The Princess and the Peer(6)

“Let me get my coat,” he said.

Nearly two hours later, Nick emerged from the perfumed confines of Mrs. Finelove’s House of Pleasure, relieved to be outside in the cool morning air once again.

Just as Goldfinch had predicted, they’d found Cooper abed in one of the client rooms, drunkenly refusing to leave until he’d gotten every farthing’s worth o’ the money I done paid for whores and drink. Muttering curses and dire imprecations against the navy for pensioning him off before his time and the government in general for the sorry state of the economy, he’d been red-cheeked and wild-eyed with fury and desperation.

The minute Nick had stepped into the room, however, the brawny sailor crumpled, moisture glistening alarmingly in his eyes before he sniffed it aside. Nevertheless, Nick was forced to issue a direct order as his old captain before Cooper would agree to leave. But leave he did, helped out on unsteady feet by Goldfinch, a cloud of alcoholic fumes drifting in Cooper’s wake.

Once Nick had seen the two men off in a coach, he started toward his own, but stopped, somehow reluctant to go directly home. He hadn’t been to Covent Garden in a good long while, years in fact. As he well knew, the area was a lively one, teaming with the hustle and bustle of commerce and a varied and colorful slice of humanity that came from all strata of society. At present, the produce and flower vendors were busy selling their wares, hawkers of all kinds calling out enticements in hopes of luring willing customers to buy.

Nick had estate business waiting for him at home—he seemed to always have estate business now that he was earl. But perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to explore a bit before returning to the town house, he decided. He could certainly do with an opportunity to stretch his legs. Leaving his carriage in the hands of a boy eager to earn a few extra shillings, he set off.

He hadn’t wandered far when a feminine cry of distress rent the air. Looking up, he saw a slender young woman with hair so golden it gleamed guinea bright beneath her satin-trimmed bonnet. Her blue day dress was plain but obviously well made, her fawn half boots crafted from fine-quality leather that showed little wear. Clearly she was out of her element in the teeming marketplace and obviously alone, easy prey for the two young thugs who were boxing her in near a pair of fruit stalls.

Before Nick had time to react, one of the youths yanked the reticule off her wrist and broke into a run, his companion following fast at his heels.

“Thieves! Come back here!” she shouted after them, drawing the attention of even more nearby onlookers and merchants. “Someone stop them!”

But no one moved, most casting down their gazes in a clear indication of their unwillingness to get involved. To Nick’s surprise, the young woman muttered an inaudible imprecation under her breath, lifted her skirts an inch above her ankles, and gave chase.

Without giving himself time to consider, Nick raced after her.

She moved with the fleet stride of a deer, weaving in and out of the crowds in pursuit of the miscreants who had stolen her purse. Still, her progress was hampered by her long skirts and obvious unfamiliarity with her surroundings.

Nick began to gain ground with his long strides. But before he had a chance to overtake her and lay his hands on the thieves, the two young men disappeared. Scanning the heads of the many people lining the narrow, twisting streets, Nick tried to catch sight of them again, but the youths were nowhere to be found.

As disheartening as their disappearance might have been, he wasn’t really surprised. In this neighborhood, with its warren of alleyways and jumble of old, irregular shops and houses, a man could disappear as quickly and quietly as mist—there one instant, vanished the next.

After a few yards more, the young woman stopped, an arm wrapped around her middle as she tried to catch her breath, a small leather valise, he had only just noticed, gripped tightly in one hand.

He drew to a halt at her side. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She startled visibly and spun, looking up to see who had spoken.

In the next instant he found himself captivated, unable to look away from the loveliest face and the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever glimpsed.

What a stunner, he thought, feeling as if he’d just taken a hard right from his sparring partner at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon. Silently, he surveyed the gentle curve of her cheekbones, the brief but adorable jut of her nose, and a mouth that was both generous and petal soft.

As for her eyes, they were a pure, luminous shade of blue that reminded him of the hyacinths that had once grown so sweetly in his mother’s garden. And as if that weren’t bewitching enough, they were framed by a set of long, lustrous golden lashes that looked as though they were dusted in morning sunshine—the same radiant color as her hair.