She picked her way back up the street with a heavy heart. She had a feeling her next visit of the day wasn’t going to be nearly as pleasant.
“Please take me to Maiden Lane,” she instructed the coachman before climbing in the carriage.
She sat and glanced idly out the window as the coach rolled forward. The home depended on her. Now that—
“Oy!” a male voice—a familiar male voice—shouted very near.
The carriage shuddered to a halt.
Hero leaned forward. Surely it couldn’t be—
The carriage door opened and a tall masculine form climbed in the carriage and settled himself against the red squabs across from her as if he owned the vehicle.
The carriage started as Hero gaped at him.
“We meet again, Lady Perfect,” Lord Griffin drawled.
Chapter Four
Inevitably there came a time when Queen Ravenhair decided she should remarry. A queen must have a king and a kingdom an heir, after all. So the queen consulted with her advisors and ministers and men of letters to decide who would be the perfect highborn man to marry. But here she found a dilemma. Her advisors thought Prince Westmoon the perfect match for the queen, while the ministers scorned Westmoon and instead preferred Prince Eastsun. What was worse, the men of letters hated both Westmoon and Eastsun and considered only Prince Northwind the perfect consort for the queen….
—from Queen Ravenhair
Griffin hadn’t believed his eyes when he’d seen Lady Hero step into a carriage in the worst part of St. Giles. He’d hailed the carriage, told the coachman who he was, and hastily tied Rambler to the back before jumping in.
Now Griffin watched as Lady Hero narrowed her lovely gray eyes at him. “Lord Reading. What a delight to see you again.”
He cocked his head as he smiled at her. “Do I detect a wee bit of sarcasm in your words, my lady?”
Her gaze dropped demurely. “A lady never engages in sarcasm with a gentleman.”
“Never?” He leaned forward as the carriage tilted around a corner. “Even when she’s been sorely provoked by a gentleman who isn’t very, er, gentlemanly?”
“Especially then.” She pursed her lips. “A lady always maintains her composure, always chooses her words carefully, and always takes care to use them with circumspection. She’d never mock a gentleman no matter how provoked.”
She recited her rules as if by rote, her manner so grave that he nearly missed the gentle wryness in her tone. But it was there. Oh, yes, it was there. He had no doubt that she observed these rules with Thomas, but not with him. That was interesting.
And vaguely worrisome.
“Perhaps I should try harder to provoke,” he murmured without thought.
For a moment her eyelashes lifted, and her gaze met his directly, her eyes wide and intrigued, the very frankness of her look, whether consciously or unconsciously, a feminine lure to a man.
He caught his breath.
Then her gaze dropped to her lap again. “What are you doing in St. Giles, my lord?”
“Riding in your carriage.” He stretched his legs in the narrow space between the seats. “This is your carriage, isn’t it?”
Her lips thinned. “Of course.”
“Oh, good,” he said easily. “I’d hate to have to take Thomas to task because he’d loaned you his carriage to gallivant about the sewers of St. Giles. Unless”—he widened his eyes in pretend sudden thought—“Wakefield gave you permission to come here?”
She tilted her chin haughtily. “I’m not a child, Lord Griffin. I hardly need permission from my brother to travel where and when I choose.”
“Then Wakefield won’t be surprised when I inform him where I met you,” he replied silkily.
Her gaze darted away, confirming his suspicions.
His voice deepened to something approaching a growl. “I thought not.”
Anger rose in him, swift and hot. He was caught off guard by the intensity of the primitive emotion. What did it matter to him if Thomas’s primly perfect fiancée put herself in danger by haring about St. Giles? Common sense said it was hardly his business.
Unfortunately, common sense held no sway with his emotions. Lady Hero in this place was so terribly wrong that he had to restrain himself from grabbing her and bearing her bodily away, ranting all the while about headstrong chits, recklessly oblivious brothers, and the myriad of ghastly fates that could overtake a gently bred lady in London’s slums.
Griffin took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. God, he needed sleep. “St. Giles is not known for its hospitality, my lady,” he said as gently as possible. “Whatever brought you here cannot possibly be as—”
“Please don’t patronize me.”
“Very well.” He felt his jaw tighten. Damnation, but he wasn’t used to being dismissed so cavalierly by anyone, let alone a woman. “Tell me why you are here.”
She bit her lip and looked away.
He smiled tightly. “It’s me or Wakefield. Take your pick.”
“Since you insist.” She smoothed her skirt with her palms. “I’m going to inspect the building site of a home for foundling children.”
Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Why?”
She made a quick impatient grimace, so fast he almost missed it. “Because I’m one of the patronesses of the home.”
His eyebrows winged up. “Quite commendable. Why keep it a secret from your brother?”
“It’s not a secret.” She caught his skeptical look and amended, “The part about me being a patroness isn’t a secret anyway. Maximus is well aware that I’ve pledged to help the home. The problem is its location. He doesn’t want me visiting St. Giles.”
“I applaud his intelligence,” Griffin said drily. “Then why sneak out?”
“Because I’m the patroness!” Lady Hero frowned at him like an offended queen, the look only slightly dampened by the freckles scattered across her nose. “It’s my duty to make sure the new home is built properly.”
“All by yourself?”
“There is another patroness—Lady Caire. But she is out of the country at the moment.” She bit her lip. “I would go to Lord Caire, her son, or his bride, the younger Lady Caire—she is the sister to the manageress of the home and used to run it herself—but they have recently married and have retired to Lord Caire’s country estate for the next several months.”