From Rags to Kisses by Shana Galen

Five

“I need you to go toSuffolk,” Roland said in the coach later that evening as they traveled to Montagu House for the lecture.

He watched Jenny’s gaze dart from the window to his face and then to Oscar’s. Oscar wasn’t looking at her because he and Roland had discussed it earlier, and he knew Jenny wouldn’t like the suggestion.

“I beg your pardon,” she said carefully. She always spoke carefully when maintaining her upper class accent. “What is in Suffolk?”

“The Duke of Suffolk, of course,” he said. “He recently bought several items of dubious Greek origin and wants a second opinion on their value and age.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes. “You received that request a fortnight ago and said it was a waste of time. You said the items were almost certainly a forgery and at any rate—”

“I’m not an expert of Greek artifacts. I know what I said. I’ve changed my mind. I think you should go.”

She gave him a long look, and he didn’t look away, though her gray eyes were piercing. People said his blue eyes were intense, but he had nothing on Jenny and her gray.

“If you want,” he added. Jenny did not speak, and Roland blew out a breath. Her dark hair looked red-tinged in the carriage lamps. “It’s only that you and Sterling—it’s not working.”

She blinked. “I know we didn’t expect him to come home this afternoon, but once my desk arrived, he did his work and I did mine.”

“Did you? What can you tell me about the journals?”

She opened her mouth then pressed her lips together as though thinking. “I’ve only just begun. I made some notes on the quality of the binding and the style of handwriting.”

She knew as well as he that answer was vague.

“He’s distracting you, Jenny.”

“I didn’t even know he was there,” she said. She was a good liar, but he’d seen them together.

“I could practically feel the heat between you two when I stepped into the room.”

“Ooh!” Oscar sat forward, his eyes wide. “Go on.”

“There’s nothing—”

“Jenny.” He used his paternal voice because he wanted her to listen. For once. “I’ve known you for over a decade. Don’t tell me there’s nothing between you and Aidan Sterling.”

She met Roland’s gaze. He hoped it held no judgement or condemnation. He just wanted honesty. That’s all they’d ever asked of each other. “I can ‘andle it,” she said. “I am ‘andling it.”

“You don’t have to handle it. If you want him—”

“I don’t!”

Roland exchanged a look with Oscar.

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” Oscar said, quoting Shakespeare.

“I don’t want ‘im,” Jenny said again, her voice even. “Not after wot ‘e did.”

“Which is?” Roland asked.

She waved a hand, indicating she didn’t wish to speak of it now. “I don’t want to go to Suffolk.”

“I’d never make you, but you understand that if you and Aidan Sterling are caught, er—”

“Making the beast with two backs?” Oscar suggested. Jenny smiled.

“Yes, if you are caught together, then what might that say about me? I’ll have to call off the engagement and not only will that make our professional relationship difficult—at least to outsiders—but it might cause speculation.”

He knew he didn’t need to tell her what sort of speculation. The entire reason she’d suggested this engagement was to avert speculation that he was a molly, or a man who preferred to engage in sexual congress with other men.

“I’d never put ye in danger, Roland,” she said. “Aidan and I might flirt, but there’s nothing between us and won’t be anything between us.” She reached across the carriage and grasped his hand and then Oscar’s as well. “The engagement was my idea, wasn’t it? I won’t back out now.”

“I think what Roland is saying is you don’t owe us—him—anything.”

Roland hoped she believed that, but he worried she felt as though she owed him her life and that marrying him was the least she could do. He didn’t want her to make that sacrifice.

She squeezed their hands. “Yer my friends. I’d do anything to keep ye safe.”

“The right word in the wrong ear, and we end up like the men from the White Swan,” Roland said. “James Cook had a wife and they still pilloried him.”

The White Swan was a molly house that had been raided by the Bow Street Runners some seven or eight years before. Twenty-seven men had been arrested in the raid. Most were released for lack of evidence, which meant they bribed the Runners. But those men had not been members of the peerage. No amount of bribery would keep Roland’s name out of the papers were he caught in a similar situation. The penalty for buggery was death, and though it was unlikely a nobleman would be put to death, an example might very well be made of Oscar. He could be hanged while Roland was stripped of his land and titles.

They’d come dangerously close a few months ago. Oscar and Roland had been drinking and found themselves in a room alone at a ball. At least they’d thought they were alone until a man sleeping unseen on a couch woke up to find them in an embrace. Fortunately, Oscar had acted quickly. The man had stormed out to find the host, and Oscar had fetched Jenny then fled the ball. Jenny had thrown herself into Roland’s arms just as the host stormed into the room, and the man who’d made the accusation looked like a fool.

Roland had apologized for their improper behavior, and Jenny had intimated that they’d both been overflowing with joy at the viscount’s marriage proposal and had momentarily forgotten themselves.

But other men and women at the ball had seen Roland and Oscar talking and laughing together that night, and the seed of doubt had been planted. It was only very recently that Oscar had taken to being seen in public with Roland again, and always with Jenny between them.

“No one will be pilloried,” she said. “I can resist Aidan Sterling.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Roland said.

“Oh, it’s no ‘ardship, I promise ye that,” she said.

“He’s a handsome man,” Oscar said. “I don’t know if I could resist him.”

“Excuse me?” Roland’s tone was indignant.

“Not as handsome as you, of course.”

Jenny released their hands and sat back.

“And what makes him so handsome?” Roland asked

“I think it’s those dark eyes.”

“I thought you liked blue eyes.”

Roland continued to spar with Oscar, but he kept an eye on Jenny. She had a sad smile on her lips. Clearly, Aidan Sterling had churned up long-buried feelings. No matter the risk to himself, Roland couldn’t marry her until he knew those were sorted and safely put away.

***

JENNY SAT WITH ROLANDat the lecture. Oscar had spotted friends when they’d arrived and sat in the back with them. Roland was annoyed at this. Jenny could tell because he’d crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his knee. His knuckles were white with the stiffness of his grip. She didn’t think he objected to Oscar sitting with his friends, rather it was that Oscar and those friends had left in the middle of the lecture.

She leaned over to Roland and murmured, “I’m sure he will be home when you arrive.”

He kept his gaze on the speaker. “Who?”

She rolled her eyes. As though she was fooled. The lecture, which had been on Greek architecture and nothing she didn’t already know after ten years of enduring Roland’s own lectures, ended and Roland wanted a word with the speaker. Jenny did not want a word with the old man. He had white, bushy eyebrows that reminded her of caterpillars, and she feared she would not be able to stop herself from staring at them if she got too close. Instead, she moved out of the chamber and into the great hall. The grand staircase beckoned her to the first floor, and she need only look up to spot the three taxidermy giraffes at the landing. Not that there weren’t plenty of dead animals on the ground floor. Some sort of horned horse stood on a pedestal nearby. She shivered and looked up at the high ceiling, painted with all sorts of pagan gods. Roland would know if they were Greek or Roman, but it didn’t really matter to her since she wasn’t studying them, only admiring the artwork. She chuckled. Who would have ever thought one day she would be standing in a place like this, admiring artwork?

“A few too many cherubs for my taste,” said a voice, “but rather more vulgar than amusing.”

With a sigh, Jenny watched Aidan Sterling stroll down the grand staircase, hands in his pockets, black hair swept back from his forehead. She wasn’t certain if she was sighing because she was annoyed to see him there or because when he walked like that, he robbed her of breath.

But she was nothing if not quick on her feet. “I didn’t think you were interested in Greek architecture,” she said, still feeling a bit short of breath as he descended the last few steps.

“I’m not. I listened for five minutes then went to explore the museum.”

Thank God he hadn’t lingered or Roland would be pushing her out the door to Suffolk.

“I haven’t been to the museum in years,” Aidan confessed.

Jenny had business at the museum weekly, it seemed, and saw the place as a second home. “Which room did you like best?”

“I didn’t see them all, but I was rather struck by the Egyptian sculptures. They’re far bigger than I expected.” He stopped in front of her. “But you stayed for the entire lecture.”

“It’s my job to take an interest in that sort of thing.” She had to make him leave before Roland saw him. “Don’t you have work to do? Ledgers to study? Contracts to sign?”

He smiled. “It occurred to me, after you left, that we never shook on our wager.”

“I’m a man of my word,” she said.

“So am I. Still”—he held out a hand—“we should shake on it. Make it official.”

Fine.” She stuck out her hand, eager to finish with him and return to Roland. In the carriage, she might have seemed confident that she could handle Aidan Sterling, but she was far from confident when the man himself stood before her. Oscar was right. There was something about those dark eyes. And it didn’t help that it was dark in the hall. The museum relied on natural light, and candles and lamps were only used when strictly supervised. This was to protect the valuable artifacts from any chance of fire. Two lamps did burn in the great hall now, but they gave scant light. Jenny didn’t know how Aidan could have seen very much at all on the first floor. But then she’d always thought the Egyptian artifacts best when viewed by moonlight.

His hand closed around hers, large and warm, and she looked down and realized he wasn’t wearing gloves. “We never gave our wager an endpoint,” she said, realizing too late she should have negotiated this last part before shaking. She should draw her hand away now, while they finished negotiations, but she didn’t. She liked the feel of her hand enveloped in his.

“I assumed it would go on in perpetuity.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You really have become quite the businessman. But after a week or so—”

“A week or so,” he said, sounding choked.

“—Roland will be quite ensconced in your larder and moving the trunks will be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Fine. A week. Seven days.”

She nodded and shook his hand, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he pulled her closer. “If I win, and you kiss me, you help me find the little urchin.”

“When I win,” she said with a smile, “you will allow us to move the trunks to Chamberlayne’s residence.” She leaned close, tempting fate. “I might even make you carry them yourself.”

He laughed softly, and for a moment she felt dizzy with memories. She remembered so many nights when they lay in an old, creaking warehouse or under a bridge or beneath the stars and that soft laugh of his warmed her in the cold night. He’d pulled her close—or she’d pulled him close—and they’d warmed each other.

“Go ahead,” he murmured. “You know you want to.”

She did want to kiss him. The remembered desire was making her head muddy and the attraction she felt seeing him now, as a fully grown man, stirred even more in her. But Roland was counting on her, and even if he hadn’t been, she always hated to lose a wager.

She pulled her hand out of his. “I will win this wager.”

He frowned at her. “I didn’t become richer than the King by losing.”

“I remember you losing quite a few wagers to me.” She stepped back. “In fact, you are already losing.”

“Explain,” he said.

“I will if you escort me back to the lecture room.” And then she’d shoo him out the door.

He offered his arm without protest, and they walked slowly through the shadows and back toward the rumble of voices.

“Go on then.”

“Very well. You admitted yourself you have no interest in Greek architecture.”

“And?”

“And you obviously have little interest in the museum. You hadn’t seen the newer Egyptian pieces.”

“I’d argue I have little time for museums, not that I have little interest.”

“But you’re here now,” she said.

“And?”

They paused outside the door to the lecture room. Jenny caught Roland’s eye, and he gave her a beleaguered look when he saw who was at her side.

“And I can’t think why you would be here unless it’s to see me.” She gave him a bright smile. “You see, I am already winning.”

He took her hand and held it between them. “Keep telling yourself that.” He kissed her hand, released her, then walked away.

Jenny watched him walk away, just as she’d watched him all those years ago. She hadn’t cried then and she wouldn’t cry now at the memory, but she’d rather sleep in a stable dung pile than let him win this time.

An hour later, she was undressed and sitting at a table brushing her hair, when her maid tapped on her door. Jenny called for her to open it. “Norris, I said you could retire.”

“Yes, miss, but this came for you from Lord Chamberlayne.”

Jenny took the small slip of paper. Why was Roland sending notes to her flat at half past one in the morning? “Thank you. Now go to bed,” she said with a smile.

She looked down at the folded note and her breath whooshed out. This was not Roland’s handwriting. Her name was written on the outside. She opened the paper and stared at the three scrawled words.

Six days left.

Aidan. The note had to be from him. But Norris had said it came from...

The pigeons, of course. She’d left them in the library. An oversight on her part and Roland’s as well. Aidan had obviously found the little satchels that fit over the wings and onto the birds’ backs as well as the small slips of paper and sent one of the pigeons home with the letter. But home for the pigeon was Chamberlayne’s house, which was why the note appeared to come from Roland.

Had he read it before he’d sent it to her by one of the pigeons who had been trained to see her flat as home? Even if he had, the meaning wouldn’t be clear to him. And since when had she started hiding things from Roland?

Jenny rose and tossed the paper into the fire. She simply needed to make it through this wedding. When Roland was safe—or safer at any rate—she needn’t worry so much about everything she did. And after all she and Roland had been through, why did Aidan have to come back into her life now, when everything had been going so well?

Her gaze went to the note, slowly curling brown and then black in the fire.

Six days left.

But it didn’t have to be six days. She just needed Aidan to kiss her and then she wouldn’t have to see him again. She and Roland could move everything to Roland’s town house, and she could bury herself in work and forget all about Aidan Sterling. Again.

This time for good.

***

AIDAN REALIZED ALMOSTimmediately he shouldn’t have come alone. He could practically feel the eyes watching him from windows above the street and shadowy corners he passed. It was broad daylight, but somehow the light never seemed to reach the cracks and crevices of the poorer areas of London.

Aidan had reread Colin’s notes again, and he’d mentioned first meeting Harley near a tavern called The Clipper. To his surprise, his coachman knew the place and had remarked on its excellent fare. Aidan had stopped there first, but when he’d gone inside, he’d sent John Coachman back to Mayfair. The last thing Aidan wanted was his horses stolen and his coach looted.

He’d made sure to take his walking stick, though. A walking stick in the right hands could be a formidable weapon. Aidan had made use with far less.

Not surprisingly, no one in the tavern knew “nothing about nobody.” But what did surprise Aidan was that no one knew anything even when he put coins on the bar...and kept putting them there. Finally, he swept them off the bar and put them back into his pocket. He left his card in case anyone remembered something. He walked out of The Clipper knowing he had a target on his back, and kept his head cocked for the sound of trouble. Though he knew he wouldn’t hear them. He’d most likely feel them. That was what Jenny had taught him. She’d showed him how to use his instincts, how to notice the hair rising on the back of his neck and the sudden tensing of his body. Once he’d learned to pay attention to those instincts, he’d started anticipating and avoiding attacks by older boys and street bullies. Eventually, as he’d gotten older and taller, he’d been able to fend them off.

Now he paused to chat with two men sitting on a stoop, but a few words with them convinced Aidan that they didn’t know about Harley. Perhaps she didn’t frequent this area any longer. Perhaps she’d moved on to a different rookery.

Perhaps she was dead.

But he wasn’t about to deliver that news to Colin without some proof.

He stopped to ask a woman what she knew, and she just pulled her child close and hurried away. Other people on the street gave Aidan less than friendly looks, so when he heard a loud Psst he was a bit surprised.

Without being too obvious, he looked about for the source of the hissed call. He spotted a child—sex indistinguishable—in a doorway. The child cocked its head and stepped inside the door, letting it close behind him or her.

Aidan looked about him. This was obviously a trap. He’d be an idiot if he went through that door. Who knew what might be waiting inside? He’d probably end up beaten bloody, and that was if he were fortunate. Aidan casually strode across the street and to the door. Using the handle of his walking stick, he pulled it open. Darkness lay inside, though he could just make out a wooden staircase to higher floors in the building. Aidan stood there for a long moment before he heard the Psst again. It came from the back of the small chamber, behind the staircase. Aidan rolled his eyes. It was so obviously a trap.

And like an idiot, he walked into it. He stepped into the darkness and let the door close behind him. He waited for a minute until his eyes adjusted. “Guv, over ‘ere,” said a high voice. It was the child.

“We can talk while I stand here if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind, see. I don’t want no one to ‘ear me talking to a nob like ye.”

“They’ve likely heard you by now anyway. Tell me what you know about the girl Harley, and I’ll give you a copper.” He would have offered a farthing, but he didn’t carry denominations that small. As it was, he’d had to ask Pierpont for the pennies.

“Two coppers,” the child said. Aidan shook his head. The men in Bond Street could learn something from these little negotiators. They seemed born with the ability to bargain.

“Two coppers then. Talk or I walk. I don’t plan to stand here while your friends get in position to ambush me.”

“Guv! I’d never do that.”

Aidan almost believed the child was truly indignant. He turned to leave.

“Oy! ‘Old up.” The child darted out of the shadows and in front of Aidan’s exit. He or she was a tiny thing, all skin and bones. Aidan could have lifted it with one hand. Instead, he raised his brows expectantly. “I know something about this ‘Arley.”

“Is that her real name?”

“That’s what we call ‘er, but she don’t stay ‘ere anymore.”

“Where does she stay?”

The child held its hand out, and Aidan put one penny in it. The copper disappeared before Aidan could blink.

“Where?”

“She moved closer to the river and them mudlarks.”

Aidan made sure the child saw the second copper. “Does she dive with them?”

The child shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m just passing on wot I know.” The hand came out again. Aidan flipped a copper toward the child, but when the child caught it, he grabbed the grubby, little hand.

“Now tell me how many are waiting for me outside.”

The kid tried to pull its hand away, but Aidan held tight.

“Two, maybe three,” the child said, voice strained.

“And is there another way out?” Aidan didn’t mind a fight, but he didn’t relish beating hungry children.

“No.”

Aidan bent close, trying not to breathe too deeply. “You’re telling me you were about to walk through that door after they were through with me? I’d have thought you wanted to hold on to those coppers.”

The child’s eyes narrowed. “They said I could keep ‘alf.”

“And you know they’re lying. Show me the back exit, and I’ll give you a bob.”

The child’s eyes widened. “Give it over now.”

Aidan reached into his pocket and withdrew the shilling, flashed it so the child could see it, then made it disappear again. He still remembered some tricks from his youth.

The child seemed to consider then said, “This way.”

Aidan decided he must be mad to follow the child up the stairs, but follow he did. They reached the first floor, and the child entered an empty flat, opened a window facing the opposite way from which they’d come in, and pointed to a clothesline strung across to the next building. “I’ll go across that.”

Aidan frowned. “I’m too heavy.”

“That’s not my fault.” He or she held out its hand, and Aidan gave it the bob. Why not?

While Aidan watched, the child climbed out the window, grasped the clothesline with both hands and climbed, hand over fist to the other building. There it ducked inside, paused to wave to Aidan, and was gone.

Aidan sighed and went back to the rickety stairs. Instead of going down, he climbed to the top, using what was more of a ladder than a staircase to access the roof. If chimney sweeps ever cleaned the chimneys in this part of London—which was highly unlikely—they would have used that ladder. Aidan emerged on the roof and carefully made his way to one side. He looked down, spotted five lads waiting to bash his brains in, and cursed under his breath. He shouldn’t have given that little shit the bob. He’d give them a half hour to give up and then he’d go back down again. If he was fifteen again, he’d jump to the next roof, but age had given him a sense of his own mortality. Aidan moved away from the edge of the roof and sat. For a moment, all the demands of the day seemed to weigh him down so heavily that he could have sunk back to the ground floor. He would miss his lunch meeting now, and he’d have to reschedule that tour of the warehouse he’d just bought.

But he lifted his head and his gaze roved over what he could see of London. This roof was higher than some others, and he could make out St. Paul’s in the distance as well as the trestles of London Bridge. It was almost the exact same view he’d used to share with Jenny.

Damn it. He’d known coming here would dredge up those old memories, and now here he was thinking about all the times they’d played at being emperors of all they’d surveyed. How odd to actually own some of what he surveyed. He’d thought that would make him happy. All those years ago, he’d thought a full belly and a full purse was all he needed in life.

But he had both of those things now, and he wasn’t happy. He hadn’t been happy—not in the army, not in his new home, not in his offices. Was it possible that he’d been happier when he was penniless and hungry but with Jenny at his side? Ironic to run away from happiness only to look for it elsewhere and then to come back and realize he’d had it all along.

And now Jenny was betrothed to another, and he’d never have it again.