by Never A Lady
She drew a deep breath, noting the pleasant scent of his shaving soap.
“I continue to see a wish for retribution, a deep need to right wrongs done against you. A need to prove yourself. To show people, one person from your past in particular, that you’re a force to be reckoned with. I predict more wealth in your future, but also great sorrow. And profound loneliness.”
“I see. Tell me, do you think there is a chance that I can change my future? Do something now that will prevent this profound loneliness you predict?”
“I’m certain that if you want companionship, you’ve only to say so, and you’ll be surrounded by people.”
“True. But I’m more interested in quality than quantity. For example, I’d prefer to spend my time with one woman who interests me than with a dozen who bore me.” With his gaze steady on hers, he said softly, “You interest me, Madame.”
Before she could reply, he reached out and lightly brushed a single fingertip across her cheek. His touch was warm and gentle, and although unexpected, not at all unpleasant. “Mr. Jennsen—”
“Logan.”
“I’m very flattered,” she said, meaning it sincerely. “But—”
“No buts,” he said, shaking his head. “I just want you to know that I find you…refreshing. Much more so than these Society diamonds I’m surrounded by. You don’t put on false airs. I come from dirt-poor beginnings and am far more attracted to someone like you, whose nose isn’t in the clouds and hasn’t had everything handed to her by a butler.”
“You barely know me.”
“And you barely know me, which is something I’d like, very much, to rectify.”
“Some of those Society diamonds are actually very nice.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But that doesn’t change the fact that I still want to get to know you better.”
“Logan,” she said gently, “I’m married.”
His dark gaze narrowed. “Are you? I’ve some experience with women, and you don’t have the ‘look’ of a married woman about you.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she struggled to remain outwardly poised. “I beg your pardon?”
He leaned forward, pinning her with his compelling gaze. “I think you use ‘Madame’ for effect in your fortune-telling. And because it affords you freedoms you wouldn’t have as an unmarried woman—such as coming to my home unescorted—as well as a buffer between you and any unwanted suitors. I admire your ingenuity. It’s precisely what I would do in your position.”
Nonplussed, she managed to hold his gaze while debating how to best answer his allegation. Before she could decide however, he continued, “I also suspect you’re not married because I cannot imagine a man being fortunate to have you yet allowing another man to see you home from the soirees you attend. If you were mine, I’d damn well escort you home myself and not leave the job to Lord Sutton or anyone else.”
Her insides fluttered at the mention of Lord Sutton, a reaction she hid by hoisting a brow. “Perhaps not all men are as possessive as you.”
“When it comes to their women, all men are possessive. Unless, of course, the relationship is an unsatisfying or unhappy one. So, Madame, am I right? Allow me to assure you that if you confirm my suspicions, I will tell no one.”
Part of her warned that to admit the truth was very unwise, that once a secret was told it was no longer a secret. Also, telling him would only serve to encourage his attentions. And she didn’t want that.
Did she?
The attentions of a fabulously wealthy, incredibly handsome, intelligent man? her inner voice whispered, incredulous. Are you mad? What woman wouldn’t want such a man’s attention?
Yet how could she take such a risk?
“Please know,” he said, when she continued to hesitate, “that I’ll allow you to dictate how far our relationship does or does not progress. And keep in mind that I’ve neither a strong desire to remain a bachelor nor a lofty title that must be protected from anyone not of the upper echelons of English Society.” Reaching out, he lightly clasped her hand. “At the very least, I would like to offer you my friendship and have yours in return.”
An image of Lord Sutton flashed in her mind…a man who could never, would never be hers. Logan Jennsen was not only extremely attractive, he was available. And perhaps just what she needed to help her forget Lord Sutton.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m…intrigued.”
A slow, half smile curved his lips. “And hopefully tempted.”
Unable to deny it, she nodded. Then reached a compromise with her conscience. “I am. Enough to admit that I can think of no one who would object to me forming a friendship with you.”
He smiled with genuine pleasure. “Not an admission that you’re not married, but still, the best news I’ve heard in a long time.” He lifted her hand to press a kiss to her fingertips, and heat kindled in his eyes. “Friendship is a very good place to start.”
After returning home from her extraordinary meeting with Logan, Alex locked the door, then, with her heart pounding, peered out the window at the street below. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been watching her, yet nothing appeared amiss.
Moving away from the window, she removed her spencer and bonnet, then paced, willing herself to focus on Logan, a man who wanted her and was free to do so, but her mind stubbornly kept drifting back to Lord Sutton. And the extraordinary kiss they’d shared.
Nothing in her experience had prepared her for him and that devastating kiss. Everything she knew of what occurred between men and women she’d observed on London’s streets. Secretive assignations in back alleys, marked by animal grunts and rough sounds, grasping hands and harsh language. Such sights and sounds were impossible to escape, and they’d left her certain that in spite of her natural curiosity and the whispered yearnings of her own body, the actual act—or anything leading up to it—was nothing of which she wanted to partake.
But those few glorious minutes in his arms had stunned and delighted yet confused her. What she’d felt in no way resembled the hastily performed lewd acts she’d witnessed. With that single kiss, he’d opened up floodgates she hadn’t fully realized were closed. She’d tasted and touched. And now she wanted more.
Why, oh why, if she were going to have such feelings, such yearnings, couldn’t they be directed toward someone who didn’t orbit in a social class so far above hers as to be completely out of reach? Someone who wasn’t looking for a wife—a fine lady of impeccable breeding. A woman who could never be her.
For her own peace of mind, she should avoid seeing him, stay far away, not put herself close to a temptation she wasn’t certain she could resist. Concentrate on someone else, perhaps like Logan Jennsen. But how could she, when Lord Sutton occupied every corner of her mind?
Unfortunately, avoiding him, at least at present, was impossible. She couldn’t give up her fortune-telling income from the parties he’d doubtless be attending while searching for his wife—she needed the money too badly. She and Emma had plans for Robbie and all the other children—children whose lives were as wretched as hers had once been. She wanted, needed to help them, and she couldn’t just throw away everything she’d worked for, everything that was finally within her reach because of some ridiculous infatuation with a man who next week undoubtedly wouldn’t recall her name.
Of course, Logan Jennsen was a rich man—
She cut off the thought before it could take root. Damnation, pursuing a man because of his money was no better than stealing, and she was no longer a thief. And neither was she for sale. There was no doubt in her mind that if she secured funds from Logan for her cause, he’d expect payment—of a sort she wasn’t willing to give. No, she would earn her money telling fortunes and retain her soul and dignity in the process.
But as for Lord Sutton…there was also the matter of the danger she’d read in his cards. She couldn’t simply walk away from that without trying to determine if she was correct. If today’s reading didn’t indicate t
he danger and betrayal she’d previously seen, she’d avoid further temptation and not schedule any more private readings with him, regardless of how much he offered to pay. But if the readings were the same, she’d at least have to try to help him. Attempt to figure out the who, where, and when of whatever threatened him. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.
Hopefully today’s reading would show nothing but a bright sunny future filled with a lovely wife and scads of children. Then she could walk away and forget she’d ever met him. Rededicate her energies to building a future for the lost, broken angels of London’s mean streets. Allowing Lord Sutton to kiss her had been a mistake. An aberration. One she would no longer dwell upon and one that she certainly wouldn’t repeat.
Filled with resolve, she checked the time. Noting it was after two o’clock, she quickly refreshed herself. Emma had already filled the knapsack Alex was to deliver before she’d left to sell her oranges hours ago. After slipping on her gloves, Alex was about to reach for the knapsack when she heard the familiar muffled squeak of the trapdoor opening. Moving across the room, she pushed back the curtain and watched Robbie climb into the room. Relief swamped her. The child hadn’t slept here last night, and even though he didn’t come every night, she’d still been concerned.
After closing the trapdoor, he stood and looked at her through grave eyes. “Miss Alex,” he said. His bottom lip trembled, then he dashed across the room and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her skirt.
She hugged him tightly, then crouched so she could look him in the eyes. “Are you all right, Robbie?” she asked, her gaze sweeping over him, afraid to hear his answer. His bruises had faded to a dull yellowish green, and she saw no evidence of new ones. Thank God.
He wiped his nose on his sleeve and nodded. “Are ye and Miss Emmie all right?”
“Of course. Except for being worried about you.” She brushed back a lock of unkempt hair from his forehead and offered him a smile that she prayed hid the ache in her heart he always inspired. “We missed you last night.”
“I tried to come, but I couldn’t.”
Alex’s jaw tightened. She knew what that meant. His father hadn’t been drunk enough to pass out and not notice the child’s absence.
He hung his head and scuffed the toe of his dirty, worn shoe. “Couldn’t get here ’til now to see if ye were all right.” He lifted his head. “Ye swear ye’re fine?”
“I swear. Miss Emmie, too. Why would you think we weren’t?”
“’Cause o’ the man wot were here when I came yesterday. Right in this room, Miss Alex. Caught ’im, I did, when I came fer an orange.” His expression turned fierce. “Told ’im I’d gut ’im if he hurt ye.”
She stilled. “A man? Here? What did he want?”
“He asked about ye. Gave me a bob, ’e did, but don’t worry, I outsmarted ’im and didn’t tell him nuthin’.”
“A bob? That’s a grand amount,” she said lightly, trying to hide her alarm. Dear God, had Lord Malloran’s killer somehow discovered she’d written the note and tracked her down? “Did you recognize this man?”
Robbie shook his head. “Fancy bloke, he were. Rich. Tried to give me less, but I knew he could afford more.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in a dirty piece of cloth, which he held out to her. “Bought meself a sweet roll. I saved half for ye and Miss Emmie. To say thanks fer”—he scuffed the toe of his shoe again—“well, ye know. I know how ye like sweets.”
A lump tightened Alex’s throat, and it felt as if her chest caved in. There was no mistaking the pride in his voice. Since refusing his gift—one he could ill afford to give—would crush him, she solemnly accepted the bundle, understanding his need to show gratitude. “Thank you, Robbie. This is the finest gift I’ve ever received. Miss Emmie and I will eat it with our tea.” She carefully set down the precious bundle, then rested her hands on his thin shoulders. “Tell me more about this man. What did he look like?”
Robbie scrunched up his face to consider. “Bloke had fine clothes and dark hair. Tall, he was, and wide.” He spread his arms to demonstrate. “But not fat, mind ye. Just…big. Strong. Picked me right up by me collar he did.”
Anger jolted through her. “He hurt you?”
“Nah. Fought him off I did. He was scary, but not half as scary as my pa. Tried to stare me down, but I didn’t let him.” His face puckered again. “Bloke had real green eyes. Greener than I’ve ever seen before.”
Alex froze. Green eyes? Realization clicked into place, and anger erupted inside her, leaving her feeling like a teakettle about to spew steam. There was no doubt in her mind as to the identity of this green-eyed rich bloke. No wonder she’d sensed someone watching her! He’d followed her. Then invaded her home. Her privacy. Her sanctuary. The children’s sanctuary. The ramifications made her head spin.
“He saw me come up through the trapdoor, Miss Alex,” Robbie said in a small, watery voice, jerking her attention back to him. In spite of all he’d gone through, she’d never once seen him cry, but he appeared on the verge of doing so now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She stopped his words with a gentle finger to his quivering lips. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Robbie. I’m certain that, thanks to your description, I know who the man is.”
“Is he a…bad man?”
She forced a smile. “No. So you’re not to worry. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”
Colin watched her building from the same shadowed doorway where he’d stood yesterday. When his quarry finally appeared, she held a knapsack that looked identical to the one she’d carried yesterday.
He followed her to the same building as yesterday, where she entered The Broken Barrel and emerged shortly afterward without the knapsack. She then walked in the direction of Mayfair, presumably to his town house for their appointment.
“What’s the plan?” came a deep whisper from directly behind him.
He whipped around and found himself staring at Nathan. “Bloody hell,” he hissed. “Where did you come from?”
Nathan cocked a brow. “Our mother’s womb, same as you. Do you require a lesson on where babies come from?”
Damn. How had he managed to forget what a bloody pest Nathan could be? Or how light on his feet. Still, it unsettled him that Nathan had been able to sneak up on him so effectively. Didn’t bode well for his success. “What are you doing here?”
“The exact question I was about to ask you.”
“If I’d wanted you to know, I would have bloody well told you.”
“Which you clearly weren’t going to do, which is why I was forced to take matters into my own hands and follow you.” A smug look crossed his face. “Seems I haven’t lost my touch for covert dealings. You, on the other hand, are apparently a bit rusty.”
Colin didn’t bother to answer. He wasn’t certain if he were more annoyed at himself for not detecting Nathan’s presence or Nathan for his interference. “We’ll discuss this later. Go home.”
“Yes, we most certainly shall discuss this later. As for going home, if you think I’m going to leave, you’re sadly mistaken. So just tell me the plan. Who was that woman and why are you following her?”
Damn it, why couldn’t he have been an only child? Realizing there was no escaping his brother, he said in a terse undertone, “Later. Right now, time is short. I want to find out what she did in that building. I’m not expecting her to return, but as long as you’re here, you can make yourself useful and be a lookout. If you see her approaching, give me the clear-out signal.”
“All right.”
Colin approached the building, noting the shabby exterior, the façade missing a number of bricks. The three abandoned storefronts looked deserted, but he suspected that life teemed behind the rough boards barring the entrances.
He opened The Broken Barrel’s scarred wooden door and entered the dim interior. The sour smell of stale drink and unwashed bodies assailed him. St
anding just inside the doorway, he looked around, noting the warped benches and worn tables. Two men hunched over mugs in the far corner looked at him through narrowed eyes, clearly assessing their chances of relieving him of his purse. With his gaze steady on the duo, he slowly reached down and pulled the knife secreted in his boot up several inches, so the gleaming silver hilt was plainly visible. The men exchanged a look with each other, then shrugged and went back to their drinks.
Satisfied, he approached the bar, behind which stood a bald-headed giant of a man who wiped the dull wooden surface with a dirty-looking rag and regarded him with a suspicious glare. “Ale?” the giant asked.
“Information.”
“I don’t know nuthin’.”
Colin reached into his pocket and laid a gold sovereign on the bar.
“Might know sumthin’,” the barkeep muttered with a shrug of his massive shoulders.
Resting one elbow on the edge of the bar, Colin leaned closer, ostensibly to talk confidentially, but his gaze swept over the area behind the bar. A knapsack sat in the corner. “The woman who was just here—what did she give you?”
The man’s eyes narrowed to slits. Setting his ham-sized fists on the bar, he leaned forward until his nose, which had clearly been broken at least once, nearly touched Colin’s. “I don’t know nuthin’.” He then leaned back and stared at Colin with a frosty glare clearly meant to freeze him where he stood.
Keeping his gaze steady on the man’s mud-colored eyes, Colin nodded toward the corner behind the bar. “That knapsack tells me otherwise.”
“Who the hell are ye, and why do ye want to know?”
“I’m a…friend who’s concerned about her.”
“Yeah? Well, now I’m concerned—that a fancy toff like you is askin’ about her and sumthin’ that’s none o’ yer business.”
Colin set another gold coin on the bar. “Why was she here? What’s in that bag?”
The man picked up the two coins then reached out and slipped them back into Colin’s pocket. “Yer money’s no good here. But let me give ye a bit o’ advice—for free. Stay away from her. If I find out ye’ve been botherin’ her, ye’ll have Jack Wallace to deal with.” He made a fist and thumped it into his open palm. “And ye won’t find it a pleasant experience, m’lord.”
