“We shall have to acquire more furniture,” she went on. “Like proper beds for the two of you and an armoire for your clothing.”
Raven’s face betrayed no emotion. Neither did his wordless grunt.
“Beds,” breathed Hawk. At the moment, both boys slept on the rag rug in front of the stove. “Just like a grand lord?”
“Indeed,” she replied lightly. “You shall be Duke of the Downy Pillows.”
He giggled, but his brother’s expression remained guarded.
“Speaking of lords,” said Raven, breaking the sliver of silence, “we met His Lordship last night in St. Giles.”
“Oh?” Charlotte busied herself with turning the browning meat. There were only two reasons aristocrats ventured into that section of Town—the gaming hells and bordellos offered the sort of dangerous pleasures that couldn’t be found in the staid streets of Mayfair.
Not that the Earl of Wrexford’s exploits were any of her concern . ..
“I trust he was looking well,” she said.
“Actually he wuz a little green around the gills,” piped up Hawk. “It might have been the drink—he smelled like the inside of a brandy barrel. But more likely it was the dead body he’d just found.”
Charlotte jerked her head up, and then swore as hot grease spattered her fingers.
“Language, m’lady,” said Raven primly, which drew another chortle from his brother.
“A dead body.” She carefully wiped her hands on a rag. “As in someone expiring from natural causes?”
“Being butchered ain’t natural,” he replied.
“Don’t sayain’t,” whispered Hawk.
“You mean it was a murder?” asked Charlotte, though the answer seemed clear enough.
“Aye, and a grisly one at that. The man’s clothing was slashed into ribbons and his belly was cut up something awful,” answered Raven.
She felt herself stiffen.
“Lord Wrexford said it were likely a falling out among thieves,” added Hawk.
Ah, thank God—an ordinary murder. One that had no deeper significance than greed and desperation. The footpads who prowled through St. Giles were known as some of the most violent criminals in all of London.
“I daresay he’s right,” said Charlotte, feeling an odd rush of relief. For any number of reasons, she was glad that the circumstances would not draw the earl into being a subject for her pen.
Again.
No doubt he was even more pleased than she was.
Thrusting aside thoughts of Wrexford, she focused on a more pressing concern. “And it is a grim reminder that St. Giles is a dangerous neighborhood, especially late at night.” She dared notvoice more than an oblique warning. Raven was fiercely independent and the ties that bound them were those of trust, not blood.
He shrugged. “Death is everywhere, m’lady.”
“That doesn’t mean you should cock a snoot at the Reaper.”
Her words elicited a grudging smile. “We’re careful.”
Not nearly careful enough, thought Charlotte with an inward sigh. But she let the subject drop.
“Come help me carry the plates to the table. As an extra treat, I also purchased some strawberry jam.”
* * *
