“You look as lovely as ever.”
She laughed and pushed him away. “Not lovely enough to entice a certain highwayman to settle down, it seems.”
“Nonsense. You know well my devotion to remaining free of romantic entanglements. If that ever changes, I will be sure to let you know.”
She slapped his shoulder and giggled. “Still a dog, I see.” Her eyes flitted over his shoulder, reminding Steadman of his young partner. He swept an arm toward Morgan.
“Madam Beverly, may I present Mr. Brady. Mr. Brady, Madam Beverly, proprietor of the Broken Cauldron and longtime acquaintance.”
Beverly curtsied to Morgan. He stood awkwardly for a moment before bowing stiffly. “Madam.”
Steadman frowned. Morgan had become unexpectedly shy, as if he was trying to disappear. Oh, well. Beverlywasa beautiful woman who had that effect on many a young man.
“So,” said Beverly, “Is your young friend a pickpocket, a housebreaker, or a cheat?”
“None. He is a fellow Bow Street officer and quite above such meaner professions.”
Her eyes grew wide. “So, the rumors are true, then? I did not believe them.”
“Yes. I am mildly reformed. Mr. Brady is my protégé, at least for the duration of this investigation.”
“And what of your war against the finer class?”
The question drove uncomfortably close to truths he did not wish to discuss. “Suspended for the moment. For the duration of a meal, anyway.”
Beverly’s eyes narrowed. She studied his face before pondering an uncomfortable Morgan. A wave of what heswore was recognition rippled across her features, piquing his curiosity. How could she possibly know Morgan? However, Beverly turned away. “Come, then, Sir Steadman. I have just the table for you and your… associate.”
She placed them at his favorite table deep in a corner far from the door. He put his back to the wall as was his habit. Morgan cut his eyes at him, clearly alarmed. Steadman patted Morgan’s hand, drawing a sharp flinch.
“Relax, boy. You seem prepared for a blade in the back.”
“Iamrelaxed.”
Steadman didn’t believe him and perhaps knew why. “Do you find Madam Beverly intimidating?”
Morgan stared as if expecting more before blinking. “No.”
“Then is it my checkered past that causes you concern? Do you judge me for it?”
His alarmed demeanor faded to caution. “Yes. A little.”
“Hah! Candor. Another superior quality in a man. But can you lower yourself to associate with the likes of me, a blackguard in deed and in reputation?”
Morgan frowned. “Yes.”
“So, you admit I am a blackguard.”
“I do not deny it. Although I might ask the same question of you. Can you lower yourself?”
He scratched his chin. “What do you mean?”
“You represent the pinnacle of your, uh, craft. You work alone by your own admittance. And yet you are forced to play nanny for a novice, a mewling cub.”
“Ah, yes. I see your point.” He drummed his fingertips on the oaken tabletop. “I admit I planned to devote myself to disliking you. However, something went terribly awry.”
Morgan’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? What happened?”
Steadman glanced away, abruptly uneasy with the conversation. Confession was a practice he found difficult, although Morgan had a way of loosening his tongue. Why was that? He waved his index finger at the boy. “You prove to be pleasant company. You have shown me… potential.”
