Read Online When You're Desired by Tamara Lejeune - Free Book Online Page B

“That’s quite enough.”
    Eliza went on picking up coins until Celia made her stop. “Come, my dear,” she said gently, helping her to her feet.
    â€œFriend of yours?” Simon said coolly.
    â€œI stand friend to any member of my sex who is mistreated by one of yours,” Celia replied. “Come, child. We’ll take you home. We’ll look after you now, won’t we, Clare?”
    â€œWe will?” said Fitzclarence, much surprised. “Yes, of course we will,” he added swiftly, as Celia gave him a look. Gallantly, he offered the creature his arm. “Yes, my dear. You are quite safe now. Come.”
    The crowd parted to let them through. Simon did not pursue them. The lady had won the first battle, but she would not win the war.
    â€œWait!” cried Tom West, bumping into him. He had gone to fetch St. Lys’s fur-lined cloak; it was draped over his arm. Simon halted him with a hand. Holding the boy at arm’s length, he surveyed him dispassionately. He could not have been more than seventeen. Thick golden curls tumbled into his guileless blue eyes. As he looked up at Simon, who was the taller, he tossed his head like a young colt to clear his vision.
    â€œI know you, don’t I?” Simon said, frowning. “Your father is Lord Ambersey, is he not?”
    â€œYes, my lord.” The boy looked past Simon anxiously. “Should I—should I not go after them?” he asked.
    â€œI wouldn’t bother,” Simon replied.
    â€œBut—won’t Miss St. Lys wonder what has become of me?”
    Simon laughed shortly. “Trust me, boy. Miss St. Lys has already forgotten that you exist.”
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    As the hackney coach rumbled away into the night, Fitzclarence looked doubtfully at the creature in yellow satin, who was seated opposite, petting the cushions. “What on earth are you going to do with her?” he whispered to Celia, who was seated beside him.
    Celia did not answer because she did not know. “What’s your name, child?” she asked the girl very gently.
    The girl looked at her, as if surprised by the question. “Who, me? I’m Eliza. Eliza London.”
    â€œHow do you do, Miss London? I am Celia St. Lys.”
    Eliza giggled. “Oh, I know you are, Miss St. Lys! Everybody knows you. And you, too, Capting Fitzclarence,” she added coyly.
    Fitzclarence raised his brows. “You think you know me, child?” he said coolly.
    â€œOh yes!” she cried. “You’re the king’s grandson.”
    Fitzclarence was pleased. He liked people to know that royal blood flowed in his veins. But he said, modestly, “Unfortunately, I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, so it’s of little consequence. I never think of it.”
    â€œNothing wrong with being a bastard, is there?” Eliza said quickly. “I’m a bastard myself, you know. That’s ’ow I got the name o’ London. My father could ’ave been any man in London walking about on two legs.”
    â€œReally? Celia’s a bastard, too,” Fitzclarence said.
    Celia stiffened with indignation. “You have no proof that I’m a bastard,” she said coldly. “The only thing that can be said for certain is that I’m a foundling , like Tom Jones.”
    Eliza gasped. “I know ’im! Ain’t ’e the flashman at the Cocoa Tree?”
    â€œCelia here was left in a church when she was but a few days old,” Fitzclarence told Eliza. “All tucked up in a dirty blanket, she was, and there was nothing with her but a handkerchief and two little locks of hair tied up in a pink ribbon.”
    â€œI beg your pardon,” Celia said. “’Twas a clean blanket.”
    â€œHow romantic!” cried Eliza. “Oh, it’s just like a princess in a story, ain’t it? Then what happened?”
    â€œI don’t know; I never asked,” Celia answered