Lorelie Brown Read Online Free

against her skin? “It would be more helpful if you knew where we were going.”
    “If I knew where we were going, I wouldn’t need you at all.”
    She had the childish impulse to stick her tongue out at him and stomp her foot. Preferably on his, smashing his toes. He was rather frustrating at times.
    Four footmen stood side by side behind him. “Any of you? Are you from around here?”
    They shook their heads as one, and the redhead stepped forward. “I’m from Bethnal Green, and Tim’s from Southwark. The other two mates are from the north.”
    She turned away to focus on the knot of choices laid out before her. Sir Ian’s gaze upon the nape of her neck made her less inclined to mutter the curses she wished. Instead she nibbled on her lip until a flash of pain made her let go.
    Then she saw it. A door opened two buildings down and disgorged three women into the street. They laughed and giggled in a way that made Lottie miss her friends.
    “Ah-hah,” she said with no small measure of satisfaction. “We’ll have our direction in no time.”
    Sir Ian’s hand flashed out, wrapping around her elbow. His grip was firm but not painfully so, and yet her first inclination was to yank away. Her heart fluttered. She didn’t like things that affected her strongly. They made her nervous. She couldn’t risk feeling something so intense.
    “You can’t go speak with them. Send a footman.”
    “Can I not?” She jerked her arm away and smiled as widely as she could manage. Curling her fingers under his lapel was beyond rude considering they’d recently met, but she did it anyway and was gratified that the dark centers of his eyes flared. From such a close distance, his crisp scent undercut the sticky rot of the open gutter. She patted his chest, which was solid, despite its narrowness. “I recommend you never, ever tell me what I can and cannot do. You won’t like the results.”
     
    Ian hadn’t thought before speaking. There had been a moment, as the words slipped out from between his lips, when he’d known he’d spoken wrong. Miss Vale wasn’t the sort to take bold-faced direction. She bristled. Her green eyes went wider, her lips parting on an affronted sharp intake of air.
    He’d never admit it, but she looked more handsome for the emotion. Mostly because he thought it might be one of the few true reactions he’d seen from her in their short acquaintance.
    She gathered two handfuls of her fine, silk skirts and hopped over the trickling line of liquid that wandered down the center of the road. As bold as anyone he’d ever met, she walked right up to the trio of women. The three watched her warily and clutched wool wraps about their shoulders.
    Henrietta would never, ever have been capable of such boldness. Of course, had they approached her, Etta would have been talked into giving up every scrap of clothing on her back, but that wasn’t at all the same thing. Etta was sweet, though inclined to be too sweet. Her involvement with Archie and Patricia had proved that. Gullible and inclined to accept people at their word. Who in the name of God gave her marriage certificate to her sister-in-law to keep safe?
    But that was different. Ian and his family were lower gentry at best. Association with the middle rungs was necessary if one wanted to have any socializing at all in their little village.
    Miss Vale was obviously of a different sort, fine and high flying. She was the kind of girl who was lovely to look at and enjoyable to watch, but not exactly the sort who’d make a good wife. Not for Ian. He wanted the kind of woman who’d settle down in a true love match with him. Eventually. It wasn’t as if he were looking to shove his head in the parson’s noose the next day.
    It had taken him six months to track the unsigned, threatening notes from Devon to London, and that was even with their money demands. Patricia had taken a while to work up her courage to full larceny. Ian had no hope this would be figured out