He wanted to brush them from her face.
The metamorphosis was, of course, breathtaking. In the span of a few hours, she had gone from a grubby little street urchin to a pretty, polished young woman. Yet what struck Mark most of all was the change within her.
She radiated confidence. Her back was straight, her shoulders high. She met his gaze head-on, as she typically did, and stole the breath from his lungs.
Mark was not a sentimental man. He was not given to spouting love-words, dissecting his feelings, or displaying affection. Yet when he whispered, “Eliza,” his voice trembled.
She dipped a clumsy, charming curtsey. “Sir Mark.”
“You look…lovely.” He cleared his throat. “Did you find everything you needed?”
“I did, thanks. The shower-bath was wonderful, and you’re awfully generous to lend me these fine clothes. Are you certain your sister won’t miss them?”
She came around the sofa to take a seat. Her silk hems trailed the carpeted floor. The frock was slightly too long for her, but could be easily remedied. When she sank onto the cushions, Mark noticed she wore a corset. The stays lifted her breasts and shaped her waist. She had a bosom now. She had hips. Bloody hell, she cut a fine dash!
“Ann won’t miss them,” he said. “She’ll be glad to see them put to use.”
“Thank her for me. Be sure to tell her how grateful I am.”
Mark nodded. “Of course.”
He’d poured himself a drink—a snifter of brandy to relax before dinner. It was his custom to sit and sip, to reflect on the day, and rest his tired eyes. Staring at bank ledgers and paperwork strained his vision. Reading spectacles eased the headaches, but the only true cure was an evening spent staring into the fire.
Or smiling into a pretty face softened by candlelight.
Elizawaspretty. He simply had not seen her clearly until now.
Naturally, the bath and the clothes had helped. “Would you care for a drink, Eliza? I have brandy, or sherry, if you prefer.”
“I’ve only ever had gin, and I did not take to it.”
“Lemonade then? Ann does not take drink either, so I always keep some on hand for her.”
Eliza nodded. “Seems your sister and I share a lot in common.”
He considered that development as he rang for a footman. His sister was a true lady and a credit to the family. All who knew her admired her. What would Ann think of his stowaway-turned-houseguest?
A footman returned with a glass of lemonade. Eliza plucked it from the tray and sipped. She made a pretty picture, sitting on his sofa with her silk skirts illuminated by the lamp glow. He hardly noticed that her lip was swollen and her cheeks scraped and bruised.
Mark moved to the armchair. “Have you given any more thought to what you’ll do with your money?”
“I’ll rent a room somewhere. A little flat in a proper boarding house. It would be nice to live with other girls and never have to worry about blokes lurking or leering.”
“A respectable establishment will want references. The rest are likely brothels.”
She smiled at him over her glass. “I think I can tell the difference.”
Yes, of course she could. “I’ll write you a character reference anyway. But you really ought to invest your money. You needn’t put up all of it, only what you’re not using. It will be safer than keeping it in your skirt pocket.”
He wondered where she’d hidden the stolen wallet. It wasn’t stashed in her skirts now.
“Thank you, but I like my money where I can see it, where I can count it. Where I can grab it and run, if need be. I know I’ve got fifteen hundred pounds guaranteed. I can’t afford to lose one penny of it.”
Mark sipped his brandy. Gambling away money was a rational fear for a woman in Eliza’s predicament. It was hard enough for a gentleman to put up his purse, so he understood her trepidation.
“A prudent investment could make you a wealthy woman.”
“I don’t want to be wealthy,” she replied, downing her lemonade. “I just want not to go hungry.”
