"She can't read."
Lady Camilla's dropped open, her features projecting disbelief. "How did she ever manage in Edinburgh?"
"She had friends who read her parts to her, but they all abandoned her after she was accused of theft and banned from theaters there."
Lady Camilla tapped the end of her chin and then gave Cassandra a wicked smile. "I know just the man. He needs to save a damsel in distress. Whilst teaching her to read, perhaps he can also help with her legal difficulties at the same time."
"And then there's Margo Fauchette..." Cassandra paused for careful consideration of her next words.
"Mistress Number Five?"
"Exactly..." She paused again.
Apparently, there was not a missish bone in Lady Camilla's body, because she did not hesitate to come straight to the point. "What's wrong with Mistress Number Five? Just tell me now. We don't have time for rambling, polite conversation."
7
6 SEPTEMBER, 1826
TOWNHOUSE NUMBER ONE
Grosvenor Street
Obadiah was in place on the stoop of Townhouse Number One, straining against the confines of his borrowed footman's jacket. He'd already had to repair the sleeve he'd ripped earlier that week brawling on Bond Street. The damned attackers had gotten away, even though he'd snatched Adrienne from their filthy hands before she'd suffered any major injuries.
He'd stayed up the night before stitching the sleeve back onto the uniform. The skill he'd learned sewing shut wounds for members of Captain El's crew after their, um, skirmishes frequently came in handy for wardrobe repair. Which happened more often to Obadiah than anyone not in his line of work would imagine.
Being a bodyguard and fierce warrior, when circumstances dictated, was the only life he'd ever known since he'd changed from a gangly boy into a tall, well built, well-muscled man. He and other members of the crew of theLady Muirgenspent many days a week when they were back in London testing their strengths in boxing bouts as well as wrestling matches in thespecially built gymnasium in Captain El's mansion on Grosvenor Square. They came and went through the servants' and vendors' entrance so as not to raise the suspicions of her wealthy neighbors.
A slight movement and subtle scent jolted him out of his thoughts. He turned and spotted the lithe body and exotic sway of hips he knew as well as the contours of his own body. Unfortunately, he also remembered well how that body fit against his deep in the night when she was still his alone. And he'd let her go. For that colossal mistake he'd never forgive himself, or her.
He'd been well aware that she hated being alone, but he'd told himself she hadn't asked him to stay either, had she? Zeus--. She could have at least warned him she was going to seek the protection of the earl.
He would have done anything to keep her safe. She should have known that. She should have known he loved her. She should have stayed in their little cottage in Surrey. If she'd truly loved him, she would have.
She continued her slow leisurely walk toward him as if she'd merely been out for a short walk. She twirled a dainty parasol made of expensive silk. The look on her face betrayed nothing.
He'd been ready to sweep the stews around Maiden Lane searching for her. He felt as though he had a permanent crick in his neck from trying to keep her in sight, and out of harm's way. Damned prickly, independent woman.
"Good morning, Mr. Lassen. Tis a fine and beautiful day for a walk, don't you think?"
"What I think, Miss Godet, is you need..." He stopped short of saying what he wanted to say.
"Please, tell me what is you think I need." Her sunny smile turned into a scowl.
Under the pretext of picking up a dried leaf from the side of the stoop, he leaned low next to her ear. "What you need, Miss Godet, is to be turned over my knee for a sound spanking." His words came out in hisses of anger. "You can't just walk away from my protection when there's a gang of thugs with reason to harm you."
"Mr. Lassen, as tempting as your offer might be, I have two things I must tell you."
"What?" He was immediately sorry for the gruff bark in his voice.
She held up a slender finger. "First, I am not a murderess." A second finger joined the first. "And secondly, my, um, other problem is being taken care of even as we speak."
Obadiah's scowl matched hers. "By the gods. You've brought Dickie Jones into this tangle."
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. Why should that be any concern of yours?" She tilted her jaw forward in the stubborn look he'd come to dread from the maddening woman.
What wasit about Obadiah Lassen that made Adrienne want to punch him in the shoulder, shove him off the end of a pier...topple his stubborn, beloved body into her bed?
