Page 10

Seven

The past week had been torture for Simon.

He tried to stay out of sight, and for the most part he succeeded, but he was charged with the Doves’ security and that meant he was always near them.

Near her. He heard her, saw her, and even smelled her delicate scent when he was forced to get close to her.

The first time he saw her after the incident in her bedroom, he’d accompanied Eliza and her mother on a shopping excursion to Bond Street.

His task was to shadow them and stand outside each shop while they browsed; they didn’t buy very much.

He hadn’t been certain of her intentions then—he still wasn’t—so he’d felt anxious as he waited.

She’d opened the door of the millinery shop, and the bell had jangled as she’d stepped out onto the pavement.

Her eyes had flashed to his, the secret they both knew shining within them, and her mouth had twisted into an intriguing little smile before she’d turned away to head to the next shop.

He’d avoided looking at her the rest of the day, afraid it would tempt her into spilling their secret.

He had encountered her so closely only once after that.

He’d made the mistake of crossing the front hall as she came down the stairs.

They weren’t alone, as her mother and sister were trailing behind her.

She was far enough ahead of them, however, that she was able to whisper to him, “My offer still stands,” as she passed him by on her way to the drawing room.

Her smile had been teasing and unconsciously seductive.

The pull of her perfume had had him moving toward her before he’d managed to stop himself.

He wished that she would request a night with him.

All he had to do was close his eyes and the memory of her lithe body against his had him pondering things that were better left unimagined.

Things like how thick her hair would feel wrapped around his wrist, the sounds she would make underneath him, or how long her rose water scent would last on his sheets.

Not that she would ever be in his bed. The thought was preposterous.

He lived at the club, an employee; she lived here in one of the most fashionable neighborhoods in London.

“Don’t tell me Sir Barnaby has written to ask for your hand in marriage yet again?” Eliza’s voice drew him back to the present.

He’d finished his nightly meeting downstairs with the butler, where he’d been briefed on all the planned comings and goings of the staff the next day.

He was walking to the parlor at the back of the house to get the family’s schedule for tomorrow from Mrs. Dove.

She usually relayed the information to him after the family arrived home from their evening excursion, but they were having a rare night at home tonight.

“The third time, the poor dear.” This came from Jenny, and then a flutter of paper as the letter in question was presumably discarded. Her tone was not as forgiving as her words implied. “He won’t take no for an answer.”

Simon peeked inside the room to see Eliza sitting on the sofa wearing a blue dress with a high satin collar.

There was a gap in the front that displayed just enough of her soft neck to draw his eyes.

He nearly groaned in frustration at how taken he was with her and forced himself to notice her sister on the opposite sofa.

Mrs. Dove was nowhere in the room. He quietly eased back and pressed his shoulders to the wall outside the parlor door and told himself he was waiting for Mrs. Dove to join her daughters.

She was probably upstairs refreshing herself before dinner.

It was sound logic that he would wait, but he also knew that he simply enjoyed hearing Eliza’s voice. Truth be told, he liked her. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t confessed his identity or what had happened in her room to anyone. She could have, and he respected that she hadn’t.

Eliza laughed at something her sister had said.

There was a lightness to it that he found refreshing.

It suggested that she hadn’t been touched by hardship or loss.

It floated around the room with an amused, unbothered air and a sweetness that called to him.

“Have you considered telling him that you have no interest because he asked for Cora’s hand first? ”

“Yes, I did mention that to him,” Jenny said. “He wrote back that he was mistaken. He’d been blinded by my beauty and too overcome by it to ask me, so he asked her instead. He dearly regrets his error.”

“I’m sure he does.”

They both giggled, and he found himself smiling against his will.

He didn’t want to like Eliza or her family.

She had the power to ruin everything he had worked for.

One word from her, and Leigh and Thorne could send him away from Montague Club for prizefighting for Brody behind their backs.

He’d have nowhere safe to bring Daisy once he finally got her.

But he couldn’t help it. She was kind and good and he liked existing near her.

“If you jilt Lord Mainwaring, I’m certain Sir Barnaby would offer for you,” Jenny teased her sister.

“Ugh. I wouldn’t be so certain. Sir Barnaby’s a timid one. He might fold under the sort of scandal a jilting would bring,” Eliza said, her good humor gone.

Simon hated the thought of her with Mainwaring.

That prick did not deserve her. His head dropped back against the wall with a thud of dejection.

He stiffened, but it was too late. The sound had already been noted.

Eliza appeared at the parlor’s threshold before he could take two steps down the hall.

“Well, good evening, Mr. Cavell. What brings you lurking about the hallway?” Her sly smile captivated him.

“Miss Eliza.” He inclined his head in greeting. “I was hoping to speak with Mrs. Dove about the schedule for tomorrow. I’ll return later.” He turned to go, but she rushed forward and put a hand on his arm.

“There’s no need for that. I can give it to you.”

Her fingers were long and tapered with perfectly oval fingernails that had been buffed to a shine. He had to tear his gaze away from her hand, which had fallen to rest on his forearm.

“I don’t mind returning,” he said.

“But that’s silly. I can tell you now.” She smiled up at him and still hadn’t released his arm.

He couldn’t think of a good reason to put her off. Saying that he needed to put space between them seemed unwise. Instead, he inclined his head.

She finally let him go and took his place at the wall, leaning back a little to look up at him. Her rose scent teased him, and he almost stepped forward to get closer.

“Tomorrow will be a full day, and you’ll likely need Mr. Cox’s assistance,” she began.

“Jenny and I have a luncheon with the London Suffrage Society, but Mama is going to meet a friend for tea at Claridge’s.

She’ll go there after dropping us off. After that, we’re all going to the British Museum.

” She paused and her eyes became devilish slits.

“We should have time to stop by Montague Club should you—”

“Eliza,” he said in a low warning tone. He didn’t realize that he’d used her first name until her eyes deepened and her smile widened. He was becoming entirely too familiar with her.

“I didn’t mean that I would go in, only that you might need to go there.”

“Thank you for your consideration, but I won’t need to go there.”

“Are you certain? I’ve heard there’s a big exhibition brawl there next week and that you’re the main attraction. You must need to—”

“Where did you hear that about the brawl?” he asked.

“I saw Violet, Lord Leigh’s wife, yesterday when Mr. Cox was escorting me.” At his distressed look, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I kept your secret,” she whispered.

Devonworth believed that he’d have things well in hand by the end of the week, so Simon wouldn’t be here much longer.

The bloke who had made the initial threat seemed to have reconsidered things.

Simon couldn’t wait for this to be over so that he wouldn’t have to see her every day, almost as much as he dreaded not seeing her every day.

“Eliza.” He glanced around to make certain they were still alone. “Do not mention that here. The very fact that there’s a secret to keep would be suspect.”

“I’ve offered you a very fair negotiation.”

He was starting to reconsider how much he liked her. She could be annoying. “You have not and you know it. I cannot take you out.” He infused his whispered words with every bit of indignation he could muster.

“From what I can see, Mr. Cavell, you could do what you want.” Her eyes dropped to his shoulders and then his chest, sizing him up.

The way she looked at him, as if she truly believed that, gave him pause. It made him want it to be true. If it were, he’d reach out and touch her soft skin, tip her head to the side and take her lips with his.

He was saved from answering by Mrs. Dove.

“Mr. Cavell, good evening.” She had somehow come down the stairs without him hearing and now approached them.

“I found it, Eliza.” She waved sheet music over her head.

“I knew I had packed it. Jenny, darling, sing this for us. I’ll accompany you on the pianoforte. ”

Jenny hurried out to retrieve the music and then walked back into the room as she read it over.

Mrs. Dove turned back to them. “You’re going to love this song,” she said to Eliza. “It’s very sanguine and with a fast meter.” To Simon, she said, “Come join us, won’t you, Mr. Cavell?”

“Thank you, madam, but I cannot.”

Her face fell. “Why not? Do you sing? We could use a nice baritone.”

He wanted to. He imagined being in that room with them, watching Eliza and singing with her family, and something about it felt warm and good. He’d never spent a night like that, like someone who was part of a real family.

“It wouldn’t be proper.” Though as he said it, he suspected the woman didn’t give a fig about propriety. “I was on my way out,” he rushed to add. “Mr. Cox is staying overnight. I must get back to Montague Club.” His gaze jerked to Eliza at the mention of the club.

She merely smiled back, her dark eyes knowing and playful.

Mrs. Dove continued to entice him to stay, but he managed to pull himself away. He’d get their precise schedule in the morning. He’d meant what he said about having other things to do tonight, though Montague Club would have to wait a bit.

He didn’t have time to change his clothes as he made his way across town to the alleys of Whitechapel.

He liked to dress in more nondescript clothing when he came here and not the finer fabrics he wore at the club and in Mayfair, but it couldn’t be helped.

Daisy would be waiting for him and wouldn’t want to sleep until she saw him.

The cab dropped him off at Commercial Street, and he made his way through the rabbit warren of alleys, keeping his head down and ignoring the shapes that moved in the dusk shadows.

It wasn’t long before he came to the brothel that had become familiar to him these past several years.

His sister, Mary, had been let go from her position at the factory once she had been unable to hide her advanced pregnancy and had taken up residence here at the behest of her friend who worked in one of the upstairs rooms. After her death, Simon had negotiated with the owner to allow Daisy to stay in the attic.

Mrs. Jeffries charged him exorbitant rent, but he slept every night knowing his niece was protected.

He knocked on the door and waited, his gaze scanning the street out of habit. A man’s form moved in the shadow of the building across the narrow street, one of Brody’s men that he kept in the area to make certain that Simon didn’t take Daisy away.

“Good evening, Mr. Cavell.” Mrs. Jeffries opened the door. She was also being paid to sound the alarm should he make the unwise decision to abscond with Daisy. She’d told him as much when he’d first made the arrangement with her. “You’re later than usual today.”

“Couldn’t be helped.”

Her brow arched in quiet judgment, but she stood back to allow him to enter.

He took the stairs to the attic two at a time. When he reached the small attic room and knocked, Henrietta opened it within seconds. Her eyes filled with relief. “Mr. Cavell, I’m glad you’re here.”

Daisy fretted in the background. “Heni!” she called from the bed they shared and sat up. Her face lit with happiness when she saw him. “Papa!”

Simon rushed into the room and reached his niece about the time she stood and was launching herself into his arms. He caught her and swung her around once, much to her delight, before he pulled her close.

She nuzzled into his neck, her hair tickling his nose.

He breathed in her sweet scent and felt an unexpected ache build in his chest. She should be in a home like the Doves were, with music and laughter surrounding her, not here in this dark attic space.

Henrietta took her out daily to get air, but there were no gardens for her to play in.

“I missed you, love,” he said.

Daisy pulled back and looked up at him, her white baby teeth shining up at him in a smile.

“Where have you been?” Her brow creased almost as quickly as her smile had appeared.

“You really must try to come in the morning,” Henrietta admonished him gently, her eyes a little bit skittish as she looked from him to Daisy.

She was only around fifteen years old and had been Daisy’s caretaker for the last year.

She’d come to the brothel to work around the same time Daisy’s previous caretaker had decided she wanted to marry and had readily agreed to the position.

“It’s what she’s accustomed to. She worries all day when she doesn’t see you, sir. ”

“I know, Heni.” He’d taken to Daisy’s nickname for the girl.

“I’m sorry. This job should only last for a few more days and then I’ll be back every morning as usual.

Here.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew one of the oranges he’d pilfered from the Doves’ kitchen and handed it to Heni.

The other one he gave to Daisy. “One for each of you.”

They both grinned and he was forgiven. As Daisy tucked into the skin of her orange, trying her best to remove it, he kissed the top of her head and prayed that the final fight Brody had planned would be the last one, as he’d promised.

If it wasn’t, he’d have to try to sneak Daisy out somehow and go on the run with her.

That would be dangerous because Brody would try to chase them down, but Simon would have no choice.