Page 8 of A Second Chance for Love

Before she could come up with a suitable answer a hackney rolled down Cork Street. When it stopped Mr. Taylor handed her inside and then said something to the driver before climbing in and taking the seat across from her.

“Where are you taking me?” Oona asked when he seemed content to sit in silence while she had suddenly begun to shake, a delayed reaction to being accused of thievery and almost thrown into gaol.

“Home.”

“You—you know where I live?”

“No. I thought we’d just drive around a while—perhaps get lucky and find it.”

A slightly hysterical laugh broke out of her at his sarcastic response and Oona clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “Why are you doing all this, Mr. Taylor?”

“Call me Juss. Or Justin, if you must,” he said, turning back to the window.

“Why did you help me, Juss?”

“Because I know you didn’t steal anything from that vault.”

Oona ignored the thrill of joy that seized her at his words. “How do you know that?”

“I just do.” He sounded bored, as if her questions were something that had to be tolerated, like bad weather.

What a maddening, obnoxious, high-handed man.

Oona took a deep breath and suppressed her annoyance; he was also the man who’d just liberated her from the bowels of hell. “I appreciate your faith in me, but—”

“Why were you working as a drudge for LeMonde?”

“That’s hardly your affair, is it?” she snapped.

Rather than be insulted by her rudeness, he laughed.

Oona bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You can say whatever you like.”

“I know I can say whatever I like, but that doesn’t mean you deserve my churlish behavior. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged.

“Why did you involve yourself this morning?”

“Why not?”

Oona returned her teeth to her lower lip to keep from saying something she would immediately regret. She’d never met a more unresponsive man in her entire life. He gave away nothing, his face a harsh, unreadable mask.

“Why aren’t you working as a governess?”

“That is also none of your affair.”

“What are you going to do now?” he asked, undeterred, his gaze lazy as he stared through the dim light of the carriage, as if he didn’t care one way or another what happened to her.

Oona briefly closed her eyes. God. What was she going to do? She’d sold the last four pearls to pay for Katie’s most recent semester, but that would be over soon. And here she was with no job and nothing else to sell.

Oona opened her eyes to find he was still staring. “To answer your question, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ll look for something else, I suppose.”

“I doubt LeMonde will give you a recommendation,” he said.

“I’m accustomed to finding work without a decent recommendation.”