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Chapter Seventeen

Rafferty was a man who knew his own mind—he’d never been troubled by doubts or second thoughts. He did what he had to do, with no regrets, and that had served him most of his life.

But as he strode down the chilly autumn streets of London, he was infuriatingly aware of a rare case of doubt.

One thing was certain—he’d scared Georgie off him last night and her childish crush would be just that, crushed.

He wouldn’t have to worry about her sneaking into his bedroom or planting kisses on him or watching him out of those soul-searching blue eyes. She was cured.

He wasn’t. The very thought of Andrew Salton paying court to her roused an absolute rage in his gut.

He’d tossed the man’s card and put his floral tribute with Norah’s, lost in the mass of bouquets.

It was only fitting—the violets he’d chosen were far too delicate for a harum-scarum creature like Georgie, as tone deaf a choice as the sweet pink roses.

He had yet to find a suitable substitute as husband material.

Every possibility was either too old or too young, too stupid or too self-consciously clever, too poor or too rich.

She needed someone kind and thoughtful, an ordinary man.

Just not Andrew Salton. There was something definitely wrong about the man.

There was an absolute parade of eligible young men in the Manning household, all drawn by the Beauty, but they wouldn’t do either, though Rafferty couldn’t quite pin down why, he only knew that in all of London there was no one worthy of Georgie.

Certainly not a reprobate like him. Not that he was even tempted. That kiss had been instructional, nothing more. It didn’t matter that it wreaked havoc with his peace of mind. Peace of mind was overrated.

As if worrying about Georgie wasn’t enough, Martina was another problem.

She was spending an inordinate amount of time with the young master Neddy, and even if he was newly sober, he was not for the likes of Martina.

Rafferty hated to see her heart broken again, as it had been so many times, but his gentle word of warning had garnered him nothing but a laughing and totally false denial.

He needed to get out of here, away from Georgie and all the temptation she offered, and he needed to take Martina with him.

Not back to that fancified brothel, if he could help it, but somewhere she could bloom.

It was a cool day, without the drizzling rain that had been so omnipresent, and he strode down the street at his usual pace, not the butler’s furtive steps, when he realized he wasn’t alone. Someone was following him.

He paused, looking in a shop window, searching the reflection for Billy Stiles, but there was no toothy bastard that he could find among the throngs of people moving down the sidewalk. Cursing under his breath, he walked on, ducking down the first alley he came to.

Georgie came into view, and he surveyed her for a moment. She was looking beautiful in one of her new dresses. She was peering through the crowds, looking for him, and he reached out and yanked her into the alley, pushing her, not ungently, up against the brick wall.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, unable to keep the fury from his voice.

She blinked up at him, looking not the slightest bit cowed. “I was following you, of course. Since I knew you wouldn’t let me come if I asked.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You just seem to find excuses instead of taking me out,” she said, and he cursed inwardly.

“Why are you here?” he clarified, trying to grab a bit of errant patience.

“I wanted to be with you,” she said simply.

“Christ,” he muttered.

She blinked at his curse. “If you’d let me talk to you, then I wouldn’t have to sneak out and follow you.”

“I suppose no one knows you’re gone?”

A smug smile lit her face. “Of course not. They think I’m lying down with the headache.”

“And what if you didn’t catch up with me? What if Billy Stiles got to you first?”

Her smile faded somewhat. “I forgot about him. He wouldn’t really want to hurt me, would he? I mean, what good am I to him?”

“He’d cut your throat as soon as look at you. The man runs a gang of killers for hire, and he’s set his sights on you.”

“But why?”

He couldn’t answer that. Stiles was a man who could ferret out a man’s weakness, and Georgie was just that, whether he like it or not.

A weakness, which was why he had to leave her.

Billy was never a patient man, and it was taking Rafferty far too long to find the cache.

Billy would take his impatience out on someone, someone who mattered to him.

She wasn’t safe, and she wouldn’t be if he was around her.

That knowledge had been growing inside him, and he’d kept pushing it away, but the ugly truth was that the longer he was near her, the more dangerous her life would be. He had to find the money.

He managed the best answer he could come up with. “A man like Stiles doesn’t need an excuse. For the time being, you should stay put. There’s no guarantee that even I could protect you.”

“So, I’m to be immured like a nun?” she said.

“Just until I deal with him.”

She gazed up at him out of those sweet blue eyes that had a nasty habit of haunting his dreams. “How are you going to deal with him? Are you going to kill him?”

“Yes.” He said it without thinking, knowing it was true. He was a threat to Georgie, and for that alone, he deserved to die.

It should have horrified her, made her shrink away, but she simply nodded. “Good. He’s a bad man.”

Heaven help him! “But right now, you’re going back home and staying there.”

“But where are you going?” she persisted, and he knew she’d follow him. Would she always follow him, wherever he went? And was that a curse or a blessing?

“I’m taking you back home,” he said in his most reproving voice, the one that would make Billy Stiles laugh. “And then I’m going out, alone, to see what can be done.”

“About Stiles?”

“About everything.” He realized with sudden shock that he was still holding her against the wall, his hands on her shoulders, and he was kneading them slightly, almost caressing them.

He practically jumped back, watching as she straightened her dress and looked up at him with that beatific smile that lit her face.

He held out his arm, and she took it happily enough. “That’s all right then,” she said. “We can talk while you escort me.”

“Mmph,” he replied as they moved back out among the crowds. He could see Dagger Fanning leaning against a building, a newspaper in his hand. Dagger didn’t know how to read, and Rafferty wondered just how many of Stiles’s men were out looking for him. Him, or Georgie?

“We could talk about the weather,” Georgie said brightly.

“Mmph.”

“Or you could tell me why you lied to Andrew Salton and told him my father wasn’t at home.”

He didn’t even blink. “I thought he was gone.”

“Then you don’t mind if I marry Andrew Salton?”

“Do you want to marry Andrew Salton?” he countered, knowing that was the wrong answer. He should have insisted that it was none of his business.

“You told me I should marry a good man. Everyone says he’s a most eligible man!”

“That means nothing. You shouldn’t have to marry a man who’s clearly wrong for you.”

“Mother says he’ll settle me down.”

“Settle you down? What makes her think that’s important?”

“Because of you. She says my feelings for you are most inappropriate, and a good solid husband will rid me of such fantasies.”

“What fantasies?” He knew he shouldn’t have asked that question the moment the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late.

“That I’m in love with you.”

He stumbled for a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said gruffly. “I’m the butler.”

“So you are. You take excellent care of me,” she added, patting his arm.

He looked down into her guileless blue eyes. “Have you forgotten last night? You need a gentleman who’ll treat you with respect, not maul you.”

“You didn’t maul me,” she said calmly enough. “You kissed me. I thought that was the way you usually kissed.” She smiled up at him. “I liked it.”

He stifled his groan. “That’s not the way the gentry kiss,” he said, knowing it was a lie.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m not in love with a member of the gentry.”

He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to drag her into the nearest alleyway and give her another lesson in the art of kissing, show her how to kiss him back, show her?—

“The right man will come along,” he said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Anyway, it’s none of my business. Whom you marry is your father’s decision.

I’ll be long gone by then.” It had to be.

There were only a few places left to look—the empty attic with the deserted servants’ quarters, the gloomy confines of the coal cellar.

Hell, he’d even scour the roof if need be, but he had to hurry things up.

“What?” Her head shot up.

“My time in your household is coming to an end. I appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me, but I have my own life to get back to. My own problems to deal with.”

“You’re leaving?” Her voice was so low he had trouble hearing her, but he nodded.

“Once I get Stiles sorted, there won’t be any use for me.

Then you won’t have to deal with my picking and choosing who you should marry.

Just not Salton.” He wished he could see her expression, but she was staring down at the street, her face hidden by her bonnet.

“There’ll be other men. It’s not like you’re in love with him. ”

“No,” she said. “I’m in love with you.” Without another word, she started in the direction of Corinth Place, and he had no choice but to follow after her, cursing himself as they went.

They met Martina on the corner of the square, racing in their direction., her shawl blowing in the wind. “Miss Georgie!” she cried out. “Thank God Rafferty found you! Don’t you know it’s dangerous to go out on your own?”