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Unlike Winton. The thought of Winton sparked a flame of annoyance. Barter for a kiss? She thought not. At least she had the span of a week to investigate Miss Devonshire before confronting him again. Perhaps Mr Goodworth would be there when she ventured back to Edith Avenue. He did seem a helpful, harmless man, no matter he lived on the streets. She certainly hoped he was in good health. He stood a full head taller than she and the breadth of his shoulders and manner that he purported himself did not immediately evoke thoughts of vagrancy. Not that she knew much concerning the deprivation, but the familiar complaints voiced by her brother described a different depiction than Mr Goodworth’s congenial disposition. When the man had smiled, it was as if she could see a whole different person inside the downtrodden exterior.
Oh, how her brother would condemn her sympathies and accuse her of romanticising the scourge of greater London. He held little tolerance for the poverty-stricken population.
The hackney slowed, caught in a muddle of traffic on Hart Street, and she turned her attention towards the sidewalk, where a string of shops and eateries bordered the roadway. Stalled for the time being, her gaze settled on a coffee house at the corner where she noticed with surprise Lady Sophie Daventry sitting behind the large glass window. This area, not far from Mayfair, proved safer for outings. The urge to talk to Sophie and perhaps form an alliance, or at the least a reassurance, took hold with such demand Gemma knocked on the driver’s box before she could think the better of it.
Gathering her skirts, she exited carefully and made her way towards the table where Sophie sat alone. As if Sophie expected someone, she caught her eye immediately, replacing an expression of surprise with a delayed smile. Gemma wove her way through the pedestrian traffic and walked to the side of an unoccupied chair.
‘Sophie, it’s good to see you. May I sit down? I have a matter of personal nature to discuss.’
Sophie motioned to an open place at the table. ‘I’m happy for the company. Do sit.’
She didn’t offer more and Gemma was too pleased at the opportunity to hesitate. As always, Sophie portrayed the startling beauty most men found irresistible although the sparkle of mischief and perhaps unharnessed impulsivity in her eyes alerted the stronger gender to proceed with caution.
Once niceties about the present coincidence were dispensed, Gemma delved into the heart of the matter. ‘I have wondered if you attend the Bardsleys’ card party for the same reasons I do or if you genuinely prefer to play Loo?’
Their eyes caught and Sophie seemed to assess Gemma’s worth, not in an untoward or disdainful way, more in the manner of a friend who is worried how much of a confidence to share and whom to regard as the right person.
‘I hope to discover information to help my family cope with a crisis, but I’d rather not divulge the details. Please understand.’
‘Oh, I do.’ Gemma shook her head in the positive. ‘I attend for the same reason, although my father’s death is public knowledge. I can’t help but feel something’s left untold, the dubious incident unsettled in my heart. My brother will not speak of it and Rosalind, my sister, will not speak at all.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Sophie’s cheerful smile dropped away. ‘Have you had any luck gaining clues? All I’ve discovered is that Lord Hodge studies my décolletage more than his cards and Lord Winton is as genuine as a clock with three hands.’
‘Indeed.’ Gemma’s brows raised high. ‘Winton promised me information in exchange for a kiss.’
‘He didn’t? That’s scandalous.’ Sophie’s eyes flared before she blinked several times. ‘I hope you told him to go straight to the devil.’
‘I didn’t, sadly, though I mentioned his information had no way to be proven and therefore didn’t warrant the boon. I think he believes himself irresistible. He proposed I wear a particular gown next Friday when I deliver the kiss simply because he favours the colour.’ She huffed a breath of impatience. ‘I could never be with a man who affects airs and regards others as insignificant, at call to do his bidding. Can you imagine?’ She tried her best to mimic his overbearing arrogance and the two ladies burst into giggles.
‘I had an interesting episode while exploring Charing Cross this afternoon.’ Gemma waited for Sophie’s reaction with the mention, anticipating shock and outrage. She wasn’t disappointed.
‘Good heavens! Charing Cross? You are more daring than I believed.’ Sophie took a long sip and folded, then refolded, her napkin. ‘You remind me of my dear friend, Vivienne Beaumont. Well, she’s Vivienne Sinclair with her recent marriage, but will always be Vivienne Beaumont to me.’ This explanation seemed to satisfy Sophie. ‘She knew what she wanted and went after it, boldly trespassing at the Underworld gaming hell and embracing a future of happiness. She recently married one of the proprietors. For a time she was truly lost, but her future couldn’t be brighter now.’
‘The Underworld? I don’t know of it.’ Gemma leaned closer, anxious to glean understanding.
‘Women are not supposed to know of it while men believe it one of London’s best-kept secrets, an exclusive club where every buck and nobleman wagers against their future inheritance. I haven’t visited myself although I’m told it’s one of the most popular indulgences; a dangerous place, full of enormous wagers, flowing liquor and a high disregard of society’s rules.’ She leaned closer now too. ‘And if I may confide in you, the Underworld is one of the last places my brother visited before abandoning London, so I’m absolutely desperate to get into this alleged hall of vice. It might provide the clues I need to find him, or at least, convince him to return home. Otherwise he’s abandoned London and fled with no trace of discovery.’
‘Oh.’ Gemma understood her friend’s dedication. ‘Thank you for your trust, Sophie. I have a sister who causes me concern. I know how awful it feels to carry the burden of familial discontent and the hopelessness that accompanies the situation.’
‘We have a lot in common then, don’t we?’ Sophie matched her candid stare.
‘We do.’
They sat in companionable silence a few minutes longer, the crack of the whip and rolling traffic outside an ambient backdrop to their inner thoughts until Gemma voiced a suggestive proposition.
‘Couldn’t Vivienne gain us entry into the hell? Now that she’s married to one of the owners, she could invite friends inside, could she not?’
‘I’m sure of it, but I’ve hesitated asking that very same question for many reasons. Vivienne has just returned from her wedding trip and I dare not burden her with my worries at the moment. Perhaps, once she’s settled… though something more important which holds me back, my parents have strictly forbidden I go anywhere near the Underworld. They hired a man for assistance in the search and have only me now.’ After a few breaths and without warning Sophie’s expression shifted, her eyes bright with a mischievous gleam. ‘Although you do have a fine point. If we went into the hell together and left in the same manner, I can’t see the harm in the little adventure. My brother was first to warn me to the perils of the establishment and yet he was last seen there before he vanished. I miss him dearly, but more so I need to know of his safety and happiness. We are…’ She paused, a shadow of sorrow colouring her eyes. ‘Were very close. I despise disregarding my parents’ wishes but, like you, I believe there is more to the story if only I embraced the opportunity to discover it.’
‘We have a plan in the making.’ Gemma tapped the tablecloth with her fingertip to underscore her intent. ‘I’ve not been forbidden from entering the Underworld. My brother will never know were I to take the risk and in that way we can help each other. He hardly notices activity beyond our breakfast conversation and remains consumed with his acts of Parliament.’ Gemma’s mouth twisted in a mulish frown of disappointment. ‘I daresay I could help you with little effort on my part.’
‘This could work to our favour.’ Sophie nodded. ‘We can join together to advance our individual causes and assist each other without breaking the stringent rules placed on our involvement. Two are better than one and all that. I like your manner of thinking. How can I help you?’
‘Oh, Sophie, this idea is brilliant.’ She dashed a quick squeeze to Sophie’s hand atop the table. ‘Next Friday at Loo, would you mention my father’s passing and see if something is said at your table? It can’t hurt to pose a few questions.’ Her optimistic determination proved contagious.
‘Of course, that will be no trouble at all.’ Sophie popped from the chair, enthusiasm clear on her face. ‘I’ll write Vivienne when I return home and ask if she’ll accommodate us.’
‘Send me a message as soon as you know which day we shall visit and I’ll be sure to make arrangements. My brother will be none the wiser.’ Gemma believed what he didn’t know would never hurt him. By far, he practised the same adage and why should the rules only be bent by the males in the family?
‘It will need to be a complete secret. Aren’t you worried someone will recognise you and report your behaviour to your brother?’ Sophie stood above her, her expression perplexed with the voiced concern.
‘He does keep note of every outing and appointment, but with a little planned subterfuge, I know I can elude him. Truly, there’s a reason brother and bother are only one letter apart.’ She wouldn’t allow Kent to ruin her plans. ‘Perhaps I could alter my appearance somehow or hide who I really am, so if something goes awry I’m still unrecognisable.’ She rose from the table, encouraged by the sudden idea.
Sophie giggled. ‘I can’t imagine how you’ll accomplish the task but I’m ready to accompany you no matter what you choose to do. Come along and I’ll have my carriage bring you home; that way we can discuss our plans during the ride without worry.’
The two women left the coffee house arm and arm, chattering and planning what could only be called a grand adventure despite their total disregard of convention and the sagacious advice of their guardians.
It was just another night, the hell crammed to the walls with every assortment of nabob and swell. The familiar sound of chips toppling, collected and gathered in greedy fists and empty pockets, coalesced with the sharp flick of cards shuffled and dealt at the tables. A riotous cheer from some lucky winner overrode the familiar cacophony and Cole stood at the centre. Business was his sanctuary, the hell a source of pride. At his right, a young viscount wagered an outrageous sum at the Faro table. Foolish pup didn’t have the smarts for the game, but he certainly had the funds. This energy, the lifeblood of his investment, hummed in his veins, the first distraction able to chase away the enchanting puzzle he’d encountered earlier in the afternoon.
Lady Amberson.
Why had she sought Maggie? Her forthright determination spoke well of her demeanour. She hardly disassembled when her purse was snatched, and her regard of his person, a stranger amidst the wayward of the streets, declared she lacked the pomposity often ingrained in women of quality upon their birth.
After assisting the lady to be on her way, he’d taken care of the business he’d dressed for and later proceeded home to scrub himself clean, the bootblack at last rinsed from his hair after repeated washings. His dual identity might be necessary, but it was bloody inconvenient above all things. He scanned the floor with penetrating discernment, noting every detail with a clarity of vision, before he turned on his heel and made for his office abovestairs.
Once inside, he strode to the far wall, opened the curtains and revealed a view of the gaming floor, though no one was the wiser. The door opened and closed behind him but he didn’t turn and a moment later Max stood beside him.
‘Quite an establishment we’ve created, isn’t it?’ The two men watched the gaming floor. Were anyone to look away from the tables and upward to the wall, they would see a mural of vivid images instead of the panes which kept the offices well hidden.
Cole noticed the reckless viscount below had lost it all, his pockets to let, but likewise knew the fool would return on the morrow. The discreet hell possessed an impressive list of guests most every evening, the reputation for high stakes and ruthless competition the biggest draw. Gentry enjoyed their private secrets, while men similar to Cole and Max wore their sins with pride. The irony amused him. ‘Not too shabby considering our upbringing, wealthy bastards from ill-begotten beginnings.’
The men never shared their personal agendas or haunting regrets. They didn’t need to. Their business was making money and together they succeeded with skill. At the moment, Luke was the missing member of their trio, each man adept at different aspects of the partnership. But, like all associates, when one had enterprise which took them in a separate direction, the others compensated.
Cole was content in his role with few complaints. He managed the business end of the hell and while he happily counted the vowels of indebted peers, he never wished for the responsibility and pressure that accompanied an entitlement. Perhaps the best thing his father ever did was shove him from that carriage step to set Cole on this course, to become the man he was meant to be.
He stood quietly with Max, admiring the exchange of money and chips against the green baize, gratified in the satisfaction and profit each night’s ante brought. Even the working girls enjoyed the evening, their laughter afloat above the frenetic exchange on the tables. This was their world. Above the upper nobility, in kind to the most fashionable society, and under no one’s thumb because of it.
With the fleeting mental suggestion, his thoughts turned to Lady Amberson. Perhaps he should mention the meeting to Max, who knew the names and reputations of most all of London’s betters. Yet something held him back. Her place in society mattered little. He would likely never see her again. Still, another part of him, some untamed and illogical desire left over from another life, decided he should keep the lady a secret. Perhaps he didn’t wish to hear how far above him she lived, or worse, that she was a wife, mother… any other label that kept her out of reach. He clenched his teeth and demanded his wayward thoughts cease. What was this foolish preoccupation with the lady? She believed him an impecunious man, living in poverty in a section of London responsible for disease and crime. That is what he wished her to see, when he was Mr Goodworth, and that is what the lady perceived. Pity though, that he hadn’t been himself in that moment. The issue itched his brain, an uncomfortable niggling he could not scratch.
He shook his head a second time, annoyed at his nonsensical struggle. Max had left the office, abandoning their conversation, full knowing that, when Cole sank into contemplative silence, no jovial banter would be had.
Gemma insisted Nan fashion her hair in a tight twist, easily concealed under a young man’s cap, purchased for just this occasion. She would not dare tell her sister or brother of her late-night excursion, but without throwing caution completely to the wind, she’d taken Nan into her confidence. Of course, she’d suffered through a long lecture on respectable behaviour and an endless listing of all the perils and cautions awaiting her in the outside world, and that was without admitting her true destination. Nan believed she was meeting at Sophie’s to engage in a masquerade of sorts. Once the maid had sat through the convoluted explanation Gemma described, Nan surrendered in her attempts at dissuasion and instead changed her language to a precautionary warning.
By years of experience, Nan knew better than to believe she could alter Gemma’s plans. Instead, the maid crossed herself with a brief prayer and set about twisting Gemma’s hair in the desired arrangement.
Now, dressed in black trousers, a flowing brown linen shirt, hair tucked neatly under a cap, Gemma paced in wait for Sophie’s carriage to arrive. Nan would watch for the conveyance and fetch her so Gemma could remain hidden until necessary. The driver had been informed to come to the rear of the house outside the back kitchen. If anyone saw her leave, it would appear Nan was escorting a messenger boy out, perhaps with a biscuit in hand for his effort.
Counting the minutes and eyeing the hall for fear her brother would awaken and discover her plan, she lingered belowstairs. The long case clock in the hall struck eleven one floor above. Time had come and, true to her word, a coach approached. Nan motioned to her as soon as it rolled to a stop and, with a meaningful expression of concern, the maid opened the door and Gemma slipped out.
She climbed the extended steps, the driver hopped back on the boot, and the carriage lurched forward. Squinting across the dim lantern light, Gemma reached for the key to illuminate the interior in an effort to see Sophie clearly.
‘Don’t.’
The harsh whisper stalled her hand mid-motion. ‘Why not? I can hardly make out your form across the bench.’
‘I will only disappoint you further. I cannot go with you this evening.’ Regret drew Sophie’s words out in long syllables.
‘What?’ Gemma’s incredulous response snapped in the quiet. ‘After everything I went through this evening, my clothing, lying…’ She waved her hands to gesture the extent of her undertaking, at odds with the situation. ‘Please tell me you’re teasing.’
‘What if something happens? What if I’m hurt or stolen, or worse, what if I’m discovered and returned home where my parents will believe me ruined? I couldn’t bear their shame or disappointment. I thought I could manage it. I planned and prepared, but the truth persists my parents have been through too much already. With Crispin gone and no word for months, we don’t know if he remains secluded in England or has left for the continent. Mother cries every day. My father lives in a perpetual state of stony discontent. I could never add to their misery by bringing trouble to the doorstep, even if my goal seeks to ease their misery. I’m so sorry, Gemma.’
‘But I thought you sought information. That Crispin was last seen at the hell and Vivienne would gain us entry.’ Gemma didn’t know which emotion to settle upon, disappointment, anger, or a portion of both. She carried her own guilt at manipulating Nan and disregarding her brother’s rules.
‘Against my advisement, Vivienne told her husband of our idea. She seems a completely different type of friend now that she’s married. For some odd reason, she refuses to keep anything from her husband. Sinclair insisted Vivienne tell me not to come. Still, now that I see you in disguise, I believe you might go undetected. I did not send you a message because I didn’t want to ruin your plans with my cowardice. Please know I will uphold my half of our bargain even if you decide not to venture into the Underworld.’
‘No, I understand.’ Gemma shuffled her boots against the floor, not wishing to cause her friend further distress. ‘I appreciate that you kept to our arrangement even though you won’t be joining me inside.’ She leaned across and grasped one of Sophie’s bare hands. ‘And I know your brother will come home safely. I can feel it in my soul, just as I’m positive something needs to be discovered concerning my father’s death.’
The solemn vow lent a grave silence to their ride and Gemma considered Sophie’s earnest despair. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone who truly cared for one’s welfare, not just as a responsibility, but because of the emotional attachment? It was times like this when she missed her mother dearly. Someday she hoped to find a good man, a husband who would love and cherish her above all other matters in life.
It was a good thing when Sophie broke the quiet. ‘Turn up the lamp.’ She gestured towards the brass fixture closest to Gemma. ‘I want to see you in your new menswear.’
Sophie let out an appreciative squeal as lamplight flooded the interior.
‘Your clothes are ideal, but you are too pretty to be a boy. If anyone looks closely they will know straight away.’ Her friend’s attention traced over her face, dropped to her bosom and finally arched a brow at assessment of her hips.
‘Do you think so?’ Gemma refused to accept it as true. She was determined to get into the hell and fulfil her half of the bargain. Being perceived as a young man was vital.
‘I suppose you’re going to find out, aren’t you?’
The carriage rolled to a stop and the driver opened the door at Sophie’s command. ‘James is the very best driver. He knows how important it is to keep a secret.’ She fluttered her eyelashes at the man in blatant flirtation though she’d spoken as if the servant needed no reminder.
‘I’ll return in an hour. Until then we will circle the city and exercise the horses. Don’t be late. I have it all planned so I can return you home and me to Daventry House with Mother and Father none the wiser.’
‘I promise.’ Gemma nodded to cement the vow. ‘I won’t let you down.’
Then she slipped into the darkness, her dark clothing just the thing.
Chapter Four (#ulink_dbd0c029-f4af-58c4-8059-de85d1eebfbd)
Cole closed the ledger on his desk and claimed his cap from the hook by the door. He’d stared at numbers for over an hour with little progress. his mind distracted and body restless, though for the life of him he couldn’t determine why. Earlier in the day, when he’d gone to visit Maggie, he’d hoped their conversation would settle his unrest. Concentrating on their combined effort to aid the forgotten children of the streets often realigned his priorities whenever he seemed adrift. But with her out of house he’d chased a thief and met a breathtakingly beautiful lady instead. A woman whose presence reminded him of his origin, the darkness of his soul best kept smothered. She reminded how much remained impossibly unattainable.
The lady remained clear in his mind. Long blonde hair, jade-green eyes and the kind of smile that must cause every gentleman to fall in love. Yet he wasn’t so foolish to be taken in by Lady Amberson’s charms. She remained a curiosity, nothing more. Women of her ilk were above him. Mayhap he should have mentioned the surname to Max Sinclair earlier. Sin would know where in the order of things this lady belonged and banish all convoluted attention. Cole’s life and history contained strict parameters. Refined ladies were not interested in a by-blow whose past contained a long list of shameful activity, the grime of the street forever ingrained in his pores. In that, an immeasurable chasm separated his kind from the jewels of the ton.
Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. Not that it made one iota of difference. He’d never yearned for what lurked beyond his grasp and he wouldn’t start now because a pair of glittering green eyes had caught his attention. Love, that elusive and fickle emotion, was better left alone.
Jamming his cap down a little too hard, he left the Underworld by way of the side door, determined to walk a length and shake loose agitation, but as he rounded the side of the building he glimpsed a young boy peering in the first-floor window, or at least attempting to do so, his lean body poised on tiptoe as he struggled to balance on a rock required to reach the pane. It wasn’t one of the reformed urchins he’d trained and employed to put in an honest day’s effort, and none of the lads who worked for the hell would commit the offence.
‘You there.’ Cole paused two strides away, confident his startling bark of reprimand would spark the boy into a fast run and the situation would resolve itself, but the opposite proved true. The lad froze, as motionless as a star in the sky, and due to his lack of focus and precarious perch, nearly tumbled to the ground from the stone where he’d balanced. With something akin to delayed panic, the peeper took a leap any rabbit would envy and broke into a run.
Sparked into action, Cole followed to nab the lad’s elbow with a swift swipe and thrust him to rights against the side of the hell with the intent to teach him a stern lesson. Their eyes locked and, with unexpected force, a frisson of anticipation thrummed through him. The culprit may have experienced it too, as his eyes grew wide, the glitter of reflected light a-dance there. Taking advantage of the timeless moment, the lad attempted to jerk himself free and the harsh movement caused his cap to snag on the wooden slats and topple from his head. A rush of long yellow tresses as shimmery as moonbeams at midnight followed.
‘What the devil?’ The words faded on a note of recognition. A girl? A woman. He narrowed his eyes in assessment, his mind one beat slower than his body, which seemed immediately aware and peculiarly so. He knew those eyes. Lady Amberson? But why? Nothing seemed to make sense, most of all the hitch in his pulse. He was already a right bit cagey. He’d left the lady in Charing Cross, dressed to the nines in her fine day gown, tucked into a hackney towards Mayfair. He was a shrewd and clever businessman with acumen for complex problem solving, yet something here posed an unsolved riddle.
‘What are you doing…’ His eyes skimmed her length in the blue-black shadows. ‘Dressed this way?’ He still held her arm, some unexplainable force, protectiveness or untamed interest, or neither perhaps, provoking him to keep hold. What if she bolted? Took off running as quickly as she’d materialised? Safety, he reminded himself, it was an issue of personal safety. ‘Why were you attempting to look in this window?’
She uttered not a word. Her eyes lowered, breathing stilted and, if it wasn’t a trick of the moonlight, her skin paled considerably. Still, she didn’t attempt to free herself. He leaned a bit closer. ‘Will you answer the question?’
Her brows pleated slightly before at last she matched his gaze and puffed out an answer. ‘Which one?’
She seemed to relax, her arm all of a sudden softened beneath his touch. He should stop touching her now and let her go. Beyond reason, he tightened his hold. He doubted she would recognise him as the gent from Charing Cross with his disguise removed, but he remained unsure how keenly she studied his face and wasn’t apt to take the chance.
‘Any of them would suffice as a beginning.’ With a quick surveillance of the surrounding area, he released her and stepped away, hoping with his short withdrawal she’d find the words she needed. Indeed, she had no idea he was Mr Goodworth and that proved bloody convenient.
‘I’m dressed this way so I can enter the Underworld without notice. I wished to see inside.’
Similarly to their encounter earlier, the lady experienced no remorse at stating her intentions. One would think she was royalty, or very close to it, for all the attitude contained in her slight form.
His bark of laughter must have startled. Did she think her answer sufficed? Her eyes grew larger, if possible, her arresting green gaze fixed. ‘Of course you did, but the fast set inside would recognise you as an easy mark in less than a roll of the dice. One look at your graceful features, the curve of your…’ He lost his train of thought and jerked his attention to her face. ‘Your chin, with not a whisker in sight.’ Thank God. ‘Your delicate neck and slim legs. You believe a cap and some trousers can hide the truth? Why, they’re no disguise at all.’ He gestured up and down to echo the observations. She stared at him as if he were daft. Another laugh surfaced but he got the better of it. ‘Now explain this foolishness? What prompted this ridiculous charade and futile attempt to enter my hell?’ A lock of hair fell over his brow and with annoyance he pushed in back under the brim of his cap. He’d left in a rush, without his coat, his shirt sleeves rolled to avoid ink blots in the ledgers.
‘Your hell?’ Slim arched brows furrowed over intelligent eyes. ‘I was told Mr Sinclair owned this property. Are you the same?’
Oh, she was a dandy. Her tone rang with authority, absent of disdain but confident and seemingly accustomed to acquiring any and all things desired. He counted to five before he answered. ‘True enough he does. As do I and another of our associates. And you are?’ He watched with a keen eye, but no recognition to his identity showed. The dusky clouds overhead parted and filtered additional moonlight to cast her in a golden glow. Deuces, she was a beauty. If he didn’t know it already, the enchantment of starlight confirmed the conclusion.
‘Gemma.’ She gave a thoughtful pause and he waited. ‘I’m not sure my surname proves relevant.’
Aah, but he possessed that missing piece of the puzzle from their unexpected rendezvous this morning. ‘Well, Gemma.’ He tried her name on his tongue and oh, how he liked it, among other things. He was fast collecting a catalogue of observations, every one of them more enticing. Not that it mattered, he reminded. ‘I am Mr Hewitt and you are trespassing.’
‘I didn’t mean to get caught.’ She didn’t sound apologetic. If anything, she sounded annoyed he’d interrupted her plans.
‘Yes, I’ve no doubt.’ He wasn’t certain but he thought he smelled honeysuckle. None of the bushes near the hell were floral. It could only be the lady. ‘Well then, now that we’ve established your need for a costume, let’s have the why of it.’
She wrinkled her nose quite adorably and he rubbed his fingers together for want to touch her again. It wouldn’t be proper, but then their entire interaction had proved nothing of the sort. Gentlemen and Cits followed a code of ethics that did not apply to former beggars and homeless bastards. Lady Amberson was strictly forbidden. Regardless, his heart raced like a mad thing in his chest and he had no way to explain the reaction.
‘I’d rather not say.’
She eased back until she skimmed the brick building. Something had her on edge almost as much as he. It was due time she experienced a bit of discomfort. With a sardonic grin he inched closer. ‘Come now, you were caught looking through my window.’
‘It wasn’t exactly your window.’ Her answer was anything but rueful.
He slued his eyes above her head for effect. ‘Wrong again.’ The screech of an alley cat or otherwise disgruntled night creature caused her to startle, or mayhaps it was the way her brain processed his words. Truly the lady thought herself above. He really shouldn’t torture her so. ‘Now, sweet Gemma.’ He lowered his chin so his face aligned, their noses all but touching. ‘How can I help you?’ He spoke in a low rasp, vying for menacing but not quite pulling it off. He knew the perfect way to send her scampering and teach her a well-deserved lesson. And likewise, satisfy the vexatious curiosity racing in his blood.
Her eyes grew large as she matched his. ‘Mr Hewitt.’
‘Yes.’
‘I should take my leave.’ She swallowed as her gaze flittered to his mouth, down, up, then down, up again. ‘I’ve troubled you enough for one evening.’
‘You’re no trouble at all.’ The little minx. He leaned in, his body full of heat, her lips but a hair’s breadth from his and all reality changed in that moment. He should send her on her way, release her from this moment fraught with dangerous consequence, but the words to do so refused to emerge.
