"Keep your head down." Jacob held her small wrist as he headed for the door he had recently entered through. Men were surging toward the fight that was now well under way, and he pushed them aside and forged a path, with Miss March now at his back. He made it, and seconds later they were outside in the cold, with the door shut firmly behind them.
"If I may suggest we move away from the door, Miss March, and into my carriage, where it will be both warm and safe?"
"But you w-wish for anonymity, my lord."
"I'm sure I'll survive. Come." Jacob still had her wrist, and did not relinquish it until he reached his carriage. Opening the door, he urged her inside. Miss P. March took a seat, and Jacob the opposite one, after telling his driver to travel slowly through the streets until he stated otherwise. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes lowered.
"I shall not look at you, my lord. Have no fear I wish to compromise you in any way."
"Miss March, do you walk in society?"
"No."
"Then I'm sure my identity is safe with you, as long as you promise not to tell anyone who I am or that I am one of the Lords of Night Street."
"I promise."
"Then please look at me."
Jacob turned up the lamp as she did and he got his first clear look at Miss P. March. Her eyes were brown, large and framed with soft curling lashes, and her cheeks flushed with color. Beautiful seemed too simple a term for this woman. Her face was alive, Jacob thought, looking at her lips. They tilted up at the corners, making it appear as if she was smiling. So many women of society barely moved a facial muscle. They tittered behind their hands, and spoke in well modulated tones. But not Miss P. March. Even now she had drawn her bottom lip between her teeth, and her nose was wrinkling.
"I give you my word I shall tell no one who you are, my lord."
"Do you know who I am?"
Her eyebrows drew into a line. "No, I don't believe I do."
"Then my identity is safe, is it not?"
She nodded, and he watched that long chestnut curl fall over her shoulder.
"Will you tell me your story now, Miss March?"
Her blue coat was neat and tidy, but worn around the cuffs and hem, Jacob noted. Her gloves were pale gray, and darned at the tips of several fingers, and her leather boots black and polished to a shine, but no amount of polish could disguise the worn, faded places. For all that her clothes were well-worn, she was neat, he thought. Everything about her was neat, except maybe for that curl, and those lush, soft lips. Her height was not great, but then as his was above average, many women appeared short to him.
"My employer Lady Revel is a wonderful person, my lord, and I was proud to take up the position as her companion when her husband passed away. She is a strong woman, and her husband realized this quality in her, and ensured she had control of her own finances, and continued to reside in his residences upon his death."
Jacob knew Lady Revel, and that she was a strong woman, but he didn't know many women of nobility who ran their own finances, and his skepticism must have shown.
"Do you doubt my words, my lord? Doubt that a mere woman is capable of doing what a man can?" Miss March's back lifted off the seat as she straightened. Her brows had drawn into a fierce line.
"No indeed, I have just not heard of many who do. However, I do know Lady Revel, and if anyone were capable it would be she."
She huffed a bit at that, and sat back.
"Well, let me assure you, that Lady Revel does everything-"
"Surely not everything."
"Most things then." She shot him a look to see if he was deliberately annoying her, which Jacob had to admit he was.
"Please continue."
"When he became Lord Revel-"
"He being the nephew, who if memory serves, was Mr. Peasham?"
"Yes, that is he. Do you know him?"
She had a fiery look on her face now, and Jacob thought it must be hellishly exhausting to live with all that emotion.
"I am acquainted with him distantly, but we have not conversed for some time, as the man is a fool, and I try to avoid him where possible."
She nodded, and the fiery look changed to one of approval. "A sound notion, my lord."
"What does the P stand for?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"The P. What does it stand for?"
"What bearing does that have on the matter at hand, my lord?"
"Patience, Persephone, Petunia?"
"As I do not know your name, then I see no reason why you should know mine."