”
“No, she needs a doctor. Now leave, and I shall see to it she visits one.”
“I—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Niven. I am not now, nor ever will I be more than a friend to you. Now be gone, if you please!” Poppy stepped between Jacob and Mr. Hardy.
Mr. Hardy glared at Jacob over her head before he turned and left without another word.
“I fear your brutal rebuff has cut him to the quick, Poppy.”
“He'll get over it, believe me, and my name is Miss March.”
“Ah, but it’s also Poppy, and I find I quite like that. It suits you.”
“Imagine how happy that makes me,” she muttered. “And I have said far harsher things to Niven before, and he never gives up. I fear only death or marriage will release me from his persistent admiration.”
Jacob sighed. “Just another poor besotted fool suffering unrequited love.”
“Do not make fun of me,” she snapped, attempting to glare at him, but as it was followed with a shiver, she merely looked more pathetic than she already did. “And you can follow him, my lord. Please leave so I may sleep.”
Jacob stopped her from walking past him by reaching for her hand. Without thinking, he grabbed her injured fingers. She screamed and then fainted. He caught her, swinging her up in his arms, then left the room, locking the door behind him.
Chapter Six
Poppy woke feeling nauseous. Opening her eyes, she found Lord Dangerous seated across from her.
“You g-grabbed my hand!”
“It was not deliberate, I assure you, Poppy. I simply reached for you, and am sorry to say, forgot about your damaged fingers. Forgive me.”
He looked as composed and handsome as he had the last time they met, while she lay sprawled inelegantly along the seat. His coat was dark blue this time.
“How many overcoats do you own?”
“Many.”
“How fortunate you are,” she muttered, feeling silly for raising the subject. He wore a pale blue woolen scarf knotted around his neck, and Poppy wondered if anything ruffled him, if anything had the power to unsettle him as it often did her.
“I am sorry I hurt you,” he said.
She managed to murmur a sound around the dryness in her throat. The man was ridiculously appealing when he smiled. She quickly sat upright. Lying down put her at a distinct disadvantage around him.
“I want to go home.”
“Do you really?”
She nodded slowly, as her head felt steadier, but she still could not shake it. Poppy had spent the last two days sleeping every minute she could and working with one hand. No one had noticed, as Charlie had not been around to see her, and no one else particularly cared. She was slower than normal, but had still managed to get everything done.
“Then I shall take you once you have visited the doctor.”
“I have no money for a doctor.”
“I do.”
“I'm not taking your money!” Outraged at the thought, Poppy sat up straighter. “I can never repay you, and I will be beholden to no one.”
“I'm sure we can find a way for you to repay me.”
His eyes were calm, but everything inside Poppy went cold.
“I will never do that!” Horrified, she slid along the seat toward the door. “How dare you suggest I do that!”
“I don't believe I suggested anything.”
He hadn't moved, just continued to watch her.
“Yes, you did, you thought I'd....” Poppy couldn't say the words.
“What do you do exactly at the brothel you work at?”
“How do you know I work in a brothel?” Shame washed over her. If her fami
ly ever had word how she was earning her money, and her place of employment, she would be dragged home forthwith.
“I watched from my carriage the other night until you were inside.”
“How dare you!”
He didn't speak, just sat there, waiting for her to talk. Poppy had never been able to sit still; it was an enviable trait as far as she was concerned. He sat there waiting for her to yield, as he knew she would. Because he was a nobleman and she was a nothing.
“I'm not telling you, just because you are of noble birth and I am not.”
That had him moving; he shook his head before resettling his eyes on her.
“That sentence made absolutely no sense, Poppy. Would you care to try again?”
“No, I would not, and my name is Miss March. I want you to let me out here, so I can return home.”
“You believe because I am a nobleman I am entitled to the answers to every question I ask of you?”
When put like that, it did sound silly, but the noblemen she'd met at the brothel seemed to have that attitude.
“It matters not. What matters is I'm not doing that... with you.” She felt the flush of heat fill her cheeks, but Poppy did not look away.
His dark brows lowered and his eyes narrowed as he moved to the edge of the seat, which brought him closer to her.
“That is insulting, and as you know nothing about me, I fail to see what right you have to make such a baseless accusation. Furthermore, what makes you believe that I would want to do that with you?”
“You kissed me.”
“A foolish mistake I assure you I will not repeat.”
“But why did you kiss me?”
“It seemed a good idea at the time, but it was not to lure you into my bed, I promise you.”
It seemed a good idea at the time. She had no idea what that meant. But he was right about one thing, she had been insulting, and rude, and why indeed would he want to do that with her? Lord, she'd just made a fool of herself, and all because he’d kissed her. In fact, he’d only ever tried to help her and she’d pushed his help aside.
“I'm sorry, I had no right to speak as I did, my lord. My only defense is that the last few weeks have not been easy, and while that is no excuse for the insults I just cast upon your person, or my ungrateful behavior, they are the reason.”
“I can see that life is not playing you a fair hand, Poppy—”
“Could I prevail upon you to call me, Miss March, my lord?”
She didn't like the sound of her name on his lips. It sounded intimate, which was silly, because the last time he had pronounced it, it was in a clipped tone, and who could blame him.
“I like Poppy, so I am using it.”
“That’s very high-handed of you.” For pity’s sake, Poppy, shut up, he is already angry.
“I'm a high-and-mighty lord, remember?”
She could almost believe she'd hurt him with her innuendoes.
“My name is Jacob, if you care to use it.”
“I— No, it would not be right for me to do so. I also have no need of a doctor, my lord, as I am already feeling much better, so perhaps you could tell me your news, and then I shall return home.”
“You need a doctor, Miss March.”
She managed a small smile at his correct use of her name.
“I will see one. There is a clinic two streets away, I shall be sure to attend it in the morning.”
“Can I ask you a question, Miss March?”
Poppy nodded instead of shaking her head, which was her first instinct.
“What do you do in the brothel?”
“You have already asked that question.”
“And yet you have not answered it.”
She understood why he asked the question then, realized with a flash of insight what he believed of her.
“Y-you believe that I would d-do that?”
His eyes didn't waver.
“I don't know you, Miss March, therefore I have no idea of your character.”
He was doing what she had done to him. Judging him for no other reason than appearance and circumstance.
“I am not a prostitute, my lord.”
“I am relieved.”
“Perhaps now you can tell me what news you have found out about Lady Revel?”
“I will, but first I want you to tell me what you are doing at the brothel.”
“Why, for heaven's sake?” Poppy let her frustration rise. “You don't need to know things about me. We are acquainted in a business capacity, and nothing more.”
“All true,” he acknowledged, “however I wish you would humor me, as I do have an end goal in sight.”
“I don't want to discuss this any further, therefore if you are not going to discuss the matter of Lady Revel, which incidentally is why I contacted you, then let me down.”
He folded his hands and settled back on the seat.
“Tell your driver to stop, please.”
He actually closed his eyes.
“For goodness sake.” Poppy huffed out a breath. “I am cleaning there, and fail to see what business that is of yours.”
His eyes opened. Astute as ever, they focused on her.
“You clean in a brothel. That can't be very pleasant.”
“Needs must, my lord. Now I have told you what you wish to know, so please do the same.”
He waved a hand about. “I will, but first tell me, do you read and write?”
“Of course. I helped my father a great deal.”
“Are you any good with calculations?”
Poppy nodded.
“Tell me, Miss March, do you like working in the brothel?”
She couldn't believe he was actually asking her that question. “Would you?”
“No, in fact I would rather eat lumpy porridge at every meal, but as I don't have to do either, we shall return to you.”
“I wish you would return to Lady Revel, as I am unsure where this is going.”
“Are you any good at keeping secrets, Miss March?”
“I have eight siblings, my lord, secrets in my household were the only privacy you got.”
His smile was a mere tilting of his lips, but still it did wonderful things to his already wonderful face. Poppy was sure there were any number of women in his circle that swooned and giggled when he smiled in their company.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Poppy didn't say anything, just watched him.
“The Lords of Night Street run their investigative services from a small office in Night Street. We have a man called Perkins who is our front man, and it is he who greets clients, but he is struggling to keep up with the administrative duties. I wonder if you would care to help him out until you are able to get another position as a companion?”
She hadn't expected that.
“It would mean you would come into contact with the other Lords of Night Street, but as you have assured me you can hold a secret, I see no problem there. There would also be clients, but as you don’t walk in society I’m sure that won’t be a problem for them or you, as you won’t see them again.”
Jacob watched the woman across from him grapple with his words. He saw the flare of hope in her lovely brown eyes. He'd stunned her into silence, not a common occurrence, he was sure.
“Miss March?”
“I am of course grateful, my lord, but I-I don't think I could.”
She wanted to though, Jacob knew that. A vicar's daughter was not raised to work in a brothel.
“Why?”
“Well... as to that, I am sure there are several valid reasons.”
“But you cannot think of any?” At least she was honest, Jacob thought as she shook her head. “My colleagues suggested I ask you, Miss March. The idea was not mine.”
“B-but they don't know me.”
“No, but I do.”
Her eyes widened. “Not very well, and to trust someone with something so secretive who would come in contact with delicate information, su
rely you are taking quite a risk.”
“I am an excellent judge of character, everyone says so.”
“Who says so?”
“Do you ever just accept things, Miss March?” Jacob found himself laughing again. The woman was infuriating. At least her color had returned, although she still looked drawn.
“No, I have always found it best to question things.” She frowned as the carriage slowed. “The carriage is stopping, my lord.”
“So it is. Come along then.”
“Come along where?”
Jacob stepped down and wondered again what it was about this woman that made him want to look after her. He’d hated seeing her in that tiny, cold room, alone and hurting. Hated that because of that bastard Lord Revel, she was forced into work at a brothel, as she could not secure work as a companion. Surely it would pass; perhaps he was simply feeling guilty as his position was so vastly different than hers. Or perhaps because she challenged him to look at the life he had always taken for granted.
“Into the house.”
He climbed down then turned to help her. Her good hand gripped his briefly and then released.
“Don't tarry, it's icy out here, and you have come out without your bonnet and gloves.”
“Not by choice, my lord.”
He had no answer for that.
“I'm not going anywhere else with you until you tell me why we are at present standing outside this large house.”
Her head was hurting her, her fingers no doubt ached, but she was not budging. He had to admire her for that. Not many people questioned Jacob, especially people like her.
“This is my house, and I am calling the doctor here at once to see to you.”
“I told you I would go to the clinic!”
She was glaring at him, her eyes shooting sparks.
“No need to now.”
She gave him a final glare, and Jacob thought he may have won, and then she turned and started walking the other way. He looked skyward—he thought snow was only minutes away—and wondered why his good deeds for this woman were constantly being rejected. Surely he was only doing what anyone else would? So why then was she refusing to yield?
She was halfway up the street by the time he caught her.
“Why will you not let me help you?”
He didn't attempt to stop her, just fell in beside her and kept pace.
