She glanced down at her dress. “I hope that you have something else for me to wear. If you intend to take me somewhere unsavory, then I might be noticed.”
“I have your shroud.”
Some of the blood faded away from her face again. “What?”
“The item you had secured in the trunk at the stables at Greenwich.” He threw the last of his cheroot on the floor of the carriage and ground it out beneath his bootheel.
“How did you?—”
He leaned back, allowing himself to be further enveloped by the nighttime shadows around him. “You will soon understand that I learn all that I wish to know. I found you, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she whispered, and he could tell that she was finally starting to put all the pieces together. “I know you’re doing this because of what I did. But you have to believe that I intended to follow through with this façade tonight in order to give you the money you were owed by my brother. I would have come back to Greenwich.”
“Is that so?” he murmured. “While I would like to believe you, Miss Davies, you will have to forgive my reticence. But you should be relieved to know that I have forgiven your brother’s debt to me.Yours, however, may take a bit longer to clear.”
CHAPTER5
The chills had stopped traveling through Fleur’s body around Mr. Porter. Instead, it was replaced with a breathless awareness that choked her as effectively as if he had his hands around her neck and was squeezing the very life out of her. She had the feeling she was his indentured servant until the end of time. When she was young, she had entertained dreams of a dashing hero sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to his castle. Not once did the visage of a dark villain leading her into the bowels of the underground pop into her mind. But that was exactly what was happening now.
She wondered if this was what hell was like. While Mr. Porter might not be a demon in the Biblical sense, he was a man who would go to any lengths to get what he wanted. At the moment, he appeared to want her.
Rather than allow his presence to completely cause a downward spiral, she tried to focus on his features, to find something redeeming.
He was particularly handsome with his pronounced cheekbones and the defined jawline with the dark stubble that always seemed present. She recalled the first time she’d seen him and that was one of the first things she’d noticed, other than those piercing silver eyes. She had hoped that there might be a spark of warmth or empathy inside but as yet she had found nothing but a calculated calm.
If she was helping him to fight… whatever it was he wanted her to use her fencing skills for, at least it would be better than being subjected to that same cold glare when she was naked and vulnerable in front of him. She was surprised he might trust her with a sword not to “accidentally” use it on him. But perhaps he was that confident in his awareness that he could fend off an impending attack.
The conversation grew stilted from that point on and Fleur was thankful for the reprieve. She wasn’t sure what to say to this man. Oddly enough, he appeared the same. Or perhaps he just preferred the silence as well.
The hackney finally stopped, depositing them in a street that Fleur had hoped to never occupy. A dirty unkempt dog walked by as she disembarked. Two men dressed in shabby clothes were speaking across the street. At first glance it appeared that they ignored the two occupants that stepped to the ground but when one of the men turned his head and looked directly at her with a wink, she knew better than to trust her surroundings.
“Where are we?” she whispered to her companion as she sidled closer to him. Something told her that he was safer to be around than anyone else that might come crawling out of their drunken holes.
“Whitechapel.” Nothing but a clipped reply and no further explanation.
“Why are we here?” she prodded. “And how long do we intend to remain?”
He let them inside a ramshackle building that looked as though it had seen better days. Inside was one of the smallest rooms she had ever beheld. If she thought the cottage she had shared with her brother in Greenwich was small, this was miniscule in comparison. “Why?” He finally answered her question. “Don’t you like it here?”
She glared at him. If that was his attempt at a joke it wasn’t very humorous. “Not particularly.”
“A pity as that is where I have your shroud.” He walked over to a chair where the item had been tossed haphazardly. He picked it up and returned to hand it to her. “I would change out of that lovely gown before someone assumes that you are a whore.”
She snatched the garment and held it close to her like a shield. “We both know I am nothing of the sort, so I would kindly ask you to keep your opinions to yourself.” She glanced around the solitary room. “Where am I supposed to change?”
He walked over and sat down in the chair. Lighting up another cheroot, he waved a hand where she stood. “That works for me.”
Fleur wanted to tell him to make sure he kept his head turned as she started to remove her clothing but he didn’t seem to pay her any attention. He continued to puff on his cheroot and stare out the single window that had enough grime on it that he surely couldn’t see a single thing beyond it.
Taking a deep breath, Fleur started to unlace her corset. It tied in the back and was a bit difficult to maneuver at first but she would rather die than ask for Mr. Porter’s assistance. As she finally got the laces to cooperate with her fumbling fingers, she glanced about and tried to picture herself staying there overlong. Surely if the man had five thousand pounds to impart without batting an eyelash, then he had to have better lodgings elsewhere. While she didn’t expect Mayfair, it would be nice to be somewhere that she didn’t have to worry about rats running rampant around her feet. She had yet to see any of the foul creatures but she wasn’t about to discount their existence.
When she reached the end of her corset, she took it off with a relieved sigh. Next were her skirts. She stepped out of the many layers until she stood in her chemise, stockings, and slippers. She would have loved to have a pair of boots right about now, especially if Mr. Porter intended for them to traipse about such a disreputable area. But she supposed she had to utilize what she had.
She jumped when a pair of men’s black boots slammed into the floor behind her. She spun around, the shroud still clutched to her chest, as she faced Mr. Porter. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there observing her struggles and neither did she care to find out.
She recognized her shoes and said, “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”
“I never go anywhere unprepared.”
