wanted less to be alone on the street.
“Hey, ye can’t come in here, ye miserable cur.”
Frances scowled, but Albert was addressing the poor dog, not her. He swung his foot. The animal must have had experience with this form of greeting, because he dodged and ran back outside, whining. Albert shut the door.
The baby started crying again—a weak, thin, pitiful sound.
“I assume Nan is in her office,” Jack said, striding through the foyer toward a closed door.
“Yes, milord, but—” Albert was almost wringing his ham-sized hands.
“No need to announce me.” Jack paused with his fingers on the doorknob, and glanced at Frances. “You stay here.”
Frances looked around the garish foyer and felt her flesh creep. The walls were decorated in bloodred flocked wallpaper and overly ornate, vaguely obscene, gold wall sconces, and the paintings had naked—
“And don’t look at the artwork.”
She jerked her eyes back to Lord Jack. “I’ll come in with you.”
“No, you won’t.” He pointed to a straight-backed bench. “Sit there. I promise I won’t be long.” Then he threw open the door and went into the room.
“Lord,” Albert breathed, “the mistress will be mad as a buck. She’s been trying fer days to get the Earl of—”
“What the bloody hell,” a man shouted from the room. “Can’t a fellow have a bit of privacy, for God’s sake?”
“Now, Ruland, I’m sure—” That was a woman’s voice.
“I’m sure I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back, madam.”
“Oh, damn,” Albert muttered as a fat, balding man with startlingly bushy gray eyebrows came barreling out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
The man glared at Frances, turning his brows into one imposing hedge, as he struggled to button his fall. “What are you gaping at, boy?”
She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of men, especially men of his advanced age, frequenting brothels but she caught Albert’s worried expression before she spoke.
Ah, yes. Perhaps she should hold her tongue. She was masquerading as a boy, after all. “Nothing, my lord.”
Something heavy thudded against the closed door. Perhaps she was just as happy not to be in that room.
Ruland looked her up and down. “Who are you? You don’t look or sound like one of the filthy Covent Garden brats.” His beady eyes narrowed. “You came with Jack, didn’t you?”
The man must be memorizing her face. “Yes, my lord.” She wished she could grab the hideously obscene statue of a pregnant woman and lascivious snakes off the table to her right and bash the lewd lord over the head with it.
“I’ll find out who you are, you know”—he finally got his fall buttoned—“and, more importantly, what Jack is doing with you. He’ll be sorry he interrupted me.”
He tugged on his coat sleeves and turned to Albert, who was holding out his hat and walking stick. “Open the door, you idiot,” he snarled as he grabbed his things.
“Yes, milord.” Albert bowed as the man departed, then shut the door and collapsed against it. “Mother of God, now we are in the suds!”
“Why?” For a frightening-looking fellow, Albert was turning out to be no more dangerous than a field mouse. “I mean, it must certainly have been”—she flushed—“awkward when Lord Jack walked in on the man and your mistress, but it didn’t look as though . . . he obviously wasn’t . . . well, he couldn’t have been in the middle of, er, anything, could he?” She was digging a hole; she could feel herself going deeper and deeper. Albert was staring at her as though she were a lunatic. “Isn’t he just full of bluster?”
Albert shook his head. “No, lad. Ruland is as bad as they come. Nan thinks he’s the one who’s been killing all the girls; she was going to try to find out tonight, but then Lord Jack came and ruined it.”
“Someone is killing girls?” That’s right, she had read something in the papers about prostitutes and one or
“Hey, ye can’t come in here, ye miserable cur.”
Frances scowled, but Albert was addressing the poor dog, not her. He swung his foot. The animal must have had experience with this form of greeting, because he dodged and ran back outside, whining. Albert shut the door.
The baby started crying again—a weak, thin, pitiful sound.
“I assume Nan is in her office,” Jack said, striding through the foyer toward a closed door.
“Yes, milord, but—” Albert was almost wringing his ham-sized hands.
“No need to announce me.” Jack paused with his fingers on the doorknob, and glanced at Frances. “You stay here.”
Frances looked around the garish foyer and felt her flesh creep. The walls were decorated in bloodred flocked wallpaper and overly ornate, vaguely obscene, gold wall sconces, and the paintings had naked—
“And don’t look at the artwork.”
She jerked her eyes back to Lord Jack. “I’ll come in with you.”
“No, you won’t.” He pointed to a straight-backed bench. “Sit there. I promise I won’t be long.” Then he threw open the door and went into the room.
“Lord,” Albert breathed, “the mistress will be mad as a buck. She’s been trying fer days to get the Earl of—”
“What the bloody hell,” a man shouted from the room. “Can’t a fellow have a bit of privacy, for God’s sake?”
“Now, Ruland, I’m sure—” That was a woman’s voice.
“I’m sure I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back, madam.”
“Oh, damn,” Albert muttered as a fat, balding man with startlingly bushy gray eyebrows came barreling out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
The man glared at Frances, turning his brows into one imposing hedge, as he struggled to button his fall. “What are you gaping at, boy?”
She opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of men, especially men of his advanced age, frequenting brothels but she caught Albert’s worried expression before she spoke.
Ah, yes. Perhaps she should hold her tongue. She was masquerading as a boy, after all. “Nothing, my lord.”
Something heavy thudded against the closed door. Perhaps she was just as happy not to be in that room.
Ruland looked her up and down. “Who are you? You don’t look or sound like one of the filthy Covent Garden brats.” His beady eyes narrowed. “You came with Jack, didn’t you?”
The man must be memorizing her face. “Yes, my lord.” She wished she could grab the hideously obscene statue of a pregnant woman and lascivious snakes off the table to her right and bash the lewd lord over the head with it.
“I’ll find out who you are, you know”—he finally got his fall buttoned—“and, more importantly, what Jack is doing with you. He’ll be sorry he interrupted me.”
He tugged on his coat sleeves and turned to Albert, who was holding out his hat and walking stick. “Open the door, you idiot,” he snarled as he grabbed his things.
“Yes, milord.” Albert bowed as the man departed, then shut the door and collapsed against it. “Mother of God, now we are in the suds!”
“Why?” For a frightening-looking fellow, Albert was turning out to be no more dangerous than a field mouse. “I mean, it must certainly have been”—she flushed—“awkward when Lord Jack walked in on the man and your mistress, but it didn’t look as though . . . he obviously wasn’t . . . well, he couldn’t have been in the middle of, er, anything, could he?” She was digging a hole; she could feel herself going deeper and deeper. Albert was staring at her as though she were a lunatic. “Isn’t he just full of bluster?”
Albert shook his head. “No, lad. Ruland is as bad as they come. Nan thinks he’s the one who’s been killing all the girls; she was going to try to find out tonight, but then Lord Jack came and ruined it.”
“Someone is killing girls?” That’s right, she had read something in the papers about prostitutes and one or
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