Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(31)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

At the general murmur in the negative Isabel introduced Winter to the three gentlemen.

“The Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children, eh?” Sir Beverly Williams said. “Quite the mouthful, ain’t it? In St. Giles, you say?”

“Indeed, sir,” Winter said.

“Best move it out of that cesspit, is my advice,” Sir Beverly snorted. “Ought to be farther west in the newer parts of the city. Hanover Square or such.”

“I doubt we could afford the rents in Hanover Square,” Winter said gently. “Besides, our customers don’t frequent the newer parts of London.”

“Eh? Customers?” Sir Beverly looked confused.

“He means the orphans, Williams,” said the Earl of Kershaw, a congenial man with a broad nose and twinkling eyes in a round face. “Isn’t that right, Makepeace?”

Winters bowed to the earl. “Quite correct, my lord. The orphans come from St. Giles; therefore the home is situated there.”

“Makes sense,” said the third man, Mr. Roger Fraser-Burnsby. “St. Giles is a dangerous spot, though. Isn’t there a madman who runs about the place?”

“The Ghost of St. Giles.” Kershaw shook his head with a wry smile. “Tell me you’re not afraid of bogeymen, Fraser-Burnsby? It’s a legend, no more.”

Winter felt Isabel glance at him, but he was careful to keep his face pleasantly interested.

“I’ve met the Ghost,” she said. “It was a fortnight ago. I found him insensible in the street and naturally stopped my carriage to help.” Her blue eyes met his in challenge.

Winter nodded calmly. “The Ghost must be very grateful to you indeed.”

“Good Lord, had you no care for your precious person, Lady Beckinhall?” Sir Beverly sounded quite scandalized.

“How brave of you.” Fraser-Burnsby grinned boyishly. “But I’m very glad you escaped unscathed, my lady.

She shrugged elegantly. “He was hardly in a position to attack me.”

“We must thank God, then,” Kershaw rumbled. “For keeping you safe, for he sounds a lunatic if even half the accounts are true. Have you seen this Ghost, Mr. Makepeace?”

“Only at a distance,” Winter replied casually. “He appears to be a shy fellow. Now, if you will excuse us, I’ve promised Lady Beckinhall a glass of punch.”

The three gentlemen bowed as he led Isabel away.

“Why did you do that?” she hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.

He looked at her, brows raised. “Wasn’t that the proper way to excuse ourselves?”

“Yes, of course, quite proper,” she said grumpily. “But we could’ve stayed longer with them.”

“I thought the point of this ball was to meet an array of people,” he said with quiet amusement.

She wrinkled her nose as if ready to argue.

“Oh, Lady Beckinhall, how nice to see you tonight.” Lady Margaret Reading slipped in front of them and exchanged with Isabel the odd pretend cheek kissing that lady friends seemed to favor.

Lady Margaret hesitantly extended her hand to him. Winter took it and kissed the air over her knuckles.

The girl beamed as he straightened, as if he were a spaniel who had performed a particularly clever trick. “Mr. Makepeace, you look quite wonderful.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he replied.

Isabel narrowed her eyes at him, probably because of the dryness of his tone.

He cleared his throat. “Your smile brightens this room, Lady Margaret.”

“Oh, thank you.” She glanced rather distractedly over his shoulder, and Winter had to repress the urge to look. This wasn’t St. Giles—presumably he was safe from attack here.

Or at least the type of attack he was used to.

“Lady Beckinhall, I quite fear I’d grown limp with worry that you would not attend this night,” a tall, handsome man drawled from Isabel’s other side. “And yet here you are and I find my entire constitution lifted with the glory of seeing you.”

Isabel laughed at this ridiculousness and took her hand from Winter’s arm to offer it to the newcomer. “La, Lord d’Arque, where do you come up with such creative flattery? If I don’t take care, my head may be turned.”

“Only if you don’t take care?” d’Arque asked lightly as he bent over her hand.

Winter repressed an urge to growl, for he was sure the other man wasn’t just pretending to kiss her knuckles.

D’Arque straightened languidly, his eyes intent on Isabel. “I needs must practice my flattery it seems, my lady. But perhaps you could help me? Under your gentle tutelage, I have hope of rising to meet your sweet regard.”

Winter cleared his throat. “She already has one man to tutor.”

Isabel started as if she’d truly fallen under the spell of this jackanapes. “My lord, may I present Mr. Winter Makepeace, the manager of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children? Mr. Makepeace, this is Adam Rutledge, the Viscount d’Arque.”

“Ah, Makepeace,” Lord d’Arque said after they’d made their bows. “What’s this about tutoring?”

“Lady Beckinhall has kindly offered her services to give me some polish,” Winter said in a flat voice. “In order to better represent the home.”

D’Arque’s eyebrows rose lazily. “But what’s the point, pray tell? After all, I shall be replacing you soon as the home’s manager.”

Winter stilled, the pounding of his pulse loud in his ears. “I beg your pardon?”

D’Arque tilted his head as if intrigued. “I was given to understand by Lady Penelope that you would be resigning as manager of the home. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind? I had my heart quite set on the position.”

“I do not have any intention of relinquishing my position at the home,” Winter said through clenched jaws. “Now or ever.”

WINTER MAKEPEACE LOOKED absolutely furious.

For a man who normally kept his emotions under strict control, the sight was rather frightening. Isabel instinctively started to take a step back from him, but he slapped his hand over her fingers on his arm, keeping her close.

Lord d’Arque’s heavy-lidded eyes flicked to where Winter had trapped her hand, and his cynical smile became fixed. “I’m told that you’ve outstayed your usefulness at the home, Makepeace.”

Isabel opened her mouth to deny the charge, but Winter was already speaking, low and lethally. “I’ve no doubt that Lady Penelope is the source of your information. The lady knows her slippers and gloves, but she has no practical experience running an orphanage in the heart of St. Giles. I have been and will be the best person to manage the home.”