Free Patrica Rice by The English Heiress Page B

food. Harmless, but stupid. When they joined her, offering their arms, Michael pulled his hair. Only this pair would be idiotic enough to play act with a lady, endangering her without thought. Blanche’s neck was the one needing wringing. The lady was peeved at his escape and thought to teach him a lesson. She had, but it probably wasn’t what she intended. Next time, he’d tie her to a chair.
    Remaining seated, he leaned against the door behind him, draping his bare wrists over the tattered knees of his trousers as he watched the procession stroll down the alley. Even the usual inhabitants stared in disbelief, not knowing what to make of so lovely a lady in such out-dated dishabille. Her fashionable fribbles possessed the pale features and soft hands of aristocrats, not to mention an air of complete confusion at the noisy filth and chaos around them. He considered shooting them both for not having the brains to haul the lady straight back to a hackney.
    Even the Runner blinked as he emerged and saw this marvel drifting up the street. Michael gave the fellow a mark for good sense when he merely continued about his business. Fiona was probably laughing herself silly if she watched from one of the windows above.
    While the entire street watched the procession of Blanche and fribbles, a slight figure darted out of the fog to whisper in Michael’s ear.
    “She says as she’s found her aunt and ye’re not to worry.”
    The urchin made as if to dart back from whence he came, but Michael grabbed his coat and jerked him back. The boy didn’t look frightened, just irritated that he’d been caught.
    “Who said and where?” he demanded.
    “She said as ye’d know,” the lad declared boldly. “And she ain’t there no more.”
    “And I’m to believe you?” Michael asked. “Do you take me for a fool? I want to see for myself she’s all right.”
    Fear widened the boy’s eyes, and he kicked at Michael. “I don’t know no more than that. Let me go.”
    “Take me to where you saw her last.” Keeping a tight hold on the boy’s coat, Michael caught a skinny wrist with the other hand and rose from the street.
    “She’s gone to her brother, she says. I ain’t knowin’ nothin’ more.”
    The boy lashed out with his foot. A cry from the other end of the alley distracted Michael into loosening his hold, and the urchin wriggled free, disappearing into the fog-shrouded dusk.
    The growing fracas at the other end of the street kept him from caring. Michael couldn’t see well enough through the haze to clearly discern events. He raced to the place where he’d last seen Blanche and her companions. He could find Blanche were he blindfolded and in the dark.
    A wailing doxy holding a bundle of rags in her arms blocked Blanche’s path. The taller fop admonished the beggar loudly, shaking his expensive walking stick in her face, but the woman knew a good mark when she saw one. She determinedly held her place, pouring forth her tale of woe. The shorter, fatter gentleman tugged on Blanche’s elbow, sensibly attempting to turn her around. Blanche behaved as if she didn’t know either man existed.
    “The landlord threw us out, he did! My poor wee one hasn’t eaten in weeks. There’s naught for us but crumbs off the street. Her father died serving his country, he did, and this is what we gets in return! Please, my lady, a coin or two to ease our sufferin’. Just enough for the babe. I’ll go without, but I can’t bear to hear her cries.”
    Michael scowled at this self-serving nonsense. He might harbor a few idealistic tendencies, but he wasn’t blind to reality. He despised the women who fed their filthy habits with the lives of the poor infants they bore. Fed gin from the day they were conceived, the infants had no chance of living long outside the womb. These women knew it and didn’t care. They merely used the little inconveniences as sources of income until the babes died. By then, they could sell their bodies again