Next time leave your watchdog at home. That way I can take my time about ravishing you…I won’t have to risk destroying your gown by ripping it off.
A delicious shiver skittered along her spine. Even knowing he’d spoken the words only to frighten her off, she couldn’t help dwelling on the vivid image of him freeing her of her gown and sliding those sleek, knowing fingers over her belly, trailing kisses over her breasts and—
“If it’s Lucy you want,” Samuel broke in, “She’s over there.”
A blush staining her cheeks, Clara jerked her gaze from Morgan to Samuel, who watched her with clear suspicion. Grimly, the footman pointed across the room.
There stood the seventeen-year-old Lucy, serving pots of beer to a table of half-drunken men who eyed her with blatant admiration. No great surprise there. Taller than most girls, she always looked pretty, even in her thin, multi-patched gowns. Her hard life never seemed to dampen her determined good cheer, as evidenced by the jaunty pink feather stuck in her upswept hair. She’d probably bought it in a pawnshop for tuppence, but she wore it like a crown while she chatted with the customers as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Which she didn’t. Lucy had foisted her two cares off on Clara. And while Clara didn’t mind receiving them, she did mind watching Lucy treat her brothers with such callous disregard.
Paying no heed to the whispers of curious patrons, Clara set off across the room. Samuel followed so close behind that he bumped into her when she stopped just short of the table where Lucy stood with her now empty tray.
“Good evening, Lucy,” Clara said.
Lucy spun around, eyes wide. “Lady Clara!” Her gaze flicked to Samuel, and dark color suffused her cheeks before she jerked her gaze back to Clara. “And what brings you to the tavern this evening, m’lady? Fancy a bit of our fine mutton, do you?”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about your brothers.”
A decidedly guilty look crossed the girl’s face as she shifted the tray to her other hand. “We’re awful busy tonight. P’raps you could come by in a few days—”
“Now, Lucy. It’s important.”
Lucy sighed. “All right then. I s’pose Mr. Tufton won’t mind if I sit for a bit with you. As long as you order something, that is.”
Moments later, the three of them crowded with pewter tankards of India ale around a table graced by a single candle stuck in a grimy ginger beer bottle. With a decidedly false smile, Lucy leaned her elbows on the ale-stained table. “So what’s this all about?”
Clara got right to it. “Johnny tells me you no longer want him and Tim to visit you.”
“What?” Samuel growled before Lucy could even respond. He glared at Lucy. “Whyever not?”
Lucy glared right back. “Not that it’s any of your business, Samuel Clark, but this ain’t the sort of place I want my brothers hanging ’round.”
“Never bothered you before,” he retorted. “They used to live here themselves, until they got caught picking pockets off that gentleman and was sent to the Home.”
Lucy tilted her nose up. “Yes, and I expect the boys would never have taken to thieving if they’d lived somewhere better than a tavern.”
Samuel’s skeptical snort echoed Clara’s own opinion, but she merely flashed Lucy a patient smile. “Speaking of the boys, I’ve come because I’m concerned about what your refusal to see them will do to them. Johnny’s very upset, and Tim will be devastated once he hears. They don’t have to come here, you know. You could visit them at the Home when you have the time.”
“No, I can’t, I just can’t.” Bending her head, she busied herself with pleating her apron nervously. “It’s better for them in the long run to stay off by themselves. I got prospects that take up all my time and—”
“Wait a minute,” Samuel exclaimed, “I know what you’re up to. It’s that Rodney Fitch, ain’t it? That bloody police officer from Lambeth Street has been courting you, I hear. That’s your ‘prospects,’ I s’pose. You think he’ll stop sniffing ’round if he knows about your two thieving brothers. Wouldn’t do for a man in his position to associate with known criminals.”
Lucy’s head shot up. “For your information, he knows already. And it’s got naught to do with him, Samuel. That’s not what I meant by ‘prospects’ at all.”
“You think he’ll marry you, don’t you? And set you up in that nice house of his down in Grave Lane. But he’ll never leg-shackle himself to you. Fitch might be a dim sort, but he ain’t that stupid.”
Clara kept quiet, eager to see where this surprising conversation was headed.
“He ain’t no ‘dim sort’ neither,” Lucy protested. Then the rest of Samuel’s comment apparently registered, and she glowered at him. “And what do you mean, ‘he ain’t that stupid’? Why wouldn’t Mr. Fitch marry me? I’m nice enough to look at, I am.”
“I didn’t mean—” Samuel broke off, clearly flustered. “It’s got nothing to do with your looks. It’s only that he’s the sort to dally with a tavern maid, not marry one. Especially when her brothers is pickpockets. He’s an officer of the law; he’ll want a spotless wife.”
Lucy drew herself up with a missish outrage. “Are you saying I’m not spotless?”
Samuel actually blushed. “Aw, Lucy, you know that ain’t what I meant. I only meant—”
“I’m a good girl, and he knows it. And if I was wanting to marry Rodney, I could make him do it, too. Just see if I couldn’t.”
Samuel’s face darkened to thunder. “Rodney? Is that how it is now?” He shook his head. “You’re on the way to being a kept woman, and you don’t even see it!”
“What?”
“First he’ll have you calling him by his Christian name, then giving him a kiss or two, then it’s ‘Aw, ducky, won’t you just let me—’”
“Now see here, you stop all that talk!” A brilliant blush bloomed on Lucy’s cheeks. “I want nothing less than marriage. And Mr. Fitch respects that, he does. He’s a gentleman, unlike some people I know.”
All the fight seemed to go out of Samuel. He dropped his gaze to his ale. “I remember a time when my manners was good enough to please you.”
The naked vulnerability flitting over Lucy’s face made Clara wonder what had gone on between the two before Clara had met Samuel. “That was a long time ago, Sam,” Lucy mumbled. “Things has changed since then.” Settling her shawl about her shoulders like a grande dame, she turned to Clara. “Now if that’s all, m’lady—”
“No, it’s not,” Clara said. But clearly she wouldn’t get far in this discussion if her lovesick footman continued to interfere. “Samuel, why don’t you wait outside for me? I think Lucy and I should talk in private.”
He scowled. “I don’t want to leave you in here alone—”
“No one will bother me. Go on. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Casting Lucy one last mutinous look, Samuel rose and stormed out.
Lucy visibly relaxed once he was gone. “Thank you, m’lady. Sam don’t understand that a woman’s got to do what’s best for her family.”
“You mean, like marry a police officer to ensure her brothers’ financial future?”
The girl’s expression grew shuttered. “Don’t you listen to Sam’s nonsense. This ain’t got nothing to do with Mr. Fitch. I just…don’t want the boys around right now.”
Lucy wasn’t a very good liar, but Clara saw no reason to badger her on the subject. Samuel had already done enough of that. “I don’t really care what your hopes are concerning Mr. Fitch, but the boys can’t afford to wait until your ‘prospects’ come to fruition. They need your support and affection now.”
“They’re doing fine at the Home with you, m’lady.”
“They’re not doing fine. Did you know that I caught Johnny trying to sell a stolen watch to a fence only three days ago?”
Lucy dropped her eyes to the table. “Y-Yes, he told me. Explained the whole thing. But I was very firm with him—told him that if he got kicked o
ut of the Home because of such foolishness, he’d be on his own. I made it clear he can’t come here to live, so he won’t slip up again, I promise.”
“You think not? Your brother is very stubborn. He isn’t likely to forget that Captain Pryce still owes him money for the watch, and I’ve already told him that if he returns to the shop for it, I’ll have to evict him from the Home. Those are the rules—none of my residents may engage in criminal acts. Since this is his third offense—”
“I understand, m’lady. But stubborn or no, Johnny won’t break the rules a third time. Especially not after what I told him about that Captain Pryce.”
That gave Clara pause. She glanced over to where Morgan was still huddled in close conversation with his companions. “What did you tell him?”
Lucy’s gaze flitted to Morgan as well. She bent nearer, lowering her voice. “I warned Johnny not to get mixed up with one of the Specter’s fences. It’s too dangerous.”
A chill ran through Clara. “But I thought Captain Pryce was independent of that awful villain.”
“Not anymore, from what I hear.” Lucy was whispering now. “They’re saying that the Specter made an offer to the captain, and the captain took it.”
Clara sucked in a tight breath. “They who?”
She shrugged. “Just people in the tavern.”
“So it’s only a rumor.”
“Well…yes, but I daresay it’s true. ’Round here, if a fence don’t fall in with the Specter, he’s done for.”
Yes, and if Morgan did fall in with the villain, he’d no longer be able to keep his promise not to buy from her pickpockets. The Specter would never allow a lackey to make such a decision, and then Morgan would be back to tempting her boys again.
Her heart sank as she glanced over at Morgan and his companions. Were those the Specter’s men with him even now? Had they come to confer with one of their brethren?
No, she mustn’t jump to conclusions. False rumors did abound in Spitalfields, and until she knew for certain, she must keep an open mind.
She returned her gaze to Lucy. “I wish I could be as optimistic as you about the effect your warning will have on Johnny. But the boy has grown very willful of late, and I’m not at all sure he’ll heed it.”
“He will, I promise,” Lucy asserted, her attention now caught by Mr. Tufton, who scowled at her from across the room. “My brother knows better than to get himself kicked out.” She rose abruptly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I got to go back to work.”
Before Clara could even protest, Lucy hurried off. Clara stared after the girl, a sinking helplessness settling in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to believe that Lucy was right about her brothers, but she couldn’t. And what about this Mr. Fitch? If Lucy had set her sights on a police officer conscious of his reputation, what would happen to poor Tim and Johnny if he did not accept them?
In the meantime, how was Clara to keep Johnny from going back to that wretched shop of Morgan’s? Frustrated and anxious, Clara rose and turned to leave the tavern. Then she caught sight of Morgan. He was sitting alone now, and he’d seen her.
Their gazes locked, hers fraught with anger, his full of curiosity. Then a dark, secretive interest spread over his face, making her blood run hot and her mouth go dry. He ran his gaze over her, as if trying to guess what pleasures lay beneath her layers of cloak and gown and chemise, as if waiting for her to let him find out…
Bother it all, why did she even think these things? Why must he do this to her? The man might very well be one of the Specter’s lackeys. That was what she should focus on—finding out the truth of his connections so she’d know what to do about them.
Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps she should just ask him. She couldn’t pick better surroundings for it—a crowded public tavern, where he’d have to behave himself. There would be no “ravishing” here, to be sure.
Drawing herself up, she changed direction and headed purposely toward him.
Morgan smiled and rose as she approached, tipping his head in an abbreviated bow. “Good evening, Clara. Come to have a drink with me, have you?”
Given the intimacy of their last encounter, it seemed silly to protest his familiar tone or his easy use of her Christian name. “I wish to speak to you a moment, if I may.”
With an extravagant wave of his hand, he indicated the settle across the table from his. She slid onto the seat, ignoring the curious looks of the other customers. When he took his seat again, his calf brushed hers under the table, and she caught her breath. Had he done it on purpose?
Then he rubbed one boot against hers, and she knew he had. Though a great deal of sturdy English leather separated their two feet, just that brief contact seemed so intimate that she jerked her foot back with a blush.
His low, husky laugh sent frissons along every nerve of her body. “I take it that you aren’t here to renew our more…private acquaintance.”
“No, indeed!” When he arched an eyebrow, she moderated her tone. “Actually, I’ve come to thank you.”
He eyed her with suspicion. “For what?”
“Holding to your promise. Not buying goods from my children.”
“It was no trouble. None of them attempted to sell anything to me anyway. They merely sniffed around. Apparently, you’ve trained your charges well.” His gaze pierced her. “But that’s not what you really want to talk to me about, is it?”
Good Lord, but the man could read minds. “No. I…um…wanted to ask you about a rumor I’d heard.”
“Yes?” His tone was cautious.
“People are saying you’ve agreed to work for the Specter. And since you told me that you worked for yourself alone—”
“I never said the situation couldn’t change.”
“So you are working for him!”
Scowling, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do you care if I am or not?”
His evasion only alarmed her further. Yet he hadn’t said for certain that he’d aligned himself with the Spitalfields Specter. “If you are, you can’t keep your promise to me concerning my children. You’ll have to take whatever goods are offered you, no matter who proffers them. Including those of my charges if they fall into their old ways.”
He shrugged. “If one of your boys decides to return to the life, he won’t care whether the fences reside nearby or five blocks away.”
“You don’t understand. When the fences reside five blocks away, the boys aren’t forced to see old companions stroll past every day, crowing about their good fortune, flashing their illicit funds. Out of sight makes it so much easier for the children to put it out of mind until they’re strong enough to risk temptation. But with you so near…”
The muscles of his jaw drew tight. “Do your job properly, and you won’t have to worry about my influence over your charges, will you?”
His flagrant dismissal of her concerns sounded the death knell to all her hopes that the rumors might be false. Disappointment surged through her so powerfully that Clara had to stifle a cry of distress.
In that moment, she realized how foolish her image of him had become. His considerate behavior toward her pickpockets had led her to envision him as a gentleman down on his luck, a decent man who might need only encouragement to abandon his criminal pursuits.
Such wishful thinking had undoubtedly been born of her pesky attraction to the rogue. An attraction that now died a swift death.
“I take your meaning, sir,” she managed to choke out. “I…I had foolishly begun to think that you…” She rose abruptly, eager to escape before she revealed just how much she’d believed his empty promises. “Never mind what I thought. I was wrong.”
She turned from the table, but he stood to catch her arm before she could flee. “Now see here, Clara, don’t run off. Let’s finish our discussion like civilized people.”
“Civilized people do not manhandle women.” She glanced down to where his fingers gripped her, then lifted a cold gaze to him. “Kindly release me, sir.”
To
her surprise, he did so, though with a vile oath. When she started to move away, he said, “I haven’t yet joined the Specter’s men.”
Stunned by his admission, she halted to stare at him.
He looked angry, defiant. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Only if it’s true.”
His expression was stony. “It’s true.”
She swallowed. “But you’re considering it?”
For a long moment he simply stood there, his eyes hot on her, though indecision clouded his features. Then he looked away. “Yes.”
“I see. Then I shall know how to act.”
His gaze shot back to her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She walked off without answering and threaded her way swiftly through the tables to keep him from seeing the tears welling in her eyes.
With a curse, he hurried after her, pushing his way through patrons until he’d caught up. “Confound it all, Clara, tell me what you intend to do.”
She didn’t answer because she couldn’t. She didn’t know what she’d do. But she couldn’t allow him to continue running his business so close to the Home. She rushed outside, relieved to find Samuel waiting for her on a bench.
The faithful footman jumped to his feet. “M’lady, what—”
Morgan burst through the door behind her. “I’m not finished talking to you!”
Brows lowering, Samuel stepped forward between them. “Good evening, Cap’n Pryce. I hope you’re not bothering my mistress.”
That brought Morgan up short. He glared at Clara, then Samuel. Even in the poor light of dusk, she could see the fury roiling beneath the surface of his rigid expression. “Your mistress began a discussion she didn’t finish. So if you’ll excuse us, Samuel—”
“As far as I’m concerned, it is finished,” Clara retorted.
“Begging your pardon, Cap’n,” Samuel interjected in an oddly obsequious tone, “but I didn’t know m’lady was planning to speak to you—”
“Don’t you dare beg his pardon, Samuel,” Clara snapped. “I have the right to speak to him whenever I please. And the right not to speak to him. And furthermore—”
Dance of Seduction Page 9