“Cork it, Daisy.” Irritation edged Miss Todd’s voice. “And you,Professor,”—she turned to him, her chin lifted at a mutinous angle—“can toddle off. I’ll go home when I’m ready.”
All bloody week she’d been needling him with the sobriquet of “Professor.” With her uncanny talent for annoying him, she’d unknowingly picked up a shard of his broken dreams, wielding it the way a cutthroat does a blade in a dark alley. Relentlessly and without mercy.
His simmering temper edged toward the boiling point.
“You’ll come with me now, you bloody brat. And if I were a professor,” he bit out, “I would be sorely tempted to give you a lesson in propriety. No, make thatcommon sense. What in blazes are you thinking, dressed in that indecent attire and in abrothel, no less. You could have been accosted or worse!”
The last words left him in a roar, shocking him. He was known for calm, measured discourse. He didn’t shout, especially not at a female.
Miss Todd had the temerity toroll her eyesat him. “I can take care of myself.”
“How?” he shot back. “How, precisely, would you fight off a man’s advances?”
“With these.” She bent, and he blinked as she removed adaggerfrom each boot. With blithe expertise, she juggled the small cloisonné-handled knives in the air.
“Where in blazes did you get those?” Harry asked in disbelief.
“Ming. He trained me, too. My aim is excellent.”
Her underlying (and rather immodest) threat was clear. Jaw clenching, Harry was contemplating hauling her out over his shoulder when the redheaded wench came to her side. She was older than the others, a handsome woman with a hardened mien.
At her nudge, Miss Todd sighed…but she caught her blades, tucking them back into her boots.
The redhead addressed him. “I’m Pretty Francie, the madam of the club. Tessa’s safe ’ere. We keep an eye out for ’er, and she uses the ’idden corridors so none o’ the patrons see ’er.”
“I am obliged to you, Miss Francie, for looking out for my charge,” he said curtly. “Nonetheless, this is no place for a young lady. The fact that she has been allowed to run amok for so long is a disgrace.”
To his surprise, the madam gave a slight nod, her expression rueful.
“Ignore Bennett,” Miss Todd burst out. “He’s an overbearingprig—”
“It is not only my opinion that your behavior needs reforming, but also that of your grandfather.”
Harry’s deliberate evoking of Bartholomew Black did the trick.
The madam put a hand on Miss Todd’s shoulder.
“You’d best go wiv ’im, luvie,” she said quietly.
Miss Todd’s shoulders slumped a little, and she gave her friend an oddly hurt look.
Spotting a long black cape hanging on the wall, Harry said, “May Miss Todd borrow that?”
“O’ course.” The blonde wench went to fetch it.
She returned, and, up close, he saw the fading bruises on her face. When he reached to take the garment from her, she flinched instinctively, confirming his suspicions. His chest tightened. There was nothing more despicable, more cowardly, than a man who’d hit a woman.
Slowly, he turned his hand over, palm up, waiting for her to give him the cloak.
“Thank you, miss,” he said gently when she did.
“Oh…you’re welcome. You can call me Belinda.” She twirled a blonde curl around her finger and gave him a hesitant smile.
He inclined his head, then turned to Miss Todd. “Put this on.”
She scowled at him. “I’m not taking Belinda’s best cloak.”
“I’ll see that it’s returned. You cannot prance about in those indecent trousers,” he snapped. “Put on the bloody cape, or I’ll put it on for you.”
