Chapter Four

C hapter F our

W omen were utterly maddening creatures, without sense or reason, and without any consideration for their natural inconvenience to the male species.

This was not new information for Hunter; it was simply rather enforced at the moment.

After a night of spreading his contacts around to find the elusive Mr. Allred, he had returned to his rooms not only empty handed, but also to be told that Briar had to return to her home, and they would have to meet again another night to discuss the mission. Not only that, but she was leaving the sleeping Miss Allred in his charge, as she could not risk taking her back across the Thames to her home and family. No argument from Hunter, either on the impropriety or on the danger, would persuade her, so he was left to pacing his rooms and waiting for his charge to wake.

An entire night wasted when he could have gotten started on his mission and spent the day exploring various avenues of investigation.

Now he would be hard-pressed to get anything done while playing nanny to a woman who had no business being in his company or in this part of London.

Lovely.

It was not as though he had other things to do. Things related to the security of the entire British kingdom, the strain that the deceptive faction of French operatives was creating, the danger dozens of British operatives could be in at this very moment, and the possibilities of circumventing almost certain disaster in the way of life for all British citizens. Nothing too grand or of great importance, clearly.

Luckily, Hunter thought well when he paced, and he was laying the foundation for his investigation in his mind at the present. Without knowing Briar's information, he would be missing an aspect, as well as a possible avenue of exploration, but he could certainly work with what he knew at the moment.

If he'd had success in the night, it would be another story. But none of his contacts had recognized the name of James Allred, which meant they'd had to go search their sectors and he'd had to continue on to a different one, and it had taken all night instead of a couple of hours. He was tired, he was hungry, and he could not have wanted anything less than to watch this young woman while he waited to hear back from his people.

But despite the reputations about his real persona, he was not a cad, reformed or otherwise. He did have an understanding of morals and respectability, and he did not abandon people in need if he could help it. After all, it wasn't Miss Allred's fault that she had been dropped on his block last night, and it was certainly not her fault that he did not have contacts of quality with whom he could entrust her care. In fact, he may need to check with his contacts to be sure that none of them had known about the abduction plot the night before. Some of them did odd tasks for a quick bob or two, and abduction was not murder, was it?

It was exactly these sorts of internal arguments and rationalizations that made him entirely unfit to renew his position as a gentleman in the world, and until they started to truly gnaw at his soul, he might as well make use of the time by serving king and country in a way that few others could boast. There were several operatives, male and female, in Britain, but there were not many who could work successfully alone, without supervision or interference, and without the trouble of a true moral compass.

Well, mostly.

What in the world was he supposed to do with a young lady who was actually a young lady and not a spy? Who had no skills that could protect her in the streets and would be of no use to him in his investigation. And worst of all, she did not even know where she was supposed to be, and none of his contacts knew either.

Which meant he would have to tap into the resources of other operatives, and he hated doing that. It took a great deal of coercion, bribery, and exchange of favors.

He hated doing favors.

Dash it, he was not fit company for a young lady! His sister barely tolerated him for more than twenty minutes altogether, and she knew him better than anyone!

What was more awkward, possibly, was that the young lady was still asleep. The respectable education and upbringing of his youth screamed in his mind that he should not even be in this room without some older female relative of the lady present, though a trusted servant or respectable married woman would suffice.

There was also the slight complication that Hunter himself wanted to be asleep in his bed, but that was beside the point. He'd worked successfully on minimal sleep for quite some time, and this would be no different.

It was the lack of working and the lack of sleeping that was irking him at the moment.

"It's not her fault," he muttered under his breath as he paced some more, reminding himself not to take his personal irritation out on the victim of a cruel prank or scheme. "It's not her fault, it's not her fault, it's not her fault…"

His eyes flicked to the bed, and to his utter horror, the young lady's eyes were open and staring right at him.

Devil take it, had she heard his rambling?

Hunter paused, his heart seizing with the sort of panic he rarely experienced. "Erm… good morning."

"Is it?" she asked in a sleep-roughened voice. Her dark eyes blinked, and she sat up, her equally dark hair rumpled and tousled in an almost childlike fashion.

Her appearance was not helping matters. She was a beauty, there was no question, and a beautiful woman in his bed…

Well, his morals weren't that intact.

"I believe so," Hunter said gruffly, forcing his mind elsewhere. "How did you sleep?"

"Apparently well." She ran a hand over her hair and then let it flop into her lap almost immediately after. "I didn't think I would be sleeping here all night, though. Does that mean you didn't find my father?"

The frankness in her voice was matched only by the flatness, and Hunter pitied her instantly. "Correct, madam. None of my contacts knew anything about a man with your father's name. Which, in a way, is good news for you."

Miss Allred scoffed softly before both delicate brows rose. "How is that?"

"This is, without a doubt, one of the seediest sides of the city," Hunter told her. "It means your father is likely in a better situation than you feared."

Miss Allred seemed to consider that, then she pursed her lips, her brows lowering impressively. "Or he is just in a different seedy side."

Hunter debated arguing the point, but he couldn't. After all, she was right. Mr. Allred could be in any number of places in the city that Trick was presently not integrated with. Briar had agreed to use her contacts to fleece out any James Allreds in her area, but that was still only a portion of London.

Miss Allred didn't need to hear that from him, particularly when it seemed that she already had the general idea.

"True," Hunter hedged, "but we have plenty of options for finding him. It won't be difficult."

"You sound fairly certain of yourself." Miss Allred craned her neck from side to side, then looked around the room. "Where's Briar?"

Ah-ha. Right. That.

Hunter leaned against the sideboard and folded his arms. "She went back home to her family. She said to pass on her best and she'll let you know she's thinking of you in her own way." He shrugged, allowing himself to smile. "I have no idea what she means, but I only met her last night."

Miss Allred didn't look nearly as amused. "So we are here alone."

At least she wasn't panicking about the idea.

"Yes, for the moment," Hunter allowed with a nod.

"That isn't good." She swung her legs down from the bed, her feet bobbing just the slightest bit as they hovered above the ground. "You undoubtedly have things to do, and my being here is hindering that. And I certainly cannot be in your company without someone else. Not that I mean to imply that you would behave badly, but neither of us need the gossip."

It was oddly sweet, her naivete about gossip in this part of town. Inane, but sweet.

"Miss Allred," Hunter said on a heavy sigh, "I can assure you that, in this part of London, a young woman in the company of a man like myself is one of the tamer sights. No reputation is going to be ruined on that score, be it yours or mine, unless we see someone you know."

"Down here?" She made a loud scoffing sound, entirely inappropriate for a lady of her station. "Not bloody likely."

Hunter stared at her in surprise, smiling a little when she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide.

"I am so sorry," she mumbled behind her hand. "I never… I mean, I rarely…"

"Are you apologizing for your benefit or mine?" Hunter overrode as he continued to smile. "Rest assured, I've not been offended by such a mild curse on your part, nor do I think less of your quality, breeding, or respectability for saying what is merely an emphasis of truth. And as for yourself, I am quite certain you will hear worse before the day is out, so perhaps we ought to lower your expectations now just to be on the safe side."

Her hand slowly lowered, her lips pressed in a very tight line when they appeared again.

Hunter raised a brow. "If you are currently living under some shroud of shame for that, Miss Allred, I beg you to toss it off. This isn't Mayfair, and I am no gossiping hussy."

Miss Allred's mouth quirked, and a small laugh-like sound escaped, her dark eyes finding a new light in them. "Well, if we're going to remove ourselves from the confines of my upbringing, you might as well call me Lucy. Otherwise, I'll keep curtsying and being mortified, or thinking one of my students needs something, none of which is going to be pleasant for you to endure."

There was no arguing with her on that point, though something in the back of his throat ticked at using her given name.

A byproduct of his upbringing, no doubt.

"Very well, Lucy," he replied with a faint bow from the neck. "Call me Trick. I think I said that before, but it's really for the best if we leave it there. Now, as you said, I have matters to attend to today, and being your nanny, much fun as that sounds, is not one I was prepared for."

Lucy shook her head fervently. "No, indeed. I will just stay here and wait for you to come back and take me wherever my father is."

It was all Hunter could do to avoid laughing uproariously in utter incredulity. Poor chit had no idea just what dangers lurked around them, not only outside of their building, but within it as well. How feeble the locks could be. How determined the local vermin were.

Not to mention the rats.

But it was not Lucy's fault that she could not understand that or comprehend the ugliness with which they were surrounded. She likely only ever understood the finer, more polite way of living, and anything less was unthinkable. Probably unimaginable.

So he did not laugh, and instead shook his head very firmly. "That will not do at all, Lucy. While this place is safe enough for me to stay, it is no place for you."

Her pale brow furrowed, the creases seeming almost crass upon her fair skin. "Then why am I here? Why have I been here at all?"

"Because last night, there was no better place to take you," he explained as patiently as possible. "Briar and I were with you, and because of that, there were the means to protect you, should it be necessary. If I—or, indeed, she—were with you, this place would be safe enough. Alone…" He shook his head again, so there would be no misunderstanding. "Not safe at all."

Lucy folded her arms, shifting her weight slightly on the mattress. "Then what are we going to do? Surely, I won't be accompanying you on your day-to-day activities."

He did not know if she was offended by the idea or simply certain of its ridiculousness, but it was difficult not to laugh in her face about it.

Because that was exactly what they were going to do, though he wasn't sure how it would work out for either of them. It was the only option, unless he wanted to sit here all day.

Which he did not.

Especially with her.

"As it happens," Hunter told her, clasping his hands behind his back, "that is exactly what we will be doing. You will be by my side, so you will be quite safe, and I am not doing anything particularly dangerous today. The school is too far to send you back, and it should be easy enough to find your father."

There was silence for an exceptionally long moment. "What?" She blinked her wide, dark eyes, clearly not comprehending. "Say that again. If you please."

"I don't please, as it happens," Hunter retorted without spite. "But since you seem to require further elucidation, let me enlighten you." He leaned forward, though there was a great deal of distance between them still. "I have things to do today, and as I cannot and will not stay here with you while they need to be done, you are coming with me."

Again, she blinked.

And said nothing else.

So much for the hopes that she was a quick-witted woman. What sort of teacher must she be? What in the world did she teach? But it was the Miss Masters's School, after all, which meant there were spies in training there and active spies on the teaching staff. Clearly, Lucy Allred was not one of them, but she had to be of some value, or Milliner, the spymistress of Great Britain and also the headmistress of the school, would not have hired her on.

Still, it had been some time since Hunter had interacted with a woman who was not common, or an operative or asset. His patience for such tepid conversations was out of practice, and thus, quite thin.

Hunter exhaled and rubbed at his brow. "Where did I lose you, Lucy?"

"Nowhere. I am right where you left me, and simply waiting for some competent explanation as to how I am going to be anything but an obstacle to whatever it is you do."

He looked at her in mild surprise. "You're not affronted by the situation I am putting you in?"

Her expression became rather bland. "I am in no position to be affronted. I was dropped in this part of London without friend or direction, and you are considerate enough to at least keep me from disaster. I'm not about to swoon over dirty streets and foul language. I am more concerned about irritating you to the point of abandonment in a worse part of the city."

That… was not what he had expected.

Hunter found himself smiling, in spite of his surprise and confusion. "Are you in the habit of plaguing someone into such a desperate state of affairs?"

Her lips pulled to one side in a slight smile of her own. "My father despairs of me, but I am not the one driving us into debt and retrenchment. And I cannot say with any certainty why I was left in this part of London, so that ought to be a sign of some concern."

"True, that is worth a thought," he mused, more out of playfulness than real consideration. He shrugged and gestured for her to follow him as he moved to the door. "But we do not have any other option, so you might as well come along. If I leave you somewhere, I'll make it a nice spot, I promise."

Lucy laughed once, a rather pleasant sound, even if it was a little hoarse and raw to be the prim and musical delicacy young ladies were expected to laugh with. "Like this? Was it not you who told me I was too finely dressed to belong here?"

"You are," he replied at once. "But I do not possess a bureau of gowns for your perusal."

"More's the pity."

He folded his arms, curious now at where exactly her mind was going and how it got there. Why was she not terrified and shrieking in some dirty corner of this room? Where was her indignation and her outrage at not having an answer to her father's location? How, precisely, was it that she was teasing him about the lack of feminine clothing for her to choose from to improve her appearance in these seedy depths? And why was he so amused by it, and by her? He was going to be remarkably inconvenienced by toting her around all day, and yet…

"I have so many questions based on that response," Hunter told her, "but no time to ask them. So, will you consent to donning one of my coats over your gown in an attempt to blend in?"

"I will consent," she said simply, pushing to her feet. "More than that, I think it sounds like a fine idea. I have no doubt your coats are dirty enough to hide all sorts of finery."

Hunter had begun to open his mouth to express entertained gratitude for her compliment, only to close it again when the insult as to his clothing followed.

It was true that his clothing was worn, filthy, common, threadbare, and a thousand other descriptors that would have been equally appropriate from her lips, there was no denying that. But she needn't sound so sure of it, or so dismissive of other options.

That was a trifle offensive, even for him.

His smile turned sour. "It will suffice. No one will question you, at any rate." He strode to the bureau and reached behind it, rather than into it, and pulled out his rattiest, most well-used coat in his collection, holes and all. It wouldn't smell—he had the laundry done as often as he could when he was home—but he couldn't vouch for what creatures might have found a home in its folds and pockets.

He might have hopes of a mouse or a cricket or a frog somewhere in there, just to hear her squeal.

Turning, he tossed the coat at her, not particularly caring if it hit her face or her shoulder, or the bed beside her. "Put this on, cinch it tightly across the waist, and hopefully your shoes won't be an obvious issue."

"My shoes?" she retorted with a bit of a screech. "They are your average traveling boots, who could have an issue with that?"

"Anybody who is wearing something less," Hunter said with as minimal a reaction as possible as he reached for the same coat he'd worn earlier. "I've seen people robbed for gloves, Lucy. Desperation breeds crime and calls it life. Come on, I imagine you're hungry."

He unlatched the door and held it open for her, sliding his attitude and his manner into that of an ambivalent gamekeeper tending a particularly attentive puppy. It was safer for both of them if he established as little a connection as possible, keeping her with him just for safety and just until they could find her father. He owed her safe passage and to keep her free from any more trouble than what she'd already had, nothing more and nothing less.

Well, and to make sure she didn't learn anything about the Faction, his mission, and the fact that he was an operative for the Crown.

Minor details.

"Of course I'm hungry," Lucy grumbled as she moved through the door, her elbow brushing against him as she fastened his coat around her. "Last time I ate anything of substance was at Bromley yesterday. Not sure what will be available around here, or what you normally eat, but you will find I have very limited expectations."

Hunter rolled his eyes heavenward, noting the stained and warped boards in his ceiling and feeling oddly proud of them. Miss Lucy Allred wasn't an unreasonable young woman, but she was sheltered, and a trifle spoiled, as all young ladies of her station tended to be. If she managed to not get him into trouble with his contacts and assets today, he would consider it a victory.

She was not significant enough, or troublesome enough, to get him killed or compromised, but she could certainly get in his way just by being there. So he would rearrange his day by visiting those individuals who held a more minor role in the scope of things but would still further his assignment. Inconvenient, but not impossible.

Making his way down the stairs, it occurred to Hunter that Lucy was still talking, though he couldn't say with any certainty what about. She was just… talking.

A constant stream of sound that seemed to have no relevance, no point, no need, and yet it was still there. Not necessarily unpleasant sounding, but just babbling like a stream and just… there.

Was this a sign of her nerves? Or was she like this once awake and moderately comfortable?

"Right," he said loudly, overriding whatever it was she was saying, or not saying. "You're going to stop talking, or I will find myself obliged to find the nearest hack and send you to Whitehall just to get you away from my ears."

She gasped behind him, her tread on the stairs faltering. "That's not very nice."

"Whatever gives you the impression that I am nice?" he asked over his shoulder. "Now, rules for staying with me today. Number one, don't talk unless I talk to you or tell you to. Number two, stay where I can see you at all times. Number three, don't call me Trick, or call me anything else. Number four…"

"How many rules are there?"

"As many as I deem necessary. Number four…"