Free Lois Greiman by Seducing a Princess Page A

was true. All of it. And yet it seemed ultimately surreal in the light of the past few days. He was neither a respected spy nor a fearless assassin. He was William Enton, third baron of Landow, and a drunken fool who’d not accomplished a valuable service in the entirety of his life.
    He was the weakling son of a vicious lady and a soulless lord. A man so flawed that he could not even convince a tattered street waif named Jack to remain under his protection.
    The truth pierced him like a knife, sending his mind spinning.
    But was it the truth? Or was the truth what you made it? He had saved Gem from the Ox. Had saved her despite his wounds. So perhaps…He shifted his gaze back to Jack’s narrowed eyes and saw William Enton reflected in all his cowardly weakness. If the lad spilled the truth, Will would surely be lucky to live out the day. That was the truth.
    But the boy remained absolutely silent, neither loosing the tale of their acquaintance nor denying any existed. Will’s mind spun, trying to assimilate the facts, but memories were bombarding him with ferocious intensity. His wife’s funeral, his sister’s sadness, his ward’s escape. How many people had he failed from behind the cushy comfort of his title?
    “Nim,” Princess said, “you didn’t tell me you danced.”
    It took Will several resounding heartbeats to realize she was addressing the boy. Several more to draw his attention back to the business of survival.
    “Or perhaps our guest here wasn’t dancing when you met him. Pray, does he have some other skills that would assist us here in the Den? Something besides eating our food?”
    Tension lay like lethal toxins in the room, but Princess looked completely removed from it. Above it. And why wouldn’t she be? She cared not whether he lived or died. So if he hoped to survive the day, he’d best think of something soon.
    “I believe we first met in Wayfield,” Will said, finallymanaging to speak over the hard thrum of his heart. “I was swindling a baron from Lexington at the time.”
    Jack’s gaze remained steady on Will’s, though he spoke to Poke. “’E weren’t in Wayfield,” he said, and stepped farther inside. Dread crowded in with him. Poke appeared nonplussed, but he always wore a deadly smug expression, making it impossible to guess his thoughts. And he stood between Will and the door—unfettered by wounds or cringing cowardice.
    Will turned his gaze to Princess, but her perfect features betrayed nothing. No help there. No help, and Poke was watching him like a raptor. Waiting to tear him apart.
    “’E were at the docks,” Jack said.
    Will breathlessly skimmed his gaze back to the boy.
    “The docks?” Poke repeated.
    “Aye.” The lad nodded as he took a swig from the mug he held in one hand. “’E was tryin’ to relieve some overdressed gent of ’is snuff can.”
    “I thought you said you were not a pickpocket, Mr. Slate.”
    He’d been attending Nicol’s wedding when the madness had taken him, when he’d stumbled, drunk and bitter, into Darktowne. The memories struck him with sudden viciousness, scattering his thoughts like sun-cured chaff.
    “That’s the truth and no mistake,” said Jack, shifting his gaze from Will and pacing to the fire where he warmed his hands. “’E ain’t. Never saw such a bungled job. If’n I ’adn’t come along at just that second, ’e’d a been buggered fer certain.”
    Will tried to keep up, to marshal his thoughts. In fact, he forced a smile, though it felt ghoulish and green.
    True, he had taken the boy into his own home, had fedand clothed him. But if the weak-kneed baron of Landow had had his way, he would have let the guards take the boy and spared himself the inconvenience. Only a royal order had convinced him to assist the lad. And now here they were, their positions twisted about.
    “I owe you, Nim,” he said, though he would have sworn himself incapable of speaking, no matter how true the words.
    “Aye.” Jack’s