Beguiled by a Baron (The Heart of a Duke Book 14)(5)

“We’re not…” As soon as those two words left her lips, she froze. Her gaze locked on Virgil’s dipping smile. He can’t remain here. I need him close. Archibald would expect Bridget to comply and he’d know precisely where Virgil was at all times. “We’re not set to leave for another week,” she adjusted and, just like that, her son brightened. “However, I’ll be required to live in the center where I’ll be working.”

Mayhap in a handful of more years, Virgil would possess the maturity to question that peculiarity. As it was, he peppered her with questions about where he’d be residing and what he’d be doing while he was there.

The sight of his enthusiasm: his wide, even-toothed smile, his dancing eyes briefly lessened her fear. And for a sliver of an instant, she could almost believe they were any other mother and son bound for an exciting journey to that great metropolis for Virgil’s first trip. She gathered him into her arms again and squeezed hard. He grunted but, this time, folded his arms around her, returning that embrace. “What’s that for?” he asked the usual question.

“Just because I love you.” Her throat worked painfully as she gave him that familiar reply. I’m going to crumple before him. She fought desperately for a rapidly slipping control. “Run along,” she urged, setting him aside. “I’ve to return to my work. Miss Nettie will be looking for you.”

He nodded. “I love you,” he said so easily. Growing up, there had been a dearth of those words shared in the Hamilton household. When she’d first held Virgil, that babe without a name, she’d vowed he’d know everything she’d been without.

“I love you, too,” she said softly, staring after him as he darted from the room.

She loved him. It was why she’d barter her honor and sell her soul to deceive Lord Chilton and steal that coveted tome.





Chapter 2


Vail Basingstoke, Baron Chilton, had learned early on that passions and vices came in all forms.

Some gentlemen had scandalous bedroom proclivities that could only be carried out in the darkest streets of London. Others craved fine spirits that ultimately drowned them in their own weakness.

Everyone was generally of the opinion that a learned man was a respectable one; a man who favored literature and books embodied self-restraint, logic, and reason. Vail, however, a bastard-born son of a whore only titled through battlefield actions at Waterloo, had seen the darkest, depraved actions of men of all stations. From his late mother’s keepers to the soldiers who’d cut down men in war to London’s most learned scholars—all were rotted to the core.

It was that understanding that had allowed him to build himself a fortune and rule the world of his making. It was also what saw him riding down the dangerous cobblestones of King Street with night falling.

He guided his mount, Atlas, down the noisy, overflowing streets. Whores lingered on corners and dandies seeking a thrill on the wild side stumbled drunkenly along. Vail narrowed his eyes on the establishment at the end of King Street. It was not, however, whores, drink, or wagering that brought him here.

He brought Atlas to a stop outside Jack Spiggot’s. Dismounting, he did a quick sweep, searching, and then finding. A small boy came bounding over. “Sorry, guv’nor,” Jeremy Jon said in his coarse Cockney accent. “Oi was tied up.” He collected the reins from Vail.

Having first met the lad one year earlier when Jeremy had attempted—unsuccessfully—to pick his pocket, Vail could wager his entire fortune, and win, just what had occupied him. “I just paid you,” Vail said without recrimination. “Has it been lifted?”

Any of the drunken lords, sailors, and merchants stumbling about would assume they haggled over the fare…or something far more nefarious. That is if they weren’t too deep in their cups to notice something outside their own lust for drink.

A ruddy flush stained the boy’s cheeks. “No one lifts anything from me, guv’nor.”

No, with the child’s fleet feet and ability to wind his way like a specter through the streets of St. Giles, no constable could even come close to nabbing him. And yet, Vail had put Jeremy in his employ. “I don’t want you picking pockets,” he said in a hushed tone. He’d too much need for him and the truth was he’d come to care for the child.

Jeremy nudged his chin up at a belligerent angle. “Sister’s having a baby, guv’nor.”

Another one. The boy had revealed offhandedly some months ago that his sister was married to a cruel bruiser who kept her pregnant and beat her in equal measure. His own mother had been a well-cared for whore, but she’d still been knocked around enough times that Vail had developed a burning loathing for men who’d brutalize a woman. “Here.” Reaching inside his jacket front, he withdrew a small purse and slipped it to the boy. “For watching my mount,” he said from the corner of his mouth when the lad made to reject it. Jeremy Jon had more pride than most grown men combined.

The boy hesitated another moment and then pocketed the purse. Too many lords thinking to help a street urchin tossed those bags over without proper consideration that doing so in a public manner marked them instead…and invariably those coins would prove stolen by the leaders of London’s underbelly. “I don’t want you picking pockets,” he said for the boy’s ears alone. “You’re too valuable.” Those matter-of-fact words weren’t ones he used to inflate the boy’s self-confidence or sense of self-worth. Jeremy proved to be one set of eyes and ears Vail relied on in the Dials who found out the information Vail sought as a book buyer and seller. “If you need more, you tell me.”