Free The Suspect's Daughter: Regency Romance (Rogue Hearts Book 4) by Donna Hatch Page B

me usual workin’ time, but I’ll make an exception fer ye.” Maggie picked up their usual game of her offering her body, and his offering an escape from her chosen way of life.
    “I’ll buy you dinner if you let me take you to Mrs. Goodfellow’s House for the Reformed.”
    “Now, ye know we’re not wantin’ that.”
    “She helps girls like you find honest employment.”
    One of her friends said, “Owwoo, we’re ’onest. I never stol nuthin’.”
    “Honest employment.” Maggie let out a scoff. “At least I know what me customers want. Employers ain’t always so straight up.”
    In clear defiance, the girls linked arms and launched into a bawdy song as they headed down the street. Grant mulled over her words. Maggie had likely been the victim of unwanted advances from the man of the house. Scoundrel. May he rot in the deepest pit.
    A moment later, three figures stepped into the alley from the hovel into which they had disappeared about an hour ago. Grant recognized the Fairley girl, a young girl who was probably her maid, and a handsome woman carrying an umbrella. They all smiled and practically skipped—probably proudly congratulating themselves on their great act of charity and anxious to get home and brag about how wonderfully condescending they were to the poor, and then promptly forgetting the objects of their charity as they dressed for the next ball.
    Silently, Grant slipped in and out of shadows and obstacles, keeping his senses tuned to the females. He sensed rather than saw the Fairley girl glance about cautiously. He was almost certain she’d noticed him the first day he’d tailed her. Unexpected, that. But she hadn’t gotten more than a glance before he made sure he disappeared from her view. He’d been more careful today.
    She relaxed her posture, and they chatted amongst themselves as they turned off the alley and headed to a wider street where they would find a hansom waiting to take them home. The attractive lady, who couldn’t have been much more than five years the Fairley wench’s senior, walked with the proud bearing of a duchess, perfectly confident of her place in the world. The younger girl exercised more caution, as if she understood she trod on turf belonging to those who viewed her as an aristo and therefore the enemy.
    His senses went on full alert as he spied another shadow tailing the women. Some thug had noticed a couple of easy targets. The predator might have only theft and not something worse on his mind, but Grant moved into position to stop him. The ruffian slipped behind the women.
    The thrill of the hunt coursed through Grant’s veins. The world became sharper, each sound more clear, every color more vibrant. He trotted across the street, reaching for his gun. Knives were less messy and more elegant, but the gun made a better display of threat, and he wasn’t in the mood to stick a knife in someone’s ribs this afternoon. That might change by tonight.
    Grant dodged a milk cart. He wasn’t exactly dressed to pay a call on a member of Society, and revealing himself would lead to all sorts of questions, but it couldn’t be helped.
    The blighter leaped in front of the girls and brandished a knife he’d probably used to chop wood. “Gimme yer valuables and I won’t ’ave t’ use this.”
    The maid let out a gasp, her hands flying out to the side. The lady with the umbrella merely drew herself up as if her status alone protected her from harm.
    Grant moved closer and to the side as the Fairley chit offered the armed a compassionate smile. “I realize you must be very desperate to threaten ladies. And while I will agree to give you all the money I have on my person, I must tell you that if you’d simply asked, I would have offered it freely.”
    Grant almost snickered. Oh, that was rich; she was trying to help the blackguard. Grant had to admire her courage, though. She didn’t fall apart like her maid. Hesitant to break up the little drama and deprive himself