A Proper Scandal Read online

  Feckin’ eejit. She’d get herself killed.

  It’d be best to turn around. He had a mission here in London and he’d get nowhere if he went and landed himself in more trouble. But with her retreating figure and the last glimpse of that bright dress of hers, he followed. It was easy to keep pace with a drunk and a girl weighed down with heavy skirts. To her credit, she was handling the situation brilliantly, if not for the last turn into a dead end.

  Alex skidded to a stop and peeked around the corner as the girl drew back a blue bag and struck her assailant. The stout man faltered a step, but it was no use. A taller man emerged from the shadowed doorway holding a rag. The men hadn’t seen Alex. He could slip away, search for another to pickpocket. He was a bastard for thinking so, especially when the rag was likely covered in ether.

  “Let her go,” he said, stepping out from the around the corner. He clenched his sore fists as the shorter man drew a knife. Today was not going in Alex’s favor, not that they often ever did.

  She struggled in the taller man’s firm grasp, fighting against the rag meant to knock her out, until she spotted Alex. Her body went slack. He hoped she was holding her breath or she’d be down like a bag of bricks soon, none the wiser to the rest of the world.

  The taller man dropped the rag, stepped forward, wiping his arm across his face, and then spat. “Bugger off.” He pulled the bag from her hand and a blade from his boot, waving it toward Alex.

  He pushed up the worn sleeves of his coat and flexed his dirty fingers. “You’re in the company of a lady. Mind your tongue. And your hands.” Alex edged forward, raising his arms and eying the girl’s bag. It would be nice to have money lining his pockets for once. Maybe a warm meal, too.

  “Back off,” the drunk threatened, his words slurred. “We found her. She’s ours.”

  “All of her.” The taller man circled her with a keen eye.

  She tilted her head and mumbled to the men, her words too quiet. Whatever they were, they weren’t appreciated. The drunk dragged her into a tight hold and drew a blade against her throat. A small stream of blood trickled down the column of her neck, staining the lace collar of her dress.

  Alex charged forward, catching the taller man by surprise with a fist under his chin. The man’s head snapped back, he wavered, then crumpled to the ground. Alex reached around and pried the blade from the others man’s hand, saving the girl from having her neck slit open, then shoved her aside.

  She scurried over to her bag, as Alex circled the second man. For a drunk, he had a stubborn hold of the ground.

  “Well, hit him!” She flung her hands out into the air, flapping like a bird about to take flight. The weight of the bag almost toppled her as it swung back and knocked against her small waist.

  He never saw the drunk barreling forward until he slammed Alex to the ground. The air rushed from his lungs as he collided against the cobbled alleyway. The man was saying something above him, but the words weren’t registering over the ringing in his ears.

  The man settled above him, snarling, his face as red as a tart’s lips. Jagged metal scraped against his neck. Alex’s stomach churned at the man’s foul breath, trying to work out how best to escape with his head still attached. Then the man’s eyes widened and he collapsed onto Alex, as the blue bag swung overhead.

  The girl rolled the man off Alex with a shove, standing there with a smug smile. “Well,” she said, offering a hand to help him up.

  He stared at the dark blood dripping down the flawless, clean skin of her neck. This was no place for a girl like her. He ignored her hand and stood on his own. “Come on,” Alex said, walking to the brick wall at the end of the alley, side-stepping the fetid puddles. If he saw her to safety, then he could try nicking her purse as reward for his efforts without having to behave like a complete cad.

  “I’m not lost,” she said, staring steadfast into his eyes.

  Alex pulled his cap lower and stepped back. “They’re going to wake up soon,” he said, scaling the drain pipe. “I wouldn’t be around when they do.”

  The girl paused, considering him.

  “They’ll strip you bare and leave you dead in the gutter.” He rubbed at the ache throbbing at the back of his head.

  “I’m not daft.” She walked closer, her eyes fixed on the fallen men, her lips curled in disgust. “I’m—”

  “—Stubborn.”

  She kicked one of the men in the gut with her polished boot. “No. I’m finished now.” The girl clapped her hands together as if she were dismissing the whole mess. “If you would show me a way to escape, I’d be thankful.”

  §

  The man waved for her to scale the wall and follow. Minnie took no caution in guarding her annoyed glare. She didn’t appreciate his herding her around like a wayward sheep.

  “Give that to me,” he said, reaching down for her bag as she struggled with the weight of her skirts to shimmy up the drain pipe.

  “You could run off with it and leave me with nothing.”

  “It’s possible.” He leaned closer, his weight divided over the narrow brick wall. “Except I just saved you from those brutes. Have a bit of faith, yeah?”

  “I don’t need rescuing,” she bristled back, holding the bag out of his reach. Let him lean forward and fall if he wished to wrestle it free. Minnie hadn’t run away to be ordered around by a complete stranger. She was ordered around by every other person in her life all ready.

  “I thought you’d say something to that effect.”

  She swiped her gloved hand over her throat, feeling the fresh sting of a scratch. Her hand returned red, stained with enough blood to signify it more than a scratch. When she started this morning, everything seemed possible. She had London in her hands and her dream of dancing finally within her grasp. Except the day was growing late and what she thought had been a few wrong turns had turned into her being thoroughly lost and nearly mugged.

  For the niece of an adventurer, she should be better with directions.

  The man lifted an eyebrow as if to declare: you’re foolish and need me. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of carrying on like the rest of the girls her age. Minnie Ravensdale was made of stronger stock. So instead, she lowered her hand and smiled back at the man, defiant.

  “There he is! Marwick!” a man shouted from the opposite end of the alley. “And look, he’s got that chit with him.” Behind him, a pack of hooligans gathered, their eyes hungry as if she were a Sunday roast.

  With a nervous swallow, Minnie shoved her bag into the stranger’s hand. “We can go now.” She scrambled up the drain pipe without an ounce of grace, looking over her shoulder as the group climbed to their feet and rushed forward. With a wave of her bloodied glove, she smiled, laughing as her taunt provoked them closer.

  Her rescuer, if he proved himself as such, tugged hard on her boot and cut her taunting short. Minnie lost her balance and toppled over the wall.

  He tensed as she landed into his arms. “Do you want to die?” he asked, holding her tight against his rough coat.

  She gazed up at him, the world swirling around her. “No.” She thought to say more, but she was lost at repeating his words, the lulling cadence causing a smile as they passed over her lips.

  He stared down at her, blue eyes dark and burning as if she had just attacked him in the alley. “You’re well on your way today.” As quickly as they settled into the quiet moment, he dropped her feet and righted her. “Right, let’s go.” Before she could answer, he grabbed her bag and wrist, then led them forward into the maze of dark alleys ahead. They weaved in and out of the crowds, dodged behind lines of drying laundry, ducked into shops—anything to put distance between themselves and the thugs.

  The stranger finally dragged them behind the cover of some towering crates.

  “We’ve lost them. For now.”

  Minnie peered around the crates, licking her lips as she struggled to catch her breath. Her hair had come unpinned and her hat was flopped to one side, the satin
bow excelling at nearly choking her to death. She tried to right her hat with her shaking hand as the man stood from resting on his knees, but she stopped as he flashed her a smile. It was too bad the hair beneath his ratty cap was so unnaturally blond and dull. It ruined his rugged handsomeness.

  “We can’t stay out on the streets. How much have you got?”

  “I don’t even know your name.” She stopped untying the hat ribbon. “I’m not going to volunteer how much money I have.”

  “I didn’t steal your bag,” he pointed out, reaching into his pockets. He fished out a few pence. Not a promising amount.

  He made a fair point, but Minnie was far from convinced that the stranger had noble intentions. He didn’t appear like the reputable sort, not with his soot-stained hands and tatty clothes. And especially not with a split lip and a fresh bruise across his cheek. “I’m sure you’ll expect something because of your efforts.”

  He leaned one arm against the stack of crates, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “You could give me a kiss for my troubles.”

  “I knew it!” Minnie cried, picking up her bag and swinging it into his stomach.

  He fell forward, coughing at first before it turned to a deep guffaw. “I was only having a laugh,” he said, red-faced as he straightened.

  “Oh, to be sure.” Minnie drew up her hand to drum at her lips. She frowned when she noticed the red stains. Her best pair of gloves were perfectly ruined now. “What’s your name?” she asked, dropping her hands to her side.

  “Alex.” He rubbed his midsection with a scowl. “How much do you have?”

  “You’re a pushy fellow. I don’t appreciate it one bit.”

  “I don’t like being chased across London because of some silly runaway,” he countered, leaning forward with an arched brow. “We’re even.”

  “Fair enough.” She wasn’t so naive to admit that this man, however pushy and annoying, could help solve her temporary setback—a protector of sorts until she saw herself settled. Minnie opened her purse and counted quietly, then cut the tiny sum in half as a precaution. “Eight shillings.”

  “Eight...” he said, trailing off as his thick brows furrowed. He studied her for a moment, grabbing her arm once again with his rough hands. Minnie tried to shake him off, but his grasp was firm, even as he picked up her bag and peered around the crates. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going now?” He ignored her question, his hand tightening on her wrist. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  He didn’t slow his pace as he flashed her another smile over his shoulder. “No. New to town myself.”

  They stopped in front of a blue clapboard building, the clapboard bulging with age and leaning toward the cobbled streets. A window opened across the way and a woman tossed out a bucket of foul smelling liquid, only just missing a cart rambling by on the street.

  Minnie scrunched her nose and surveyed the others passing by as Alex knocked on the door. “We don’t have enough for two rooms,” she protested, reading the sign above the door.

  He knocked again then straightened his coat’s lapels and removed his cap. “We aren’t getting two rooms.” He straightened as Minnie stood there, gaping like a fish out of water. “Mrs. Marwick,” he said, winking cheekily. “Close your mouth, darling.”

  Before Minnie could reply, the door opened revealing a gray-haired woman with a crooked tooth piercing her bottom lip. “What do you want?”

  “Me and my wife would like to rent a room.”

  The woman smacked her lips around as she worked her tongue into the rotting crevice between her two front teeth. She scratched her head for a moment, barking a laugh. “Sure you’re.”

  Alex looked over at Minnie with an exasperated look. “We’ve eloped and our parents won’t be none too happy to discover the fact. A week is all we need.”

  “Newlyweds?” the woman balked again. She looked like a dying vulture. Perhaps sounded like one too, though Minnie had never encountered that before.

  “That’s right. Oh, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name,” Minnie said with a charming smile.

  Alex draped her hand over his arm, covering her blood soaked glove with his hand. The picture of besotted sweethearts, no doubt.

  “Cutpold, Madame Cutpold.” She coughed, surveying the couple standing below on the doorstep. “The room’s fifteen shillings a week, plus coal and food.”

  “Wonderful,” Alex said, beaming at Madame Cutpold. “Isn’t that lovely, darling?”

  “Splendid, dear.”

  There wasn’t a thing lovely about the place at all. The old buzzard was robbing them blind. Minnie spread her lips into a large smile until the apples of her cheeks ached from the effort of it.

  “Come in then, come in,” the woman croaked. She shuffled over the worn floorboards, coughing so loud it sounded as if she would deposit her lungs onto the floor.

  Minnie stifled her laughter as they passed the other guests, all of whom appeared to be of a disreputable sort. She had never been to a house of ill repute, having been on all accounts a lady until now. But judging by the vast sea of bosoms and various stages of undress, Minnie could check that off as how to ruin one’s reputation properly. Guilty by association.

  At least no one would think search for her in a place such as this.

  After two flights of impossibly steep and rickety stairs, the woman shoved a key into Alex’s hand. “At the end of the hall,” she said. “I’ll be around at the end of the week to collect rent.”

  Minnie plucked the key from Alex’s hand as he laughed. The door stuck, so she shoved her hips against it until it flew open. Alex stood beside her in silence.

  The room slanted toward the street to such a degree that she thought herself overcome with vertigo. The milky-colored walls were cracked and peeled, exposing the horsehair beneath. A picture of the Mother Mary hung crooked above the bed in a small frame, the glass shattered into a spider’s web. Two small windows on the opposite wall, covered thick in dust and grime, overlooked the foot traffic of the street below. A table and two chairs sat between them.

  It was the sad excuse of a bed that garnered her concern. “This won’t do.” Minnie threw her hands on her hips. The bed sagged and the linens appeared as if they had been washed around the time of Napoleon’s capture.

  “I’m no gentleman.” Alex deposited her bag by the washstand in the room’s corner. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.” He paced the room, examining the windows and walls as if he needed another escape route in addition to the door.

  “Then we’ll take turns,” Minnie said. “But tonight, I’m sleeping in that thing that resembles a bed.”

  “I can’t have a say?” He pulled off his cap and ruffled his fingers through his blond hair. It looked so unnatural against the rest of his features that for a moment, she thought he was harboring a secret of his own.

  “I wasn’t allowed one in marrying you. I’m afraid it’s only fair.”

  “I couldn’t be parted from you, darling,” he said, flashing a smile. “Besides, we’re here only for the night. You’re going home come morning.”

  She didn’t run away for one night of freedom, to stay in a whorehouse somewhere in the East End of London. If that were the case, she would have picked something grander, like a room at the Savoy. “The floor,” Minnie said, pointing the dusty boards. “If you’re nice and agree to leave me alone, I might spare you a pillow.”

  “How generous.”

  “I’ll be a generous wife if you act the part of a husband with a straying eye and leave me alone.”

  “Deal.” He grasped her hand and shook with such vigor she found herself laughing at the absurdity of the day. What a great escape. What an adventure.

  “Oh, Alex,” she said, collapsing back onto the bed in a peal of laughter. She blew away the ostrich feathers from her hat bowing over her face. “What now?”

  Chapter 2

  Alex stared at his feet before answering, the room setting him on edge. Everything
about it was too small and filthy, too familiar. The key that had been placed in his hand looked like the ones that had hung at the orderlies’ waists. He was back suddenly, the small boy perched at the edge of the earth.

  “You could start with your name,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “Mrs. Marwick,” the girl answered without pause. “Isn’t that correct, dear?” She sat up with a satisfied grin. It was the look of a high-born girl suffering from a fit of boredom. Come morning, Alex bet she’d be an inconsolable mess of tears, wishing to return home.

  “Shouldn’t a husband know his wife’s Christian name?”

  “I should think so. It would be rather awkward otherwise.”

  “It would be.” He stood by the foot of the bed, waiting, as she pinned her escaped strawberry blond locks back into a tidy coiffure.

  Alex lugged the worn chair closer to the bed and straddled it, his fingers steepled, prepared for battle. This girl was naïve, but she proved to be a sly minx during their short acquaintance. “I’m waiting,” he said, arching a brow.

  With a swift turn of her head, the girl regarded him, playing at innocence with those doe eyes of hers. He hadn’t noticed how very large her hazel eyes were. How striking. Pools of silver and amber layered with mossy green. Her nose, gracefully fine and delicate. And those lips. His breath hitched as she spread her lips into a knowing smile, as if she knew she was beautiful. The damnedest thing about it all was that she was—she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wondered then how she would taste if he kissed her. He’d bet the little he had to his name it was of something he’d never tasted in his life. Something fine, like champagne.

  “You’re not my not husband.” She laughed, brushing off his interest.

  Alex tapped his fingers together. “I can’t call you Mrs. Marwick all the time. I wouldn’t be an affectionate husband in the eyes of everyone else. Would I, darling?”