Page 19 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
“I’m not even going to ask how you became acquainted with her,” she said primly, ignoring an inexplicable flash of jealousy that washed over her.
He sent her an amused, chiding glance. “Not that kind of ‘friend.’ If you must know, she was the best fence in London until a few years ago, with a shop on Petticoat Lane, but she gave it all up when she fell in love with a Bow Street runner. They run a boardinghouse for veterans now. She’s completely reformed.”
Ellie smiled in sudden recollection. “When Tess’s first husband, the awful old duke, died, we said she should do something charitable with her new fortune. Daisy joked we should open a home for wounded veterans, reformed harlots, and stray dogs. It seems your Long Meg is catering to at least two of those groups.”
“Oh, she caters to the soiled doves too, but in another boardinghouse around the corner.”
How many of them were his “friends”?Ellie refusedto voice the question. His amorous escapades were none of her affair. Even if shewasinordinately curious.
“That was a very kind thing for you to do for Sergeant Morris,” she said instead.
He shrugged, but she was intrigued to see the faintest flush of pink sweep across his cheekbones. He was embarrassed!
She bit her lip and sternly told herself not to find that attractive.
“It was nothing. Morris was injured defending this country. It’s shameful that the government isn’t providing enough help for him now that the war’s over and he’s struggling to find honest work.”
“Giving up your beautiful coat was a noble sacrifice to the case,” she said solemnly.
Again, he waved off her thanks, as though uncomfortable with it. “It was a fine coat, but I was about to get rid of it anyway. I’d never have been able to look George Brummell in the eye if I’d worn it for a second season.”
Ellie shook her head at his ridiculousness.
“So, we’re off to Cork Street because you think the tailors who made that coat will be able to tell us who it was made for?”
“Schweitzer and Davidson,” Harry said. “And yes, exactly. A man’s coat is as individual as the wooden last made for his shoes. They also keep a record book of every coat they’ve made, with details of the type, and cloth, and cost. I’ve no doubt they’ll be able to tell us the man we’re looking for.”
Ellie studied him curiously. “Was it true, what you told Sergeant Morris? Were you really a spy during the war?”
His dimples deepened. “That depends on your definition of spy. I certainly heard a number of interestingtidbits as I was traveling around the Continent. And it’s fair to say that I passed on any information that might have been of interest to Lord Wellington. I was never officially employed by the government, though. More of a free agent.”
“Did you ask for payment for your ‘services’?”
He grinned at her obvious disapproval. “Of course not. I may be many things, but a traitor to my country isn’t one of them. And while I very much enjoy French tailoring, cheese, and wine, I don’t believe we’d all be better living under Bonaparte’s thumb.”
Ellie nodded, satisfied. “How did you know to question Morris?”
“To acquire knowledge, one must study; but to acquirewisdom,one must observe.”
“That’s very profound.”
“Isn’t it?” He leaned back in his seat, effortlessly elegant. “Morris stood out on that street in the same way a gold sovereign would stand out in a pile of copper pennies. He was awash with inconsistencies—which to an observer of human nature like myself was immediately intriguing.”
“‘Observer of human nature,’” Ellie scoffed. “You meancrook.”
He didn’t seem the least offended. “Of course. Every thief needs the ability to read his potential target. Why waste time breaking into the house of a man who has nothing to steal? Why take the purse of a woman whose jewels are obviously paste? I never steal from anyone who can’t afford to buy it back. You’d be surprised at how many people only pretend to have money.”
“A disappointment in your line of work, I’m sure,” she said drily.
“Previousline of work,” he reminded her. “Like Meg, I’m completely reformed.”
She raised her brows. “What about Mr. Bullock’s gold watch?”
“Ninety-nine percent reformed,” he conceded. “And now all those ill-gotten skills are yours to command. Book learning can only get you so far, Eleanor. There’s no substitute for practical experience. Reading about how to do a card trick and understanding how it works, for example, is not the same as becoming a master at it yourself. No book can let you know the exact weight of the cards in your hands, their thickness, how slippery they are, how easy to bend, how it feels when you toss one over another. Nor can it give you the elation when someone falls for your trick and you win their money.”
“True. But book learning won’t land me on a ship bound for transportation either.”
Her tart answer made him chuckle, and her blood heated. He really was a charming scoundrel.