Winterberry Spark: A Silver Foxes of Westminster Novella (The Silver Foxes of Westminster #2.5)(3)

“Faith,” the woman answered.

Gil paused, feeling a thousand times more awkward than he’d ever felt in his life. “She’ll be all right, won’t she?”

The woman sniffed and dragged her eyes up to meet his. “I don’t know,” she said, her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t seem to earn enough or steal enough food to keep myself fed so that I can feed her.”

“I’ll pay you,” Gil said.

“That’s very kind,” she replied with a watery smile. She pulled the baby and the blanket aside, spread her legs, and started to lift her skirt.

“No, no.” Gil raised his hands and tried to look away from the beautiful sight of her full breasts. “I meant I’ll pay you without services rendered.”

The woman paused, swallowed. “Why?” Her baby began to fuss, so she reached for her, returning to nursing. “At least let me suck you off. I can do that once she’s fed.”

“No,” Gil said firmly. He glanced around the cramped space. It wasn’t exactly Mr. Croydon’s sitting room. The only place he could sit that wasn’t on the bed was on the floor against the wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“But you must want something if you’re going to give me money,” she argued.

Gil sent her a lop-sided grin. “What I want and what I’ll ask for are two different things.” He paused, then asked, “What’s your name?”

“Ruby,” she answered, eyes downcast.

“And how did you get here, Ruby?” he asked, a little too much frustration in his voice. “How did it come to this?”

She stared down at the blanket covering her nursing daughter, taking her time to reply. At last, without looking up at him, she answered, “I had a job. Good, gainful employment in an important man’s house.”

“You were in service?”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “The master took a fancy to me.”

She didn’t say more, but she didn’t need to. Gil could fill in her entire story based on the one admission. He’d seen it far too many times before. An unscrupulous man in a position of power and authority used one of his servants when he had an itch that needed scratching. If the girl refused, she was sacked without a reference. If she submitted, nature inevitably took its course, and she was sacked without a reference for being with child out of wedlock. And a woman without a reference had few options left to her. A single woman with a child was unemployable.

Gil swore under his breath, frustrated with the injustices of the world. His life had been hard from the day his English father left his Irish mother when he was a year old, but at least his mam had had family and connections.

“Do you have enough food?” he asked, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket where he kept his billfold. He was by no means wealthy, but Mr. Croydon paid him well enough.

“I have some,” she answered.

“Here.” He took two pound notes out of his billfold, handing them across the narrow space to her.

Ruby’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, that’s far too much,” she said.

“Please,” he insisted.

She shook her head. “If I tried to spend a pound note, they’d accuse me of stealing for certain.”

Gil frowned. He hadn’t thought of that, but it was true. If a woman in Ruby’s condition paid for anything with a bill, it would cause more problems than it would solve. All the same, when she glanced down to her feeding baby, he tucked the notes into the side of the basket. Then he searched his pocket for loose change.

“How about this?” He handed her several shillings and a gold sovereign.

Her eyes were still wide. “It’s too much,” she said, hesitant, “but I can’t say no.”

She couldn't say no. The truth behind those words made Gil sick. He rose, his need to flee the squalor and sadness around him stronger than his need to stay and make sure Ruby was safe and warm.

“Are you sure you don’t want a fuck before you go?”

Gil had to swallow to keep the bile from rising up his throat. All things considered, Ruby was far too sweet to be using words like that.

“No,” he said. “Tonight is for you and your baby. Warm up, and if you can, buy yourself a thick coat in the morning.”

Her eyes shone with gratitude as she looked up at him. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

Gil nodded, straightening his clothes and buttoning what was still unbuttoned. He smiled at her. “I wish to God that things were different for you,” he said, his heart aching with the unfairness of the world.

She smiled back at him, the tears in her lashes like watery diamonds. He fled from the room before he could change his mind and make love to her just to make them both feel less miserable about the world.



London – June, 1879



The summer heat was oppressive as Gil rode through the busy thoroughfares of Kings Cross. His mind was elsewhere, rolling over the hoops that Mr. Turpin was making Mr. Croydon and his new bride jump through, like monkeys at a circus. It irritated him that Mr. Croydon had been forced away from his marriage bed the morning after his wedding just a few days ago. What angered Gil even more was that he had been duped into being the instrument that tore the new Mr. And Mrs. Croydon apart. Gil hated being played for a fool. He wouldn’t be held responsible for the things he might say if he came face to face with Mr. Turpin any time soon.