Notorious Pleasures (Maiden Lane #2)(36)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Lady Hero gasped softly beside him. Griffin didn’t dare glance at her. “No, it’s my brother who is to wed Lady Hero.”

“Oh,” said the child.

Mrs. Hollingbrook cleared her throat. “And this”—she laid a hand on the third girl in line—“is Mary Compassion. She came to us at the age of two along with her brother, Joseph Compassion. Their parents died within a sennight of each other from cold and ill nutrition.”

“And drink,” Lady Hero murmured.

Griffin stared at her impassively. She lifted her chin, stubbornly staring back.

“Well, yes.” Mrs. Hollingbrook looked between him and Lady Hero, a puzzled frown on her face. “Most of the deaths in St. Giles—the ones that are not from old age, that is—are helped along in one way or another by drink.”

“How many die from old age in St. Giles?” Lady Hero asked.

“Few,” Mrs. Hollingbrook replied softly. “Very, very few.”

Griffin fisted his hands, trying to keep his voice level. “And these other young ladies?”

“Oh.” Mrs. Hollingbrook glanced distractedly at her charges. “This is Mary Evening. She has been with us since infancy. She was found on a nearby church step. Next to her is Mary Redribbon, who was brought to us by a local tavern owner.” Mrs. Hollingbrook glanced quickly at Lady Hero. “I’m afraid Mary Redribbon was left at the tavern by her mother, who did not return.”

Griffin forced a smile to his lips as the little girls dipped in curtsy. Damn it. He wanted to shout that it wasn’t his fault if people chose to drink gin. He’d made no woman prostitute herself or abandon her babe in a tavern. If he didn’t distill the gin they drank, someone else would.

“And finally, this is Mary Sweet.” Mrs. Hollingbrook stroked the curls of the smallest child, who couldn’t have been more than three. “Her mother has five other children and attempted to sell Mary when she was but an infant. We persuaded the mother to give her to us instead.”

Griffin inhaled. “How very fortunate for Mary Sweet.” He glanced at the toddler, who promptly hid her face in Mrs. Hollingbrook’s skirts.

“We are fortunate as well,” Mrs. Hollingbrook said affectionately. “Now, if you’ll come with me, I can introduce you to some of our boys.”

“Ah, as to that.” Griffin made a grimace of apology. “I’m afraid Lady Hero overestimated the time available to us. We shall have to save the rest of your tour for another day.”

“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Hollingbrook said. “You’re most welcome at any time, my lord.”

He smiled and took Lady Hero’s arm in a firm grip, propelling her to the door even as she breathlessly said her good-byes. He kept his smile pasted to his face until they were outside.

She tried to take her arm from his grasp. “My lord—”

“Not here,” he murmured, trotting her up the lane. He gave instructions to the coachman, helped her into the waiting carriage, and sat.

Then he looked across at her and growled, “What do you think you’re doing?”

READING’S PALE GREEN eyes were hard, his lips pressed together, forming white brackets on either side, and his nostrils flared.

He looked so intimidating, in fact, that Hero had to swallow before she could reply. “I’m trying to get you to understand what your gin distilling is doing to St. Giles and the poor people who live here. As a friend—”

He laughed sharply, drowning out her words. “Yes? As a friend, what did you think would happen when you took me there? I’d gaze at those tiny girls and have a sudden revelation? Perhaps give all my worldly goods to the poor and become a monk?”

He sat forward. “Listen, and listen well, my lady—I like who I am and what I do. I’m an unrepentant rake who makes illegal gin. Don’t think you or anyone else can change me—even if I wanted to be changed.”

She pursed her lips and cocked her head, staring at him silently. Anger was rising in her as well.

He returned her stare until the silence seemed to irritate him. “What?”

“You, my lord, are not nearly as reckless—or as bad—as you would have me believe.”

“What in God’s name are you babbling about?”

“Your reputation.” She waved a hand. “Your rakishness. You’ve let all of London think that you left Cambridge on some feckless whim when in fact you left to help your family. You lead others to believe that you live the life of a libertine, without care or worry, when in fact you work for your family’s sake.”

He laughed incredulously. “In case it has escaped your memory, I was in the act of bedding a married woman when we met.”

She looked away, that vision making her even angrier somehow. “I never said you were perfect. Just not as damnable as you let others believe.”

“Is that so?”

She tilted her chin and stared him in the eye. “Yes.”

He smirked nastily. “What about my dear brother’s late wife?”

Her heart began to beat faster. The carriage was so confining, and his temper was a nearly visible haze of red between them. “What about her?”

“The whole world knows I seduced her under my poor brother’s nose, and had she not died in childbirth, along with the babe, no doubt I would’ve fathered his future heir.”

“Did you?” she asked softly.

“Did I what?”

“Did you do all those things the world and your own brother think you did?”

For a moment he stared at her, wild and grief-stricken, and she held her breath, waiting for his answer.

Then he slowly shook his head. “No. God, no.”

She leaned forward. “Then why let everyone believe such an atrocious lie? Why pretend to be worse than you are?”

“I’m not—” he began, but she wasn’t done questioning him yet.

“Why?” she demanded fiercely. “Why continue in this dreadful gin business? You are better than this, Reading.”

“What god gave you the right to sit in judgment over me?” he asked low and awful. “Oh, but I forget: You consider yourself more virtuous than the rest of us mere mortals. You are Lady Perfect, arbitrator of other people’s sins, an incorruptible maiden colder than graveyard granite in January.”

She gasped, unable to speak for a moment. Did he really see her thus? As a chilly, self-righteous virgin?

“How dare you?” she whispered, and couldn’t help the tears that flooded her eyes.