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Rafe shifted, the seat of his trousers scratching against the rough steps. He crossed his arms and trusted his weight more fully on the railing. “You think I’m mad for considering it?”

Another breath, long and slow. “To get out from under your old man? Hell no. I’m amazed you haven’t tried it sooner. You never have been one for the fancy ways.” A cart passed by in the street, hooves clacking against cobbles. “I will confess to being surprised the idea strikes you just now, though.”

He cracked an eye. Alfie’s knees were spread wide apart, and his elbows rested atop them. He studied the pipe in his hands, twisting it.

“Why’s that?” Rafe asked.

“Because,” he said, his gaze sliding over, “Miss St. Quinton.”

So much for silent understandings. Rafe closed his eyes and adjusted his back, looking for a more comfortable position. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Most of it is quite clear to me.” Alfie’s voice picked up strength and he took a long, noisy drag. “Your father doesn’t give you any money of your own.”

Rafe’s eyes shot open.

“Don’t be ashamed, now. I know you haven’t wanted to tell me.”

“How did you figure it out?” His pulse thumped faster.

“How many boys of ten and five strike a deal with a poor trader, hoping to do work with him?” Alfie’s smile showed in the darkness. “And you, laddie, lived off Park Lane, for all that. I knew right off you must’ve had nothing of your own, and wanted something awful bad.”

Rafe sat up. He stared at his knees. “You never said anything.”

“If I had, wouldn’t I have scared you off?”

Their gazes locked. Somewhere down the street, a man hollered indistinctly to summon someone’s attention. He received an answering call in return.

Alfie went back to studying his pipe. “There was no point. There isn’t, even now, for I still don’t have you all figured out.” He took another pull, and broke his exhalation into three quick puffs. “You’re a good man, Rafe. The finest. And you’re my friend. But you like your secrets.”

“No. I don’t.”

Alfie stretched his legs out and began massaging his left thigh, the source of his injury. “Well, you keep them all the same.”

I don’t want to, he almost said. I’ll tell you everything, right now. But his hand rose to his left cheek. Thomas was more than a mouthpiece. His rage, if he ever learned of his wife’s presence in London … A chill ran the length of Rafe’s spine, settling in his tailbone. He leant back again.

“Will you tell me what’s got it on your mind now? Does Thomas oppose you courting her?”

“She said something that got to me.” He could remember every second of the previous night; it pulsed in his fingertips and occupied each inch of his mind in visions and sighs and looks. Yet it already felt months behind him. “She said I behave like a man imprisoned.”

Alfie’s shoulders shook with laughter. Rafe scowled.

“She’s not wrong,” he mumbled around the stem of his pipe. “Damn it, Rafe. Can’t you see she’s the sort of partner you need? And what of the way she tended to that child last night? She gave every one of us a reaming, no less meaningful than if she was his mother. Don’t muck it up with her. You’ll regret it—I’m warning you.”

“Even …” He scratched the sole of his shoe back and forth on the step. “Even if I agreed with you, my father won’t hear of anyone but Miss Penney. I proved that for certainty today.”

“Mm.” Alfie dragged the syllable out, as if in some exquisite understanding that made Rafe regret his words. “So, the way you see it, you can either have love, or you can have the money. And you need the money for some fierce purpose.”

Rafe chewed on the inside of his cheek, considering his next words. Honesty could come in increments. “You’ve seen her. Heard about her folks. Without my father’s endorsement, I could never afford the sort of place she’d require.”

“Spoken like a prisoner.”

Rafe cursed and rose to his feet. How terrifically easy it was for those around him to sort out his life!

Alfie was beside him in an instant, his hand covering Rafe’s shoulder. “Easy, now. All I’m asking is that you have a scrap of faith in yourself. Forget the old man for a minute.”

Smoke curled in the air between them. “A scrap,” Rafe echoed.

Alfie’s finger came to his chest, a light prod of encouragement. “Just a scrap.”