A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(53)

She was standing so close to him she could see the thickness of his black eyelashes, the warm brown of his eyes, his perfect features, and his squared chin. There was a strange intimacy between them, as if they knew each other’s thoughts.

Was it her imagination or was he leaning toward her? His smile was truly heart-stopping as he focused solely on her. It was almost like looking into the sun—blinding and overwhelming.

Then his eyes clouded a bit as he asked, “May I be of assistance?”

“I came to speak with Mr. Wilson, but apparently he isn’t in.”

“Is it a matter you could discuss with me?”

“Oh no.” Julia had no wish to explain Sarah Peck’s situation to Mr. Langdon. “I am sorry, but I had a question that only Mr. Wilson might be able to answer.”

“I see.”

But it was clear that he did not see. After all, what business could she possibly have with his friend, the poor clergyman in charge of this charity mission? Felicity stood beside her, chewing her lip.

“Please forgive me, but . . .” Julia fought to think how to explain. “I wanted to ask Mr. Wilson about a way to help a friend.”

He gestured toward the door. “Won’t you come inside?”

Julia glanced at the open doorway. The young girl had disappeared. “No, we can’t stay.”

“Can I walk you to the Bartholdys’?”

“We’re not going there today.”

He fixed her with a penetrating gaze.

“Our hired coach won’t be coming for us for almost half an hour,” Felicity reminded Julia.

Julia winced inwardly at the confused look on Nicholas Langdon’s face. But if she could trust him with her life, perhaps she should trust him with Sarah’s secret.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


Nicholas couldn’t help staring at her. What strange business was this? Miss Grey was his contact with the Wilherns, risking her life to spy on her own uncle, though there could hardly be any benefit in it for herself. And now she was here, wanting to speak to John Wilson, a man she hardly knew, on behalf of a friend. What could she want with Wilson that she would not want to tell him about?

“Shall we take a walk, then, while you wait for your coach?”

Miss Grey took one of his arms and Miss Mayson took the other. As they walked along the alley toward the wider, cleaner Bishopsgate Street, she suddenly stopped and faced him.

“I have a request to make of you, Mr. Langdon.”

The back of his neck prickled as he saw desperation in her eyes. She blinked and it was gone.

“You may ask anything of me.” The polite words were what any gentleman might say to a lady in such a situation, an almost rote response. But in this case, with this particular lady, he was afraid he meant them.

“Please don’t tell anyone I was here today. It is of the utmost importance that my visit be kept strictly secret.”

“Of course. We both know the importance of keeping secrets.”

She nodded and looked away, as though suddenly remembering. “Yes. Yes, that is true.”

They resumed walking and Nicholas noted the simplicity of her hair, which was thick and looked soft and silky enough to line a nest with. Looking at her profile, he could see her lashes were exquisitely long. And she had the most perfect lips—he could hardly help noticing. Best of all, she had a certain innocent sweetness in her expression, along with a determined strength he had failed to discern until recently.

“Why don’t you tell me what you needed to speak to Wilson about? He is a good friend. I can ask him your question and tell you his answer later today.”

“I suppose that would be all right.” She bit her bottom lip. “I suppose I may tell you, if you promise not to tell another soul.”

“I most solemnly promise not to tell another soul. Besides John Wilson.” Curiosity was eating him up, didn’t she know? He gave her what he hoped was his most sincere expression.

She seemed to study his face, and gradually, she softened and didn’t look quite so worried.

“Excuse me, Julia, Mr. Langdon.” Miss Mayson moved away from them. “I want to go in this shop to look for a special sachet for my mother’s birthday. I shall return in a few moments.”

When Miss Mayson had gone, they stood outside the shop, and Miss Grey took a deep breath and said, “I came to ask Mr. Wilson if he knows of a safe place, perhaps some type of charity mission, where a woman might live . . . if she had ruined her reputation and had nowhere else to go.” She spoke so softly, Nicholas found himself leaning down to catch her words as they walked along. But then, when what she had said sank into his consciousness, he tried not to look as surprised as he felt.

“This young woman needs a place to go immediately, or as soon as possible.”

She couldn’t mean herself. Could she? “Has something happened with your uncle? Is he trying to ruin you?”

“Oh no, it isn’t for me.” Miss Grey pressed her hand against her chest and shook her head slightly. She looked him in the eye. “My friend is a kind and loving person, but she made a mistake and is desperate for somewhere to go until she can have her child. She has no relatives to turn to for help. Although it is true that once my uncle finds out what I have been doing and is brought to justice, I will not have anywhere to go either and will be in a similar predicament. But I am not speaking of myself in this instance.”