“I hadn’t given it much thought,” she said. “I was only after his pocket watch. I don’t know what I’ll do with that much money—or where I’ll stash it.”
A street urchin wouldn’t have a bank to put it in, and without a roof over her head, wouldn’t have a safe place to hide the money while she spent it.
He ought to make her return the wallet to its rightful owner, but he didn’t like the idea of sending her to prison.
She was terribly small and weak-looking. With a few good meals, a decent scrubbing, and a month of sunshine and fresh air, Miss Summersby would grow to be a pretty woman. Sending her to gaol would likely kill her.
What this girl needed was not a prison sentence, but, rather, a hand-up. He doubted anyone would pick pockets for fun. Her thievery was borne of necessity. Given a safe home, a warm bed, a full belly, and clean clothing, she’d have no reason to return to crime.
He was no saint, but perhaps Eliza had been led to his carriage for a reason.
A footman brought a tray of sandwiches and a pot of tea. Mark wasn’t hungry, but he took a bite of the cold beef and cheese on bread. In the time it took him to eat one sandwich, she’d devoured two.
She was starved.
“Slow down, Eliza. You’ll make yourself sick.”
Reluctantly, she began to chew like a civilized woman and not a wild dog. He poured them both a cup of tea.
“There is plenty of meat and bread,” he said. “You are welcome to take some with you when you leave, but there is no reason to rush. Besides, you’ve nowhere else to go.”
She looked up. “I can take as much as I want?”
“All you can carry—and then some. I’ll have my cook pack you a hamper.”
At that, Eliza relaxed. “Why are you being so nice?”
He really did not know. “I suppose I admire your pluck. Thieving aside, you live on your wits. You are clearly a clever girl, and I like clever girls.”
“Oh, it’s likethat,is it?”
“Like what?”
She tore a piece of her sandwich off with her teeth and spoke with her mouth full. “You think me a tart. A fast girl who’ll repay your kindness with parted thighs.” She was dirty, scuffed bloody, and nearly emaciated. Crawling into bed with her was the last thing he’d imagined when inviting her here. “I’ve resorted to many things in my life. Picking pockets isn’t my greatest sin, but I’m not a tart by trade.”
“Ah.” Well, he could not have faulted her for it. Anything was better than starvation, he supposed.
She stopped chewing for a moment to study him. “I would though, if you wanted.”
“What?” Her words stunned him.
“I’d lay with you. You’re handsome, and clean, and kind. Really, it’d be a pleasure.”
“Eliza…”
She shrugged. “Merely offering.”
“A kind offer, indeed, but I must pass.” The girl might not be a tart, but she was loose with her affections. Did she think thathewould succumb so easily to her scant charms?
He was moderately good-looking and respected in his corner of society. He was a member of the best clubs, and his sister was friends with a duchess, for God’s sake. Numerous duchesses.
Sir Mark van Bergen had no business taking this urchin into his home, much less into his bed.
“Finish your supper, Eliza.”
She did. “You’re disappointed in me. Did you think I’d be an innocent virgin simply dealt a cruel hand? That through kindness and generosity, you’d lift me up from poverty?”
At that, he laughed—more at himself than her words. “I did.”
