2

When they arrived at the outer edges of Seven Dials, Della stopped and put her hand out. “Wait ’ere. You can’t come with me.”

Cole looked at her with a furrow between his brows. “Whyever not?”

Della rolled her eyes as she drew him into a dingy doorway. “’Cause I can’t be seen ’ere with the likes of you.”

She didn’t wait for his reply but pushed him back and walked away. “Stay put,” she said over her shoulder as she moved around the corner and into the alleyway. There was no sun in this part of London, though it had blazed across Hyde Park not half an hour earlier. There was never any sunlight to be seen in the back alleys surrounding Seven Dials. She nodded to a hunched figure shuffling towards her – one of the workhouse tenants she knew. He made no acknowledgement of her greeting, but continued past her, his head and back bent. She craned her head about once he had left the alley to see if the toff had stayed put. There was no sign of him, and so she hurried on, sidestepping the pools of filth that invariably filled these streets.

She stopped at a door, once painted a lurid red, though now it had peeled and chipped and faded until it was a dirty brown. She did not knock; it was home for her, as much as she hated the bloody place. It reminded her too much of a home she had once known and fought to forget. She stepped into a dark, unlit hall that reeked of cheap alcohol and other scents to which she had long become accustomed. The sounds of Cora at work came from beyond a closed door to Della’s right, so she continued past to the broken stairs at the back of the hall. She climbed up to the second floor, careful to keep quiet, for Cora’s customers were an angry lot if disturbed… and too often interested in having Della join the fun. She shuddered at the thought and drew in a deep breath before opening the door at the top of the stairs.

“Violet!” Della’s furious shout startled a blonde-haired woman and one of the pub owners who frequented the place out of the bed. The woman gasped as he flung her to the ground and let loose a string of expletives. Della marched forward, took her by the arm and hauled her up.

“Hey, leave off!” she cried as she tried to pull her bodice back over her small breasts. Della shoved her away and turned to pick up a dusty vase on the nightstand.

“Get out!” she shouted and flung it against the wall over the bed. The vase shattered, the fragments showering the man who was busy tugging on his trousers.

“What’s this now? I paid for?—”

“Get out, get out !” Della’s voice rose and her body shook as the man stumbled out of the bed. She shoved him towards the door and slammed it behind him. When she turned to face the young woman, she was shaking her head, scraping up the pile of coins on the washstand.

“He wasn’t finished,” she said, her tone sharp. Della bit back an angry growl.

“Dammit, Violet, I’ve told you, no men in my room!”

Violet let out a frustrated huff. “I got a new easel and there’s no space in mine. I thought you were out.”

Della sighed as she crossed to the bed to pick up the mess she had created in her anger. “Suppose it doesn’t matter, now.”

“Why’s that?”

Della faced her friend with a little smile. “I’ve got a new job.”

Violet frowned, her expression laced with suspicion. “What job? You’ve never had an honest job in your life.”

“I can’t tell you everythin’. I hardly know anythin’ myself. Some toff from Belgrave’s hired me to steal somethin’ for him. I’ve just come to collect my things.”

Violet’s brows arched. “Are you tellin’ me that you’re going to go with a complete stranger because he wants you to steal somethin’? You can’t trust those people, I thought you knew better…”

“Ten thousand pounds, Vi, he’s gonna pay me ten thousand pounds.”

Violet’s emerald eyes widened, and she staggered back a step. “You… you don’t really believe him, do you?”

Della shrugged. “I know how to handle myself if he tries anythin’. Besides, this could be our ticket out of here, and I ain’t missin’ my chance.” She turned and pulled an old valise out from under the bed. There was no need to pack. Della never stayed in one place very long – the year she had been living in Cora’s brothel was the longest she had ever stayed in one place since leaving the orphanage at sixteen. Her meagre possessions never left the valise. She hefted it up and faced Violet, who frowned again as she tucked a stray wisp of hair back into the loose bun she wore.

“Is this really the best way, though, Della? Countin’ on the word of a stranger? I thought we’d been savin’ up enough on our own.”

“Violet, we couldn’t hope to save that amount of money if we picked pockets and lifted our skirts until the day we died. I’ll be safe. Tell Cora what’s happened when she’s finished.”

The young woman, still looking suspicious, shrugged and turned to make the bed. “Suit yourself.”

Della did not linger to ponder the disappointment in Violet’s voice. She scurried downstairs and past the door to the room where Cora did her business. She could hear the familiar squeak of the bed frame, the shouts and moans and gasps that should have sounded pleasurable but somehow never did.

The alley beyond the brothel’s doors was empty, and when Della returned to the doorway where she had left Mr. Winthrop, he was gone. A small spurt of anger made her clench her fist around the valise’s handle, and she cursed under her breath. She knew his offer was too good to be true. What a fool she was. Damn him!

“Are you ready?”

She spun at the sound of the voice and found him standing behind her. He smiled, but she was too angry at herself to return the expression and scowled at him. “I told you to stay put.”

He quirked an eyebrow then gestured to the hansom cab coming towards them.

“I had to pay him a pretty penny to come up this street,” he said as he reached out to take her valise. She shot him a withering glare as she pulled it to her chest, pointedly ignoring his offer, and pushed past him. She did not wait for the driver, who looked as though he was uncertain if he should open the door for her or not, and yanked it open herself. Settling against the leather squab, she folded her arms over her chest as she waited for Cole to join her.

When he took his seat beside her, the carriage started forward and he offered her a small grin. “I don’t even know your name yet.”

Della pursed her lips and glanced out the window. “Della.”

“Just Della?” he prompted.

She heaved a sigh. “Della Rose.”

His eyebrows rose. “That is an unusual name… it’s very pretty.”

“It’s silly,” she said, rolling her eyes and averting her gaze.

“How so?”

“I grew up in an orphanage. The matron gave me a new name when I arrived. She liked givin’ us girls silly, fanciful names. She grew roses in the garden… I became Della Rose.”

His smile faded. “What did your parents name you?”

That cold feeling in her chest. It always came when she thought of her parents. “Don’t remember. All I know is my mother was a whore… don’t know who my father was.” A lie, but it was none of his damn business. She didn’t care to discuss her family, or lack thereof, and certainly not the man who was the cause of it.

He said nothing for a while, and she could feel his gaze upon her. She squirmed beneath his scrutiny, holding her valise tight against her chest as though to shield herself from him. Her stomach rumbled, and, growing miserable and embarrassed in the presence of this man who’d clearly never gone hungry a day in his life, she attempted to burrow into the seat. Her gaze fixed on the city beyond the window as if every building they passed was of crucial importance.

Della then heard Cole shift; there came a rustling noise, and he said her name. When she turned to look at him, he held out a small white box to her.

“Are you hungry?”

She shrugged indifferently. He sighed and reached for her hand. Before she could snatch it away, he pulled it forward and placed the box in it.

“You are my employee now. You needn’t be embarrassed to admit you are hungry. You can have anything you want or need – that is part of the arrangement.”

Della frowned at the shiver that raced up her arm from where he touched her so gently before she untied the plain brown string around the box and opened the lid. Though she gave no outward sign of it, her heart soared at the sight of what lay inside the box. Pastries. A dozen tiny, cream-filled, sugar-sprinkled pastries sparkled inside like little golden jewels. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation, and she snatched up one of the confections and shoved it into her mouth. She sighed as the sugar dissolved sweetly on her tongue. Not even bothering to savor the remaining treats, she gobbled them up until her stomach ceased its growling.

“Good?” he ventured.

“Yes…” She almost said thank you, but she’d never had need to say it before, so why start now? After a while, when she licked the last of the crumbs from her fingers, she dared to glance at her new employer.

“So, who am I stealin’ from?”

Cole’s expression hardened and his body tensed. He glanced out the window before looking back at her. “The Duke of Salisbury. He’s a very powerful man, almost royalty. That is why I must resort to subterfuge to get these documents back. I cannot go to the authorities – they will not be able to touch him.”

Della chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated this. After a moment, she spoke. “And what makes you think I will?”

At this point, Cole’s smile returned, but it was not the easygoing expression she had come to know in her brief time with him. The smile was there, but his eyes were deadly serious.

“Because the duke has a weakness for women. You will be able to get close enough to infiltrate the most private aspects of his life.”

Della stared at him for a moment, her face growing hot with rage. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not a prostitute.”

Cole shook his head. “I’m not asking you to bed him. His mother, the Dowager, has finally got her way, and he will be seeking a bride. You” – he inclined his head towards her – “will pose as my cousin, come to visit from the north, looking to unload her dowry. You will be charming—” He paused mid-sentence as he caught her gaze, and when Della gave him a threatening look, his lips turned up in that amiable grin and he waved his hand. “You will enchant him. He holds a ball every year for charity, and we can use the event as a cover to get into his home.”

Della raised a skeptical brow as the carriage rumbled over cobbled roads. They had left the filth and misery of Seven Dials for the quiet serenity of St. James’ Park, but she paid little attention to the crowds and carriages, for it seemed that Mr. Cole Winthrop must be mad to choose her.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to hire a cracksman to break into his home?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The duke is not a trusting man. Lufton Castle is basically a fortress – I daresay anyone caught trying to break in there would be punished most severely.”

“And why would he look twice at me? I’m the daughter of a whore, an orphan, a thief… I’m no lady.”

Cole leaned forward then and placed a gentle hand upon hers as he held her gaze. Della flinched and her body tensed, but she resisted the urge to pull away.

“Utter nonsense, I am sure, Miss Rose. And I know he will choose you because I know his type – I hope you can act.”

Della smirked. “For ten thousand pounds, I’d pretend to be Queen bloody Victoria herself.”

A small grin lifted one corner of Cole’s mouth. The pace of the carriage slowed as they left behind the open space of The Mall for the bustling, private squares where London’s elite resided. Della had always been too intimidated to enter such neighborhoods, though the swag here would be considerably greater than the areas she dived in. A smile suddenly lifted her lips, and she turned her face to the window to hide it from Cole. Oh, she was in now. She would walk these streets disguised as one of these people, and she would clean up. Della’s fingers twitched in anticipation, and she flexed them as though to maintain their agility. She would need it in the coming weeks.

Della’s voice caught on a breathless gasp when the carriage came to a halt. She could not stop her jaw from dropping a little as she looked past the wrought iron gate to the gleaming white stone mansion beyond. She had never seen a home so large – nor so beautiful – in her entire life.

Cole cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. That confident smile of his was gone, and he studied her with narrowed eyes, as if gauging her reaction.

“You live ’ere?” she asked, fighting to keep her tone unimpressed.

He nodded. “Most of the time. There is the occasional trip to the country estate.”

Della was quiet as she waited for the door to open. “I’ve never been to the country.”

The driver reached in a hand, but she ignored it and swept by him, valise clutched to her chest. She halted before the gate and realized they were at the back of the house. She turned with a smirk to face Cole, who had come up behind her. “Can’t be seen comin’ home with the likes of me?”

He shrugged. “People will discover you are here whether I want them to or not. Servants’ gossip,” he said by way of an explanation. “Remember, you are my cousin. My neighbors are already expecting you. I don’t think they’d expect you to look like this, though.” The once-over he gave her should have made Della furious, but she realized no cousin of this man would ever come to visit dressed as she was, and so she bit back the scathing reply on her tongue and swept past him.

Cole caught up with her as she slipped through the tall wrought iron gate set between brick walls laden with boughs of creeping ivy.

“That building you went into…” he began, reaching out once more to offer to take her bag. She again ignored him. “Is that where you live?”

She said nothing for a moment as she tried to look unimpressed by his home, but it wasn’t easy. The gardens they walked through were by far the loveliest she had ever seen in her whole life. Gravel crunched beneath her feet, and she shivered as the delicate silver leaves of a willow tree brushed against her arm. The scent of roses and lilacs tickled her nostrils, and she could see through a gap in a row of neat boxwood hedges a large marble fountain and stone bench. She almost stopped to take a closer look, but they had reached the door, hidden beneath a trellis swathed in ivy.

She turned to face him. “What of it?”

His eyes narrowed on her, but he made no comment, instead turning the knob to allow her into the house. They moved into a cool, dim hallway, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. Clearly a servants’ entrance, the corridor’s walls were plain white, and several doors led off the space. He gestured to the narrow stairwell to her left.

“Your rooms are on the second floor… the Rose Suite.” His voice faltered and he must have seen the scowl on her face, for he turned on that charming smile again. “A coincidence, I assure you. My mother named the room when she had the home decorated. It’s pink.” He laughed at the grimace she made and shrugged. “I can have another room prepared if you’d like.”

“It’ll be fine,” she snapped, moving to step past him, but he put a hand on her arm and chuckled.

“You seem to be in an awful hurry. This operation will take more than a day. I suggest you try to enjoy your time here. I’ve already sent word ahead, and Mrs. Beatty has prepared luncheon. I can’t imagine those pastries were enough.”

Della drew in a deep breath and tried to ease the nervous flutter in her stomach. She wasn’t used to this; manners and being polite and taking luncheon in a dining room with other people. Cole had been right – she would need any acting skills she possessed to pull this off. She nodded for him to lead her, and he gestured to her bag.

“I thought you might like to freshen up a bit first. I can have someone take your bag up with you if you’d like.”

A clutch of panic seized Della and she froze. The valise and its contents were all the possessed in this world and hadn’t left her side since she escaped the wretchedness of the orphanage. She wasn’t about to let some busybody servant poke through her things.

“I promise you no one will take anything of yours,” Cole said, his voice soft. Those striking golden eyes of his bored into her until she had to look away, uncomfortable with the strange emotions they stirred inside her.

“I’d rather bring it myself.”

Cole’s head inclined in silent agreement, and he gestured for her to follow him. They passed through one of the doors into another corridor and finally into the main hall. Della let out a disbelieving laugh as she gazed up at the soaring paneled ceiling, the delicate chandeliers, and massive portraits in gilded frames. It all exuded wealth and luxury and comfort and, for a moment, Della’s anxiety eased . If she played this right, she could have some of this for herself.

“What d’you do for a livin’?” she asked as she snatched up a crystal vase from an elaborate sideboard to examine it. She felt his gaze upon her, and so quickly set it back down again.

“I don’t work for a living… I’m a gentleman.”

Della frowned at the inflection in his voice. From anyone else, that statement would have possessed the pride of being wealthy enough not to have to work, but Cole’s tone hinged on sarcastic. She gave a sniff of disdain. She would be thrilled not to have to pick pockets or glue labels or sweep streets just to get by. She would give anything to sit out in that garden all day and read her books.

When Cole turned to move up the stairs, Della frowned, swept a small china figurine from the sideboard into her pocket, and followed him.

*

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