But there was the fear.
The thought of childishly smearing paint on a canvas and playing “artist” made him shudder. Pride made him long to see one last creation of his own hands come together—but not just any creation. It would have to be the best painting he’d ever done. The culmination of years and one last painting to defy the gods and give him a final assurance that he hadn’t wasted his life in the pursuit of beauty.
He’d sacrificed so much to have the chance to hone his talents and find his own path. He’d rebelliously refused to study the masters abroad, stubbornly sure that an Englishman could learn to paint just as well anywhere he wished—even if that meant staying in Devonshire.
Not that the decision wasn’t motivated at the time by my empty purse and a—
A scream captured his attention, and he wheeled in the direction of the sound. A young woman was kicking out so violently there was a flash of white from her petticoats that even he couldn’t miss in his fog. A man was gripping her from behind and now, with one arm around her rib cage and the other covering her mouth, he was struggling to haul her from the alley.
Clearly, the lady had other places she would rather go.
He didn’t hesitate. The assessment was lightning fast.
Woman in trouble. Stop the bastard.
He ran forward, rage building in him with each step. How dare you treat someone like that! She isn’t cattle and I’m not the man to turn a blind eye to whatever shit you’re trying to pull!
“This is none of your concer—” The man started to try to ward him off with an explanation, but Josiah didn’t allow him to finish. Josiah’s fist connected in a quick, firm strike, relying on the sound of the man’s voice and a moment of visual clarity to guarantee that he hit his target.
Josiah stepped back, instinctively angling himself in a boxer’s stance to make it harder for his opponent to attack him in return. Rutherford’s training kicked in seamlessly, and he kept his fist out of the man’s line of sight to give him the element of surprise if he needed to hit him again. “Unhand her.”
But the poor man already had, pain and shock working magic as he relinquished the woman so that he could cradle his face in his hands. “You bathard! You bwoke my nobe!”
“Did I?” Josiah smiled as if they’d just exchanged pleasantries. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d prefer a broken nose over a shattered kneecap. It would have been my first choice to incapacitate you, but I didn’t want to risk muddying the lady’s skirts.”
“You are inthane! Do you know herh?”
“No. Do you?” Josiah’s humor was bleeding away. One look at the pale and terrified face of his victim and the urge to punch the man again was almost overwhelming. “Go, sir, and mind that the next woman you touch gives you permission to do so.”
“Bathard!” The man spit out one last curse but gathered himself to stumble as quickly as he could to his waiting carriage. The nearness of it made Josiah’s heart race as he noted just how close the lady had come to disappearing into her attacker’s clutches.
“You … struck him.” It was less of an accusation than a statement, and he turned back to her—and London fell away.
Because there was no gray. In a world of fog and fleeting shadows that haunted his vision, she was color. A living, breathing pillar of all that his senses had longed for—a muse of beauty that defied science and logic. Her hair was copper bright, with thick, luxurious corkscrew curls. She blinked back tears, and he knew he’d found the inspiration that had eluded him. She was a flash of fire and color that had him hypnotized. Large eyes a shade of green that defied description made his knees feel weak.
“I did. I thought it prudent to strike first and apologize later if necessary.” Josiah did his best to keep his voice level, aware that the lady might bolt like a frightened sprite at any sudden movement or noise. She was vibrating in a delayed reaction to the trauma of nearly being kidnapped, and the last thing he wanted was to add to her difficulties. “Was he an acquaintance?”
She shook her head, staring at him like an apparition, then managed, “His sister … a customer, he said. But I never … saw him in the shop. I never … met him.”
“It’s no matter.” He looked at her and marveled that such a creature existed in London in the bleakest heart of winter, and he’d had the luck to finally see beauty again. “You’re safe now.”
She nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t—I have to return. Madame Claremont—oh my!”
“Come let me escort you back.” He held out his arm, and she took it as carefully as if he were made of glass. As he walked, he counted his steps and doorways so that he’d be able to find this place again if he needed to. It was a new habit, this counting, but he’d learned the hard way that he couldn’t always look for landmarks to find his way. In this instance, the trick wasn’t necessary. They didn’t go very far, and he realized that she’d come from the back door of the dress shop on the corner.
Her hair had started to fall in a tangled mass down her back, and as they stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the delivery door, she reached her hand up to try to restore her chignon.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“I am … fine. Thank you.”
“Please allow me to—”
“I must return to the shop. I have so much work to do. I’m sure Madame Claremont will wonder what has happened and …” She took an unsteady step back but waved off his offered hand. “I’m sure she’ll be shocked to hear …”
Without another glance at him, she walked woodenly up the steps and went inside, no doubt composing how best to break the news to Madame Claremont that one of her customer’s brothers was a notorious villain and should be banned from the shop.
Damn. I didn’t even get her name!
Josiah watched her go and shook his head. The man’s carriage had been openly waiting in front of the shop, and he had no illusions about how the drama had been orchestrated.
Which means her day is about to go from bad to worse.
Chapter
3
Eleanor felt numb as she walked back into the shop, swallowing a strange hiccup at the surreal turns of her mind. That handsome man broke Mr. Perring’s nose and I forgot to ask his name. I should have thanked him or said something—but I … He was like a panther striking out of nowhere.
She walked past the workrooms, starting to shiver.
“Eleanor?” Maggie asked from the sewing room door, and began trailing after her. “Are you all right?”
Eleanor ignored her, unable to stop her feet.
“Madame Claremont!” Eleanor rushed to her employer’s side, clutching at the woman’s arm. “You cannot imagine what has happ—”
Madame Claremont slapped her hands away in disgust. “What are you doing in the showroom in such disrepair? Where is Mr. Perring?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I … He … left.”
“He left?” Madame Claremont asked, the alarm in her voice making Eleanor grateful for a fleeting instant before she realized that the woman had asked for Mr. Perring before the story had been told. And then Madame Claremont continued speaking, and all her illusions of an ally began to melt away. “If he left, it’s because you offended him!”
“I offended him? Madame, he tried to—he meant to …” Eleanor choked on the words, tasting bile as the twist in the conversation sank in. She knew. She’s angry. And not at Mr. Perring, but at me!
“Don’t be stupid! He’s a catch the others would have scratched your face to get their hands on, and when he said he fancied you, I knew even you would see the opportunity of it. Side work is the easiest work there is, girl, so don’t you dare stand there with your eyes agog and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!” The woman seized Eleanor’s elbow, her fingers like talons. “Now, what happened?”
It was as if the walls were closing in. “He cornered me in the storeroom. He tried to drag me out of the alley and I … kicked and … he … he br
oke his nose … but …”
“Out!”
“W-what?” It was a nightmare that had no ending.
“Out with you!” Madame Claremont propelled her back down the hall toward the storeroom and the alley door. “Useless baggage! Too good to spread your legs, are you? Too good to take a simple poke and allow a gentleman to pay for the privilege? You think you can insult me when I provide you the means to a good living? Well, we’ll see how high and mighty you are when your ass lands in the poor house, won’t we?”
She didn’t fight at all, shock and horror helping to speed along her unexpected exit from the shop. It all happened in a fog. Somewhere Maggie was crying and shoving Eleanor’s wool wrap into her unfeeling hands while Madame Claremont’s vulgar screeching went on, and all she could think about was how strange it was to be propelled not once but twice in one day out the same door.
He’d positioned himself to watch the front of the shop, allowing that if she didn’t come out of either the front door or the alley in a few minutes, he would go in and rescue the lady. He was nervous, because he didn’t completely trust his senses and he didn’t want to miss his chance.
His wait was all too brief, and once again, it seemed he could have just used his ears and lucked onto the scene. There was a flurry in the alley, accented by an older woman’s screech of dismissal and the slamming of a door, heralding the inevitable. He jogged back down the alley to find her sitting forlornly on the steps, clutching a wool wrap. He’d have thought her a sad little blackbird, if not for the blaze of her copper hair and the sheen in her emerald green eyes. In a world of gray pigeons, she looked to him like a bird of paradise. Here was a miracle too spectacular to ignore!
“I take it Madame Claremont wasn’t shocked?” He knelt on the back of his heels at the bottom of the steps, wary of frightening her off.
She shook her head.
“She dismissed you?”
This time the ruby curls bobbed as she nodded. Finally she spoke. “I’m a fool.”
“You aren’t a fool.”
Fire flashed behind the green, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of it. She was so crystal clear to him, and he couldn’t tell why; Josiah wasn’t even sure he wanted to know why. He just didn’t want to stop looking at her, and lose his chance to see color again.
“She dismissed me because I … offended her customer! She actually expected me to—” Her cheeks darkened in embarrassment, and she was clearly unwilling to even give voice to the unseemly proposition of Madame Claremont and her client. “There was no side work! The other girls knew, and probably … oh my! Margaret was about to warn me and I was so distracted. …”
Her composure was starting to give way, and Josiah sensed that any woman who possessed her courage was entitled to a grand case of hysterics. She is probably overdue, so this might be tricky.
“May I have your name?” She stiffened, so he immediately added, “I’ve broken a man’s nose on your behalf and it seems strange not to at least know your name.”
“I am Eleanor Beckett.” A single tear escaped down her cheek, and Josiah’s hands clenched into fists at the amazing beauty of it, but also to prevent himself from reaching for her inappropriately to wipe it away.
“Miss Beckett.” He kept as still as he could, trying not to frighten her. “I am Josiah Hastings, and at your service.” Josiah held out his handkerchief. “Here.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to cry, Mr. Hastings. I am not the kind of woman to dissolve into useless tears.”
“I see.” He tucked the embroidered square of linen back into his pocket and tried not to smile. “Does Madame Claremont owe you wages?” He was hoping that the focus on practical matters might anchor her for a few minutes more.
He could see the panic in her face, but she said nothing. So he tried repeating the question as gently as he could. “Does she owe you wages?”
She shook her head slowly, but the tears began to flow silently. “I had hoped yesterday … I worked so hard … but no. …”
“You’re certain?”
The tears turn into a torrent. “I … had to buy … the red velvet. … Mrs. Carlisle … wouldn’t … There wasn’t time … to finish. … She deducted it … but I …” It was mostly incomprehensible in between the hiccups and sobs, but he was able to gather that the poor thing was falsely indebted to her employer. This time when he held out his handkerchief, she took it without hesitation. “I’ve left the red velvet inside. … Now I’ve nothing … to show for my … labors.”
“Come, Miss Beckett. You must get out of the cold.” He escorted her out to the street and raised his hand to bring a hackney carriage to the curb. He addressed the driver and held up a sovereign to make sure he had the man’s attention. “The lady will wait inside your carriage while I attend to some business within. Please see that she is safe in your keeping until I come back, yes?”
“Aye, captain! You can count on John!” The coin disappeared into his coat pocket and he winked to seal the contract. “I’m your man!”
Josiah offered her a hand up, but she hesitated, eyeing him with some suspicion.
“I cannot … afford to pay you back for a carriage, Mr. Hastings,” she said.
He shook his head. “I don’t need repayment. But I do need you to wait here while I see to this. A few minutes, Miss Beckett, and I’ll return. Promise me that you’ll wait here inside the carriage where it’s warm.”
She nodded slowly and accepted his help up into the carriage. “I’ll wait, if only to continue a debate on the impossibility of accepting your charity, Mr. Hastings.”
“I look forward to it.” He touched his hat and shut the carriage door to make his way back up the walk and up into Madame Claremont’s lovely establishment.
His hesitation at the door had nothing to do with his conviction about Miss Beckett’s cause, but everything to do with an attempt to summon the bravado of days gone by. Rowan was right. He’d once been as cavalier and worldly as any man walking, mocking Galen’s dark moods and accepting any dare that Ashe had tossed out. But those days were gone.
Come on, Hastings. You remember the game! We’ll play the lord and give this wicked creature a taste of humble pie.
He straightened his spine and walked in as bold as brass.
“Ah! May I help you … sir?” A portly woman in black came forward briskly, her tone changing from solicitous to suspicious in a single breath.
Damn. I really do need a new coat if even this bird is being put off.
“Madame Claremont?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve come to collect Miss Beckett’s red velvet gown and, of course, any wages you owe her in good faith.” He heard a squeak of surprise from one of the other shop girls and thought he saw a bit of movement at the back of the showroom, but he didn’t dare look away from his opponent. “Now.”
The woman snorted in disbelief. “Miss Beckett’s red gown?”
“I gather you deducted the cost of it from her wages, so that would make it hers.” He folded his arms, settling in for the argument. “If you cannot produce the gown, then I’ll expect her wages in full. It’s a simple matter of math, isn’t it?”
“And—who are you to Miss Beckett?”
He didn’t even blink, giving her his coldest look. “It should give you pause, madame, that Miss Beckett may not be alone in the world and may not now be without resources. I am a wealthy and eccentric man, and whatever my relation to Miss Beckett, I recommend you pray that it’s not too sentimental an attachment or I may forgo giving you this opportunity to settle your accounts amicably with the young lady and, instead, contact my solicitor and the authorities.”
“Wealthy?” The snort returned with a bit less force, but the woman held her ground. “What man of substance quibbles over a shop girl’s meager wages?”
“One with a distaste for bullies and a determination to see that you recall the day before you try to press another young girl into your service. My name
is Josiah Hastings.” He lowered his voice, the calm far more menacing than if he’d bellowed. “Don’t let the state of my coat fool you, Madame Claremont. Mind your manners and obey your betters, or I’ll take pleasure in what will follow when I call in the watch.”
The woman’s mouth fell open before she could close it, a fish out of water. “M-Maggie! The red opera gown! Bring it!”
He relaxed his stance and even pretended to admire a few of the dresses she had on display. The dim shop made it all colorless and lifeless to him, but he was enjoying the awkward presence of Madame Claremont as she tried to decide how best to get him appeased and out of her shop before another customer arrived.
“It’s quite an expensive gown, sir. She didn’t make enough to pay for it and I had planned to withhold her wages for the rest of the month as well. Naturally, if you’ll pay the balance, she can have the gown. I didn’t mean to quarrel with you, but you can understand I cannot absorb the cost for a girl I have just let go.”
He ignored her and turned one of the hats on its display stand. “I don’t care.”
“I don’t know who you are or what she’s told you, but the girl is quite spoiled and prone to lies.”
“Is she?” He turned back to the woman. “A liar, you say?”
“Here is the dress, Madame Claremont.” Maggie interrupted the exchange, handing the dress directly to Josiah and betraying that she was well aware of the subject at hand and her own position on the matter. “Is Eleanor all right? I also brought out her reticule. Miss Beckett left it in the drawer by the sewing machine and I know it’s her favorite.”
She held out the small beaded bag, but Madame Claremont moved quickly to make her claim, glaring at the young girl. “I should see that she didn’t help herself to anything else!”
“Is Miss Beckett also a thief, then?” He grabbed the reticule from the greedy woman’s grasp. “You are a piece of work, woman. If so much as a farthing is missing from Miss Beckett’s purse, I’ll call the authorities and have you touted as the soulless flesh-peddler you aspire to be!”
Passion Wears Pearls Page 4
