She shrugged and brought another cup of tea over to Ginny. Holding it to the girl’s mouth, she coaxed her to drink. At first, the little girl tried to shrug away, but once she’d had a few sips, she actually took the cup in her hands, staring at them over the rim, her large brown eyes haunted.
“You’re safe now, Ginny,” Fiona told her, repeating what she’d told her over and over in the hack. “I’m going to take care of you. You’re going to be all right.”
Ginny darted a glance to Morgan, obviously terrified. Though Morgan had done nothing to deserve that look, Fiona was certain that the girl wouldn’t open up to her as long as he was here.
“I’ll make him go away,” she whispered softly to the girl. “Just stay here and drink your tea, and I’ll be back in a minute. Then we’ll go upstairs, and I’ll show you to your nice comfy bed. Would you like that?”
Ginny nodded once, her eyes still wide with fear and confusion.
Fiona stood and gestured for Morgan to grab his tea and take it into the parlor. “Let me get Ginny settled, and then, if you still want to talk, we’ll talk. Is that all right with you?”
“Of course,” he murmured, obviously coming to the same conclusion about Ginny’s fear. “The last thing I want is to make things worse.”
She watched him leave the room, realizing that she did believe him about that, at least. She could tell he honestly wanted to help; she just feared he’d soon grow bored of his charity work and return to his comfortable existence in Mayfair or wherever he lived. She was sure it was a world away from the sort of ugliness she dealt with every day.
Sighing, she turned her full attention on Ginny. “Right then, darling, let’s get you sorted, shall we?”
* * *
MORGAN PACED BROOKHAVEN’Sparlor, waiting impatiently for Fiona to return. He’d hated the fear in Ginny’s eyes when she looked at him, but as he thought about everything that had happened tonight, he couldn’t say that he blamed her in the least.
His skin still crawled every time he thought about the auction, the eminently “respectable” men who’d surrounded him, all intent upon the rape of children. They’d easily accepted him into their midst, and that bothered him perhaps most of all. He wasn’t like them. He wanted nothing more than to destroy them.
Until tonight, he’d never understood why Adrian had risked his life prowling the seedy parts of the city as Prometheus. Though he’d denied it, both to himself and Adrian, Morgan had been so angry when Prometheus’s actions had led to Anne’s death. Perhaps that had been the thing that had kept him mired in his grief for so long.
Now he understood why Adrian had risked so much. More than that, he wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to take up the crusade his brothers had begun. Perhaps heneededto, so that Anne’s death wouldn’t be in vain. Every child saved would make him feel a tiny bit less fractured.
Wracking his brain, he tried to figure out who could be masquerading as Prometheus. Who knew enough about Adrian’s actions to take the children here? Did Brookhaven and Fiona simply have a good reputation, and it was a coincidence? He would have to try and find the hack driver who’d dropped Prometheus and the child off here and see what he knew. Though he had no idea if they kept any sort of records of their fares, he’d recognized the company emblem on the side. It was a place to start, anyway.
The only other person he could think of, besides his brothers and their wives who had the slightest inkling of Adrian’s involvement, was Inspector Quinn O’Brien. Could he be behind all of this? It made some sense, he supposed. Given his job, O’Brien would like the anonymity, but he probably saw more ugliness on a daily basis than Morgan could even dream of, even after tonight.
Making up his mind to have a conversation with the man, he forced himself to take a seat as he waited for Fiona’s return. She obviously knew the identity of the new Prometheus. It annoyed him that she’d so far refused to tell him, but he supposed that she had no reason to trust him.
They barely knew each other, though he found himself wishing he could change that. She intrigued him, and he sensed that she might understand his darkness. He needed a friend like her.
Finally, when he was just beginning to nod off with his head against the back of the sofa, Fiona entered the room, looking just as exhausted as he was.
“Is she all right?” he asked quietly.
To his surprise, she sat right next to him on the sofa in front of the fireplace, where a merry fire still burned in the grate.
“As well as can be expected,” she said quietly. “I’m sure it’s scary for her, being in a new place. She’s still not quite sure if she can trust me.”
“Give her a little time,” he encouraged. “I’m sure once she’s able to interact with the other children, she’ll see that they trust you, and she’ll find it easier to do so, too.”
She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I certainly hope so. At least we got to her in time. She hadn’t been raped. But I don’t know what happened to her parents. I don’t know what else she’s been through.”
He had the sudden urge to give her comfort, to somehow take some of the stress and tension away. He’d been a bit hesitant in the kitchen, but she’d accepted his touch much better than he’d expected.
“Mrs. Bohannan—”
“Please,” she interrupted with a laugh. “Call me Fiona. I’ve never actually been married, you know. I only use the ‘Mrs.’ because I feel like it makes me more of an authority figure to the children and gives me a hint of respectability when the wealthy benefactors come to call.”
“Fiona.” He brushed her hand away from her nape and gently placed his own fingertips upon her shoulders. “You seem to be carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. May I ease that burden for just a moment?”
She tensed, obviously wary, but she did not move away. “What do you mean?”
He flexed his hands, carefully kneading the tense muscles at her nape and shoulders.
