No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(77)

“Yes, Mrs. Dunwitty.”

“Good night, then.” And she started for her own rooms at a clipped pace.

Neil was accustomed to following orders, and he almost turned to follow the lady, as they both had chambers in the servants’ quarters. But then he paused to wonder why Juliana’s former governess would tell her charge not to allow him into her bed if that would only make her more likely to do so. And if she made such a blunder, why would she make her mistake known to him?

Did the lady want him to seduce Juliana? Rather, further seduce Juliana? Was she playing matchmaker? If so, this was a rather unorthodox method, since, for all she knew, he might get Juliana with child and then leave her to suffer the consequences.

But if she thought him capable of such behavior, she would have undoubtedly thrown him out on his ear already. He had no doubt she was capable of that and much more.

Which still left him standing in the corridor wondering what he was about. He didn’t need to check on the little boys. Robbie had seen to that. Their room was dark and quiet, as was the older boys’ dormitory. The boys, even Billy, slept in clean beds under warm blankets. Their bellies were full—or reasonably so, considering young boys were never really full—and they were safe from the likes of Slag and his men. Neil hadn’t considered how truly remarkable this orphanage was. He had not spent much time in any orphanage, but even he knew that they were little more than dens of disease and misery. If what he had seen of orphans on the streets of London was any indication, the children were unwashed, practically starving, and dressed in rags.

Of course, there were a few orphans who were left at institutions accompanied by funds to be used for the rearing of the child. But as there was virtually no oversight, those who ran the orphanages were free to use the funds for whatever they liked, which was, more often than not, lining their own pockets.

But here was a place that had likely been as miserable and wretched as any other orphanage in London, and Lady Juliana had come in and made it a haven. She had few funds from the board of directors, and so all the improvements she had done she must have paid for herself. The children were clean, fed, and looked after. Now that Slag was dead, Billy and Walter were safe from being coerced into joining his gang. And Juliana was in part responsible for Slag’s demise too.

Neil had walked into the orphanage and seen all the potential dangers for the daughter of an earl. Thus, he had failed to see all the ways she had provided security for these children who would have been out on the streets of London had she not stepped in. No wonder she had resisted his help initially. She did not need one more outsider trying to save her when the real danger was what would happen to the children if she returned to Mayfair.

And he still had not answered his own question as to what he was doing pacing outside her bedchamber. For all intents and purposes, his work here was done. St. Maur could hire men to repair the roof. It wasn’t as though Neil knew anything about roof repair. He would have hired men himself. Of course, he’d planned to supervise the work and keep an eye on Juliana at the same time, but now that Slag was no longer a threat, she didn’t really need him. He could try and persuade her to go home to her father, but that was a losing battle. Neil didn’t make a habit of fighting battles he could not win.

She probably wouldn’t care if he told her she still wasn’t safe. New threats could come at any time, but he couldn’t live here permanently, just in case she needed protection again.

Could he?

Of course not. He had his own life. He was busy mourning his fallen friends, drinking himself into a stupor, and fighting off nightmares. Not to mention, once every two or three months, his father had some small task for him to complete. If Neil stayed at the orphanage, he would give up all those hours sitting alone in his rooms or whiling away the hours at the Draven Club, nursing the what-ifs and flagellating himself for putting Draven’s men into deadly situations, which was of course the very idea of a suicide troop.

Neil stopped pacing and stood in front of Juliana’s door. If he went inside, if he stayed, he would have to marry her. He couldn’t marry her. What kind of husband would he be? He was a bastard and she the daughter of an earl.

The door to Juliana’s room opened, and she jumped back when she spotted him. “Wraxall!”

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady,” he said.

“Then what did you mean by standing outside my door?”

“I…” He had no answer, but he knew a few interrogation techniques. “Why did you open it?”

“I… Because. I wanted to check on the boys.”

It was a lie if he’d ever heard one, but he’d be damned if he would call her on it. His gaze had dipped from her face to the vee of her robe, which was open slightly to reveal the lacy, white night rail. With her coppery hair down about her shoulders and her cheeks pink from being freshly scrubbed, she looked very much like a dollop of cream with a cherry on top.

And Neil would have liked to lick his way down the cream-covered expanse of her body.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Why does the matron of an orphanage for boys wear a night rail with such a revealing bodice?” He reached out and trailed one finger along the opening of the robe, parting it farther to reveal more of the swell of her breasts. He had been prepared to be slapped away, but she all but leaned into his touch. She had been lying when she’d claimed she’d opened the door to check on the boys. He would have wagered a sovereign that she had planned to go to him.