Page 35 of Barely a Woman (Bow Street Beaus #1)

Morgan darted through the increasing rain with one hand over her bonnet and the other squeezing her pelisse shut.

Two days of unsuccessfully seeking employment, and now a chilly rain shower, left her spirits low.

Her pace quickened as she passed a trio of unseemly men who leered at her passing and made lewd suggestions.

She halted only upon reaching the door to the small pair of rooms she rented on Tothill Street.

The jutting overhang of the story above sheltered her from the rain, giving her space to gather some pluck.

She did not wish her brothers or aunt to catch her in the throes of such melancholy.

They were relying on her strength, not her disappointment.

As she leaned into the door, which tended to stick when it rained, the deep tones of a male voice filtered through.

Before she could pull back, the door gave way, and she stumbled inside.

Her eyes immediately fell upon a scene that stopped her heart.

Steadman sat in a chair with her three brothers scattered at his feet while Aunt Meg stood watch over all of them.

Five pairs of eyes flicked up to find Morgan dripping on the floor and no doubt slack of jaw.

“Steadman! Why are you here?” The tone of her question—angry, accusatory, and desperate—was not what she might have chosen if better prepared. To his credit, Steadman maintained an unbroken expression.

“I came to talk with you.”

She paused to close the door behind her without letting her eyes leave Steadman’s face. When she stared at him in grim silence, her youngest brother frowned. “Sister, can he at least finish his story?”

She blinked with confusion as her other two brothers chimed in with agreement. Steadman lifted a palm toward her. “If it is acceptable to you, Miss Brady.”

She nodded numbly while remaining rooted to the floor. He dipped his forehead. “Very well, where were we?”

“The beanstalk!” The boys cried in unison.

“Oh, yes.” Steadman leaned forward in his chair to address the audience at his feet.

“So, Jack began climbing down the beanstalk just as fast as he could, with the golden harp under one arm and the golden goose beneath the other. How he managed this while still holding the beanstalk is a mystery to this day, but he was a boy of many talents. Anyway, he looked up to examine the beanstalk above him.” Steadman raised his arm overhead to create the mythical beanstalk.

“And who should be following him but that very disagreeable giant. In great distress, Jack hastened his descent until he reached the ground, retrieved an axe, and laid into the beanstalk with all his might.”

Morgan’s eyes flickered between her attentive brothers and the Beau Monde Highwayman, and she deeply understood their captivation.

He was a man that could never be ignored, never dismissed.

However, she would never again wonder what sort of father he might make.

Her breath hitched with disappointment that it would not be her to make him one.

“And though he was a wee lad such as yourselves,” Steadman continued, “Jack possessed strength and courage unseen and unappreciated by others. Thus, within a dozen strokes of his axe, he hewed through the beanstalk until it began to fall with the giant still in residence.” He allowed his arm to fall slowly as if from a great height until his palm slapped against his knee.

“The giant was, of course, quite dead as one would be after falling from such a great height. There was great rejoicing across the land because of this auspicious event. And because of Jack’s rare strength and courage…

” Steadman cut his eyes to engage Morgan.

“He and his family lived happily ever after.”

The little boys expelled pent up breaths and applauded. “Tell us another!”

Steadman held his palms to them. “Perhaps later. For now, I ask that you indulge me a moment to speak with your sister.”

Instantaneously, Aunt Meg was in motion rounding up the boys. “Come, lads. Let us retire to the other room.”

She ushered them into the adjacent room, which contained the bed Morgan and Aunt Meg shared, and pulled the curtain. As Steadman rose from his chair, Morgan’s heart stuttered. He looked more handsome than ever, the perfect blend of dapper masculinity.

Resist, she thought. Stand by your principles.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her drifting chin. “I do not know what there is for us to discuss. I have already explained my position very carefully, and I am quite finished with the suit.”

A soft smile grew on his lips. “Perfect. For as much as I like Mr. Brady, I am truly devoted to Miss Brady.”

She had imagined any number of responses: defensiveness, attempts to explain his position, annoyance.

She had not expected a declaration of devotion.

More surprisingly, she felt worthy of such devotion.

If nothing else, her brief association with Steadman had elevated her self-regard from the pits of its previous existence.

For that, she would always be grateful. However, she could never support his exchanging her for the opportunity to destroy his own family. She remained ramrod straight.

“Neither Mr. Brady nor Miss Brady approve of what you did to your family.”

He nodded with an expression of contrition. “I deserve that. For what I intended to do but did not.”

She furrowed her brow. “You…you did not?”

“No, I did not.” He proceeded to explain the events of his meeting with his father. The accusation. The compassion. The forgiveness. The reconciliation. The reclamation of his birthright. The restoration of the defrauded farmers. As Morgan listened, her hands began to tremble.

“I am proud of you, Steadman.”

He closed the gap between them until only two feet of air separated them. “Any pride you have in me is of your doing.”

“What?” Her voice faltered over the word.

“Don’t you understand? You changed me. You burned out the brambles of my vengeful pride and grew in its place an orchard of sweet fruit. I am a different man than I was the first day we met, and it is all because of you.”

Cautious bewilderment threatened the stability of her knees before a sudden realization pushed through the chaos to reawaken her dismay.

Steadman would inherit his father’s title, and soon.

He would become the very thing he loathed—a man of power.

Regardless of his feelings on that, he would become more eligible than ever with a class of women far above Morgan’s station.

Far prettier. Far wealthier. Far more sophisticated and accomplished.

Her face must have betrayed the careening chain of thought, for he lifted her descending chin with a finger.

“What distresses you so?”

She trembled while staring into his eyes. “What happens when you assume your title? How will you become what you vowed to destroy?”

He nodded while effusing understanding. “I have given that question much thought these past few days and have realized a very important truth that had heretofore eluded me.”

She lifted her eyebrows in question but said nothing.

“I have realized,” he said, “That I might do more in the House of Lords than I ever could on the road. Until now, I could only help a few people at a time. With a title, I can influence laws that might help millions. A highwayman cannot change the Corn Laws, but a baron might.”

Relief and disappointment swept through Morgan. Relief that he would not allow his title to crush his character. Disappointment that she would forever lose him to the gulf of class between them. She bit her lip to stifle a sob and to regain her composure.

“May I ask a favor, then?” She tried not to sound wounded but feared she had failed.

His smile beamed with empathy. “Anything. Name it.”

“Will you provide me a letter of reference to aid me in my employment search?”

“No. Not that.”

His rejection threatened her knees further. She pushed his finger from her quivering chin. “Why not?”

Steadman captured her resistant hand, stepped nearer still, and brought it to his lips. She watched in mute shock as he kissed her hand gently before lowering it. “Because I hope to offer you a different role.”

“What role?”

The warm gaze he sent into her soul surpassed the look, igniting a flurry of embers that roared to life. He smiled until crow’s feet appeared at the corners of his eyes. “As the future Lady Atwood.”

A gasp followed by a flurry of whispers beyond the curtain mirrored her reaction. Lady Atwood? What was he saying? What was he doing? She stumbled for a reply but found only a single word. “Why?”

“I cannot imagine,” he said, “becoming a lord without you by my side. You are the truest friend I have ever had and the sweetest love I have ever known. The fact that my best friend is also my true love amazes me beyond comprehension.”

“But you could have any woman.” She attempted to tug her hand free of his but failed against his persistent grip. “You can have better than me.”

“No.” His denial was firm but gentle. “You are wrong about yourself. In all my travels across the length and breadth of this kingdom, I have never encountered another woman more beautiful, more courageous, and more engaging than you. Never have I found such self-sacrifice and compassion paired with such wit and determination. Perhaps you are correct that I may have any woman of my choosing. If so, then I choose you.” He paused.

“If, that is, you would have a mildly reformed scoundrel as a husband. Only if you can possibly love me as I am.”

Euphoria rose within Morgan to dispel the doubt, darkness, and uncertainty in an explosion of light that culminated in a spontaneous laugh from the depths of her lungs.

“Steadman. You stupid man. Of course, I love you. I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. Imagine my amazement when we also became friends.”

“I do not need to imagine, for I feel the same.”

She inhaled a breath when he descended to a knee with her fingers still in his grip. Her free hand flew to her mouth, and tears pricked her eyes. His smile grew larger, if that were possible, revealing the depth of his dimples.

“Marry me, Morgan Brady, and never leave me friendless again.”

Aunt Meg had a coughing fit behind the curtain. Morgan tugged Steadman’s hand to draw him upright, a maneuver that appeared to surprise him. “I will marry you, Mr. Drew.”

“Despite my rogue nature?”

“No. Because of it.”

He laughed—unrestrained and joyous. “Then as a rogue of the first order, it is only fitting that I play the part.”

He lifted her from the floor into an intimate, secure embrace until her lips met his, an everlasting promise of miraculous days to come.