“Clearly.” He walked over to her, not menacingly, but a little shiver of fear went down her back.
He’d always had that rough, pirate-like charm she found alluring, but now that charm was ten times stronger, fuelled by a certain swagger that suited him.
“My Italian correspondence,” he said, glancing at the letters she’d displaced.
“I shouldn’t have…I’d better leave.” She went to brush past him, but he took her hand gently.
He still had calluses on his palms and fingers.
“I gather you feel better,” he said with kindness.
“Rested and stronger.” His warm fingers around her wrist distracted her from whatever else she wanted to say.
“Is the food to your liking?”
She let out a derisive scoff. “My liking? It’s perfect. I have eaten things you wouldn’t look at when they were alive.” She meant it as a joke, but it came out serious.
His expression darkened. “I was where you are. I understand what hunger can do to a person’s mind and soul.” His voice held a gravity that didn’t leave room for any replies.
She tugged at the lapel of the dressing gown again. The garment was too large and her body was too thin; the fabric kept slipping off her shoulders.
“I can arrange a visit to the modiste.” He released her wrist, and she almost missed the comfort of his hand.
“It’s not necessary.” She folded her arms over her chest to block the view of her cleavage. “If Mrs. Collins returns my clothes, I’ll wear them. She said she would launder them. I feel strong enough to leave your house. No need to worry about me.” She didn’t know why she wanted to leave. But if he gave her some money, she wouldn’t have any reason to stay.
He leant against one of the bedposts and regarded her from underneath his long black eyelashes. “When I said I wanted to help you, I meant it. Helping you means making sure you have a secure position and earn your own money without breaking the law. Simply offering you a few meals and a hundred pounds isn’t helping you.”
It sounded great but…“What job could I ever find?”
“Translator, for starters. You speak Italian, don’t you?” He nodded at his documents. “I’m dealing with an Italian count who is also a denizen of the British Empire. He was granted the privilege of buying land here, and he owns several properties, including a building close to St. Giles he now wants to sell.”
“Do you want to buy it?”
“Yes, for a project of mine.” His tone softened. “I don’t really know him, though. A bowing acquaintance, but he has the reputation of being a very strict, traditionalist man. I bought every Italian journal and magazine I could find to get information about him. Nobility is often at the centre of this or that Italian magazine. I also received several letters from an Italian merchant I met a while ago during one of my travels with Sir Howard. He knows the count intimately and gave me clues on how to behave with him, or at least so I hope. I’m spending a fortune to have the correspondence translated. You could help me.”
“Do you mean that I should work for you?” She couldn’t remove the incredulity from her tone.
“Why not?” He lowered his voice. “Are you too proud to work for the man who once was your servant?”
“No.” She tilted her chin up. “Trust me, living on the streets cured me of any arrogance I had. Pride is a useless commodity when one is desperate. I was merely surprised by your offer.” Living on the streets had also cured her of anger. Anger was useful only when she had to fight. Otherwise, it was a waste of precious energy.
His frown relaxed. “I understand. You said I’d never broken the law. But that’s not true.” He shot her a glare as if in challenge.
“What do you mean?”
He paced, which drew attention to his strong legs. “I’ve never told you what I’d done because I was afraid you would have asked your father to kick me out, but I stole food, clothes, and money when I worked for Sir Howard and he sent me out for errands. I wasn’t as fast as you, but I was never caught.”
She wasn’t surprised, not after the things she’d seen in the rookery. “Not that it matters, but did you steal from my house?”
“Never.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I couldn’t, and I didn’t need it. Your family gave me everything I needed and more.”
She didn’t regret having helped him. Despite everything, she was glad her papa had taken care of Keith.
“Do you accept to work for me then?” he asked.
What did she have to lose? She’d agreed to stay in his house. In for a penny. Besides, she’d be stupid to refuse the offer of a warm bed, regular meals, new clothes, and even a job.
She stretched out her arm. “I do.”
