India Black and the Rajah's Ruby by Carol K. Carr

however, as it was in my best interests to be on the first available train to London.
    The three of them dithered and argued, with Ford pressing White to turn me over to the police and Ashton saying that I was an ignorant slut who had clearly been Philip’s pawn in this game of chess. I did wish that Ashton would quit harping on about my stupidity and dubious taste in men, but the truest words sting most, and I had to admit that I had not come off well in this affair. I’d allowed myself to be mesmerized by Philip’s handsome countenance and promises of French perfume and I’d jolly well been hoodwinked. I certainly didn’t mind that he’d come here to steal the Rajah’s Ruby, but I was damned hot at the notion that he’d hired me for the sideshow without telling me.
    In the end, White decided that I’d learnt my lesson and packed me off to London. I had to borrow the fare from him and I felt like a fool asking for it, but he took a few coins from his pocket and pressed them into my palm. The old coot was even nice enough to say that he wished we’d met under different circumstances. Of course, he was ogling my breasts beneath my dressing gown at the time. Then he smiled sadly and squeezed my hand and hurried off to join Ford and the local constables who had finally arrived and were now combing the place, looking for footprints and trampling Mrs. White’s roses. I was not surprised to note that Ashton had disappeared from the scene. If I was correct about that bloke’s background, he had every reason to avoid the police. It was with great relief and a firm resolve never to be played for a fool again that I boarded the express to the Big Smoke.
    ***
    A few weeks after I returned to London, Mother Moore knocked on my bedroom door and thrust it open without waiting for my permission. She always does that, being of the opinion that whores are not entitled to any privacy, a sound policy which I have followed at my own house.
    “Mr. Barrett is here,” she announced.
    This was astonishing news. I’d covered Philip’s absence from Mother Moore’s brothel with the invention of a trip abroad for commercial purposes. I hadn’t expected the bloke to turn up here again, not after slinking away from White’s house in the middle of the night, leaving yours truly to face the music. My first inclination was to refuse to see him. Then I thought I might go downstairs just for the pleasure of planting my foot in his arse. But curiosity got the better of me, as it usually does, and I smartened myself up and trundled down the steps just to hear what the chap had to say for himself.
    He was pacing a hole in the parlour floor, chewing his lip, when I walked in. Lord, but he was handsome when he was fretful.
    “Hello, Philip.”
    He gave a weak and anxious smile. “At least you’re still speaking to me. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had told me to go away and never come back here. I owe you an apology, India.”
    “Damned right you do.”
    He held out a hand, which I did not take. After a moment, he let it fall to his side. “Will you at least sit down with me and let me explain what happened?”
    I sat down with a great show of reluctance, though I was dying to hear Philip’s story. I had a pretty good idea of what had transpired, but I was anxious to see if I’d been correct.
    He joined me on the sofa, looking apprehensive. “I suppose I should start from the beginning.” He plucked at the crease in his trouser leg.
    “Go on,” I said.
    He swallowed. “Well, the truth is that I am not a partner in a commercial firm. The closest I’ve come to dabbling in commerce is cracking the odd bank safe from time to time.”
    “I see.”
    He took my hand and this time I did not protest. “Of course I don’t go around babbling that to all and sundry. When I met you, I just preserved the fiction. It’s easier that way, inhabiting one role with everyone you know. Less chance you’ll slip up and be caught.” He caressed