Cursing him for a devil and a rogue, Clara decided she’d better admit some of what had passed between them before the man went any further. “I offered the captain a sum of money to remove his shop from this area. He turned me down.”
Her aunt eyed Morgan curiously. “Why would my niece want you to remove your shop?”
Morgan graced Aunt Verity with a perfectly charming, perfectly devious smile. “Lady Clara has heard some rather inaccurate gossip about me, I’m afraid. And she won’t believe me when I tell her that she’s misinformed.”
“Pay no attention to him, Aunt Verity. The captain knows perfectly well that my sources concerning his activities are reliable.”
Just then Empress decided to enter the discussion. Apparently tired of circling her new beloved, she leaped up on Morgan’s trousers again, streaking dirt all over them. Laughing, he picked the dog up, heedless of the mud caking her paws, now rapidly caking his shirt. Empress lolled about in his arms as shamelessly as a dockside tart.
“It’s quite extraordinary, don’t you think?” Aunt Verity told Clara. “You might wish to check your sources about the captain, given Empress’s reaction to him.”
“What do you mean?” Morgan scratched the aging spaniel behind her floppy ears.
“Empress only likes people of sterling character,” Aunt Verity said.
Morgan cast Clara a gleeful grin. “They say dogs have good instincts.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Empress is a female, from a largely female household. I daresay she’s merely relieved to have the attention of a male for a change.”
“That’s not true,” her aunt put in. “She was quite horrid to that Mr. Gaither.”
“Mr. Gaither didn’t pander to her love of being scratched,” Clara persisted.
“Empress loves being scratched because she suffers from a plague of fleas,” Morgan remarked. “But I have a solution for that.”
Her aunt pricked up her ears. “Really?”
He stroked Empress’s silky fur, apparently completely at ease with the dog. “It’s something we used at sea to rid ourselves of the fleas in the hold, a concoction of herbs. I’ll write the recipe for you if you like.”
“Oh, Captain, I’d be most grateful,” her aunt gushed. “The poor lassies suffer so with them, and they’re a torment to the household as well.”
Just that easily, he’d won Aunt Verity entirely over. Clara could scarcely contain her irritation. “Don’t you have work to do in your shop, Captain Pryce? My aunt and I don’t mean to keep you from your business.”
“I suspect business will be slow today, don’t you?” he said dryly.
She’d hoped so earlier, but now she feared her hope was futile. He had a way of turning every situation to his advantage.
As if to acknowledge his control, he strolled over to her carriage and lifted himself onto the footman’s perch, clearly settling in for a good long visit. “Besides,” he went on, “I don’t mind keeping you and your aunt company. This part of town can be dangerous.”
“You know perfectly well you don’t care about that. And don’t pretend you merely want to make polite conversation either.”
“Good lack-a-daisy, Clara!” her aunt reproached her. “The man might dress improperly, but he’s behaving like a perfect gentleman otherwise. And being wonderfully kind to the lassies, too. Why do you insist on being rude to him?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” Morgan teased, “do explain yourself.” Settling back against the carriage, he crossed his brawny arms over his chest. The muscles strained against the flimsy cambric shirt, making her mouth go dry. Why must a scoundrel fit only for hell possess a body fit for heaven?
He had the audacity to wink at her. “Is it because of that day in the shop when you let me—”
“Enough, Captain Pryce!” She rounded the table toward him so quickly that she startled Faddle into a paroxysm of barking. “If I could have a word with you in private?”
A slow burn of a smile tipped up the corners of that full, sensual mouth. “Whatever you wish. You know how I enjoy our private conversations.”
He indicated the seat next to him on the perch, but she turned on her heel and walked down the street, away from the carriage and the table.
He let out a curse behind her. Hastening after her, he caught up just as she stopped even with the entrance to the alley across the street. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Away from my aunt and the servants. You’ve already said quite enough about our previous conversations to ruin me, thank you. I won’t give them further fuel for speculation upon our association.”
He glanced across the street. But when she would have followed the direction of his gaze, he sauntered over to lean against the nearby building, forcing her to put her back to the street to look at him.
He gestured to the table. “I suppose you think this silly ‘donations’ maneuver will run me off.”
“If you have no customers, you can’t operate for long.”
Cocking his head, he eyed her thoughtfully. “I wonder how enthusiastic your aunt would be about your project if I told her what we did in my shop the other day.” His gaze drifted to her lips. “What if I mention that I know exactly how soft your mouth is…how rich and warm it feels on the inside…how perfectly shaped your breast—”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me.”
She eyed the determined set to his jaw and realized he would indeed dare. “Go ahead and tell her. Because if you do, it will destroy all her foolish illusions that you’re an amiable gentleman, and then she’ll be determined to help me.”
“She’s not determined to help you now?” His eyes narrowed. “Ah, I see. You haven’t told her the real reason she’s here, have you?”
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do.” Shoving away from the building, he ambled close. His gaze scanned the street behind her briefly, probably making sure no one heard them, before he continued. “You haven’t told her that I’m a fence. Or that you’re trying to put me out of business or any of that. Have you?”
She glanced away, but the truth was too obvious to deny. “So what if I haven’t? I didn’t wish to alarm her. But it makes no difference. She would support me all the same.”
“You think so? Miss Stanbourne doesn’t strike me as the adventurous sort. Perhaps we should find out what she’d do. I’ll just tell her the truth—”
“Don’t you dare!”
“I take it that you’re not entirely sure of how she’d react.”
Balling her hands into fists, she scowled. “You’re the most infuriating, rude—”
“If you dislike me so much,” he said with a smirk, “why do you keep coming around?”
“To make sure that you stop corrupting my children!”
Grinning broadly, he stepped closer and lowered his voice to a husky murmur that aroused her senses. “I don’t think that’s why at all. I think you come here because you like me, because you enjoy our little…encounters.”
“I do not!”
Smoldering with heat, his wolfish gaze swept slowly down her, then up, so blatantly that she couldn’t help but blush. He chuckled softly. “Liar.”
The man was too smug for words. “Your adventures in the stews have gone to your head. Just because some soiled doves fawned over you last night—”
“Why do you assume I spent the night with ‘soiled doves’?” he cut in.
“What else does a man do at night around here?”
“According to you, a great deal. Apparently I’m busy negotiating with criminals and corrupting pickpockets. When do I have time to cavort with tarts?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” she said stiffly.
He stared at her, then burst into laughter. “I’ll be damned—the proper Lady Clara is jealous.”
“Certainly not!”
“Then why do you care how I spend my nights?”
“I don’t! I was merely saying—”
“Y-You’re fascinated with me?” she blurted out, then could have cursed her quick tongue when hunger leaped in his face.
“Oh, yes. You’re the first angel I’ve ever met.” His gaze dropped meaningfully to her mouth. “Or kissed. The experience was distinctly fascinating.”
His rakish smile rocked her to her toes. He had the most extraordinary effect on her…and he knew it, too.
Somehow she managed a laugh. “Does such glib flattery often work on women?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never called anybody an angel before.”
She ignored the silly increase in her pulse. “Of course not. Since you spend your time consorting with the fallen kind, you have no chance to try your insincere compliments on respectable women.”
“Ma belle ange, I assure you my only companions last night were a bottle of gin and a motley assortment of thieves, fences, and publicans. I preferred your company to theirs, and if you hadn’t run off when you did…” He lifted his hand as if to cup her cheek, then caught himself and dropped it again. Casting a furtive glance toward the table, where Aunt Verity watched them with avid interest, he murmured irritably, “Wouldn’t you prefer to continue this conversation inside my shop?”
She seized on his annoyance with relief. “Not on your life. I don’t intend to give you any more opportunities to assault me.”
He arched one brow. “I wouldn’t call it an assault when you throw your arms about my neck and beg me to ravish you.”
“I did not beg—” She stopped short, realizing what he was up to. “Your sly flirtations won’t distract me from my purpose this time. I shan’t allow you to remain in Spitalfields and tempt my children back into crime.”
Wild barking suddenly erupted from the table, and the dogs went racing off across the street. “What the dickens—” she began as she whirled around.
Only to see Johnny vainly trying to shoo the dancing Fiddle, Faddle, and Foodle away. Her heart sank. “Johnny! What are you doing here?”
But she feared she knew exactly what he was doing here.
Chapter 9
Reflect To-day upon the Last.
And freely own thy Errors past.
A Little pretty pocket-book, John Newbery
Morgan cursed under his breath as Clara hurried across the street. He should have known his plan to extricate Johnny would never work. Not even a serious flirtation could distract Clara enough to keep her from looking out for her charges.
And now poor Johnny Perkins wouldn’t be the only one to suffer her displeasure. With a sigh, Morgan headed after her. While her aunt bustled over to herd the dogs back to the table, Clara caught the hapless Johnny by the arm before he could flee.
The boy gazed up at her, eyes wide with panic. “I was just going to the costermonger’s stall for some potatoes for Peg—”
“Peg knows better than to send you off alone,” Clara retorted. “Show me your pockets.”
Johnny reacted much as Morgan would have at his age—he thrust out his chest in a gesture of defiance. “I don’t got to show you, you know.”
With a swiftness undoubtedly born of experience, she searched the lad’s pockets herself. A low moan escaped her lips when she found something. Then she whirled toward Morgan and held up a knot of coins wrapped in a handkerchief. “You promised to leave my pickpockets alone. So where did he get this money, pray tell?”
Morgan strove to ignore her look of betrayal. No true fence would care about her wounded feelings, so he mustn’t either, no matter how much they cut him.
He came toward her, affecting nonchalance. “Did you really think the boy would let that watch go without demanding payment? He’s young, but he’s not stupid.”
“Please don’t kick me out of the Home, Lady Clara,” Johnny whispered from beside her, his courage vanquished. “I swear I won’t steal again! Nor come near the cap’n’s shop.”
Guilt flooded Morgan with all the force of a tidal wave. He’d put her in an untenable position. If she followed her rules, she had to evict the lad from the Home. And for the sake of her other charges, she had to follow her rules.
She seemed to realize it, too, for her face was as white as her spencer. She stared down at Johnny, anger and worry mingling in her features. “You swore you wouldn’t come here. You promised.”
The boy hung his head. “I know, but…I…I…”
“I warned you of the possible consequences,” she persisted, as if pleading with him would somehow change the circumstances. “How could you do so foolish a thing?”
Her despairing voice clutched at Morgan, made him speak without thinking. “I have a solution to propose.”
Her head shot up, fury flashing in her eyes. “Haven’t you done enough already?”
“I didn’t ask him to come here. He came on his own.”
“But you gave him the money.”
Wearily, he rubbed his still throbbing temples. “Yes. A mistake. But I’m willing to make amends for it.”
“How?” she said sarcastically. “By taking the money back?”
“By giving young Johnny gainful employment.”
He must be insane. How could he take on the responsibility of anybody, especially a child, when he most needed to remain unencumbered?
Yet he couldn’t stand idly by and watch the boy’s situation tear Clara in half either. If she took Johnny back into the Home, it would erode her authority there and might eventually destroy the institution. If she evicted Johnny, the boy would surely fall back into old habits and end up dead or in the gaol by the age of fifteen.
Morgan refused to be responsible for either scenario. He was the one who’d wedged her between a rock and a hard place, and he would be the one to tug her free. Ravenswood might squawk, but the man should never have planted Morgan so close to the Home in the first place.
Since she said nothing, merely gaping at Morgan as if he’d gone mad, he repeated his offer. “I’ll hire Johnny myself. And he can live in the storeroom upstairs.”
That jogged her from her daze. “Do you really think I’d allow you to engage him as one of your own personal pickpockets—”
“No, you misunderstand.” He should have realized she’d take it that way. “I need an assistant in the shop. Johnny will sweep floors, polish silver, run errands, that sort of thing. No picking pockets, or I’ll kick him out myself.”
She stared at him, her trembling lower lip showing her confusion and uncertainty. He couldn’t blame her for not trusting him. Fences often maintained scores of pickpockets who stole goods for them.
“It’s impossible—” she began.
“Hear me out, Clara. You and I both know you can’t let him stay with you after he’s broken the rules.” He nodded down the street to the Home.
She followed his gaze, her shoulders slumping as she spotted the anxious children’s faces pressed to the windows and Mrs. Carter standing on the front steps with arms crossed.
“If you let him stay,” Morgan went on in a low voice, “it won’t be long before the others break the rules. Not to mention that it will get back to the magistrate. As you say, there are no secrets in Spitalfields. It’s one thing if you can show the authorities that it’s part of your policy to take him back, but if you can’t, if you make an exception, they’ll be suspicious of you from now on.”
She closed her eyes, as if to shut all of it out. “I-I’ll just have to prevail upon Lucy to take him in, that’s all.”
“I don’t want to live with my sister!” Johnny cried. “Let her keep her ‘prospects,’ whatever they are. She don’t want me there—she said so. And I don’t want her neither.”
Brave words from a boy who was clearly terrified about what might happen to him. Morgan went on relentlessly. “If you put him into my care, he won’t be in the streets. If his sister won’t let him stay with her, where else can he go?” He used the
one thing he knew would sway her. “Unless you send him to the workhouse, of course.”
Clara’s eyes shot open. “The workhouse! No, he can’t go there.”
She glanced away, but not before he glimpsed her tears. God, how he wanted to reach out and brush them away. But that would be foolish and probably unappreciated.
She turned her frustration on the boy. “A pox on you, Johnny! Why couldn’t you just do as you were told?”
“Because he’s too foolish to know a good thing when he has it,” Morgan said.
“Hey!” Johnny cried. “P’raps I don’t want to stay with you neither, Cap’n. Nobody’s asked me what I want.”
“And nobody’s going to,” Morgan said sharply. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to your betters for once.”
Johnny blinked but wisely said nothing. Clara shot Morgan a considering glance, then sighed. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t see how I can trust you not to use him for your own purposes.”
Wondering why he bothered to argue for something that did him no good, he turned to Johnny. “Tell Lady Clara about our conversation when I gave you the money. Tell her what conditions I put on it.”
Johnny’s gaze drifted warily between the two of them, but he answered. “The cap’n said he’d only give me the money if I promised not to return. And he said I was to tell the other boys they weren’t welcome in his shop.”
“There, you see?” Morgan turned back to Clara. “And if you’ll recall, I asked you to keep your charges away from my shop the day I met you.”
“Yes, because you were trying to lull me into trusting you.”
“Because I have no use for children. They don’t bring in enough money, and they can be trouble if they’re caught.”
Her gaze was steady on him now. “So you admit that you fence goods.”
His soggy head reeled from the effort of keeping up with her arguments. Damn, but the woman never let an idle comment pass. “I admit nothing. I’m merely saying I have no reason to buy from pickpockets. Which is why Johnny would be safe in my care.”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I simply cannot allow—”
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