Eliza tried to strip off her jacket, but she couldn’t manage much with one good hand and a battered body. She’d never be able to undress without help.
He watched her struggle. “Here, allow me.”
His hands made quick work of her jacket. He was careful not to hurt her as he peeled down the sleeves and tugged it free. He tossed it to the floor in a heap.
Rags to him. To Eliza, the clothes on her back were her only possessions in the world.
Mark unlaced her boots and cast them aside. He did not reach up her skirts for her stockings, though she would not have stopped him if he’d tried.
His deft fingers unhooked her skirt and lifted her blouse over her head. What he saw beneath her garments made him take a step back.
“Eliza!” He touched a purpling bruise on her shoulder, the bite mark on the soft part of her upper arm. She had fought her attackers with everything she had, but they’d won in the end.
“Street boys fight like wolves,” she said, inspecting her own body for bruises, bites, scratches, and scrapes. “Sometimes, fighting dirty is the only way to survive.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
He mistakenly believed she was cold. “Let’s get you the rest of the way undressed, and then settle you into a nice hot bath. Arms up.”
Eliza lifted her arms as best she could.
“No corset, I see.”
“The one I had didn’t fit anymore, so I traded it to a girl who’d get better use of it.”
“And what did you get in return?”
She wiggled her feet. “These wool stockings.”
He smiled at her. “A fair trade.”
***
Although she was stripped down to nothing but her underclothes, Eliza was still covered enough that he could not see her body. Her drawers spanned from waist to knees, and he guessed that they were at least ten years out of fashion.
Perhaps even twenty, if he took into account how tattered they were. He hadn’t seen a woman wear such outdated underclothes since…well, his school days.
Even more curious than her drawers was whatever she had wrapped around her breasts—filthy cloth binding. The strips of faded fabric encircled her torso from her armpits, over her chest, around her belly and her narrow hips. The bindings disappeared beneath her drawers.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
Eliza touched her uninjured hand to her bosom. “Sleeping on the streets, it’s best if I lookflat.”
Ah yes, his little pickpocket. His clever survivor.
He had believed her small-breasted and skinny—she was, mostly—but her unattractive figure was a disguise. A woman was less likely to be targeted if she didn’t arouse a man’s lust.
“What a world you live in, Eliza.” It sounded bloody awful.
She shrugged. “The only one I’ve ever known.”
“Until now.”
“Yes. Now, I’ve got a bed to myself and my own room. Soon, a bath, and supper, and clean clothes without any holes to be mended. Can’t imagine how I got so lucky.”
He stood and dusted off his trousers. “I suppose you simply stowed away in the right carriage.”
