Page 9 of Hexbound

What would that feel like, to deny your own heritage? She nibbled on her lip. "That sounds entirely practical, and quite horrible. I'd give anything to know who my father was."

His expression actually softened. "You don't know him?"

Verity shrugged. "He walked out on us when I was two. Had another mistress."

"Ah. I see."

Not quite. She smiled bitterly. "He liked gin too much. A common occurrence in my neck of the woods."

Silence settled between them. She could see that he didn't like thinking of her as a person with her own losses to deal with.

"Well," Verity said, arching a brow and offering a faint shrug, just enough to draw his attention to the thin cotton night rail she wore. "Where to first?"

"First we get you some clothes," he muttered. "Then, you tell me."

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Chapter 2

"THIS DOESN'T LOOKlike Seven Dials."

Bishop ignored Miss Hawkins, alighting from the hack and passing a pair of shillings up to the driver. Tucking his collar up against the late morning drizzle, he turned his gaze toward the house.

Forbidding black iron fences guarded the perimeter, along with overgrown hedges that seemed as though anything could lurk within. Small watchful chitters sounded and the leaves rustled. Miss Hawkins looked around sharply, pressing closer to his side as he gestured her through the gate. Bishop had found her a black gown—an old one belonging to the Prime's ex-ward, Ianthe, who'd left it behind at his house once—but it fit poorly, and clung in some areas whilst gaping in others. She'd dressed her chestnut hair in a simple chignon, and the effect was... troubling.

The little thief should not look like an innocent country lass with her cheeks all rosy and her skin dewy. Especially not when she was just as likely to slit your purse, steal your entire life savings, and sell your soul to the devil, all the while blinking up at you with those innocent eyes. She could make a fortune at the card tables.

Christ.How old was she? She couldn't have more than two decades on her, which made him uncomfortable. She certainly didn't act like it, though he suspected growing up without a father might have been difficult, especially if she'd lived in Seven Dials as she claimed. Maybe she'd been forced to grow up early?

And he wasnotgoing to start feeling sorry for her.

"Bishop," Miss Hawkins warned. "I thought you wanted me to take you to the Dials. I need to see... my friend... and ask if he knows about any of this. Those people had the token he was meant to give them if they paid the right amount."

"I lied. We have a stop to make first. I don't like going into a situation blind, and you could be planning anything."

That drew her sharp green gaze. "I'm not leading you into a trap."

"We shall see," he replied as he strode up the front path then around to the side of the gloomy manor. "Come. And keep your tongue polite. Our host shall not be pleased to meet you to begin with."

"Our host? Where are we?" Miss Hawkins looked up at the house, her gaze sliding over the iron fence and the lush sprawl of gardens barely tamed. Some trick of the weather saw that the windows appeared made of gray glass—completely opaque. From the rooftop a raven watched with a beady eye, ruffling under its wing with its beak.

"We're here to see Lady Eberhardt," he told her, strolling through the door to the servants’ quarters as if he belonged here.

Which, in a way, he did. Lady Eberhardt had been his second master during his sorcery apprenticeship, and though the old harridan breathed fire on her better days, for some strange reason she'd taken him under her wing as if he were her own. Scarred by his mother's death—both physically and mentally—and haunted by the events surrounding the transfer of his apprentice bond from his previous master to Lady Eberhardt, young Adrian Bishop had been looking for a home.

And with Lady Eberhardt, who had never borne children of her own, he'd found it. Or the closest thing to a home he could imagine since his mother's passing.

"The Prime said something about her—and the compulsion laid upon me." For the first time, Miss Hawkins looked nervous as she stepped over the lintel, gasping as Lady Eberhardt's wards touched her and clung like spidersilk. "Do you think she can remove the compulsion?"

"Perhaps. If she decides she likes you." Agatha was notoriously testy. This was going to be interesting.

Miss Hawkins's pretty green eyes narrowed. "Who could not like me?"

"Oh, I've a person or two in mind."

The sudden smile she graced him with made him uncomfortable. "That's because you've barely had a chance to get to know me. I'll grow on you, Bishop."

"Like ivy, no doubt."