“My lord—”
“I own an extra townhouse.” He’d bought the place for his mother to live in when he and Gabriella had gotten engaged. For some peculiar reason, letting Miss Strong use it, knowing where she would be day and night, held a curious appeal. “There’s no staff there at the moment, but it shouldn’t take long to hire a cook and a maid, perhaps even a good-sized footman to keep you safe. I’ll set you up there as soon as we’re done here.”
“Absolutely not.” Miss Strong’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. Leaning forward, she whispered, “I would be completely reliant on you for all things and…and…
“And?”
“People will think I’m your mistress.”
Simon stared at her blankly. “I don’t really see the problem.”
She crossed her arms and huffed out a breath. “Of course you don’t.”
He made a sincere effort to understand her issue with what he believed would be a step up from being a St. Giles whore. Really, he should be the one insulted, not her. “It’s not as if you’re a gently bred young lady and I’m actually asking you to be my mistress.”
“I know,” she agreed, her gaze averted.
“And I won’t expect you to pay me back in sexual favors if that’s your concern. I promise.” Her eyes widened with a surprising amount of shock for a woman who earned her way in precisely that manner. “Of course, it wouldn’t be very practical if we’re to help you move about in Society. Perhaps it would make more sense for you to be my ward. As such, you would be residing at a respectable address, your wardrobe would not set you apart from any other lady of the ton, and most importantly, it would allow us the freedom to meet in private whenever we choose to discuss our plan. No one would question me visiting you, though you might need a chaperone.”
As soon as the culprit they sought was found and brought to justice, Miss Strong would be free to remove herself from his life once again. It would be as if she’d never existed, as if—
“I don’t like it.”
Of course she didn’t. Stubborn and cynical to the core, she had probably conjured all manner of ulterior motives and ways in which he meant to use her to his advantage.
“All right.” He folded his arms, placed both elbows on the table, and leaned toward her. Her irises flared and his muscles flexed in response. Something about his nearness disturbed her, though judging from her rosy cheeks, not on account of fear. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
There was a long drawn out pause, after which she finally shook her head. “No.”
Simon allowed himself an inward smile. Although he had his own apprehensions, he had to admit that having Miss Strong around for a while might prove interesting. “So it’s settled then?”
Her rigid posture turned less combative. She blew out the most capitulating breath he’d ever heard. “Yes.”
A strange surge of victory swirled inside him. “Good.” He indicated her tankard. “If you’re done, we can be on our way. The house isn’t far.”
Looking as though she wished she could stay at the tavern for the next decade, Miss Strong grudgingly stood. “Thank you for the food and drink,” she said once they were back in the street. Darkness had fallen while they’d been talking.
“It was my pleasure.” Simon nudged her away from the edge of the pavement so he could assume the precarious spot and linked his arm with hers. She was stiff, yet oddly alluring. “Since we’ll be working together, perhaps we should try to become better acquainted.”
Her eyes remained fixed on a spot straight ahead, giving no indication that she’d even heard him. He cleared his throat and tried not to feel affronted by her lack of interest in him she showed. “Perhaps we can start with something simple. Like our ages.” How in God’s name knowing when they’d each been born would help forge a bond he’d no idea, but it was the first question that came to mind. And besides, he actually was curious to know how old she was. “I was born on September thirteenth. I’ll be three and thirty in a few months.”
“I will be twenty in July,” she said, angling her head just enough to glance up at him. “On the fifteenth.”
A soft sparkle in her eyes and the hint of a smile teasing her lips nearly made him loose his footing. She truly was stunning. Especially when she let down her guard. Unable to make his mouth work, Simon merely stared at her until she broke eye contact and returned her attention to the distant horizon.
Simon nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at him and would not be able to see. “How did you end up at Amourette’s?”
There was a brief hesitation and then, “Philipa Harding, the woman who owns Amourette’s, is my mother’s sister.” Simon didn’t know what precisely to say to that. As if sensing his befuddlement, Miss Strong chuckled. “I see I have managed to shock you into silence.”
They reached a wider street and crossed to the opposite side. Still unsure of how to respond, Simon kept silent and was glad when Miss Strong continued with her account.
“My mother and aunt were orphaned when they were six and ten. Thankfully, a decent couple who couldn’t have children of their own took them in. But they had little more than love to give them, so Mama and Philipa were forced to leave and find work for themselves when they each turned sixteen. Both lacked the necessary education required for well-paid employment, so it was a struggle. Eventually Philipa gave up and turned to prostitution. By the time Mama had to find work for herself, Philipa had earned enough to ensure her younger sister would not have to head down the same path as she. She paid for Mama to take cooking lessons. When Papa sought a cook for his new home in London, she answered the advertisement, and that’s how they met.”
“That’s quite a romantic tale.”
“One that came to a very sad end the day Mama died,” Miss Strong reflected with a wistful murmur. They turned a corner. “Papa was away at war when consumption took her. When he returned and I told him what had happened, the light in his eyes faded and never fully returned.”
“He must have loved her deeply.”
