Free Notorious Pleasures by Elizabeth Hoyt Page A

Lady Perfect?”
    She met his savage look with a steady gaze. “Do you deny the accusation?”
    “Why bother?” His mouth made an ugly twist. “You and all the other stupid, quacking, tittle-tattling gossipmongers have decided the truth. Protestations of wronged innocence would merely make me look foolish.”
    Hero bit her lip at his hurtful words, staring blindly down at her hands. They were laid one on top of the other, and she was vaguely pleased to see that they didn’t mirror her inner turmoil. What did it matter to her if this man thought her “stupid” or “quacking”?
    The carriage bumped to a halt. They were at the entrance to Maiden Lane. She looked across the carriage to find Reading watching her broodingly, his pale green eyes hooded.
    “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said.
    “What doesn’t?”
    “That I have the reputation as a rake and a seducer of innocents—my brother’s innocent.” He waved one hand wearily, as if the matter was negligible. “I still won’t let you risk your pretty neck in St. Giles. Either you let me accompany you and protect you or I’ll go to Wakefield and Thomas. Your choice.”
    He tilted his tricorne over his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, as if settling in for a nap.
    She watched him incredulously for a moment, but he didn’t move. Obviously, he’d said all he was going to say.
    The carriage door opened, and George, one of the two brawny footmen she’d chosen to accompany her, looked curiously in. “My lady?”
    “Yes,” she said distractedly. She turned back to Reading and cleared her throat. “I’m going to inspect the building site now.”
    Reading didn’t move.
    Well! If he was determined to be rude, she wasn’t about to stay and try to get the man to respond. Hero got up and descended the carriage with George’s help.
    Lifting her skirts, she picked her way down Maiden Lane to the spot where the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children was being rebuilt. But as she neared, her worst fears were confirmed. The building site looked deserted.
    Hero dropped her skirts and frowned.
    George shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Shall I see if anyone’s about, my lady?”
    “Yes, do,” Hero said gratefully, and watched as George disappeared into the facade of the construction.
    She sighed. It was going to be a wonderful building—if it was ever finished. They’d bought the houses around the burned wreckage of the previous home and had them pulled down. Now the foundation and facade of what would be a lovely brick building took up most of this side of the street. Hero pivoted and glanced at the other side of the narrow lane. The buildings there were built so close it looked as if they propped each other up. Wooden structures against crumbling brick, tilting upper floors precariously hanging over the lane. It was a wonder the whole mess didn’t fall down.
    “My lady.”
    George hailed her as he came back, trailed by a disreputable-looking character.
    “This’s the only one I could find about,” George said, indicating the fellow. “Says he’s the guard.”
    Hero looked in astonishment at the man. He held a half-eaten heel of bread and wore a bedraggled blue coat several sizes too big for his frame.
    At her glance, he swept a tattered flat hat from his head and bowed precariously low, his graying shoulder-length hair nearly touching the ground. “M’lady.”
    “What is your name?”
    “Pratt.” He clutched his hat and piece of bread to his chest, his expression angelic. “If’n it please you, m’lady.”
    Hero sighed. “Where are the workmen, Mr. Pratt?”
    The guard screwed up his eyes as if in deep thought and looked upward. “Don’t rightly know, m’lady. I’m sure they’ll return in a bit.”
    “And Mr. Thompson?”
    “ ’Aven’t seen ’im in a while.” Pratt shrugged and took a bite of his bread.
    Hero compressed her lips, glancing away from the man. Mr. Thompson was the architect of the