Someone to Watch Over Me (Bow Street Runners #1)(14)

Grant studied the sparkling black droplets that clung to the interior of his mug. He made his tone as matter-of-fact as possible. "With me."

"Surely she has friends or relatives who will take her in."

"She'll be safest under my protection."

Grant met Cannon's wintry, piercing gaze without flinching. The magistrate had always declined to comment on his Runners' personal lives, so long as they performed their jobs well. However, Cannon had a soft spot in his heart for women and children, and would do everything in his considerable power to prevent mistreatment of them.

Cannon let the silence linger uncomfortably long before speaking. "I believe I know you, Morgan...well enough to be certain that you wouldn't take advantage of this woman, no matter what your personal grievances."

Grant replied coldly. "I would never force myself on an unwilling woman."

"I wasn't referring to 'force,'" Cannon said softly. "I was referring to manipulation...opportunism...seduction."

Tempted to tell the magistrate to mind his own damned business, Grant stood and set his empty mug on the side table. "I don't need a lecture," he growled. "I won't harm Miss Duvall in any way. You have my word on that. Bear in mind, however, that she is hardly an innocent. She's a courtesan. Manipulation and seduction are tools of the trade. Her memory loss doesn't change the fact of what she is."

Unruffled, Cannon made a temple of his fingers and stared at Grant contemplatively. "Is Miss Duvall willing to accept this arrangement?"

"If she doesn't like it, she's free to go elsewhere."

"Make certain she understands that."

Biting back several choice comments, Grant inclined his head in agreement. "Anything else?" he inquired in a tone so bland as to be mocking.

Cannon continued to pin him with an assessing stare. "Perhaps you would care to explain why you wish to harbor Miss Duvall under your own roof, after all your avowed dislike of her."

"I never said I disliked her," Grant countered.

"Come now," came the gently chiding reply. "You made no secret of your resentment, after you'd been run through the rumor mill because of her."

"Call this my opportunity to make amends. Besides, it's my duty."

Cannon gave him a speaking glance. "Regardless of the lady's character--or lack thereof--I would prefer that you keep your hands off her until she recovers her memory and the investigation is concluded."

Annoyed almost beyond bearing, Grant smiled thinly. "Don't I always do as you ask?"

Cannon expelled a short, explosive sigh and turned toward his desk. "I wish to hell you would," he muttered, waving him away with a brief gesture.

"Good-bye, Chopper," Grant said lightly, but the cat turned her head with a disdain that made him grin.

Park Lane, the centerpiece of the prestigious area of Mayfair, was London's most desirable address. Suffused with an air of wealth and authority, the street was fronted with imposing columned mansions designed on a huge scale. The homes were meant to convince passersby that their inhabitants were superior to ordinary humans.

Grant had seen too much of the aristocracy's intimate personal lives to be awed by the grandeur of Park Lane. The nobility had as many flaws and foibles as average men...perhaps more. The only difference between an aristocrat and a commoner was that the former was far more resourceful at covering up his wrongdoings. And sometimes the nobility actually believed they were above the laws ordinary men were bound by. It was this kind of man that Grant most enjoyed bringing to justice.

The name of Vivien's most recent protector was William Henry Ellyot, Lord Gerard. As the future Earl of Norbury, his chief occupation was waiting for his father to die so that he could inherit a revered title and a considerable fortune. Unfortunately for Gerard, his father was in excellent health and would likely retain the earldom for many years to come. In the meantime, Gerard searched for ways to amuse himself, indulging his rampant tastes for women, drinking, gambling, and sporting. His "arrangement" with Vivien Duvall had made him the envy of many other men. She had been a lovely and highly visible trophy.

Gerard was known for his bad temper, given to violent tantrums when deprived of something he wanted. Although a gentleman was supposed to take his gambling losses with good grace, Gerard cheated and lied rather than accept defeat. It was rumored that he took out his frustrations on his servants, proving such a poor master that it was difficult to hire domestic help for his various households.

Grant mounted the steps of the classically styled manor with its columned pediment and statue-filled niches. A few strong raps on the door with his gloved fist, and one of the double portals was opened to reveal a butler's dour face.

"Your business, sir?" the butler inquired.

"Inform Lord Gerard that Mr. Morgan is here to see him."

Grant saw the instant of recognition on the butler's face, and a faint wariness threaded through the man's tone. "Sir, I regret to inform you that Lord Gerard is not at home. If you will leave your calling card, I will see that he receives it later."

Grant smiled wryly. "Not at home" was a phrase used by butlers to convey that a particular lord or lady might very well be in the house, but was unwilling to receive visitors. But if Grant wanted to question someone, social niceties were the last things to stand in his way.