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Chapter Four

His legs were simply too long, Georgie thought as she scurried after him. She was already limping slightly in her too-small boots, but she was determined.

“I told you I’d follow you,” she said triumphantly, catching up with him. “Bertha said I was to bring this basket along as well, just in case you managed to talk someone into an act of charity.”

“No one’s getting charity,” he said. “I’ll simply explain to the shopkeepers that it would be in their best interest to advance more credit. They’ll be reasonable.”

“I doubt it,” she said, looking up at him.

She still couldn’t get over the transformation—he was quite the prettiest man she’d ever seen.

No, not pretty like Darcy Winderham, the town beau with the brain of a peacock, but pretty like some ancient Greek statue.

He had high cheekbones and a strong chin, but it was his eyes, she thought dreamily.

They were a beautiful clear blue with hints of silver—quite the most extraordinary eyes she’d ever seen on anyone, including her sister’s limpid, violet gaze.

Of course, when his eyes rested on her, they tended to be impatient, but she could deal with that.

She would have to work on him. After all, she wanted to talk to him, to find out all about his mysterious life and what it was like on the streets.

Rafferty let out a sigh. “You’re limping,” he observed.

“My boots are too small—I told you.”

“So you did. We’ll have to arrange for new shoes for you.”

“That’s not a butler’s job,” she protested, skipping slightly to keep up with his long strides, and he slowed down. “Besides, there’s no money for frivolities.”

“Everything is a butler’s job, Miss Georgie.”

He called her by her name! She smiled up at him. “I told you that you were a natural at this. But how are we going to get me shoes? You can’t just go out and buy them, and the cobbler told father he’d see him in hell before he made another pair of shoes for our family.”

“Who told you that?”

“Norah, of course. She likes to tell me things that will worry me. Not that I’m that worried about shoes—I can manage with what I have. It’s the bigger things that trouble me.”

“Such as what?” They’d fallen into step together, almost by accident.

“There’s no money,” she said. “You’ve seen how we’re struggling. If I were beautiful like Norah, I could marry a rich man and save the family.” She didn’t sound happy about the idea. “But I’m not.”

“You’ll find a good husband,” he said eventually.

“I don’t really want to,” she said. “But under the circumstances, I can make do with shoes that are too small. It’s a small enough sacrifice.”

“You can’t.”

She was learning his grumpy voice and liking it. He used it when he thought things weren’t fair, which meant he cared about her.

“You do, don’t you?” she said suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Care about me.” She gave another skip to catch up and her foot caught on something, tripping her up. He caught her, his hands strong and secure as he set her to rights, and she wanted to sigh with happiness. He probably wouldn’t like it if she did.

“A butler cares about every member of his household.”

“But you care about me more than Norah, don’t you?”

“Your sister is a snake,” he said flatly, and she smiled up at him.

“Yes, she is,” she said cheerfully. “You know, I think you’re the only person who likes me better than Norah.”

“Then the world is full of fools.” He stopped, and she realized they were outside of the butcher’s shop. “Stay here and don’t move,” he said sternly. “Don’t speak to anyone. You promise?”

“I promise,” she said, holding out the large basket.

He shook his head. “I won’t need it.”

Georgie grimaced. “You’re right—he won’t change his mind.”

“He’ll change his mind, but the order will be large enough that he’ll have to send it to the house.”

“You don’t know Mr. Jenkins,” she said, shaking her head.

“You don’t know me.” The door closed behind him, and she stayed where she was, mainly because her feet hurt too much to wander. The sun was warm overhead, and she surreptitiously lifted one foot hidden under her skirt and wiggled it as she watched through the window.

Mr. Jenkins was there with his blood-stained apron and his pugnacious expression, glowering at Rafferty, and she sighed.

Rafferty must be used to getting what he wanted, which didn’t surprise her in the slightest. She’d certainly do anything for him.

But Mr. Jenkins was shaking his head, and then he.

..stopped. Even through the fly-specked windows, it seemed as if Jenkins’s usually ruddy face paled, and his glare faded, and Georgie would have given anything to hear what they were saying.

A moment later Rafferty was out on the street. “There’ll be a delivery this afternoon,” he said, taking the basket from her. “Do you know where the greengrocer is?”

“How did you get Mr. Jenkins to agree?” she asked in wonder, setting her foot down and hiding her grimace.

“I simply explained the situation and he was more than happy to oblige,” he said blandly.

Georgie didn’t believe him for a moment. “You are a miracle worker,” she said.

“I do my best, Miss Georgie.” For the first time that day, he smiled back at her, and the strangest thing happened.

There was a ripple in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger, a strange pinch between her breasts, and she almost wanted to cry.

The sensation was most peculiar. Instead, she looked up at him brightly.

“Let’s see how you do with the greengrocers,” she said.

Two hours later, they were nearing home, Georgie’s basket was empty, her feet hobbled by the too-small boots, but her heart was filled with happiness.

Rafferty had worked his magic at each of their stops, and though she tried to get close enough to hear his exchange with the merchants, they remained stubbornly out of reach, but everyone’s reaction was the same.

They went from truculent to servile in a matter of moments, and Rafferty was on his way again, with Georgie clattering after him.

She would have liked to have taken his arm, but she knew how frowned-upon that would be, particularly by Rafferty himself, and she resisted the temptation.

She didn’t particularly care if it would damage her own reputation, but it wouldn’t look good for him.

After all, he seemed determined to make a success of his new position, and she certainly didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it. But he had such strong arms.

They were almost home when she tripped again, caught once more against his strong body. There was something shockingly delicious about it, about the warmth and strength of him, and she let out a happy little sigh as she straightened herself. “Sorry,” she said, not in the slightest bit sorry.

He looked down at her. “Lift up your skirts,” he said in his low voice.

“In public?” she said. She should have blushed at his abrupt command, but she wasn’t one for blushing.

He didn’t even look around to see if someone was watching. “In public.”

She did so, exposing her not so tiny feet in the far too tiny walking boots. “They’re not so bad,” she said, but Rafferty had let out a low curse, and a moment later he’d scooped her up in his arms.

She let out a little whoop of surprise as he carried her, and while she wanted to do nothing more than enjoy the sensation, she knew she had to look out for him.

“If someone sees us, you’ll be in trouble,” she said, unable to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

“There’s no one around.”

She turned in his arms to look, and sure enough, the street near their house was almost empty, save for a few delivery wagons.

A moment later, he was down the few short steps to the alley leading to the kitchen, and she let her head rest against his shoulder for a brief moment. It was too tempting to resist.

“What is it now?” Bertha demanded when he pushed through the door. “Miss Georgie, what tricks have you been pulling?”

He set her down carefully, and she immediately sank into one of the kitchen chairs, determined not to show that she missed the feel of his arms around her. “No tricks, Bertha. My shoes are too tight.”

“And well I know that. You should have taken Miss Norah’s. Better yet, you should have stayed at home and let Rafferty do what he could. Maybe without you tagging along he wouldn’t have failed.”

“He didn’t fail, Bertha,” she said earnestly, rubbing her foot in the boot. “There’ll be deliveries this afternoon.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it. In the meantime, you’d best go up to your room before your mother hears you’ve been out gallivanting.”

“I like gallivanting,” she said defiantly.

“You should know better!”

“You need to get those boots off,” Rafferty interrupted. “Do you need me to carry you to your room...”

“She does not!” Bertha said. “She’s been wearing those boots for months now—they aren’t going to kill her. Go along with you now, and I’ll bring tea up later. I have a few words to say to Rafferty.”

Georgie looked between the two of them. Bertha was looking grim, Raffety his usual cool unreadable self.

She wracked her brain for a reason to stay longer, but she was coming up blank, and she really did need to get these blasted boots off.

She savored the curse word. Blasted. There was something deliciously shocking about it.

Slowly she rose, determined not to evince one sign of pain, and she smiled at Rafferty. “You could send Rafferty up with my tea.”

“I could not. He’ll have enough things to do. Go along with you.”

She gave him one last glance before heading for the servants’ staircase, over Bertha’s objections, and she didn’t start limping again until she was out of sight.

Rafferty turned back to Bertha, more than aware he was about to have his head handed to him. Too bad the deliveries hadn’t arrived yet—it would sweeten her mood.

“You don’t belong here,” she said.