“What can I do, then?” She cursed the jitter of her voice. “To better understand?”
He smiled broadly, like a man should not. “I am glad you asked.” He looked past Morgan and called out. “Mr. Jeter.”
“Sir?” The voice of Sir Hugh’s assistant rang from outside the office.
“Send in Sir Steadman.”
Morgan blinked.Sir Steadman?The Beau Monde Highwayman? The Knight of the Road? The castoff from an upper crust family turned criminal but now reformed and working for Bow Street? Even though she and the remnants of her family had only arrived in London two months prior, they could not escape the fantastic rumors. The slums of the Almonry were awash with tales of Sir Steadman’s legendary exploits, of his mysterious connection to a duke’s granddaughter, and of his improbable switching sides of the law with the blessing of the Crown. Morgan didn’t believe most of the rumors, including those of how handsome he was. The women of the Almonry spoke of his looks in hushed tones with eyelashes fluttering and hands patting their chests.
Nobody can possibly be that handsome.
“You called for me, Sir Hugh?”
The low, velvet voice behind Morgan’s left shoulder brought her head around to find the Beau Monde Highwayman looming behind her. Her eyes drifted upward from his gleaming top boots to his tight breeches and pressed jacket to halt on his face. She clicked her jaw shut, suddenly aware that it had gone slack. The rumors of his looks, it seemed, were untrue. He was not merely handsome. Sir Steadman’s face was pure devastation of the kind that sacked morals and laid waste to good intentions. A mop of black hair and sweeping eyebrows framed a countenance chiseled from marble by a master hand. His hint of a smile alone nearly undid her. She snapped back around to face Sir Hugh, willing the blush away from her cheeks. She tried not to stare as Sir Steadman settled into the chair beside her, his left elbow mere inches from hers.
“And who is the boy?” His sweep of the hand came perilously near to touching Morgan’s sleeve.
“Steadman, allow me to introduce Mr. Morgan Brady, assistant editor ofHue and Cry. Mr. Brady, Mr. Steadman Drew, Bow Street special officer.”
“Steadman will do.”
Morgan flinched when Steadman shifted in his chair and his right hand appeared before her. She performed her best imitation of a lifeless statue before remembering what a man might do. Rallying every fiber of her fortitude, she turned her gaze to meet his and reached for his hand.
“Mr. Brady,” he said. The shock of his palm’s warm press evaporated immediately when her hand began to crumble beneath the crush. She gripped harder in self-defense before he released the handshake.
“Sir Steadman.” She tried to growl from low in her throat, certain that even those two words would expose her. He seemed not to notice and returned his attention to Sir Hugh, gutting her femininity further.
“What’s this about?”
Sir Hugh chuckled. “Right to the point as usual. Well then. Is it still your intention to ride for Broad Chalke tomorrow to investigate the incidents there?”
“It is.”
“And you volunteered for this assignment?”
“I did.”
Sir Hugh nodded and hummed softly. “Is not your family from near Broad Chalke?”
When Steadman failed to answer, Morgan glanced his way. His glare impaled Sir Hugh with suspicion. He clearly preferred not to answer the question. However, his jaw unclenched long enough for a reply. “Yes. Nearby.”
“Is that why you volunteered, then? Perhaps hoping for a pleasant family reunion?”
“No.” Steadman practically exhaled the curt response, and his borderline scowl softened. “The farmers near Broad Chalke are a good sort and undeserving of what has happened to them. I only wish to see justice done.”
Sir Hugh slapped a palm on his desk, causing Morgan to jump. “Excellent. Then we are in accord about the purpose of your visit.”
“Again, what is thisreallyabout?” He jerked a thumb toward Morgan. “And what of him?”
Sir Hugh stood from his chair and gripped his lapel. “I wish you to take Mr. Brady along as your protégé. Show him the ropes so he might better understand our mission and methods for the sake of editorial accuracy.”
The blood drained from Morgan’s head and spots floated across her vision. Had she heard right? She was to be sent on the road, unchaperoned, with the most magnificent man she had ever met in the flesh? She cut her eyes toward Steadman to find him coolly regarding her with barely concealed disapproval. Yes, she had apparently heard correctly and now knew that his feelings on the matter mirrored hers.
***
Steadman appraised the cowed young man slumping in the chair beside him. He seemed like no more than a boy, his cheeks smooth and eyes wide. An oversized and threadbare suit of a fashion ten years gone swallowed his fragile frame and pushed the jacket’s collar up to brush unkempt, curly hair. A ridiculous Clericus top hat favored by clergymen and quack doctors occupied his lap. Wide-spaced brown eyes continued tomeet his scrutiny, though, alarmed yet bright with heightened intelligence. Steadman shifted his regard to Sir Hugh.
“I work alone, as you know.”
