No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(49)

“But—”

He held up a hand. “Leave it to me. And without Slag in command, his gang will falter. The last thing the men will care about is you or the orphanage. They will be too busy killing each other to determine the next arch rogue. You can go home.”

“I told you. This is my home now.”

Neil closed his eyes. Why had he gone to see his father? Why had he agreed to help St. Maur? It will take an afternoon, his father had said. A piece of cake for a man like you, his father had said. Neil, for one, would have been pleased never to set eyes on cake again.

“You cannot save this orphanage, Lady Juliana.”

“I beg to differ. You just said with Slag gone, the orphanage would be the least of the gang’s concerns.”

“Until there’s a new leader who takes an interest.”

“And then we will have our foodstuffs stolen again.”

Neil waved a hand. She still did not understand. “Turnips and flour are not the real valuables here.”

“Then what is? We have little else.”

“You’re wrong. You have a dozen boys who would make perfect thieves and pickpockets.”

“I won’t allow that to happen. When I came here, I vowed to keep these boys safe. I won’t let them go the way of so many of the former residents.”

“You cannot stop it. You are one woman against deadly criminals and impossible odds.”

Her gaze met his. “You faced death and impossible odds, and you came home a hero.”

“I came home a ghost. I should have died with the men I sent to their deaths.”

“Have you ever considered there’s a reason you survived? What if you were spared because I needed you? What if you lived to save these boys—bastards like you but just as deserving of a chance in this world?”

Neil felt cold seep through his veins. He was no hero. He was not the man to save these children, not the man Lady Juliana seemed to want him to be. “I have one mission, Lady Juliana, and that is to return you home.”

“I told you,” she said tightly. “I am home, and I will never give up on these boys or Sunnybrooke.”

Neil couldn’t help but admire her spirit, misguided as she was. She was stubborn and idealistic, a dangerous mixture. And one he couldn’t quite seem to resist.





Twelve


She didn’t know where Mr. Wraxall disappeared to after their conversation. He’d gone out in the rain and hadn’t returned by dinner. She and the boys had enjoyed a delicious meal together, and Julia had initially been happy it would be just her and the boys at dinner. It would be like old times again—before Wraxall had come.

Except it wasn’t.

The boys had talked of little else throughout dinner. No one could say enough about when Major had done this or when he’d said that or how he’d promised to build Matthew, Mark, and John a new enclosure. Julia had tried to steer the conversation away from Wraxall, but the attempt had been only halfhearted. The truth was that Sunnybrooke wasn’t the same without him. She didn’t know how that was possible when he’d only been there two days, but in that time, they’d all become used to him and come to rely upon him. Now, there was more than an empty chair where he usually sat. There was an empty spot in the boys’ hearts. In hers as well, though she told herself it was a small spot that could be easily filled.

The danger was in allowing the little piece of her heart he’d claimed to grow larger. She had to stop the attachment she felt from becoming any stronger. No more long conversations. No more nighttime eavesdropping. And no more kisses. Definitely no more kisses.

In that spirit, she’d tried not to think of him the rest of the evening as the boys had played games or listened to her read, then complained when she made them wash faces and brush teeth and climb into their beds—beds that had clean linen in rooms that were spotless.

But she would not think of that because noticing all of the changes would only lead to thoughts of Wraxall.

Finally, all the boys were tucked in. Julia checked with the new cook, who looked to have the kitchen in order and everything ready for the morning meal. Julia sent her to bed and told Mr. Goring he could retire. Part of Goring’s job was to lock all the windows and doors at night, but considering what she knew about Goring, she checked everything again. All was secure. Was it possible Wraxall had been wrong about Goring? After all, with the major away, now would have been the perfect time to send Mr. Slag word she was alone and vulnerable. But Goring had stayed close all evening and locked everything up tightly.

In fact, she was left with a dilemma. She was ready for bed, but Wraxall still had not returned. He’d given her no information as to where he’d gone or when he’d be back. She did not want to leave the door open, but neither did she want to lock him out. Finally, she decided she would give him until midnight. If he hadn’t returned by then, he was obviously not returning until the morrow. She built up the fire in the parlor and looked over correspondence and ledgers at her desk, but soon her eyes drooped and since she only had an hour until midnight, she decided to rest on the couch.

She opened her eyes what seemed like a moment later and screamed at the man standing above her. Before much more than a squeak left her lips, his hand came down and covered her mouth.

It was Slag, and he would kill her. Why hadn’t she locked the door?