A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(32)

She’d never truly wanted him. So why had she flirted with him?

“Believe me, Mr. Dinklage,” Julia muttered under her breath, “you are safe.”

“Did you say something, Julia?” Miss Appleby asked.

“No, I was only . . . no.”

“You seem very preoccupied lately. Are you sure all is well?”

“Oh yes, very well, Miss Appleby. And you? How are your new spectacles working for you?”

“Very well. I can read much faster now.”

Julia nodded, her mind going back to Mr. Dinklage and why she had flirted with him.

It was because she was afraid. She wanted security, respectability, and safety from poverty. So how could she blame him for wanting the same things, things only the retaining of his wealth could give him? No, she did not blame him.

“Oh, Mr. Langdon,” Miss Appleby cried.

Julia drew in a quick breath as she looked up into Mr. Langdon’s dark eyes.

“Miss Appleby. Miss Grey. Forgive me for startling you.” Though Julia noted that the way the corners of his mouth quirked upward did not indicate remorse.

“How strange that we should meet you here again, Mr. Langdon. Do you have, er, business in this part of town?” Perhaps her question was impertinent, but Julia hoped he would tell what he did there.

“I do, Miss Grey.” He smiled.

When it became clear that he wouldn’t say anything more, she said, “But you will not tell us what that business is.”

“I think it best that I not. Perhaps someday . . . perhaps.”

She would not let her mind speculate on what he meant by that.

Ahead of them on the street, a commotion seemed to be moving their way. Julia had been warned by the coachman that an unruly mob could crush and maltreat her if she went down this street unescorted, but nothing of the sort had ever come close to happening. But as the noise increased, three men emerged into view, all of them holding on to each other, stumbling, and singing a bawdy drinking song in loud, slurred voices.

Mr. Langdon tightened his grip on her elbow. The three men were almost upon them, but because of the number of people surrounding them, there was nowhere to go to get out of their way. One and then another of the men focused his bloodshot eyes on Julia and Miss Appleby, the only well-dressed young ladies on the street, leering grins spreading over their faces. The man in the lead licked his lips.

Mr. Langdon stepped in front of Julia and Miss Appleby, who began making mewling sounds and muttering, “Oh dear, oh dear. Heaven help us.”

“Well, look ’ere, me lads,” one of the men said. “There be ladies in our midst.” He peered around Mr. Langdon’s shoulder at Julia.

“Move along, gents,” Mr. Langdon said in a friendly voice. “My sisters and I need to pass.”

Julia forgave him the lie and even silently blessed him for it, under the circumstances.

The inebriated man’s saggy jowls drew up in a face-splitting grin. “A real gentleman it is, bless me soul. What say you, lads? Should we let ’im and ’is sisters pass?”

The strong smell of spirits invaded Julia’s nostrils, and she covered her nose with her gloved hand.

“P’raps they that come this way should pay a toll to them what lives ’ere,” the man’s companion added, swaying precariously and lolling against the other man’s shoulder.

“Move along, and step aside for the ladies.” Mr. Langdon’s voice sounded different, firm, with an edge of warning.

The supposed leader of the three inebriated men glanced to the left and right at his friends. “I s’pose this ’ere gentleman thinks ’e can best the three of us. Shall we show ’im what ’earty fellows we be?”

“Aye, aye!” they roared.

The man in the lead held up his fist and took a swing in their direction.

Mr. Langdon leaned away from the drunken man, who missed his mark entirely. The would-be assailant was thrown off balance by his exaggerated swing and began to stumble to one side. His openmouthed friends caught his arms to keep him from sprawling to the street.

The crowd backed away to avoid the potential brawl, and Mr. Langdon gracefully sidestepped the men and ushered Julia and Miss Appleby along in front of him.

Once they were past them, Mr. Langdon turned to tip his hat at the ragged accosters.

“Excuse us, gentlemen.”

The three men gaped stupidly at them. Mr. Langdon, Julia, and Miss Appleby walked briskly. Julia glanced backward, but the men were moving along down the opposite way.

“Thank you, Mr. Langdon.”

“Oh yes, you quite saved us, Mr. Langdon. I was so frightened, I nearly fainted. We are so obliged to you.” Miss Appleby pressed a hand to her throat.

“Think nothing of it, ladies.”

A warmth spread over Julia at the sound of his voice and the smile on his lips. Other men might have refused to speak to the drunken men and forced their way past them. Some might have yelled for the nearest constable and made an even bigger commotion. Others might have physically beaten the weaker, inebriated men and left them bleeding in the street. No one could have faulted these actions. But Mr. Langdon had left the ragged men their dignity—what little they could claim—while protecting her and Miss Appleby quite gallantly.

There was no look of haughty pride on his face, only a calm confidence.