“But you’re worried about her.”
Rose was inconveniently perceptive. “I am.”
“Why?”
And damnably tenacious. “Her husband treats her unkindly.”
“In what sense?”
“Christ,” he muttered and shook his head. “He drinks, and when he drinks, he loses control of his fists.”
Rose stopped in the middle of the street, earning a shout from the man who nearly crashed into her from behind. She scuttled forward and gripped his forearm. “Hehitsher?”
“You didn’t see her black eye?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think to look for one.”
Of course she hadn’t. Ben wished she would let go of his arm so he would stop wishing for more of the heat of her fingers through his sleeve. “Does that shock you?”
“Sadly, no. Such despicable behavior exists among the highest classes, although we pretend our wealth protects us from such evils.”
He looked down at her, the crescents of her dark lashes shading her eyes. She did not wear a hat; he hadn’t seen her in the ridiculous accessory since the day of her arrival. Ben hated to admit how much he enjoyed being able to see her face clearly.
“So is that what you do for a living?” Rose appeared remarkably composed for a woman practically jogging down the sidewalk. “You own the building?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?”
She beamed, and a flutter of pleasure floated down his spine. The woman was intoxicating. Perhaps it was her novelty that dissuaded him from walking away. That, and the knowledge that she would find herself swimming in the East River if he didn’t take care of her.
“I’m making conversation, Mr. North. It’s quite simple. I ask a question and you answer it, then ask me a question of your own. Is that your occupation, owning the building?”
“Yes.” Not entirely accurate; while he owned the building in its entirety and maintaining 138 Willow his primary occupation, rent was not his source of income. The meager fees he collected from his tenants barely covered the costs associated with keeping the doors open, let alone the constant upkeep and temporary loans the residents needed to keep food in their bellies and coal in the stoves. He did not want to discuss the trust held in a bank downtown, nor how he came to possess it. His father would despise knowing how Ben spent his inherited money—on women and children brave enough to walk away from horrible circumstances—and that knowledge made Ben smile each time he wrote a check.
“And only women live there?”
He slowed down to fix Rose with a glare.
She blushed, a lovely pink blooming on her smooth cheeks. “Aside from you, I mean.”
“Each circumstance is different, but yes, I currently only have women and their children as tenants.”
When half a block passed without another question, Ben thought he might be in the clear when he heard her suck in a breath.
“And what expectations do you have of your women? I assume they pay rent, but I can’t imagine they can afford to pay you with wages alone.”
Ben stiffened. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything. I’m merely curious.”
“I don’t run a brothel,” he bit out and picked up his pace.
She scrambled to keep up. “I assumed not,” she gasped. “Abby would never do that sort of thing—”
“You have no idea what women will do when they’re out of options,” he interrupted.
“Did Abby… or Cass…” She trailed off before looking at him with pleading eyes.
This woman would be the death of him. “Fortunately, no. Cass already knew Miss Restell from midwifery, so they both came here. They were lucky.”
