No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(67)

Jackson cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should take a tour of the dormitories and see if any of the children need help with his lesson.”

“Good idea, Jackson.” Neil gave the valet leave, but he hadn’t waited for permission. Rafe didn’t move. “Beaumont, don’t you have something else to do?”

“No. I want to go too.”

“You are staying and that is—”

Rafe raised a hand. “An order.” He sighed. “Lady Juliana, where are the children?”

She pointed to the stairs. “On the second floor, sir. That way.”

“Good.” Rafe walked in the opposite direction. When they were alone, Neil spoke low. “If Slag has Billy, I will bring him back.”

“And you think Slag will simply let you take him?”

Neil smiled. “Mostyn specializes in convincing men to do things they do not always want to do.”

“I have no doubt, but I will go with you.” She started for the door, but he stepped in front of her.

“No. You are staying here, where you will be safe.”

“Billy is not safe. He needs me.”

“The eleven boys here need you.”

She moved around him and lifted a dark-green cloak off the rack, lying the thin shawl she had worn to the musicale in its place. “Jackson, Mrs. Dunwitty, and your pretty friend are here. The boys are in good hands.” She fastened the cloak at her throat, and the green accented her dark-brown eyes. “I am ready.”

“No, you are not. If you come with me, you only endanger yourself and me. I’ll have to watch you instead of focusing on Slag, and that makes you a liability.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who said you need to take care of me? I can take care of myself.”

“You stay.”

She jerked her chin up. “I go.” Then she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I thought we were on the same side. Did this afternoon mean nothing to you?”

He could see what it cost her to mention their liaison. Her cheeks flamed red, making a lovely contrast to her copper hair. Neil reached out and touched one of those rosy cheeks. “It meant everything to me. That is why I want to keep you safe.”

She moved out of his reach. “And if I wanted to be safe and locked up tightly, I would have stayed home in Mayfair. I will have my way in this. Either I go with you or I follow behind. I think it safer if we go together.”

Neil saw the truth of her words in the hard set of her mouth and the lift of her brows in a slight challenge. He had been fighting for days to control his temper, but she’d finally cut the last tether. “Bloody hell, woman! Do you want to die?” he yelled.

“Watch your language, sir.”

“I bloody hell won’t.” He grabbed her shoulders, not roughly, but firmly enough that she couldn’t shake him off. “I am trying to keep you safe.”

“And who do you think kept me safe before you came?” She pointed at her chest. “Me. I can take care of myself, and I won’t have you coming in here and taking over.”

This wasn’t worth a raging tirade. Neil released her and clenched his fists. “If you want to die, fine. Let’s go.”

“Fine, let’s go.” She unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“After you,” he said, and she marched out the door. Neil had never wanted to throttle a woman so badly.





Sixteen


Julia shuddered at the dark street, which seemed menacing tonight and such a contrast to the warm, comforting hand on her shoulder. Neil took her arm then and led her away from Sunnybrooke and into the heart of Spitalfields.

“I know you are angry,” she said, as they stepped into the street, keeping to the side and out of the way of any carts and horses. She glanced at Neil, but his face was stoic and unreadable. He had a look of menace, a look of danger that was probably intended to keep criminals at bay.

“That is not the word I would use,” he answered.

“Furious? Enraged? I know you are worried, but you cannot expect me to stay home.”

He slanted her a look. “This won’t be a garden party, sweetheart.”

“I am well aware, sir, but neither must it be the battle you have made it out to be. Perhaps my presence might have a positive effect on the negotiations. At the least, we can all behave civilly.”

Neil laughed, and she huffed and looked away from him. She would reason with Slag, to buy them all more time. Perhaps if she gave him part of the money, he would be mollified.

Fall was upon them, and the days had begun to grow shorter. Men and women made their way through the streets, ostensibly to homes where they would see family and eat a meager evening meal. The beggars sat on every corner and every stoop, hands out, eyes pleading.

Julia looked down. The children were the ones who tore at her heart. When she had first come here, she had tried to take some of them in. For her efforts, she’d been chased away and accused of kidnapping. She’d quickly learned the children’s parents—at least that’s what the adults had claimed to be—benefitted from the pitiful, little beggars and were not eager to part with them.

The sad-eyed dogs and skinny cats were as omnipresent as the dirt and the smell of burnt onion. She would have liked to rescue them if she could ever gather the funds for some sort of kennel.