has a ridiculous number of bedrooms.”
“Ah.” Well, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. The only other option was to ask him to put her on the stage back to the Crowing Cock, and chances were there wasn’t another coach leaving today. And her purse was near empty—she’d have to beg the fare from him. Plus, now that he’d got this idea into his head that her aunt was selling boys . . .
And there was no way she could explain without revealing her gender.
Oh, it was all such a mess.
Well, surely she could keep up her masquerade until tomorrow. Somehow she’d get him to drop her at Puddington’s door; she couldn’t have him come in and meet the man, because then he’d also discover she was a female. Once she saw Puddington and got her money, all her problems would be solved.
She stumbled again, this time over something she hoped was a mutton bone as they passed a narrow alley, and Jack grabbed her arm.
“Watch where you put your feet.”
“I didn’t mean to trip. I—”
He held up his free hand, his expression suddenly intent. “Shh. Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” She listened. Jack had sharp ears. It took her a moment to pick up the sound, a faint mewling. “You mean the cat?”
“That’s not a cat, blast it.” He glanced around. “Bloody hell, where the—”
Frances heard the sound again. “I think it’s coming from the alley.”
“You’re right.” He plunged into the dark, dank, narrow space. Frances hung back—the place smelled as bad as a midden—but Jack’s fingers were still locked around her arm, so she had no choice but to stumble after him. At least she was wearing Frederick’s old clothes—she’d throw them out as soon as she could.
It was a very good thing she couldn’t see what she was stepping in. She slipped on something large and mushy, skidding into Lord Jack just as he stopped. His arm went round her, holding her against his body.
A dog, barking wildly, leapt up from a bundle of rags and ran over to jump on Lord Jack. His breeches would have to go on the trash heap also, and they were far finer than Frederick’s castoffs.
Jack swore, but not at the dog.
“Stay here,” he said and went over to pick up the rags.
The dog transferred his attentions to Frances. There was enough light to see he was of average size and indeterminate origin, with floppy ears and a plumed tail curling over his back. She patted him absently, trying not to think of the fleas and other vermin he might be gifting her with. “Why are you bothering with—oh.”
The rags cried.
“Oh my God. It’s a baby.”
Chapter 4
Lies have a way of coming back to haunt you.
—Venus’s Love Notes
“Yes.” Jack sounded angry, not shocked or surprised, and he carried the bundle securely as if he’d handled infants before. “A boy—he looks to be a month or two old. He’s lucky the dog was here or he would have frozen to death. Come with me.”
She hurried after him, the dog following at her heels. Once they were free of the alley, Jack turned right and banged on the first door he came to.
It jerked open, revealing a scowling giant, a man a good handbreadth taller than Jack and weighing at least twice as much. He had a scar over his right eye and a flattened nose that looked as if it had encountered far too many fists.
“What do ye—” The giant’s eyes widened as they focused on Jack, and then his face paled as his gaze continued down to the baby cradled in Jack’s right arm. “Er, what are ye doing here, milord?”
“What does it look like I’m doing, Albert? I need to speak to your mistress.”
Albert’s Adam’s apple bobbed above his cravat. “I dunno, milord. She’s awful busy. If ye come back tomorrow, maybe—”
“I don’t care if she’s entertaining Prinny himself, she’ll see me now,” Jack said and pushed past him.
Frances stepped in behind Jack. She didn’t wish to be inside this house—she was very much afraid she knew what it was—but she
“Ah.” Well, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. The only other option was to ask him to put her on the stage back to the Crowing Cock, and chances were there wasn’t another coach leaving today. And her purse was near empty—she’d have to beg the fare from him. Plus, now that he’d got this idea into his head that her aunt was selling boys . . .
And there was no way she could explain without revealing her gender.
Oh, it was all such a mess.
Well, surely she could keep up her masquerade until tomorrow. Somehow she’d get him to drop her at Puddington’s door; she couldn’t have him come in and meet the man, because then he’d also discover she was a female. Once she saw Puddington and got her money, all her problems would be solved.
She stumbled again, this time over something she hoped was a mutton bone as they passed a narrow alley, and Jack grabbed her arm.
“Watch where you put your feet.”
“I didn’t mean to trip. I—”
He held up his free hand, his expression suddenly intent. “Shh. Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” She listened. Jack had sharp ears. It took her a moment to pick up the sound, a faint mewling. “You mean the cat?”
“That’s not a cat, blast it.” He glanced around. “Bloody hell, where the—”
Frances heard the sound again. “I think it’s coming from the alley.”
“You’re right.” He plunged into the dark, dank, narrow space. Frances hung back—the place smelled as bad as a midden—but Jack’s fingers were still locked around her arm, so she had no choice but to stumble after him. At least she was wearing Frederick’s old clothes—she’d throw them out as soon as she could.
It was a very good thing she couldn’t see what she was stepping in. She slipped on something large and mushy, skidding into Lord Jack just as he stopped. His arm went round her, holding her against his body.
A dog, barking wildly, leapt up from a bundle of rags and ran over to jump on Lord Jack. His breeches would have to go on the trash heap also, and they were far finer than Frederick’s castoffs.
Jack swore, but not at the dog.
“Stay here,” he said and went over to pick up the rags.
The dog transferred his attentions to Frances. There was enough light to see he was of average size and indeterminate origin, with floppy ears and a plumed tail curling over his back. She patted him absently, trying not to think of the fleas and other vermin he might be gifting her with. “Why are you bothering with—oh.”
The rags cried.
“Oh my God. It’s a baby.”
Chapter 4
Lies have a way of coming back to haunt you.
—Venus’s Love Notes
“Yes.” Jack sounded angry, not shocked or surprised, and he carried the bundle securely as if he’d handled infants before. “A boy—he looks to be a month or two old. He’s lucky the dog was here or he would have frozen to death. Come with me.”
She hurried after him, the dog following at her heels. Once they were free of the alley, Jack turned right and banged on the first door he came to.
It jerked open, revealing a scowling giant, a man a good handbreadth taller than Jack and weighing at least twice as much. He had a scar over his right eye and a flattened nose that looked as if it had encountered far too many fists.
“What do ye—” The giant’s eyes widened as they focused on Jack, and then his face paled as his gaze continued down to the baby cradled in Jack’s right arm. “Er, what are ye doing here, milord?”
“What does it look like I’m doing, Albert? I need to speak to your mistress.”
Albert’s Adam’s apple bobbed above his cravat. “I dunno, milord. She’s awful busy. If ye come back tomorrow, maybe—”
“I don’t care if she’s entertaining Prinny himself, she’ll see me now,” Jack said and pushed past him.
Frances stepped in behind Jack. She didn’t wish to be inside this house—she was very much afraid she knew what it was—but she
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