“My thanks, but I’ve learned to survive by my wits, as you say. The good and innocent don’t last long in my world, so we adapt. We do what we must to get by—thievery, in my case. Prostitution, for others. My first lover was my landlord after I lost my mother. I had nowhere else to go and he was not a charitable bloke. Then the butcher when I’d gone days without food, and a copper when he caught me stealing so that I wouldn’thaveto tup the butcher again. You’d be my fourth.”
When he was silent, she prodded, “And you, guv? How many ladies have you blessed with your…”
“Plenty.” Mark didn’t have to count them. He remembered every one.
“Did you love any of them?”
He nodded. “Some.”
“Others were just for fun, then?”
“I suppose so. None were strangers. None were transactions.”
Eliza sipped the last of her tea. “You’re a gentleman. You’ve likely got ladies chasing after you—especially seeing you in evening clothes.”
It was true. He rarely wanted for female companionship. When the day came to put his mind to it, he would have no trouble finding a beautiful, graceful, respectable wife. Likely, any lady he chose.
“If you straightened up your act, Eliza, you might find a husband. A decent, honest man. You could get yourself off the streets, and have a roof over your head, at the very least.”
“You think a girl doesn’t dream of such things? For most of us, it doesn’t quite work out so neatly.”
He chewed on that for a moment. “Do you want a bath?”
“No.”
“Why not? You need a scrubbing. I shan’t look in on you or anything.”
“Thanks, but no. If I went out looking freshly washed, I’d find myself jumped before midnight. Clean folk are targets in my world. If you can afford to wash, and if you can afford a coat that hasn’t been mended within an inch of its life, then you can afford to lose a bit of whatever coin you’ve got. How do you think I find my targets?”
Ah, the little pickpocket. A clever girl who knew how to survive.
“Being clean shouldn’t be a luxury.”
She smiled. “But for most folk, it is.”
CHAPTER FOUR
She liked him. He was naive, but he was kind. A toff if ever she saw one. He wouldn’t last a day in her world, and she was glad. He belonged in his comfortable home near Hyde Park where he read poetry and made love to ladies as sheltered as himself.
She was sorry he hadn’t taken her up on her offer. She’d imagine those kind eyes whenever she found herself in need of a fantasy.
“I should probably be on my way.”
Eliza stood, and he rose to his feet. A true gentleman!
“It’s late. Where will you go?”
“Oh, I’ve got a place to lay my head. It’s a long walk from Mayfair, but I’ll make it.”
“Do you need my carriage?”
“Just the hamper, if you please.” He’d nearly forgotten, but Eliza hadn’t. She needed bread and meat far more than she needed a landau and a team of matched greys.
“Of course,” he said. “Will you come this way?”
She followed him down the central corridor. His home was furnished tastefully for a toff. Usually, she pictured their houses gilded so brightly that their drawing rooms and ballrooms were blinding. He did own gilt picture frames and costly artwork, but also potted ferns on marble plant stands and China bowls filled with flowers. Soft carpets cushioned their feet as they walked the length of his house, through a baize door, and down stairs.
The kitchen was mostly deserted. Everything had been cleaned and tidied for the night. Only a hall boy dozed at the table next to her basket of sandwiches. The lad didn’t even rouse when his employer heaved the hamper and handed it over.
