Damien let out a low chuckle, and he crossed his arms.
“Now that I have found you, I am not leaving your side, little mouse,” he replied. “I cannot have you scurrying away again.”
Caroline narrowed her gaze at him, suddenly no longer enraptured by the state of his undress.
“I would have gotten to it myself with my next wages,” she remarked.
He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Now you do not have to. So, little mouse, where are we going today? Back to the modiste?”
“Stop calling me that,” she bit out, her annoyance growing.
“That is not an answer,” he remarked, smirking.
She glowered at him for a moment, then reluctantly turned her gaze to the rising sun. It was still quite early, most likely not even six yet, she wagered. Mrs. Parks’ shop did not open until nine, and she was not expected there until eight.
“Iam going to the orphanage,” she replied, emphasizing her singularity as she drew her eyes back to him. “I need to apologize for missing my hours last night and see if they need help with breakfast for the children.”
Damien gave a terse nod.
“Then we shall go to the orphanage,” he said, clearly ignoring her declaration to go alone. “I shall stack the wood, then we will go.”
“You do not need to come—”
His amber gaze hardened as he leaned toward the window, looking downright predatory.
“What did I just say?” he all but growled.
Caroline’s heart beat faster at the sight of his aggression, but even so, she forced her lips into a sneer.
“Hurry up then,” she snapped. “I will not be late because of you.”
The hard frown on Damien’s lips lifted into a smirk, and he scoffed as he turned to walk away.
“And make sure you are decent and properly clothed!” she shouted, thumping the glass with her hand. Then to herself she muttered, “God knows what my neighbors think of me now.”
“This place is worse than that unfortunate cottage of yours,” Damien muttered, looking up at the dilapidated building that was the local orphanage.
Caroline shot her elbow into his ribs, satisfaction roiling through her as it earned her an‘oomph’from Damien.
“You will be kind in here, do you understand?” she whispered as she opened the door. “These children have enough to be frightened of; they do not need you to add to the long list.”
To her surprise, Damien halted at the open doorway, as if unsure whether he should actually go in or not. Then, with seeming effort, he shifted his hardened expression into a blank one and stepped inside. Caroline’s heart twinged with pity as she took in the state of the building. The stairs to her left, which led to the children’s rooms, were crooked and decaying. The hallway infront of her had mold growing near the ceiling and more near the floor.
“Where are the children?” Damien asked, his tone quiet as Caroline led him through the shabby dining room and to the back of the kitchens.
“They wake them only once breakfast is prepared,” Caroline answered quietly. “There are very few paid members of staff here, and it is easier to wrangle the children when they have a task already waiting for them instead of making them wait.”
Behind her, Damien only grunted. Caroline spared a quick glance at him and saw that his eyes were intently looking over the sagging walls and multiple cracks within them.
Caroline drew on a kind smile as she pushed open the door to the kitchens.
“Good morning, Miss Willa,” she began. “I wanted to apologize for...”
Caroline stopped talking as she observed the scene before her. There was no food prepared on the work tables. No other staff or volunteers were running around to prepare bread or oatmeal. The kitchen was quiet, dark, and cold. Miss Willa, the orphanage matron, sat alone at one of the wobbly worktables, her head in her hands.
“Miss Willa?” Caroline breathed.
