Wedded in Sin Read online

  “Then I shall contact him in due time—”

  “Just a moment! I shall tell you it directly.”

  “But you never stop at just one word,” he drawled as he eyed the midday sky. “And it’ll be dusk before you’re done.”

  Penny raised her eyebrows at that, but Georgette looked positively thunderous.

  “We wouldn’t use so many words if you would but listen to us.”

  Mr. Morrison heaved a mighty sigh. “You make a common mistake, Georgette. Listening is not the same thing as obeying. I do listen. I can hardly help but listen.”

  “And then you forget and go about your merry way without a thought in your head.”

  “Never that, Georgette. Never, ever without a thought in my head.” He sounded downright morose at that. Meanwhile, Penny realized that she ought not to be standing there listening to what was obviously a family squabble. So with a slight nod, she started to step away.

  “I shall leave you to your family,” she began, but Mr. Morrison was quick to grab her elbow.

  “No, no. We have business, you and I. Urgent business, that cannot wait.”

  “Urgent!” the woman scoffed. “As if you have anything urgent in your life! Your brother was just commenting the other day about the company you keep! Tarts and artists.” She sniffed and curled her lip.

  Up until that moment, Penny was inclined to be neutral toward the woman. After all, she understood how men could be exasperating, and so she was prepared to remain silent. But at those words, she stiffened her spine. This woman had no cause to be bringing her into her family spat. But long before she could say anything, Mr. Morrison stepped forward, his face dark and cold as Penny hadn’t seen before. Not even when he was facing the thugs who had stolen her home.

  “You forget yourself, Georgette,” he snapped. “May I present Miss Shoemaker and her brother, Thomas.”

  “Does she write poetry?” the woman sneered.

  “She’s my client, Georgette. Miss Shoemaker, my brother’s shrew of a wife, Baronness Georgette Morrison.”

  Penny smiled politely and nodded. She managed to force herself to say, “Baronness,” in greeting, but that was all. Meanwhile, the woman’s expression slid from disdain, through outrage, to a slow but very clear shock. In fact, her mouth opened and closed twice before she found her voice.

  “Client?” she finally asked.

  “A small legal matter. Miss Shoemaker hired me to help her sort it out.”

  “You’re working? You have a job, Samuel? Sweet heaven, that’s wonderful! Your brother is so pleased!”

  “My brother is nothing of the kind as he does not know. Now if you’ll excuse us—”

  “Wait! Wait!” She huffed out a breath and had the grace to look ashamed. “I am terribly sorry for misjudging you,” she said to Penny. But then she turned to her brother-in-law, and her eyes went cold. “Your brother is most vexed with you.”

  “That is hardly news—”

  “It’s about Maximilian.”

  Mr. Morrison froze and even Penny could see the sudden wariness in his expression. “Yes?” he said slowly.

  “You forgot!”

  “I could hardly forget I have a nephew, Georgette. I—”

  “Idiot! You forgot his birthday!”

  “I most certainly did not! His party is…It’s…” He frowned and looked at Penny. “Oh, bloody hell, what day is it today?”

  “It was yesterday!” his sister-in-law snapped. “Yesterday was the party and yesterday you were not there! Please, God, tell me you were busy obtaining work or abducted by pirates or something meaningful!”

  Both women looked at his face, hoping for a ready excuse, but he had none. The guilt was written plain as day, and all he could do was shake his head. “I was sure it was tomorrow.”

  “Harumph!” snorted his sister-in-law. “I cannot tell you how disappointed Gregory is in you.”

  Mr. Morrison rolled his eyes at his sister, and truly Penny was a half breath away from doing the same thing. It was clear the man felt guilty enough. The woman did not have to heap on more blame. And in the way of families, Mr. Morrison only made it worse.

  “Really, Georgette? Gregory is disappointed? One would think it would be the boy who expressed dismay. Or do you simply tell the boy what to think as you do everyone else?”

  “Max? Max is a boy. He doesn’t say anything but kicks furniture and mopes about! If you have a brain in your head—”

  “Oh, my God!” snapped Penny, her patience completely exhausted. They were on Bond Street, in full view of everyone, and were picking at each other like a pair of magpies. “Mr. Morrison, pray say that you are sorry and that you will bring round a gift immediately. And, Baroness Morrison, please will you simply accept his apology? Scolding at a man never does anything but stop his ears up tighter than a drum.”

  Penny expected to be roundly cursed by both parties. After all, she was the interloper here, but really, they had both lost any semblance of reason. Far from cursing her, however, the lady stared at her in shock. And then a moment later, she rocked back on her heels as her gaze swept the street around them. They hadn’t attracted much attention. Truly, family squabbles happened every day on Bond Street, and this one had progressed in icy cold tones, not screeching yells. But it was embarrassing nonetheless.

  “Of course, you are quite correct, Miss Shoemaker,” the baroness finally said. “You are a clever girl and quite above his usual company. Are you sure you want to employ him?”

  Penny had nothing to say to that, though naturally Mr. Morrison did. “Oh, leave off, Georgette. And I shall do you one better than a promise of a gift. Here, give the boy this.” He passed the woman Penny’s satchel of molds.

  “Hey!” cried both women, but for entirely different reasons. Penny had just risked everything to save the likes from Mr. Cordwain. She did not want them passed to some relation’s son! What the baroness thought of the heavy satchel was written in her very curled lip. But before either woman could say more, Mr. Morrison held up his hand.

  “Please, ladies, give me a moment to explain. Georgette, the bag is not the gift, but the puzzle is. Have Max inventory it and make a list of all the people who might want to kill for it.”

  “Kill!” the woman gasped. “He’s just a boy!”

  “Exactly! He will love it. Not a boy alive who doesn’t love murder and mayhem.”

  Apparently the baroness couldn’t argue that, so that left time for Mr. Morrison to turn to Penny.

  “And, Miss Shoemaker, your things will be quite safe there with Max. He’s a most clever boy, very careful with his things, especially my presents to him.”

  His sister-in-law nodded, oddly in accord on this point. “They are like two peas in a pod, those two. I cannot understand it, but rest assured, my Max will treat this like gold.”

  “But—” began Penny, only to be overrun once again by her daft toff.

  “And what will you say if a certain gentleman claims that they are lost? He will come round looking for them, will he not? And this way you can truthfully say that you have no idea where they are.”

  “But I will know,” she said with a sigh.

  “Do you know where my brother lives? Of course not—”

  His sister-in-law spoke up. “Well, that’s easy enough. Our house is in—”

  “Georgette! Hush! My God, what are you thinking? She cannot know where you live.”

  “But—”

  “Oh, spare me from a woman who cannot think!”

  Baroness Morrison was about to snap back at him, but Penny intervened. “I believe Mr. Morrison is playing a game with the constable. Pray do not argue with him. He believes he is being very clever. But he doesn’t understand that I am not one to lie to the authorities. That will only make my problems worse.”

  Mr. Morrison grimaced at her words, but he didn’t have time to speak before his sister-in-law cried out in horror.

  “Constable? Authorities? My God, Samuel, you cannot involve M
aximilian in such things!”

  “Do not be so dramatic!” he returned, his brow furrowing as he glared down at the cobblestone. “Miss Shoemaker, it matters not what you say to the constable, so long as you don’t have the thing at hand. We need time, don’t you see? Time to prove the fraud. And if Cordwain gets his hands on that bag, you will never see it again. Of that you can be sure.”

  He had a point. She had just risked everything to take it out of the shop. She did need a good hiding place for it. Why not leave it with a young boy who would take great care of it?

  “He will not harm them?”

  “I assure you,” the man continued, “this will be a great treasure to Max. And you would have my deepest gratitude as well. Pray, do not disappoint the child. That would be very cruel.”

  He was charming her, his expression so earnest she couldn’t help smiling. To the side, Baroness Morrison was similarly exasperated and amused. “I never understand half of what he says, Miss Shoemaker. Your word of honor that no harm will befall my boy for taking…whatever it is in this bag?”

  “Oh, good God, Georgette. They’re not dangerous!”

  The two were about to start squabbling, so Penny once again stepped between them. “There’s nothing dangerous about them,” she said gently. “And I would be grateful if your son could keep track of it for me for a bit. Now if you’ll forgive me…” Penny rehoisted her sleeping brother on her shoulder. “Tommy is rather heavy and it has already been a long day.”

  The baroness took the cue and her leave. She carried the satchel awkwardly, but with a firm grip. And a moment later, she was stepping into a hansom cab, presumably on her way home to her son.

  Meanwhile, beside Penny, Mr. Morrison was releasing a sigh of relief. “Good God, but the woman’s exhausting!”

  Penny snorted and began walking again toward the dress shop. “I rather think she says the same about you.”

  “I don’t doubt it!” he said as he fell into step beside her. “Thing is, she’s the perfect woman for my brother. And she gave birth to a wonderful boy, that Max. Smart as can be. But she can’t get it into her head that I’m not part of her circle of management.”

  Penny nodded, unsure how to take that comment. After all, the baroness did indeed seem to be a managing sort of woman. But on the other hand, she suspected that, as men went, Mr. Morrison could do with a little direction. He seemed to be a little—or perhaps a lot—out of step with the rest of the world. She could only be grateful that his current step was alongside hers. Assuming, of course, that he was able to help her. To that end, she turned to him.

  “Do you really think you can expose the solicitor as a fraud?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes. That shall be easy. Proving that he had your parents murdered, now that will be a challenge!”

  Penny stumbled, the bluntness of his words cutting straight to her heart. They had been talking about this, of course, before his sister-in-law appeared. He had asked her about their murder, but her mind had been so preoccupied with losing the shop, with who exactly he was, with everything that had happened this day, that she had not comprehended his thoughts. The solicitor had her parents murdered? But…but…They had been killed by footpads or so the constable had told her. Could all of this be one piece? The idea was monstrous and it was more than she could handle at that moment.

  So she stumbled, jostling Tommy and stubbing her toe at the same time. Samuel caught her quickly. A hand beneath her elbow to steady her. And then when he looked at her face, he released a soft but heartfelt curse.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” he said by way of apology. “My mind, you know, it runs on. But you needn’t worry about any of it. We have a wager, you know, and I shall take care of it all. I swear.”

  “But how,” she whispered. How did one go about finding justice in this world? It simply wasn’t something she’d had any reason to expect.

  He flashed her a smile that was half shrug, half apology. “By being me, of course. I know I’m odd, Miss Shoemaker. But when I set my mind to something, I am rather excellent at it. I shall see things set to rights.”

  “Will you?” she asked, wondering not about his promise but his mouth, of all things. His lips were nicely formed and his teeth marvelously straight. In his whole face, his mouth was most appealing, though his eyes took a very close second. They were warm and honest as they looked at her. And she had the strangest desire to do more than look at him. He sensed it, too, for she saw his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. She was used to noticing when men found something attractive. It was usually the sign for her to disappear. But for the first time in years, she didn’t want to run. She wanted to learn more. And she wanted to touch and be touched in return.

  But that was a ridiculous thing to do with this odd gent. He wasn’t even all that physically attractive, though he did make her smile. He was too gangly, his clothing too shabby, and his hair really did need a comb. And most important, she needed him to help her, not be distracted into other thoughts.

  And yet, his mouth was right there and he was looking at her with a surprised kind of interest. As if he, too, had no intention of being attracted to her, and yet found himself suddenly interested.

  Then, thank heaven, they were saved. Tommy woke up and began to cry. The mood was broken and she had to readjust her hold on the child to comfort him. That meant that Mr. Morrison let go of her elbow and took a step back.

  All over. No more unwanted attraction. Everything sorted itself back to where it ought to be. Or so she told herself.

  Except that when she looked over Tommy’s shoulder at Mr. Morrison, she saw that indeed everything had changed. He was looking at her with alarm that he quickly tried to cover by staring blandly at a storefront window. Tommy had settled again, having found his thumb to soothe himself. While Penny was holding her breath, wondering if things were about to become very awkward indeed, Mr. Morrison changed. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. Then he slowly, carefully turned back to look at her. And she saw as clear as day that he wanted her as a man wants a woman.

  Penny licked her suddenly dry lips, and then roundly cursed herself for doing so. His gaze riveted on her mouth.

  “Mr. Morrison,” she began, wondering all the while what she intended to say.

  “Never fear, Miss Shoemaker,” he returned, “I shall sort things out to end up just how they ought to be.”

  She raised her eyebrows at his arrogance. He truly believed he was that powerful. And yet, everything she’d seen of him so far proved him to be an extraordinary gentleman. “But what if I think your arrangement is completely wrong?”

  “Well, then,” he said with a wink, “I expect we will have a jolly good row. But eventually you’ll come around. Everyone always does.”

  She snorted. Really it was hard not to laugh at such vanity. “Do you know, Mr. Morrison, I believe you are every bit as managing as your sister-in-law, but in your own way.”

  He reared back. “Now you are being needlessly insulting.”

  “No, sir, I don’t believe I am. But as our wager has you working toward my ends, I think I’ll let you have your head, so to speak. Go on,” she said, waving airily at him. “Manage my home back.” Then she began to walk away, her back prickling the whole time with an awareness of him watching her.

  He didn’t stay behind her for long. His longer steps easily caught up to her. But what made things all the more disconcerting was that he never said a word. He just matched pace with her. And when she glanced his way, she found him watching her with a rather intense expression. The kind of expression that made her breath catch as shivers slipped down her spine. It was part awareness, part terror, and wholly disconcerting. And it didn’t help in the least that he seemed as unsettled as she was.

  Good God, the woman was whip smart! Samuel could barely keep his pace steady as he thought on that remarkable fact. Miss Shoemaker was perhaps one of the top twenty females of his acquaintance for intelligence. It wasn’t her education, of course. Like most f
emales, she was sorely lacking in that area. As the daughter of a successful merchant, she probably had the equivalent training of a vicar’s daughter or a forward-thinking cit. That was deplorable, given her natural talents, but the way of things for a female. He did not fault her for it. Far from it, actually, because it made her abilities all the more impressive.

  He tallied up her accomplishments in his head. First, as a woman alone with a child, she had still managed to find a way to ply her trade—shoemaking—without anyone realizing their foot ware was being made by a woman. Second, when armed thugs appeared at her door, she had not lost her head to hysterics, but had grabbed the most valuable thing she owned—the foot molds—and staged a drama such that she could escape with her booty intact.

  Third—and this was most significant in his mind—she had quite accurately read his character regarding his sister-in-law. He roundly hated Georgette for the exact reason that Miss Shoemaker stated: his sister-in-law was immune to his usual mixture of flimflam and cool logic. Georgette’s stubbornness stemmed from a marked arrogance. She simply could not understand that her way was not always the best. Miss Shoemaker, on the other hand, accurately saw right through his charm and his logic, then coolly manipulated things to her liking.

  He was both horrified and horribly impressed. And that led to a situation. Whenever he was horribly impressed, two completely separate things happened. The first was that his mind rapidly went about searching for a way for him to become less impressed. Like a boy searching for the magician’s trick, he scrambled for some way to explain away the magical and replace it with something terribly mundane.

  And the second, at least where females were concern, was that he became completely and totally infatuated. Rock-hard infatuation complete with heart palpitations and myriad schemes intent on bedding the woman.

  He would succeed. He always did, but it never lasted. Eventually his mind would find a way to dismiss the woman’s brilliance. No person—male or female—could withstand critical scrutiny for long. In time, flaws would appear, and his mind would gleefully seize upon them, holding them up like dirty laundry. The infatuation would fade, and he would once again return to his normal world filled with trivialities and soul-eating boredom.