He raised his brows. "Should I be afraid?"
She swallowed hard, then shook her head. Quickly she bent over to slip the bills into her small bundle, not wanting him to see her face. She didn't know why he trusted her, but since he did, she'd die rather than take a coal from one of his scuttles.
As she picked her bundle up and followed her host upstairs, she marveled at what a strange night it had been. First Prince Peregrine and now Mr. Slade; she hadn't known men could be so nice. But then, she supposed, the nice ones didn't go in for ravishing little girls, so she'd never had the chance to meet any.
In his way, Mr. Slade was even more surprising than the prince. Peregrine was one-of-a-kind, anyone could see that right away, but because she'd known from the first that he didn't want her, it wasn't a surprise that he'd kept his hands—and other things—to himself.
But Mr. Slade did want her, she'd seen that straight off. Even so, he hadn't tried anything. He even gave her money so she could leave if she wanted to! Amazing. He wasn't the sort anyone would notice at first, or even second, glance, but there was a lot more to the bloke than she'd thought.
Her room was clean and pleasant, and looked like it hadn't been used much. It could hardly have been more different from the whorehouse red room she'd lived in for years, and she liked it straight away. So tired from the after-effect of nerves that her hands were clumsy, Jenny washed up and put on a shift to sleep in. As she slid between the cool sheets, she told herself that she'd be damned if she'd ever again wear one of those ruffly baby girl nightgowns. She hadn't brought one with her.
Even though she was exhausted, she didn't let herself go to sleep right away. Very deliberately, she thought back over her years in the whorehouse, from the one time she really was a virgin and the man who called himself "the Master" had raped her, right up until earlier tonight, when she'd been terrified that the fat sot wouldn't leave, and she wouldn't be ready if Peregrine really did come back for her. But he had come, and her old life was over now. Over.
She'd never forget, no, nor forgive those who'd abused her, but she wasn't going to turn into a self-pitying slut, either. For some reason, she'd gotten lucky. She wasn't going to waste it.
* * *
The next day, Sir Charles Weldon received a terse note from Mrs. Kent, informing him that his favorite and most profitable whore had run away. He swore viciously and crumpled the message, then burned it. He'd made a fortune off Jenny Miller, and had always enjoyed her himself. She was a good little actress, and in spite of all the men she'd serviced over the years, she had a quality of innocence that had never failed to arouse him.
Probably the little slut had persuaded a customer to make her his mistress, and she was gone for good. His fingers blackened as he crumbled the ashes of the burned note. If he ever came across Jenny Miller again, he'd make her rue the day she had decided to run away from him. And he would enjoy every moment of her punishment.
Chapter 7
Miss Eliza Weldon tossed a handful of shredded bread into the water, then laughed in delight as a dozen ducks and one swan hurled themselves raucously forward to grab a share.
Sara laughed along with her. After a splendid session of shopping and eating ices, she and her future stepdaughter had decided to visit Hyde Park to enjoy the afternoon sun. When Sara learned that Eliza had never had the pleasure of feeding ducks, they had stopped to buy bread at a shop. Throwing fragments from her own chunk of bread to the squawking, ever-growing flock, Sara said, "There is something very satisfying about feeding ducks."
"I think it is because they are so enthusiastic. It makes one feel wanted." Eliza's cheeks were rosy and wisps of flaxen hair curled charmingly from beneath her bonnet as she gave Sara a shy sideways glance. "I'm glad that you and Papa will be married so soon. I can hardly wait to move in with you."
Since her mother died, Eliza had lived with the family of Charles's older brother, Lord Batsford. Sara had thought that the arrangement was an agreeable one, but perhaps there were hidden problems. "Are you unhappy living with your aunt and uncle?"
"Oh, no," Eliza said, surprised at the suggestion. "They treat me just like one of their own. I'll miss them when I leave, but I want so much to live with Papa." Her blue eyes were wistful. "I've never understood why he wouldn't keep me after Mama died. Sometimes I've wondered if he was ashamed of me."
"Of course not!" Shocked, Sara put her arm around the girl's shoulders. "What gave you an idea like that?"
"He's so handsome and clever and important." Head down, Eliza carefully ripped off more bread and tossed it to the ducks. "There's nothing special about me. I'm just a girl."