Free Dukes Prefer Blondes by Loretta Chase

Fenwick’s.
    â€œYou know perfectly well what he’s done,” Mr. Radford said. “He’s left school.”
    The girl shrugged. “Who wouldn’t?”
    â€œYou don’t.”
    â€œWell, no one tole me—­” She stopped abruptly, and looked hostile. “Here now, I know your tricks, Raven, like everybody does,” she said loudly. “Don’t be thinkin’ I’ll squeak on Toby or nobody else. I don’t nose on my friends.” Then more softly but with the same truculence she muttered, “Not and ask for a slicing, would I? And you tell Bridget she can thank herself for it.” She flounced away.
    Mr. Radford shook his head. “Come along then, Mrs. Faxon. I knew we wasted our time with this lot. They stick together. This is what they call honor among thieves, in case you were wondering.”
    R adford had to give her credit. Lady Clara passed through the first trial without being sick or even showing signs of swooning.
    But then, she was Longmore’s sister, for all she looked so little like him.
    They went on to the boys’ classroom, where anarchy seemed to prevail, although the teachers bravely did their business and a few brave boys worked at learning.
    There he picked the likeliest lad in the bunch and took him aside in the same way they’d drawn Jane away from the others. Not outside the room, though. That would be the perfect way to learn absolutely nothing.
    The boy Jos displayed even more hostility than Jane had treated them to, and in the same vein.
    Having left the boys’ area with the same kinds of dismissive comments he’d used in the girls’ schoolroom, Radford led Clara and her maid outside. He said nothing. They said nothing—­shocked speechless, no doubt—­but hurried along with him to the hackney stand in Hatton Garden, where they climbed into an ancient coach.
    â€œThat’s all?” Lady Clara said once the vehicle was moving. “How many more ragged schools must we visit before we learn anything?”
    â€œWere you not paying attention?” he said. “They told us everything.”
    â€œThey all seemed to know you,” she said. “Those girls . . . Jane . . .” She trailed off and looked out of the window, though he’d defy her to see anything through the scratched, dirt-­encrusted glass.
    â€œThey know I don’t need every syllable spelled out for me,” he said.
    â€œSpeaking of syllables, I could barely understand Jane,” she said. “The boy—­Jo, was it?—­might as well have been speaking Mesopotamian.”
    â€œNor why your ladyship ought to understand, I can’t guess,” Davis said. “And to think I should see my lady in a place alongside the likes of those creatures, and that insolent girl’s rags touching your skirts.” She glared at Radford.
    He shrugged. “You can burn milady’s attire later. In the dead of night, if you like.”
    â€œAnd how should we do that without attracting attention, sir ?” the maid said, making the sir sound like you fiend from hell . “Do you suppose I spend any time in the kitchen, that they wouldn’t wonder at it? Do you imagine a dress burned in my lady’s bedroom fireplace wouldn’t set the whole house talking, and her ladyship’s mother hear of it?”
    â€œSend the dress to me, or leave it for me somewhere,” he said in a bored voice. “I’ll burn it.”
    â€œNever mind the dress,” Lady Clara said. “What did you learn?”
    â€œThat Jane referred to a party who liked cutting ­people.”
    The maid looked at her mistress. “Why will you not let me kill him?” she said. “This is a horrid man. Your ladyship has got mixed up with some horrid men, ever since—­”
    â€œDo be still, Davis,” Lady Clara said. “I’ll thank you for not airing my dirty