Free Scandal by Pamela Britton Page B

something Anna envied. It was easier not to covet luxuries if you’d never had them before.
    “’E’s as handsome as he is arrogant, and the only reason why he’s in St. Giles is to win a wager. To my way of thinking that makes him a sapskull, and you know how I feel about sapskulls.”
    “He
is
handsome,” Molly said in a matter-of-fact, this-is-bloody-fabulous tone of voice, brown ringlets bobbing as she tipped her head back and smiled. “Did you kiss him after you got home from market?”
    Anna took a firmer grip on the work-worn handles of her barrow, ostensibly to push her way through the thick mud, but in reality to get ahead of her friend.
    “Does he make your crinkum-crankum heat like a—”
    “Molly,” Anna hissed, tipping her head so that her hat would shield her cheeks so that Molly wouldn’t see them color.
    “He does, doesn’t he?”
    No answer.
    “You’re as hot for him as a bed brick, ain’t ya?”
    Anna refused to speak.
    Molly went silent, too, as they worked their way through the crowd, pausing for a moment when a marble shot out in front of them just as they crossed near an alley. A boy of about ten darted out to catch it, fetching the glass ball with a nod of thanks for stopping.
    “So it’s happened to you at last,” she heard Molly plainly over the
zzzzz
of a passing carriage’s wheels to her left, a fat drop of rain landing on the brim of her hat.
    “Raining,” Anna said.
    “Don’t change the subject.”
    Anna pressed her lips together in irritation.
    “You’ve finally found you a man what’s tempting you to bread and butter.”
    Anna stopped suddenly. “I just met him, Molls.”
    “Does that matter?”
    “Yes.”
    Liar, liar, liar.
    Molly smiled like a cat that just finished eating a bowl of fish. “If you weren’t burnin’ for him, you wouldn’t ’ave skulked out of your rooms this morn to avoid waking him.”
    “Not true.”
    “It is. You didn’t want him with you today for fear of the heat he’d stir in you.”
    “You make me sound like a fireplace grate.”
    “Then why you denying everythin’ I say?”
    “Because I’m in a hurry and talking slows me down.”
    “Liar,” Molly repeated.
    And she was. She knew it. She just didn’t know what to do about it.
    He didn’t show up at the market, even though she’d looked for him all day.
    Fool.
    She’d looked and he hadn’t come and that should have filled her with relief, not annoyance. And yet, she couldn’t deny the way she felt.
    Which was why when she opened the door later that evening she told herself she would not react to his presence… if he was still there. Not only that, but she would ask him to leave the moment she saw him.
    “Bloody hell,” she cursed, observing the mess that greeted her. After all her hard work cleaning up last time, her grandfather must have activated the Colossal again. Lord, she wished she could come home just once and not work more hours. Just once.
    “Anna.”
    She turned. Mr. Hemplewilt stood by the wall to her left. Her heart took off in another direction now, slowing for a beat as she stared across at him.
    Go on, Anna. Ask him to leave.
    But something about him, something about the look in his eyes, made her stiffen.
    “What is it? My grandfather?” She turned toward the room he occupied—well, if one wanted to call tattered cotton sheets that served as walls a room.
    “’Tis not your grandfather,” he said, stopping her with a hand on her arm.
    Anna froze. He’d touched her again. She stared down at his hand, wondering how she could feel his warmth through the material of her cloak.
    “Then what is it?” she asked again.
    “Anna,” he said, the look on his face seeming to turn to one of sorrow. “Someone came into your rooms today.”
    It was so opposite of what she thought he’d say, so completely a shock, that it took her a moment to form a reply, and even then it wasn’t much of one. “I—” she frowned. “Our rooms?”
    He nodded, looking