“Iffen the night’s good enough for yer lot to be out and about, it’s good ‘nuff fer the likes of me.” The disdain dripped as thick as treacle from his reedy voice. He jutted up his grimy chin, and the light from the gas lamps fell on his face.
John’s breath hitched. There was a softness, a roundness, to the child’s face that spoke of youth, but the eyes staring impertinently back at him held no such immaturity. They were striking, a blue so clear that they seemed to glow above the dirty cheeks. Or were they purple? Regardless, intelligence glimmered behind them. Intelligence, and a shrewdness one could only develop through harsh experience.
Wilberforce grunted behind him, his version of a laugh, and John tore his gaze from the boy.
John twisted the tip of his walking stick into the ground. “I would expect gratitude over attitude, but I’ve always said manners were wasted on the young. Now, I’m not going to let you roam about getting into ever more trouble.” The boy might think he was the predator, skimming coin from drunken lackwits, but he was but a guppy compared to the sharks that swam through the London streets at night. “I’ll take you home. Just tell my man where to.”
The boy remained stubbornly silent.
John rolled his head, feeling his neck pop. He could have been home abed by now if he’d left from the club straight off. Saving grubby little street thieves wasn’t in the job description of a spy.
His gut hardened. Nothing was in his job description any longer. His status as spy was on permanent hiatus.
“Sir?” Wilberforce shifted. The concern in that one word was obvious, but then Wilberforce always did have a soft spot when it came to strays. If John were to wash his hands of the boy, he would most likely be out of the services of a driver for the next hour or so. The blasted man would follow the child home to ensure a safe arrival.
John blew out a breath. He ran a hand up the back of his head, ruffling his locks into a state of charming disarray. He’d practiced the motion so often in his youth it had become second-nature. “Are you hungry?” he asked the boy. He eyed the rounded belly. The answer was likely a safe bet. The lad must be more successful in his thieving than John thought if it kept him so well-fed. “I’m going to Pierre’s to break my fast. You’re welcome to join me. His plum cake is quite exquisite.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “Wot’s yer game?”
“No game. A free meal, some conversation, and then you can go on your way.” When it would be full dawn and Wilberforce wouldn’t feel compelled to watch over the boy like a mother hen. “The coffeehouse is only a couple of blocks away. We’ll walk.”
“And you don’t want nothing in return?”
John’s chest tightened. No, the child wasn’t so innocent after all. Someone had taught him a harsh lesson or two. “Nothing. You have my word.”
The boy cocked his head and squinted, examining John like a bug under a microscope before nodding. “All right. I’ll let you buy me some ‘o that cake. But no funny business.”
John refrained from looking heavenward. Like the child was doinghima favor. He held out his hand, and was glad of the leather gloves he wore when the filthy hand slipped into his to shake. “Summerset.”
“Ned Pickle.”
They turned and headed down the block.
“Are you really an earl?” The boy looked sideways at him.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Didn’t think aristos truly wore ‘eels that ‘igh.” He pointed at John’s boots, a magnificent pair made of ivory kid-leather with mother-of-pearl buttons. “My da told me yer lot were all fops and dandies, but I didn’t believe ‘im. Till now.”
Another muffled chuckle from behind had John swinging around to glare at Wil.This is your fault, he mouthed. Only to save his friend and servant from tiring himself out following the boy had John made such a generous offer. One he was beginning to severely regret.
He adjusted his cravat. “I prefer the term coxcomb myself.”
The boy snorted. “Cox-comb. You reckon they meant—”
“No.” John ground his back teeth. It was only one breakfast. Half an hour at the most of irritating company, and he would have done his good deed for the year.
“Oy, I don’t s’pose a cuppa chocolate comes with this cake?”
John closed his eyes. Thirty minutes had never seemed so endless.
Chapter Two
Netta looked at the ruby winking at her from the depths of the man’s snowy white cravat. At the server bustling about taking orders from the early morning crowd at the coffeehouse. Anywhere but at the glove of the man who sat across from her—and the two loose threads at the cuff that used to hold pearl buttons. If she didn’t look at it, neither would this Summerset fellow.
A bloody earl. She sure knew how to pick them.
He.Heknew how to pick them. She was Ned now, and had to remember that. A performance was always more believable when the actor immersed herself in the character.
