Page 15

Eleven

Eliza donned her coat and slipped out of the servants’ entrance of Camille’s townhome in Mayfair.

She hadn’t dared tell anyone where she was going.

She had claimed to have a sore throat and gone to bed early while Jenny and their mother went out to the theater.

Even Jenny, who generally went along with her schemes, would have put her foot down for this one.

Like she’d promised, she wore a light merino gown in dark green.

It was on the plainer side but had detailed embroidery along the hemline and bodice.

They had traded in all of their truly plain clothes in order to look the part of heiresses.

She was not wearing any sort of jewelry, and the cloak could be pulled closed to hide other details if necessary.

Approximately ten minutes after leaving home, she arrived at the street corner where they had arranged to meet.

The streets were fairly busy, but no one seemed to notice her.

There was no sign of Simon yet. She began analyzing the carriages that passed when a man stepped up behind her.

She knew it was him before he’d even said a word.

His clean lemon scent wafted to her from behind.

“Where did you come from?” She smiled as she turned to see him. He wore a proper suit and hat, though she noted that it was plainer than what he’d worn escorting her family around.

“Followed you.” He smiled back, giving her a glimpse of his gold eyetooth.

“You followed me?” She hadn’t seen or heard him at all.

He nodded. “I was in the park waiting for you to come out of the house. I didn’t want you to have to walk alone.”

She was touched by his thoughtfulness, and a little annoyed that he thought she needed an escort, but his eyes sparkled down at her, centering her thoughts on him.

He wasn’t entirely put off by this night of adventure.

Was it possible that he might even enjoy himself?

The idea thrilled her for reasons she’d rather not examine.

“Thank you again for coming with me,” she said when he indicated they walk toward a cabstand.

He offered her his arm and they walked like a true couple.

The solid strength of him beneath her touch was distracting.

It brought back the memory of his long and muscled form as she had last seen him.

The pale globes of his buttocks and the powerful muscles of his thighs.

She still couldn’t believe her audacity in stealing a peek at him.

“We have to be home before dawn,” he said as they walked.

She was already perturbed that he’d made her wait until eleven. “But surely no one will see me if we stay a little longer.”

He gave a brisk shake of his head as he held out a hand to hail the cab. “The servants will be up at dawn, possibly before. We’re already risking much.”

“We keep city hours. The duchess’s servants won’t be up so early.”

He gave her a look with furrowed brows. “You’ve no idea what it means to run a household, do you? There’s food to fetch, laundry to do, and hearths to clean and light. Most of that before the household is awake.”

She was suitably chastised. She knew how their small household back in New York operated, but they’d only had the one housekeeper and she didn’t live with them all the time.

“You still want to be able to marry your viscount, yes?” he asked, mistaking her silence for a partial retreat before she redoubled her attack.

The mention of him made her stomach churn unpleasantly. She didn’t want him intruding on her night out. “I understand.” Simon was right. She was already taking a risk by going out with him. It was foolish to think she could extend the evening further into tomorrow.

He helped her into the cab and climbed in behind her as he gave the driver their direction.

Settling back against the well-worn leather seats, she watched London pass by her window.

Thoughts of the viscount faded, and the familiar warmth of excitement burned in her belly as she anticipated the night to come.

The sights and sounds and people. She could hardly imagine what she would see.

“Before we arrive, there are a couple of things we need to get settled between us.” Simon’s voice called her back to him.

She hadn’t realized how much space he’d take up in the cab.

He warmed her entire right side, and her leg was pressed to his.

His scent surrounded them, mingling with the leather and stale sweat of prior occupants.

The light citrusy smell more than made up for the slight unpleasantness.

“I need you to promise to stay at my side the entire time. Do not leave me for a minute. Not even to piss in an alley.”

She smiled to cover her embarrassment, but a laugh escaped her anyway. “I’ll try to hold it.”

“This is no jest, Miss Dove. I need you to understand that there will be danger lurking in the shadows and it won’t hesitate to reach out and grab you if given half a chance.”

He must be exaggerating things, but she nodded anyway and dropped the smile. “I understand, but what do I do if I have to…” She couldn’t say it. “Go to…relieve myself?”

He grinned. “It’ll be in an alley, miss, only I’ll be there with you.”

That did not sound like something she wanted to participate in, so she resolved to indeed hold it even if her bladder burst.

Continuing on with his rules, he said, “We’ll pretend you’re my sweetheart. If we encounter anyone I know, then I’ll say you’re mine. Even among strangers, I’ll keep my hand on you. It’s important that people believe we’re together.”

“Is this your way of saying that you want to hold my hand?” she asked with a smile.

She saw his teeth when he smiled. He looked away before saying, “I’ll be holding your hand and more, possibly. Just be aware.”

“Okay, I’ll be aware. You can hold my hand and more if need be.

” A very large part of her was hoping there would be need.

The way he’d said you’re mine was still echoing inside her.

“I was thinking it might be a good idea if I don’t talk very much.

I can do a passable English accent. It wouldn’t work for the Queen, but possibly for others. ”

“Good. We should come up with another name for you, too.”

“Something common. How about Mary? If I’m your girl, then we don’t need to worry about a last name.”

A shadow passed over his face. “Mary was my sister’s name. How about Anne?”

Was. His sister had died. She felt immediately terrible for even bringing up the name to remind him of his loss. She had a hundred questions about his life, but she couldn’t ask a single one. Not yet. Instead she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Of course, Anne it is.”

He looked past her and out the window. Tall brick buildings lined the street on either side of them.

The streets were no longer well-kept, and some of the buildings looked to be badly in need of fresh paint.

The farther they drove from Mayfair, the worse it became, until there were whole sections of eaves hanging off or rotting wood that needed to be replaced.

The closer they got to Whitechapel, the tenser he became beside her.

It was almost a physical change that came over his face.

His jaw tightened and his brows drew together, a permanent crease etched between them.

For the first time it occurred to her that this jaunt might cost him more than she realized.

Should she say something? Should she tell him that he didn’t have to do this—whatever this was—to himself?

She wavered, uncertain whether or not to mention it.

And then it was too late. The carriage came to a stop and he reached into the inside breast pocket of his coat and withdrew their fare.

“Oh no, I can pay.” She rifled in the small drawstring bag attached to her wrist.

His eyes widened when he saw it. “Give me that.” He took it away from her before she could argue and stuffed it into his coat. “I’ll pay.” He handed the money up to the driver and the carriage door opened. “Never carry a purse on you here. Keep your money as close to your breast as possible.”

She nodded, embarrassed again that she was doing so terribly on their night out.

He climbed out first, helped her down, and then they were alone on a strange street corner in a strange part of a city that she barely knew.

It was only in that moment that she understood the deep well of trust she had placed in him.

There were no other cabs around. Perhaps they didn’t come to this dark part of the city.

She didn’t even know which direction to go to get home.

She turned in a small circle. The brick buildings stretched out in either direction, dark and abandoned, or so it seemed.

“This way.” He put a hand on her lower back and shepherded her down the sidewalk to a lighted area up ahead. “This is the hay market on Whitechapel High Street,” he explained. “It’s where most of the nighttime activity is.”

Once they turned the bend in the road, the light became something like a city square.

Several cobblestone roads seemed to converge with an island in the middle.

Shops and stalls lined each side with crowds of people moving along as if everyone knew exactly where they were going.

A church spire rose high up in the distance on the far side.

Wagons wound through the chaos, bringing loads of hay for the morning market, their wheels grinding the piles of manure that littered the streets.

It made for an almost overpowering smell. Her hand rose to her nose.

At her side, he said, “You’ll get used to it.”