One of the older boys frowned. “I thought bobbies did that. But you’re not one of them.”
“Nah,” another boy cut in. “Bobbies are about stopping things getting nicked in the first place. Finding nicked stuff is another game.”
Wisdom from the mouths of babes.
“So…” His first questioner eyed him measuringly. “Tell us a story about something you’ve helped find.” His tone made the words a hopeful plea rather than a demand.
Glancing at the circle of faces now surrounding him, perfectly aware that every boy had taken note of his clothes and their quality, Barnaby considered. A movement across the yard caught his eye. The tutor had noticed his charges’ interest; he raised a brow, wordlessly asking if Barnaby wished to be rescued.
Sending the tutor a reassuring smile, Barnaby looked down at his audience. “The first object I helped restore to its owner was the Duchess of Derwent’s emerald collar. It went missing during a house party at the Derwents’ estate…”
They peppered him with questions; he wasn’t surprised that it was the house party itself, the estate, and how “the nobs” entertained themselves that was the focus of their interest. Emeralds were something beyond their ken, but people fascinated them, just as people fascinated him. Listening to their reactions to his answers made him inwardly chuckle.
Inside her office, Penelope noticed that Mrs. Keggs’s attention had drifted from her and fixed on some point beyond her left shoulder. “I think that should hold us for the next few weeks.”
She laid down her pen and shut the inkpot lid with a clap; the noise jerked Mrs. Keggs’s attention back.
“Ah…thank you, miss.” Mrs. Keggs took the signed order Penelope handed her. “I’ll take this around to Connelly’s and get it filled this afternoon.”
Penelope smiled and nodded a dismissal. She watched as Mrs. Keggs rose, bobbed a curtsy, then, with one last glance out of the window at Penelope’s back, hurried out.
Swiveling her chair, Penelope looked out of the window—and saw Adair held captive by a group of boys.
She tensed to rise, but then realized she had it wrong;hewas holding the boys captive—no mean feat—with some tale.
Relaxing, she studied the scene, examining her surprise; despite all she’d heard of him she hadn’t expected Adair to have either the necessary facility, or the inclination, to interact freely with the lower orders—certainly not to the extent of stooping to entertain a group of near-urchins.
Yet his smile appeared quite genuine.
A little more of the wariness she’d felt over consulting him eased. Her fellow members of the governing committee were all out of London; although she’d informed them of the first three disappearances, she hadn’t yet sent word of the most recent—nor of her plan to enlist the aid of Mr. Barnaby Adair. In that, she’d acted on her own initiative. While she was certain Portia and Anne would support her action, she wasn’t so sure the other three would. Adair had made a name for himself assisting the police specifically in bringing members of the ton to justice—endeavors that hadn’t been met by universal approval within the ton.
Lips firming, she slapped her palms on the arms of her chair and pushed to her feet. “I don’t care,” she informed her empty office. “To get those boys back, I’d enlist the aid of the archfiend himself.”
Social threats had no power to sway her.
Other sorts of threats…
Eyes narrowing, she studied the tall, elegant figure surrounded by the ragtag group. And reluctantly conceded that at some level he did, indeed, represent a threat to her.
To her senses, her suddenly twitching nerves—to her unprecedentedly wayward brain. No man had ever made her think distracting thoughts.
No man had ever made her wonder what it would be like if he…
Turning back to her desk, she closed the order ledger.
After leaving his house last night she’d told herself that the worst was over, that when next she saw him his impact on her senses would have faded. Waned. Instead, when she’d looked up and seen him filling her doorway, his blue gaze fixed soconsideringlyon her, all rational thought had flown.
It had taken real effort to keep her expression blank and pretend she’d been mentally elsewhere, somewhere he hadn’t reached.
Clearly, if she wished to investigate by his side she was going to need the equivalent of armor. Or else…
The notion of him realizing how much he affected her, and smiling in that slow, arrogantmaleway of his, didn’t bear thinking about.
She pressed her lips together, then firmly reiterated, “Regardless, I don’t care.”
Collecting her reticule and gloves from beneath the desk, chin rising, she headed for the door.
And the man she’d recruited as the Foundling House’s champion.
