Lois Greiman by Seducing a Princess Page B

“I’m sorry you suffered at his hands.”
    “Well…” She put on a smile. It wobbled a bit at the corners, but it was an honest expression, and for a moment he couldn’t help but wonder how many of those he had seen in the years before he’d become Slate. “’E won’t be ’urtin’ nobody no more, will ’e?”
    There was such gratitude in her expression, such kindness that it was a struggle not to look away. “Why are you here, Gem?”
    She glanced up with the spoon halfway to his mouth and the bowl propped beneath it. “Cuz this is where I live,” she said, and urged him to eat. He did so with some misgivings, but the broth tasted delectable, beefy and soothing.
    “Why?” he asked.
    She shrugged and gave him another spoonful. “It gets damned cold on the streets.”
    “Surely you have other options.”
    “Like which?” She brought the spoon up again and he watched her as he took it. She had a sharp little face, with eyeteeth that slanted in and hair that glowed like a flame. Devil’s hair, his mother had called it.
    The idea stopped him cold, for his mother was there, in his mind—a woman of noble birth, well dressed, perfectly coifed and cold as death. Which meant that he was what?
    A gentleman?
    “You feelin’ sickly again?”
    He marshaled his senses, calmed his nerves. “There must be scores of men begging for your hand,” he said, and when he glanced up, he couldn’t help but believe it, and that truth stunned him, for she was a thief. But his mother had been a lady, and he knew in the depths of his questionable soul that there had not been a droplet of kindness in her. And perhaps that was what had driven him to his present life. But what the hell kind of life was that?
    “Not ’ardly,” she said, but there was something in her eyes, a misty hopelessness that drew his thoughts from himself. She was so young, so wounded, and despite what he might have endured, it was a Sunday in the park compared to her life. He knew that without question.
    “One man then?” he guessed.
    Her gaze skipped to his and her hand stopped midway to his mouth. “What makes y’ say so?”
    “Because you’re kind,” he said. “And tough. Pretty.”
    Her eyes dropped again. “Maybe once upon a time there was a fella who woulda wanted me, but—”
    “You two flirtin’?” Oxford stood in the doorway. He was shorter and broader than Will remembered, but all memories were hazy at best these days.
    “What you doin’ ’ere?” Gem asked. “Poke says you was supposed to be in Wayfield.”
    The Irishman took a step into the room. Tension crowded in with him. “I thought maybe our friend ’ere might be sidlin’ up to me lassie, so I ’urried on back. That ain’t ’appenin’, is it?”
    Will watched him carefully. He had seen evil before, that much he knew, but it was rarely so openly revealed. So blatantly flaunted. Amongst the gentry it was usually hidden behind preening smiles and perfect toilets.
    “I ain’t yours, Ox,” Gem said. “And you better get gone afore the master gets back.”
    “Poke…” Oxford said, and snarled a smile as he stepped closer, “ain’t my master.”
    Gemini looked pale, but her back was stiff and her hands steady. Steadier than Will’s, certainly.
    “What about you?” Ox asked, staring at William in open challenge. “’E your master?”
    Dammit to hell! Maybe he’d been as fierce as a poked lion in the past, but he felt as weak as a bunny just now, hardly ready for a battle with this ogre. “What do you want, Oxford?” he asked, and his voice was surprisingly level. Impressively steady. Like a warrior’s. Like a hero wounded in battle.
    “What do I want?” snorted the Irishman, and stepped closer still. “I’m wondering what you want.”
    “I’d like to eat my broth in peace.” And that was the truth if ever he’d spoken it.
    “And to fuck the girl ’ere!” the other snarled. The words were startlingly sharp, and in that moment Willrealized the