The sailors' good nature tilted to anger. "Don't say we didn't ask polite," the ox-like man growled. Without warning, he leaped forward, his hands reaching for Peregrine's throat.
Unhurriedly Peregrine stepped forward and caught his assailant's right wrist. With one smooth movement, he twisted the arm into a position where the elbow was in danger of being broken backward. As the man howled, his two comrades jumped to his aid. Peregrine spun his captive around and hurled him into the other two sailors.
Five seconds after the brawl started, the three drunks were lying in the filthy street like toppled nine pins. The tall one started to scramble to his feet, but a kick in the belly took the fight out of him. None too gently, Peregrine prodded the ox-like man in the ribs with the toe of his boot. "Find yourself another woman, and make damned sure she's willing. If you take one that isn't, I may hear of it and come looking for you."
The sailor's eyes were murderous, but he contented himself with filthy oaths rather than renewing the fight. Taking Jenny's arm again, Peregrine guided her to the waiting hackney.
Jenny glanced at Kuram, who sat on the driver's box in mustachioed menace. His gesture toward being inconspicuous was to wear a dark turban rather than a light one. "Why didn't he come help you?" she asked Peregrine.
Kuram answered himself in his heavily accented English. "Was not necessary."
She glanced up at her rescuer, then gave a little smile. "No, I reckon not," she murmured as she climbed into the hackney.
Once the carriage was moving, Peregrine produced a small flask of brandy. "Have some of this. You need it."
Silently she obeyed, choking as the fiery spirits seared her throat, then handed the flask back. "If I'd ever thought of working the streets, that lot of scum would've changed my mind."
"Good. A streetwalker's life would make Mrs. Kent's nasty little house look genteel by comparison. You can do better than that." He heard the rustling of fabric as she pulled his coat tighter around her. "You don't have a cloak?"
Bitterly Jenny said, "She wouldn't waste money on outdoor gear for someone who was always inside."
"No, I suppose she wouldn't."
There was silence for several more blocks. Then she blurted out, "I didn't think you'd come."
"Your life has not been one to inspire trust," Peregrine said, unoffended. "But as you see, I did what I said I would."
"But why?" she asked, bewildered. "Why are you going to such trouble for someone who is nothing to you? I don't even know your name."
"I'm called Peregrine, and I'm not going to much trouble. This is an easy chance to do good without effort."
She refused to drop the topic. "God only knows how many other men came to me. Some were better than others, but no one else ever wanted to help. Why did you? What do you want?"
Her last question revealed why she needed a genuine answer, so Peregrine tried to recall just why he had offered to help her escape. Though he had acted on impulse, there was usually a reason for his impulses. "When I talked with you last night, I saw that in spite of everything, you are not damaged beyond repair. I think you are one of the rare ones with the strength to escape squalor and build a better life."
His gaze drifted to the girl's huddled, shadowy figure, but it was not Jenny Miller whom he saw. "You remind me of a lad I once knew, a lad who also endured a great deal without being destroyed. But strong though he was, if someone had not helped him, he might never have been able to go beyond mere survival," Peregrine said pensively. "To answer your earlier question, I want nothing from you except your word that someday, if your help can turn someone's life around, you will give it."
"Were you that lad?" Jenny asked curiously.
Clever child. Ignoring the question, he gave her the flask again. "Have more brandy. Your teeth are still chattering."
She took another swallow, managing this one without coughing. "Where are you taking me?"
"To the home of a man who works for me. He will look out for you until you're ready to be on your own."
"Does he know... what I am?"
"He knows that you've been in a brothel, but that is what you did, not what you are." Peregrine's voice was edged. "Remember that."
"I'll try to." She handed back the flask. "Will he expect me to... ?" Her distaste made it clear what she meant.
"No, he won't." He gave a faint smile. "Unlike me, he's the honorable sort."
Wisely she didn't comment.
* * *
Benjamin Slade's substantial town house was on a quiet street in Westminster. It took only one knock to bring him to the door. "I'm glad to see you made it here safely," Slade said as he let them in. "Come into my study. We can talk there."