When She Was Wicked

Chapter Three

Bias: (1) A diagonal line across the grain of the fabric. (2) An inclination, such as the irrational dislike of a servant’s cap, which prevents impartial judgment.

Stop squirming.” Owen pressed the girl’s wrists together and grasped them with one hand. With the other he shoved the bag of coins into his pocket. He stood bent over at the waist in deference to the mossy stones a few inches above his head. “Step back, out from under the bridge. I feel like a damned troll.”

The girl ignored his command and crouched, shaking like a frightened rabbit.

Which made him think maybe he was a troll. Or an ogre of some sort.

Owen heaved a sigh. “I wasn’t expecting a girl.”

She sniffled. “Sorry to disappoint.” Her voice was more mature than he’d anticipated.

“It is disappointing, you know. I spent all night cramped under here so I could give the man who threatened my sister a solid blow to the nose.”

She cowered, and he felt another stab of guilt. Ridiculous. She’d attempted to extort money from him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Instead of answering, she leaned back, planted a foot on one of his thighs, and used all her weight to try and pull her wrists free. She struggled, kicked, thrashed.

An impressive show of resistance for someone her size, but Owen had no difficulty holding on to her. He let her wriggle ’til she’d spent all her energy and was gasping for breath.

Before long, she fell to the ground in a heap, choking on a sob.

Perfect. Exasperated, he scooped her up in his arms, took a step and—

Crunch.

He froze mid-stride.

“Oh, no. My spectacles.”

Cursing, he let her feet swing to the ground, but kept a tight hold on her waist. Then, he leaned over and groped around in the brush ’til he felt the mangled wire rims. “I’ve got them.” What was left of them, anyway. He stuffed them in his pocket.

Finally, he managed to pull her out from under the bridge. They staggered onto the grassy riverbank, slick with dew. The sky had lightened from dark gray to silver, and the trees on the horizon were silhouetted by the rising sun. With the exception of a few ducks that waddled on the other side of the river, he and the woman were alone.

And Owen had absolutely no idea what to do with her.

Who was she, and how did she know about his sister’s activities? Her plain, dark-colored dress and floppy white cap suggested she was a servant. A thought occurred to him. “Are you working with someone else?”

“No!” she cried. It was the first time she’d looked directly at him, and fear flashed in her eyes.

“I see. So this… scheme was entirely your own?”

“Yes.” She raised her chin, and the proud gesture looked oddly familiar. He’d seen her somewhere before—he was sure of it.

“And how long is your list of victims?”

“Pardon?”

“I assume you’ve done this before.”

She flushed. “Never.” Right.

“My butler said a lad delivered the demand note.” He let his gaze drift over her as though he were making a frank assessment of her build—which he was. She seemed to be of average height, but she was thin. Too thin. “I assume that was you?”

She swallowed before answering. “It was.”

Interesting. With his free hand, he rubbed his lower back, which ached like the devil. “If I released you, would you promise not to run away?”

She nodded.

“I’ll need to hear your promise.”

“You have my word,” she ground out.

“Excellent.” He let go of her wrists. She took a step back but did not bolt. Which was fortunate, as it spared him a morning run through Hyde Park. “Your extortion scheme was completely fool-brained. But your letter suggests that you possess at least a modicum of intelligence. That being the case, I’m sure you realize that you’ve left me no choice. I must turn you over to the authorities and make them aware of your illegal activities.”

She flinched as though she’d been hit. “But Your Grace,” she pleaded, “you do have a choice. You could show me mercy—let me go. If you did, I’d swear never to bother you or your family again.”

He refrained from snorting. Barely. “Maybe not. But you’d prey upon another hapless victim.” She opened her mouth to deny it, but he cut her off. “I can’t allow that to happen. You’ve committed a crime, Miss…?” The stubborn chit didn’t supply her name. “There are consequences.”

“True,” she said softly. “There are also consequences of inaction.”

What, in God’s name, was that supposed to mean? Perhaps she wasn’t altogether sane. The sooner he rid himself of her, the better. But he was curious about a few things. “Before I take you to Bow Street, I’ll need some answers.”

She swayed on her feet.

Christ. “When was the last time you had something to eat?”

She fisted her hands, and there it was again—the flash of pride. “I don’t see where that’s any of your concern.”

He couldn’t have her swooning on him. “There’s a bench beneath the trees on the other side of the bridge. We’ll finish our conversation there.”

“Conversation or interrogation?”

“Call it what you will. Come.” He took her elbow, keeping a firm hold as they walked across the footbridge toward a grove of trees. She sat on the bench and gripped the edge of the seat. The light was better here, and he was now certain that he knew this woman. Thick lashes veiled her wary, gray eyes. Her hair was of an indeterminate color—light brown, he’d guess—but it was pulled back tightly, revealing a smooth forehead and hollowed cheeks. The way she pressed her lips together suggested that the answers he sought would not tumble forth. But he had to try.

“Who are you? How did you know about Olivia?”

She stared at the ducks that had waded into the river for a morning swim but said nothing.

“I am very protective of my sisters,” he said.

She glanced at him and nodded. He detected something akin to approval.

“Naturally,” he said, “I’d like to ensure that the rumor you threatened to reveal is squashed. You could undo some of the damage you’ve caused if you were forthcoming now.”

A frown marred her face, and he could tell her mind was scrambling, probably concocting an elaborate lie.

Finally, she spoke. “If I tell you who I am and how I learned the news about your sister, will you let me return to my family?”

“Do you have a husband? Children?” The possibility hadn’t occurred to him.

She arched a brow. “Do we have a deal?”

“No.” He raked a hand through his hair. “It would be irresponsible of me to let you go.”

“And I suppose you’ve never done anything irresponsible,” she said glumly.

If she only knew. “Not lately.”

“You know,” she said, “sometimes there’s good cause for bending the rules.”

She didn’t speak like a servant. And she was much too philosophical for this godforsaken hour of the morning. “Nonsense. That’s a lie people tell themselves to ease their guilt. I suppose you’re going to say you had a good reason for extorting money from me.”

“My mother’s very ill.”

He shifted on the bench. As reasons went, it was good. Of course, he had no way of knowing if it was true. “I’m sorry.”

“The forty pounds would have paid for the doctor’s visits, her medicine, and our rent. At least for a few months.”

The bundle of coins weighed heavily in his pocket. To him, forty pounds was just a new jacket and a pair of boots. But it was the principle of the thing. She’d threatened to ruin his sister. “Why was it left to you to raise the money? Do you have a father or siblings?”

“My father is dead.” Her voice cracked on the final word. “My sister and I take care of our mother.”

“Surely you had other options. Besides extortion.”

She snorted. “I could have tucked up my skirts and hung about Covent Garden.”

“I meant you could have sought gainful employment.”

“I have a respectable job. At least, I did until today. But my salary didn’t begin to cover the cost of Mama’s care.”

Owen wasn’t sure why he believed this woman when she had every reason to lie. All he knew was that the whole exchange had left him feeling depressed. And confused.

“I assume you possess a skill for something other than writing demand notes.”

“Yes,” she said.

“But if I were to release you”—she looked up at him, gray eyes full of hope—“you’d still be in dire need of money. You might turn to extortion again.”

“I would do whatever I needed to do to take care of my family,” she said unapologetically.

And there it was—the familiar, haughty look. A ray of sunshine, pure as the morning, penetrated the canopy of trees and illuminated her face. And in that moment, he was almost certain of her identity. Upon meeting her, the proud tilt of her chin had struck him as completely incongruous with her drab clothes and ill-fitting spectacles. Given her demeanor and appearance, the seamstress’s name had, at first, seemed ironic. Upon further inspection, however, he’d noticed that beneath the godawful cap she wore, there were golden streaks in her hair. They started at her temples and traveled obediently to the bun at the back of her head. And then he’d thought her name suited her after all.

“Oh, here.” He pulled the spectacles from his pocket and handed them to her.

One lens was cracked, and the wire was badly bent. She attempted, unsuccessfully, to twist them into their proper shape before putting them on.

The oversized spectacles perched on her sloping nose, in combination with her ridiculous cap, confirmed his suspicion.

“I admire your devotion to your family, Miss Honeycote.”

She gasped.

He leaned forward until only a breath separated them. “And I believe I have a proposition for you.”


The duke’s smug smile raised the hairs on the back of Anabelle’s neck.

Although her left lens was cracked, she could see him clearly through the right. His bloodshot eyes suggested he’d had even less sleep than she, and his burgundy jacket with contrasting velvet trim looked like… well, it looked like he’d spent the night curled up under a bridge. Even so, he was handsome as sin.

She’d never spoken so frankly with a man before. Heavens, she’d even alluded to prostitution. But she was in the frightening—and yet oddly liberating—position of having absolutely nothing to lose.

“What, precisely, do you propose?” She managed a calm, matter-of-fact tone. As though she were not utterly and completely at his mercy.

“You say you need money to support your family.”

“I do.” She prickled at the suggestion that she would lie about such a thing.

“And you work at Mrs. Smallwood’s dress shop.”

She thought longingly of the projects waiting for her in the cozy back room. “Yes. Mrs. Smallwood will expect me when the shop opens this morning. She’ll be worried when I don’t arrive for work on time.”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You are in the process of designing gowns for my sisters.”

“True.” She’d been in the process of a great many things. What was he getting at?

“The day I came into the dress shop, I had reservations about you. I mentioned them to Miss Starling, and do you know what she said?”

“I’m sure I don’t.” But she was sure the duke had hung on every word that the debutante uttered.

“She said you’re the secret to Mrs. Smallwood’s success, that there’s not another dressmaker in London with half your talent. She said that the most discerning and beautiful women of the ton demand you make their gowns.”

Anabelle shrugged. It didn’t surprise her that Miss Starling would refer to herself as discerning and beautiful.

“I assume the dress shop is where you heard the gossip about Olivia.”

Heat crept up her neck, and she nodded.

“And will you swear to me that you’ve never extorted money before?”

“I’ve already told you—”

“Do you swear, Miss Honeycote? It is important that I have all the facts. That I know the truth.” His green eyes were skeptical. And hopeful.

Anabelle hated lying—it made her physicially sick. But if she told the duke about her prior victims, he’d demand to know who they were, and she could never, ever reveal that information. She’d created her List of Nevers for a reason. It protected her clients and, more importantly, her family.

“I swear.”

“Well then, here’s my offer. If you’d like to avoid being brought before the magistrate… you may come and work for me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “In what capacity?”

“As a dressmaker, of course.”

Oh. Of course. “You’d want me to work at your residence?”

“Yes, my townhouse is in St. James’s Square, as you’re well aware. I believe you’ve met my butler.”

She felt her flush deepen. But the duke was offering her an alternative to prison, deportation, or… worse. She wouldn’t have to say good-bye to Mama and Daphne. Perhaps she could even keep her job at the dress shop.

A glimmer of hope burned in her chest. “It wouldn’t take me long to complete your sisters’ ball gowns. I’d gladly make them in exchange for my freedom.”

He laughed, a sharp, hollow sound. “The ball gowns are only a start. I want you to create complete wardrobes for each of them. They’ve only recently come out of mourning for my father, and Olivia tells me that all of her older things are out of fashion. Rose had just turned fifteen when he… died. She owns few gowns that are suitable for a young woman.”

“But two entirely new wardrobes would take me months to complete.”

“You’d rather spend those months in Newgate?”

“Of course not.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m accustomed to hard work. I’ll arrive at dawn each morning and work ’til nightfall.”

“No.”

No? “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t unleash an extortionist on the unsuspecting citizens of London. You’ll live under my roof. Where I can keep an eye on you.”

Oh no. “Your Grace,” she begged, “my mother and sister need me. I can’t leave them for days on end.”

He dragged a hand through his dark, closely cropped hair. “Your sister can tend to your mother. If I am able to confirm your story, I will pay your mother’s medical bills and your family’s rent while you work for me.”

Anabelle gulped and her eyes burned. The thought of living away from Mama and Daph devastated her, and yet, it was a generous offer.

“You may send a message to your family,” the duke continued. “Tell them what you will. I’ll inform Mrs. Smallwood of the special assignment I have for you, and if, after you’ve completed your duties, I’m convinced that you’re reformed, I think I could persuade her to give you back your position.”

Anabelle sniffled. “Could I say good-bye to my mother and sister?”

“Why would I let you out of my sight when you’ve given me no reason to trust you? No. You’d have to come with me immediately.” He stood, his patience apparently exhausted. “Take it or leave it.”

She hesitated only briefly before rising and looking directly into his eyes. “It would appear, Your Grace, that you now employ a full-time seamstress.” They shook hands to seal the deal, and the hint of a smirk hovered at the corner of his mouth. It instantly transformed him from austere duke to handsome rogue.

Anabelle’s insides went soft, and an alarm simultaneously sounded in her head. Rule number five on her List of Nevers: Never enter into any form of social interaction with a former customer.

She reminded herself that this was a business transaction, pure and simple. She’d sever ties with him and his family as soon as she completed his sisters’ wardrobes, and they would, no doubt, be relieved to be done with her as well. After all, she was a penniless seamstress with a criminal past. And broken spectacles.

The duke held out a palm, politely indicating the direction they should walk. “Shall we, Miss Honeycote?”

She fell in step beside him and realized—with no small amount of dread—that she’d just made a deal with the Devil.