He’d not sent word ahead for her to expect him, and he felt an uncharacteristic uncertainty of his reception. The night was dark and cold, the wind blowing his cloak about his legs. Lazarus hesitated in the fetid alley. He laid a hand against the wood of the kitchen door as if in this way he could feel the woman within.
Nonsense.
He contemplated stealing in as he had before, but in the end, prudence made him rap sharply on the door. It was thrown almost immediately open. Lazarus stared down into light brown eyes gilded with golden stars. Mrs. Dews looked startled, as if she’d not expected him at the door, and indeed her hair was down about her shoulders, curling damply in the heat of the kitchen.
“You were washing your hair,” he said stupidly. The thought of such a mundane intimacy stirred a longing not only at his groin but in his chest as well.
“Yes.” Pink was suffusing her cheeks.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, because her hair was beautiful, thick and nearly to her waist. It waved and curled with reckless abandon. How she must hate that.
“Oh.” She glanced down and then over her shoulder. “Won’t you come in?”
His lips twitched in amusement at her unease, but he said as gently as was possible for him, “Thank you.”
The foundling home kitchen was humid and hot tonight. The fire was banked below a blackened kettle. Mrs. Dews’s regular acolyte, Mary Whitsun, frowned at him over a basin of water at the table, while beside her stood a small boy. A plump young woman with a cheery red face and white-blond hair sat in the corner nursing a tiny infant. She looked up at his entrance and casually pulled a scarf over her exposed breast.
“This is Polly, our wet nurse,” Temperance said distractedly. “She brought Mary Hope and her children to spend the night.”
“Thought it best since they’re holding a wake in the rooms next to mine,” Polly said. “It can get a bit loud and wild.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Lazarus inclined his head. He eyed the kicking infant. “The babe is better, then?”
“Oh, she’s doing lovely, sir, that she is.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Lazarus propped himself against a wall, watching as Mrs. Dews and the girl cleared the table. While their backs were turned, the boy inched closer. His face was freckled, and to Lazarus’s unskilled eye, he looked a bit of a rapscallion.
“That’s a big stick,” the boy observed.
“It’s a sword stick,” Lazarus said cordially. He twisted the head and withdrew the sharp sword.
“Coo!” the boy exclaimed. “Have yer killed anyone with it?”
“Dozens,” Lazarus said loftily. He pushed the image of the noseless attacker’s staring, dead eyes out of his mind. “I prefer to first disembowel them and then chop off their heads.”
“Arr!” the boy said.
Lazarus chose to take the odd syllable as a mark of high esteem.
“Lord Caire!” Mrs. Dews had evidently overheard the last of their exchange.
“Yes?” Lazarus widened his eyes in innocence.
The boy saw fit to giggle.
Mrs. Dews sighed.
Polly pulled the baby from under her scarf. “Can you hold her a moment, ma’am, while I set myself to rights?”
The wet nurse held out the sleeping babe, but Mrs. Dews quickly backed away. “Mary Whitsun can take her.”
The girl accepted the baby without hesitation. Neither she nor Polly seemed to think Mrs. Dews’s actions were unusual, but Lazarus watched her speculatively.
Polly straightened her clothing and stood. “I’ll take Mary Hope now. She’s due for a nap, I’m thinking.”
So saying, she carried the babe from the kitchen.
Mrs. Dews nodded at Mary Whitsun. “Please tell Mr. Makepeace that I intend to go out tonight—and take Joseph Tinbox with you.”
Both children obediently left the room.
“You never informed your brother of your intentions before.” Lazarus prowled to the fireplace and glanced inside the kettle there. A puddle of some type of soup sputtered at the bottom.
“How do you know that?” she asked from behind him.
He turned in time to watch her stroke a comb through that wonderful hair. “You never invited me in before.”
She opened her mouth, but at that moment, Winter Makepeace strode into the room. He didn’t seem surprised to see Lazarus, but the sight didn’t bring him any joy either.
“Mind you take your pistol,” he told his sister.
Mrs. Dews nodded, not looking at Makepeace. “I’ll just put up my hair.”
She slipped from the room.
The brother was suddenly beside Lazarus. “I would have you make sure that nothing happens to her.”
Lazarus arched his brows at the order from the younger man. “Your sister has never been hurt in my company.”
Makepeace grunted, looking sour. “Well, see to it that your luck continues. Temperance needs to be home before first light of day.”
Lazarus inclined his head. He had no intention of keeping Mrs. Dews out in St. Giles any longer than necessary.
She reappeared at that moment, her hair safely confined and hidden under a white cap. She looked sharply between Lazarus and her brother, and he could only hope the younger man had wiped the expression of animosity from his face.
“I’m ready,” she said, and took up a cloak.
Lazarus glided to her side and plucked the ragged thing from her fingers. He held it out. She looked at him uncertainly before donning the garment. Lazarus opened the door.
“Be careful,” Makepeace called behind them.
The night was damp, a grimy mist immediately slicking his face. Lazarus pulled his cloak about his shoulders. “Stay close to me. No doubt your brother would have me drawn and quartered should I bring you back with even a hair on your head misplaced.”
“He worries for me.”
“Mmm.” Lazarus glanced around and then down at her. “As do I. That attack we suffered last time was apurpose.”
Her gold-flecked eyes widened. “You’re sure?”
He shrugged and began walking. “I saw one of the assassins at Mother Heart’s-Ease’s shop. That’s quite a coincidence.”
She stopped suddenly, making him stop as well or risk outpacing her. “But that means someone tried to kill you!”
“Yes, it does.” He hesitated and then said slowly, “Twice now, I think. The night we first met, I was attacked by what I thought was a common footpad.”