11. So Naïve

SO NA?VE

L eopold placed his fork down on the table. Normally he would eat a good deal more, but her questions had effectively killed his appetite.

He didn't intentionally hide his past; it had made him who he was. But he never discussed it. It was over and done with, meant to be left behind like an old pair of shoes.

Although he would rather not have this discussion, his gut told him this might be a good chance to earn her trust. If he shared something of himself, she might return the favor.

Otherwise, he'd have spared her these answers.

Spare himself the memories.

She tilted her head, looking confused. "But the workhouses—they help people. Why would you say that?" She might not be as transparent as he'd initially believed she would be but, dear God in heaven, this woman was na?ve.

She'd obviously been shielded from the ugliness of poverty, among other things. Perhaps it was time she learn a few hard truths.

"Only ones that benefit are the owners and the monarchy," he supplied gruffly. "Government pays to run the godforsaken places, and they get credit for supposedly addressing the problem. Meanwhile, the companies pocket the subsidies, stacking people on top of one another and squeezing as much out of them as they can. Poor sods go in out of desperation and end up living like slaves."

He'd lost friends in those hellholes. If they didn't die of rampant disease, they died of starvation.

Lady Amelia seemed to ponder that for a moment, looking troubled. "So what did you do?" she asked eventually. "On the docks?"

Leopold studied her eyes before answering.

He turned to stare out the window; the lanterns in the garden flickered, casting dancing shadows where a few of the workers lounged against the stable. But he didn't see them. Instead, he cast his gaze into the distant past. England had been at war with the French, and he'd lived on the streets for two years, barely surviving the winters. At the age of twelve, he'd been too young for the army to take him. But, with nothing to lose, had made his way across the channel as a stowaway.

He'd been as desperate as his friends when they entered the workhouse. But he'd been smarter.

And unscrupulous.

"I made do," he answered, his mouth turning dry as visions from the aftermath of Waterloo crowded into his mind's eye.

"You don't want to talk about it," she said.

Leopold could not help the bitter sneer that pulled at the corners of his mouth. He didn't want her pity—or anyone else's, for that matter. His experiences growing up would be unimaginable to someone with her upbringing.

"No." In the end, he'd triumphed. He'd pulled himself up, and brought a few others with him. Fitz being one of them.

"Very well, then." She accepted his answer looking almost angelic as she raised her fork to her mouth. Her expression was perfectly balanced between a smile and a sigh, and she managed to convey a sense of peace without even trying.

The food on the tines was the last piece of sea bass, and as he watched her take that delicate morsel, raw desire tugged deep in his gut. Beneath the table, her knees bracketed his. The connection was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

Time stood still, and nothing outside that room mattered—not the past, not the future.

Using the corner of her napkin, she dabbed at her mouth, and then met his gaze from beneath those thick golden lashes. A lightning bolt of lust coursed through his veins.

Bloody hell, he wanted her. In his bed. Beneath him. Or on top. It didn't really matter.

Extremely inconvenient, actually.

Having his way with Lady Amelia was definitely not part of his mission.

Leopold jerked his legs back and although she looked up questioningly, she didn't comment.

The chasm between this woman and himself couldn't be any wider. He was darkness, she was light. No matter he'd aligned himself with a few titled fellows with righteous intentions, his soul was tainted beyond repair.

If Leopold dared to act on this…Winterhope would challenge him to a duel. Which would be a conundrum in and of itself because duels were acts of honor, and Leopold didn't play by those rules.

Leopold would have to kill him. Which would, therefore, cause even more of a mess.

All the while Lady Amelia sat quietly eating her meal, like a fresh little flower growing in the middle of a highway.

"I have never, ever, eaten this much at one sitting," she said, despite more than half the food on her plate being untouched. Then she laughed, a delicate sound which reminded him of charming little silver bells.

"Have your fill," Leopold said, his voice gruffer than usual.

Leopold poured more wine for himself.

She was just pushing her food around on her plate now, her thoughts obviously elsewhere as she weighed her next words. "I shouldn't say," she murmured, shaking her head with just the slightest of movements. "It's not proper conversation. But seeing as you mentioned it already…"

Leopold exhaled loudly. She must, by now, know his thoughts regarding propriety.

She glanced around the room as though someone would be listening for her to speak out of turn. And then, leaning forward, she whispered, "I have more room."

"More room? In your chamber?"

"Going without stays—without the corset. I have more room." Her cheeks glowed pink in the warm glow. "For the food."

Both Leopold's brows shot up. "Ah…"

"A corset is meant to make a person smaller, in the literal sense. But going without them… I feel… incredible. I can bend properly. I feel more comfortable sitting. I can…" She grimaced. "I can breathe, despite having eaten so much food."

Well…

Thank the stars.

Perhaps he wasn't saving her from Crossings so much as he was saving her from everyone else.