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Authors: Loretta Chase
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jaws, "when I see a friend in need of help. Since—"
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
"I am not your friend and I didn't need any help."
"Since Crenshaw is my friend," he went on doggedly, "and since he is too much of a gentleman to fight back—"
"But not too much of a gentleman to seduce and abandon a fifteen-year-old girl."
That broadside took him unawares, but Vere quickly recovered. "Don't tell me the chit you tried to start a riot about is claiming Crenshaw ruined her," he said,
"because I know for a fact she isn't his type."
"No, she's much too old," said the gorgon. "Quite ancient. All of nineteen.
Whereas Crenshaw likes plump rustics of fourteen and fifteen."
From her pocket Madam Insolence withdrew a crumpled wad of paper. She held it out to him.
Very uneasy, Vere took it, smoothed it out, and read.
In large, round schoolgirl script, the note informed Crenshaw that he had a two-month-old son who currently resided with his mother, Mary Battles, in Bridewell.
"The girl is in the Pass-Room," the virago said. "I saw the infant. Jemmy strongly resembles his papa."
Vere handed back the note. "I collect you announced this to Crenshaw in front of his friends."
"I gave him the note," she said. "He read it, crumpled it, and threw it down. I've been trying for three days to run him to ground. But every time I called at his lodgings, the servant claimed Mr. Crenshaw wasn't in. Mary will be sent back—
to her parish workhouse, most likely—in a few days. If he will not help her, the child will die there, and Mary will probably die of grief."
The dragon lady turned her glacial gaze to the window. "She told me the babe was all she had. And there his father was, going to Crockford's, to throw his Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
money away on cards and dice, when his son is weak and ill, with no one to care for him but a mother who's a child herself. You have some fine friends, Ainswood."
Though Vere considered it unsporting for a man of nearly thirty to seduce ignorant young rustics, and though he considered his crony's reaction to the forlorn note inexcusable, he was not about to admit this to Miss Self-Appointed Guardian of Public Morals.
"Let me explain something to you," he said. "If you want to get something out of a man, dashing out his brains against a lamppost isn't the way to do it."
She turned away from the window and regarded him levelly.
And he wondered what malignant power had created this shockingly beautiful monster.
You'd think the carriage's gloom would dull the impact of her extraordinary face.
The shadows Only lent intimacy, making it impossible for him to view her with detachment. He'd seen her in his dreams, but dreams were safe. This wasn't. He had only to lift his hand to touch the silken purity of her cheek. He had only to close the smallest distance to bring his mouth to hers, plum-soft and full.
If the impulse to touch and taste had been less ferocious, he would have surrendered, as he usually did to such impulses. But he'd felt this powerful pull before, in Vinegar Yard, and he wouldn't play the fool again.
"All you had to do was smile," he said. "And bat your eyelashes and thrust your bosom in his face, and Crenshaw would have done whatever you wanted."
She gazed at him unblinkingly for the longest time. Then, from a pocket hidden in her black skirts' heavy folds, she fished out a small notebook and a stump of a pencil.
"I had better write this down," she said. "I do not want to lose one priceless Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
syllable of wisdom." She made an elaborate ceremony of opening the battered notebook and licking the pencil point. Then she bowed her head and wrote.
"Smile," she said. "Bat eyelashes. What was the other thing?"
"Things," he corrected, leaning closer to read what she'd written. "Plural. Your breasts. You stick them under his nose."
Hers were right under his and mere inches from his itching fingers.
She wrote down his instructions with a
Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
"I am not your friend and I didn't need any help."
"Since Crenshaw is my friend," he went on doggedly, "and since he is too much of a gentleman to fight back—"
"But not too much of a gentleman to seduce and abandon a fifteen-year-old girl."
That broadside took him unawares, but Vere quickly recovered. "Don't tell me the chit you tried to start a riot about is claiming Crenshaw ruined her," he said,
"because I know for a fact she isn't his type."
"No, she's much too old," said the gorgon. "Quite ancient. All of nineteen.
Whereas Crenshaw likes plump rustics of fourteen and fifteen."
From her pocket Madam Insolence withdrew a crumpled wad of paper. She held it out to him.
Very uneasy, Vere took it, smoothed it out, and read.
In large, round schoolgirl script, the note informed Crenshaw that he had a two-month-old son who currently resided with his mother, Mary Battles, in Bridewell.
"The girl is in the Pass-Room," the virago said. "I saw the infant. Jemmy strongly resembles his papa."
Vere handed back the note. "I collect you announced this to Crenshaw in front of his friends."
"I gave him the note," she said. "He read it, crumpled it, and threw it down. I've been trying for three days to run him to ground. But every time I called at his lodgings, the servant claimed Mr. Crenshaw wasn't in. Mary will be sent back—
to her parish workhouse, most likely—in a few days. If he will not help her, the child will die there, and Mary will probably die of grief."
The dragon lady turned her glacial gaze to the window. "She told me the babe was all she had. And there his father was, going to Crockford's, to throw his Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
money away on cards and dice, when his son is weak and ill, with no one to care for him but a mother who's a child herself. You have some fine friends, Ainswood."
Though Vere considered it unsporting for a man of nearly thirty to seduce ignorant young rustics, and though he considered his crony's reaction to the forlorn note inexcusable, he was not about to admit this to Miss Self-Appointed Guardian of Public Morals.
"Let me explain something to you," he said. "If you want to get something out of a man, dashing out his brains against a lamppost isn't the way to do it."
She turned away from the window and regarded him levelly.
And he wondered what malignant power had created this shockingly beautiful monster.
You'd think the carriage's gloom would dull the impact of her extraordinary face.
The shadows Only lent intimacy, making it impossible for him to view her with detachment. He'd seen her in his dreams, but dreams were safe. This wasn't. He had only to lift his hand to touch the silken purity of her cheek. He had only to close the smallest distance to bring his mouth to hers, plum-soft and full.
If the impulse to touch and taste had been less ferocious, he would have surrendered, as he usually did to such impulses. But he'd felt this powerful pull before, in Vinegar Yard, and he wouldn't play the fool again.
"All you had to do was smile," he said. "And bat your eyelashes and thrust your bosom in his face, and Crenshaw would have done whatever you wanted."
She gazed at him unblinkingly for the longest time. Then, from a pocket hidden in her black skirts' heavy folds, she fished out a small notebook and a stump of a pencil.
"I had better write this down," she said. "I do not want to lose one priceless Loretta Chase - The Last Hellion
syllable of wisdom." She made an elaborate ceremony of opening the battered notebook and licking the pencil point. Then she bowed her head and wrote.
"Smile," she said. "Bat eyelashes. What was the other thing?"
"Things," he corrected, leaning closer to read what she'd written. "Plural. Your breasts. You stick them under his nose."
Hers were right under his and mere inches from his itching fingers.
She wrote down his instructions with a
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