His Dark and Dangerous Ways Read online

  Of course, none of it could be told until he’d answered her burning question about what he’d do with the information. But she’d likely never see him again. Blast the gentry with their sudden fancies and forgotten promises, she thought bitterly.

  Jane paused on the pavement in front of the town house she’d just left because her leg ached and now, suddenly, so did her heart. She’d glanced back in a forlorn half-hearted attempt to see if there was a tall dark man anywhere who wanted to talk to her. She saw nothing but the town house itself. The meanest, most meager home looked enticing from the outside when it was oncoming dusk; the warm glow of lamps and candles contrasted so vividly with the night. The sight of windows lit, even if only at the margins of closed draperies, said that privileged people were within the light, and the wanderer was forever outside that bright circle of home and hearth. The town houses here in this exclusive crescent were by no means either mean or meager. Their many windows blazed with light.

  Jane felt lost, heartsick, betrayed by fortune and circumstance.

  “You’ve hurt yourself,” a memorably soft masculine voice said from the darkness.

  Jane’s shoulders jumped, but not so high as her heart did. “No,” she answered, speaking into the night, because she still couldn’t see him. “Well, yes. But it’s temporary. One of my students mistook me for a pillow.”

  “Did you get extra wages for it?”

  She laughed, and then stopped, because if anyone saw her standing alone, laughing, it could ruin her reputation. She walked on, reasoning that he would somehow follow. “Of course not. Does a soldier get paid more if he’s wounded?” she asked in a murmur. “Oh, drat. I can’t talk to myself. Where can we speak?”

  “Here?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she said mockingly. “A nice stroll with a gentleman will do wonders for my standing with my lady, especially now.”

  “How can walking with me harm you, Miss?” he asked, stepping out of the shadows to stand at her side.

  She gaped. She stood looking at a tall, broad-shouldered and weary workman. He wore high, oversized, stained and scuffed boots. His trousers were bagged at the knees, his loose jacket was a few sizes too big for him, and was open enough to show the colorful scarf tied round his throat, instead of a neckcloth. He had on oversized gloves, and a dusty floppy broad-brimmed hat shadowed his face. He carried a bulging sack over one shoulder.

  “A rat-catcher?” she asked, surprised, amused, and appalled at his appearance.

  “Lord, no. My tools. I’m a successful workman, going home for the night. But I admit rat-catcher was a thought, until I realized I’d have to go trudging through town with a sack of rodents. I’ll do only so much for verisimilitude.”

  She grinned. It was a good disguise. If it weren’t for that unmistakable, remarkable velvety voice, she’d have picked up the hem of her skirt and run, injured ankle or not, at the mere sight of him approaching her.

  “We can go anywhere,” he said. “Although you’re usually graceful as a sprite, tonight you’re limping like a bear with her paw caught in a trap. Tell me why, and why you don’t have a cane. But that can wait. I don’t want to keep you standing on the street. Tell me at dinner. Come to dinner with me? I’m famished.”

  “You may be hungry, but a workman is never ‘famished,’” she corrected him. “And to trade compliments, sir, though you may be an accomplished gentleman, you’re not a very good working man. We can’t go ‘anywhere.’ There’s not a decent restaurant in London that would allow you in.”

  “Who said anything about ‘decent’?” he asked with a smile in his voice. “At least, as regards Society. But there are good places, if not to dine, then to eat. I know of a place with excellent food for the likes of me, that is, if you don’t mind the company of lesser folk.”

  “I am lesser folk,” she said, suddenly grave.

  “Then take my arm, and we’ll hobble over there. I’d call a hackney cab, but I can already hear your objections at getting into one with a strange man.”

  “I can’t take your arm either,” she said, standing still.

  “Right, right, right,” he muttered. “I’m obviously out of practice. Then start hobbling eastward, and I’ll follow, minding my own business.”

  She nodded, and began to limp along the street. She hadn’t gone more than a few paces before she stopped and looked up at him. “No,” she said sadly. “It won’t do. I can’t even walk with you on this street or in this district. It would ruin my reputation if my lady or any of her friends saw us.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Then it’s a cab for you,” he said. “And I don’t have to go with you. You can ride in high style and proper celibate style, by yourself. Hail a hackney. Tell the fellow to take you to Providence Street, to The Phoenix Feather Inn there. Don’t look as though you’re about to be kidnapped and sold to Eastern traders. The inn has more tables for dinner than it has bedchambers. You won’t be compromised. We’ll be in public, very public. I expect only to dine tonight. Go there, and I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll pay the driver and treat you to dinner, and not a person in the place will know you, or me, I promise.”

  She hesitated. It was unconventional, a very daring thing for her to do. There were so many possible pitfalls. She could get there and find herself alone in a strange part of town. She’d have to pay the driver herself, and more to get home. That, she could ill afford. Worse, she could get there and find he was there, and whatever he said, have to fight her way out of the inn by nightfall.

  “Oh, please,” he said in a disgusted tone of voice. “If I wanted to ravish you, I wouldn’t dress like this and take you to a place of ill repute. Credit me with some style, if not morals. If I wanted company in a bed, I’d choose an expensive one, with a willing partner. All I want from you is information. I see you can’t walk very well, and I’m hungry, or famished, or whatever you will. And it is nearly dinnertime. You must be hungry too. And so? Take it or I’ll leave you alone.”

  Jane paused, for a heartbeat. She thought about what he said, and what had happened to her today. She remembered how much she needed the money. And she admitted that she was fascinated.

  She didn’t say a word. She merely nodded, limped to the curb, and raised an arm to flag down an empty hackney that was coming down the street.

  Chapter 4

  Well, she was a fool and a fool deserved whatever she got—or didn’t get: like money, ice for her ankle, and peace of mind. Jane tried to ignore the throbbing in her ankle and her conscience. She counted and recounted the contents of her purse as she was driven through the darkening streets of London into a part of town she didn’t know, near the river. She had enough to pay for the ride if the gentleman wasn’t there, and the ride home, even if he was, if she had to. But it was a foolish, costly, unnecessary expense. He’d muddled her wits.

  It was all her fault, though. Given one chance to distract her from her mundane and insecure life, and she’d jumped at it. Like little Miss Stratton, she’d leapt without looking and would probably land in an ignoble heap somewhere, and not giggling either.

  The cab slowed. Jane peered out the window. She was on a street of crooked old buildings. The hackney came to a stop as it approached a tavern on the corner. It looked as old as London town itself. A torch hung over the crooked doorway, illuminating a chipped hanging sign. It showed what looked like a ragged chicken in flames. As the sign swung in the breeze Jane made out the word Phoenix and realized that much at least was true. There was such a place.

  But she was leery of getting out of the hackney. She didn’t want to be deserted in such a place. So she peered out the window for a moment. She didn’t see anyone. That meant she’d have to tell the driver to take her home. Would he stop at the fishmonger’s so she could get some ice? It would be the most expensive ice she’d ever bought.

  She heard someone talking to the driver, and sat up sharply. The door swung open and she sat up even straighter.

  “If I’d known you enj
oyed riding so much I’d have asked you to ride around town with me,” Lord Granger said, looking in at her. “But I’m deucedly hungry. Come,” he said, extending a hand.

  She grasped the lumpy glove he offered, and stepped down out of the hackney. “Thank you for being here,” she said simply. “I’ve never done such a daring thing in my life, and I was regretting it every minute.”

  He paused and looked down at her. The torch-light showed his crooked smile. “That’s the most honest confession I’ve ever heard. Are you always so candid?”

  “I suppose I am,” she said, and almost added that she didn’t know, she was so out of practice. She hadn’t spoken to anyone that was remotely her equal in a very long time. Then she remembered that however he was dressed, he wasn’t her equal. Then she thought that if her family hadn’t been so imprudent, she well might be, if not his equal, then near to it.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked. “Never mind. Tell me inside.” He hoisted his sack on his back again, waved the hackney on, and led Jane to the door to the tavern.

  She didn’t hang back, although if she were alone she’d never have entered a place like the one she saw.

  An immediate smell of hot candles and cooking, beer, woodsmoke, and pipe smoke, both delicious and comforting, confronted her. The taproom was large, the ceiling was held up by old wooden beams, and laced with them too. There were many wooden tables and each one, it seemed, was full of colorful, noisy people, none of them ladies or gentlemen, all of them eating, drinking and laughing, often all at once.

  “Ho! Mr. Phelps!” the barkeep shouted, seeing them. “Your table’s ready. Back there, near the window. We’ll be with you directly. We’ve got your favorite: lamb stew tonight.”

  “And it’s a treat, though a lamb or two more wouldn’t of hurt!” one of the patrons shouted, to the amusement of the other diners.

  Those patrons, Jane saw, were dressed for the weather, not the fashion. There were as many women there as there were men, and they were just as raucous. She was wearing an olive-colored gown, drab and neatly fashioned, as befit an instructress of impressionable children. Her hair was pulled back and tied in the back in a knot, so as not to get in the way of her movement. That in itself set her apart from the other patrons. Still, she didn’t feel terribly out of place here. She was with an escort who fit right in with the clientele, but, she thought, it was more because he exuded such a sense of calm self-possession.

  Lord Granger led Jane to a table in a corner. She stood, waiting for him to pull out the chair for her. He bent and whispered, “Were I ‘Lord Granger,’ I’d do the honors, Miss Chatham. But here, I’m Mr. Phelps, and here, it’s every man and woman for him and herself.”

  Jane flushed, dragged out a chair, and sat down quickly. Her host put down his sack and sat himself down opposite her.

  “But what do I call you?” she asked in a faint whisper.

  “Good question,” he said. “You know who I really am. But I’d rather not be that here. So call me Simon. That is my name. Your eyes are on stalks,” he said, grinning. “Never been to such a place before? I’ll wager you have, if you think about it.”

  Her head spun around and she stared at him.

  “I know you come from the countryside,” he said. “Didn’t you ever visit the local tavern in your town? Every village has one. London’s no different, only every neighborhood here is like a village. This inn caters to the people who live and work hereabouts, which is why they have so few overnight guests, and so many customers for dinner. Don’t look so unnerved. They’re decent, respectable citizens—although, I’ll grant, they’re not ones you’re likely to meet, except when you shop or hire on a workman.

  “Oh, your face,” he said with a grin. “No, they’re not criminals. Not a cutpurse in the lot, and if you questioned any female’s chastity here, you’d buy yourself a deal of trouble. This isn’t a thief’s den. Those are closer to the river, they get crowded later in the night. These people are the ones who work at the jobs you don’t see. They tend the local shops, work on the river; they service the common man, not the gentry. Ordinary hardworking folk can’t wait until nine to dine. They eat early and go to bed soon after, so they can be up early too.”

  “It’s an expense to dine out,” Jane said. “How can they afford it?”

  “How can they not?” he asked. “Cook shops close early. Even if they didn’t, this is a regular treat for these folk; their time to sit back and relax, gossip and chat with each other. They come alone if the wife’s home with kiddies. If they can they bring their women to enjoy their scarce free time together.”

  “And you are ‘Mr. Phelps’?” she asked.

  “Here, I am,” he said nonchalantly. “Ah,” he exclaimed as the proprietor and a young boy came toward their table dragging a huge wooden bucket by the handles. “Good man!” Lord Granger said. “Just what I wanted.”

  “Where?” the innkeeper asked.

  “Over in the corner, near the lady,” Lord Granger said. “Under the table next to her, if you please.”

  As Jane, dumbfounded, drew up her feet, they pushed the bucket beneath the table.

  “And now,” her host said, “a few bottles of your best red, and tonight’s specialty, whatever it is.”

  “You’ve got it, Mr. P.!” the innkeeper said cheerily, and left them.

  Jane stared at Simon.

  “Put your right foot in the bucket,” he said. “Sans your shoe, of course. Don’t worry about propriety. No one can see under the table.”

  She looked at him as though he’d run mad.

  “It’s filled with ice, Miss Chatham,” he said. “Cracked and chopped ice. That’s the best thing for your ankle now. I don’t say leave your foot in all night, because if you do when you stand up it might crack off. But for a while, at least, immerse your ankle. It will bring down the swelling. I ordered it up before you got here.”

  “Oh!” Jane said, vastly relieved, and very touched. “Thank you.”

  She slid her slipper off, and eased her foot in. She gasped from the shock of the cold ice, but then pointed her toes and plunged her foot all the way through the icy blocks until her ankle was submerged. Simon’s eyes widened even as hers did at the jolt she felt of the cold, and she sucked in a hard breath. Then she sighed and, finally, sat back.

  She noted Simon’s expression. “A dancer has to learn to endure pain,” she explained. “If I’d gone slower, it would have hurt more.”

  “Brave girl,” he commented. “But you teach infants, so I should have guessed that. How did you come to do that?”

  “I had to earn money, and there are few recourses. I’d rather teach children than adults, I’ve discovered. They have no embarrassment and they throw themselves into it.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Literally, in my case. But my ankle is numbing nicely now, thanks to you, and I really do think I’ll be back on both feet before long. That relieves my mind.”

  “Good,” he said. “So your parents left you nothing at all?”

  She sat up straighter, and then relaxed. “Nothing,” she said, sighing. “I see you’ve done some investigating.”

  “It’s what I do,” he said simply. “Or rather what I used to do, and so I still dabble in it.”

  She nodded. It made sense. “But I’m lucky,” she said. “Because they did give me an education, and so, the ability to look after myself.”

  “No fellow back at home offered to do that for you?” he asked idly.

  She shot him a cold look. “There were some. But since I can do it myself, I have done it. Now, to business, Mr. Phelps, if you please.”

  He shook his head. “My, my. Clothes do make the man, don’t they? No bashfulness from you at all tonight.”

  She blinked, and then laughed. “You know, that’s true! I hadn’t thought of it. I suppose I was in awe of you as a gentleman…No!” she said suddenly. “You still are a gentleman, no matter how you’re dressed. That’s not all of it. I think I was afraid of your intentio
ns because I was alone, in the night.”

  “You are now, as well,” he commented.

  She shook her head. “No, there’s a room full of people present. But even so, it is easier to speak with you now. You’ve stated your intentions and they have noting to do with me personally.”

  He smiled. “Now, I never said that.”

  “You did,” she said. “And, seeing and speaking to you without fear or reservation gives me more confidence.

  “And yes, seeing you in ordinary clothes does make a difference,” she mused, “as I’m sure you knew.” She cocked her head. “I was also afraid of losing my position last time we met because I didn’t know what to expect from you. You had the upper hand from the first. If any servant runs into conflict with her betters, she’s assumed to be the one at fault.”

  “You’re not exactly a servant,” he said.

  “No, not exactly. But to all intents and purposes, I am.” She raised her chin.

  “Your eyes are hazel, aren’t they?” he asked with interest, ignoring her comment about her station in life. “I’d thought they were brown. But I’ve only seen them at dusk, and now by candlelight. We’ll have to meet by day for me to be sure.”

  She grew still. Even in his commoner’s working garb, he was ferociously attractive. And when his conversation got personal, Jane began to worry. There was no time or way she could afford an infatuation with such a gentleman, whether he was dressed as a commoner or a prince. Nor could she be at ease with him if he had any real desire for her. “As to that,” she said quickly, “I’m not at all sure we should meet again, anywhere.”

  He raised one dark eyebrow.

  She leaned forward so she could speak low. “I must find out what your intentions are.”

  He put on an expression of shock, sat back, and placed a hand on his heart. “Miss Chatham! I am surprised.” The wicked mirth in his eyes was hard for her to look back at. “This is so sudden!”