The Earl and the Pickpocket. Helen Dickson

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      Mid-morning, and with most of the girls still sleeping off a busy night, the establishment was relatively quiet.

      ‘How’s Ed? How does he fare this morning, Dolly?’ Adam enquired briskly, removing his gloves and placing them with his tricorn on an occasional table at the bottom of the wide, white marble staircase.

      ‘She’s much better—and cleaner,’ Dolly replied, preceding him up the stairs. She paused and glanced back at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘I think you’ll be impressed.’

      ‘She?’ Adam asked, standing stock still and staring up at her blankly.

      ‘Yes, she,’ Dolly repeated, enjoying his confusion. ‘Ed—or perhaps I should say Edwina—my dear Adam, is no boy.’

      ‘He isn’t? Don’t be ridiculous, Dolly. Have you taken leave of your senses?’

      ‘No—’ Dolly chuckled richly ‘—but you must have if you, of all people, can’t tell the difference. You have been completely hoodwinked. Now stop gawping and come and see.’

      She ushered Adam inside the room before making herself scarce. A young woman dressed in an extremely fetching buttercup-yellow dress stood by the window, her hands clasped at her trim waist. Small and as slender as a willow, she was watching him warily. Without taking his eyes off her, he moved towards her, staring in disbelief. Could this delectable, lovely young creature be the boy Ed? Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his hand, raising her face. He could only stare in wonder at the face that was unmistakably Ed’s.

      ‘Good Lord!’ The words were uttered on a breath. ‘I should have known.’ She had a femininity he could have put to his lips and drunk, and she was so close he could feel her breathing, feel the warmth of her, and smell her natural scent.

      Never had he seen such shimmering perfection in his life before, as he did now, when he gazed at her vibrant copper-and-gold-coloured hair curling in soft, feathery wisps, framing a finely proportioned visage, flawless, except for the small cut and purple bruise on her temple. Her eyes were as he remembered, a sparkling shade of blue-green—jade, he now noted with an artist’s expert eye. She wore an expression that combined vitality and youthful curiosity, without appearing indelicate or wanton. She was quite enchanting.

      Rather nervously Edwina withstood the intensity of his gaze, meeting those disturbing deep blue eyes of his levelled on her own. His dark brows lifted a fraction in bland enquiry.

      ‘Do you mind?’

      Edwina continued to stare up at him, aware of two things—his darkly handsome face, and the richly textured deep voice. The combination sent a peculiar warmth up her spine.

      ‘Mind?’ she repeated stupidly.

      ‘If I look at you.’

      ‘No—oh, no.’

      A chuckle started deep in his chest. ‘Well, Ed? What do you have to say for this deception?’ he asked, dropping his hand and taking a step back.

      His eyes were dark, probing, quizzical. His smile was rakishly winsome, and must have fluttered many feminine hearts. ‘I say it was no deception. You seem surprised—about my being a girl, I mean.’

      ‘Frankly, my dear, I believe you to be full of surprises.’

      ‘Are you disappointed?’

      ‘A little. It means I can no longer employ you to look for Toby.’

      ‘I don’t see why that should make a difference. I can revert back to Ed any time I choose.’

      Adam laughed lightly, not taking her reply seriously. Her voice was soft centred, lovely, creamy. The vivid colour of her dress brought a glow to her pale skin. Without realising it she was standing straight, her head high. There was the hint of the kind of sophistication that seemed natural to young ladies of breeding—straight shoulders, the confidence of a level gaze, smooth line of spine, with no slouch.

      ‘I must thank you for coming to my aid last night. I hope it didn’t spoil your evening at the theatre,’ Edwina remarked, wondering who the dark-haired woman was and how closely linked they were.

      ‘I was glad to be on hand to render assistance,’ he said rather formally. ‘I’m afraid the ruffian who attacked you got clean away. Now—explain to me what has prompted you to adopt such a mode of attire.’

      ‘I dressed as a boy for my own protection. As a girl in St Giles I would have been ready bait.’ She gazed steadily into his clear blue eyes. ‘You are a man, so you will know what I mean.’

      ‘Perfectly. However, you seemed well at home in your boy’s clothes—but I like these better,’ he murmured in such a way that it brought an embarrassed flush to Edwina’s cheeks.

      Having played the lad so long, she found the conversion to feminine ways difficult. Besides, with the air positively crackling with Adam’s virile presence, for the first time in her life she had met a man who made her feel alert and alive, and curiously stimulated.

      ‘I don’t know your reasons for the masquerade,’ he went on, recalling their conversation in the alehouse when the boy Ed had told him he had secrets he wished to keep, ‘nor do I particularly want to know. Suffice it to say that is your business—not mine. What we must decide is what is to be done with you. Just how old are you?’

      ‘Eighteen.’

      ‘I thought you were much younger. And the man who attacked you? Who was he?’

      ‘That was Jack.’

      ‘Your fence—receiver?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And is he aware of your sex?’

      ‘No. No one is. I told you, it was for my own protection that I dressed as a boy.’

      ‘Yes, I can understand that. Why did he attack you?’

      ‘Because I ran away.’

      ‘Are you afraid of him?’

      ‘I’m afraid he will put the law on me—that I will go to prison—and because I ran away from him nothing would please Jack more than to see me rotting in a filthy cell. If he were to discover I am a girl in boy’s clothing, it would simply amuse him, and he would use it against me.’

      ‘Then he would do well to remember that receiving is as much a capital felony as the stealing of the goods.’

      ‘He knows that, but he is shamelessly bold and hardened above cautionary fear, working in an organised and far-ranging manner. He controls shoplifters and housebreakers, but I never progressed further than picking pockets. He despises laws and will carry on with his wicked trade, making sure he never hands over stolen goods himself, but craftsmen he employs—paying them handsomely so that they will keep their mouths shut, making them unidentifiable first.

      ‘He always uses someone else to exchange the spoils for money at a time and place arranged by him.’ She looked up into Adam’s warm blue eyes. ‘I have no money, nothing of my own, and when Jack took me in I knew I was on the road to prison, or worse—to СКАЧАТЬ