A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) (5 page)

“That would be lovely,” she said, forcing a smile despite Sarah’s critical stare.

“Very well. Put on the dress and I’ll meet you downstairs.” The way she spoke, the way her words dropped into the space between them like soldiers marching into battle, hinted to Minnie that her story wasn’t wholly believed.

Except that was the truth. Minnie was in no trouble except for the trouble she had caused. Her escape was merely a chance to start anew on her own. The life of an independent woman. Except she wasn’t entirely independent, either. Her supposed husband lay in bed when she returned to change, vomit pooling around him and the floor. The first nudge of doubt started to creep in as she washed up the mess. She wouldn’t allow this to be a mistake. There was too much life to live for the biggest adventure of all to be considered a regret.

*

“Alex?” The room was dark, save for the dim light that glowed around her undergarments covering the windows. “I have something that will help.”

Rustling bed linens was the only response. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to find her, too frightened to touch him herself. Why, when he caught her in the alley, the world upside down, she’d nearly lost her ambitions to those eyes of his. The Irish accent didn’t help matters either.

He inched closer.

“How are you feeling?”

Alex grabbed the vile of laudanum from her hand and held it to his nose. “What happened to your dress?”

“I sold it.”

He sat up enough to take a swallow. “I’m taking you back tomorrow.”

“I could make your life hell right now,” she warned. It was a foolish notion that perhaps with his aid she could survive longer. She didn’t need anyone to make her dream come true. She would just set out tomorrow for Leicester Square, alone. Now that she had helped him, they were even.

“You won’t.”

Minnie rose from the bed’s edge and paced in front of the windows, her hand hovering over the fine petticoats just to spite him. But he was right. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the heel of crusty bread, and placed it on the table. It sounded like a brick, which was fitting since the bite she had taken tasted about the same.

“No,” she answered, “but I wouldn’t try testing that point.”

He was already asleep, none the wiser to offer up protest.

*

Minnie shivered, unable to throw off the cold that had settled in her bones after a night sleeping on the floor. Alex hadn’t woken. She knew because she spent most of the night awake, prepared to help if necessary. She wasn’t entirely heartless to the annoying man’s suffering.

She peeked over her shoulder, deftly dressing behind the curtain in the room’s corner. Everything was still silent, thankfully. She slipped out and tip-toed across the floor, grabbing the folded undergarments she had removed from the windows, then packed into her blue valise.

Alex lay still in bed, his arm tossed above his head. The sheets were scattered across his waist, his shirt tugged up to reveal a sliver of his stomach. With his hair tussled and sleep softening his features, she almost felt bad about leaving this way. He had shown her kindness. That wasn’t something many thought she was deserving of.

Still, remaining here wasn’t going to lead her to what she wanted. Minnie might sleep in a whorehouse, but she’d never work in one. And as for the stages here in Whitechapel, those wouldn’t give her the recognition she desired. She didn’t simply wish to be on stage, she wanted to fall in love with it. She wanted to be wowed and wooed. She wanted that lie her uncle had told her as a little girl—that her mother had been a beautiful Russian ballerina.

All she remembered of her mother was a soft laugh, something like touching velvet after a cold day outside. She remembered the double string of pearls at her mother’s neck, interlaced with rubies. It had been a gift from Minnie’s father. She remembered little else. Only that in India she had felt love, even if it had been a grand illusion. Once she was in England, the world tipped, and with it, Minnie never found her place again. It didn’t help that she’d forgotten her mother’s face now. She couldn’t remember the last time she had remembered it fully. Maybe seven years ago? Eight?

Her hand rested at the foot of the bed as she studied Alex and all of his silent secrets. She found herself drawn to his lips; how for such a thin mouth, those lips held such power when spread in a smile. She found herself wishing to witness that miracle one last time just then. A fitting sendoff from the charming Irish pickpocket who came to her rescue.

Minnie slowly brought the covers up to Alex’s chest, gazing down at him, trying to puzzle him together. But it didn’t matter now. She shook her head, knocking away the curiosity clouding her mind, then stepped away.

“You’re leaving?” His voice was gravelly.

Minnie paused with her hand on the doorknob, counting the little bit of money she had left. She slipped enough to pay for the room onto the small table by the bed, then a bit extra for him, nearly emptying her reticule. “Yes. Keep sleeping.”

Alex didn’t move, nor did he say anything further.

“Go back to sleep. You need rest.” Minnie stepped outside, leaning against the closed door. Goodbyes were never easy. She preferred not to make them at all. It was easier to step away when you didn’t tether yourself to such a heavy word.

*

Alex smelled roses. And he thought he heard the sea, but then he was sure he was dreaming because that was a phantom of his past. The roses, though….

He sat up and stretched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense and tender from the day before. Light poured in from the grimy window, flooding the room with another day. It was always the same when he suffered what the orderlies had referred to as attacks. They claimed he was touched, that he was a danger to himself. What they never realized was that after the pain and thrashing about, the emptiness settled in. It nipped at him until he was numb and void of hope. It consumed him until he felt as though he were back in the basement again, locked away and left to die.

Some days, he wished he would.

He sank back down into bed, rolling over the lumpy mattress. The bed frame below creaked and groaned. He reached behind and shoved the pillow over his face, sighing in frustration. He had come to London for a reason; to discover his true name, to find a purpose. He wasn’t going to accomplish anything if he stayed in bed and let the world run over him. He’d fought too hard to allow that to happen. But his mind was often stronger than his will.

His muscles relaxed and he rolled over, laying his head on his pillow and shutting his eyes. Still in half a fog from the laudanum, it was far easier to let drowsiness sweep over him. Except, he had smelled roses…

Alex sprang up from bed, first noticing the money on the table, then Anne’s missing belongings. She hadn’t simply left, she’d left
him
.

He grabbed what little he had, dressed, then grabbed the money on the table, stuffing it in his pocket. He strolled through the whorehouse as if he hadn’t just left for good, then popped out onto the street. If she was wearing that ridiculous hat of hers, she’d be easy to spot. Then again, even in the short time they knew each other, he realized Anne was anything but easy.

Finding her just then was, however. Her voice rose over his shoulder, swallowed by the passing crowd as she argued with another.

“What are you doing, darling?” he asked, strolling up to interrupt the barefooted street sweep from sticking a hand in her face.

“He refuses to leave me alone. I only asked a question.” Anne pulled her shoulders back, hefting the valise to her side. “But I’m fine. No need to help, Alex.”

“She’s robbin’ me, mister.” The little boy leaned on his broom, waving his free hand at them both. “I ’elped. I want me money.”

Alex looked between Anne and the child. Anne simply shrugged. He dug into his pocket and fished out some coin. “Take this and piss off then.”

Anne set off before he could get a word, but then stopped, gawking up at the sky. Others bumped and crashed into her. She gave them all a glare, then returned to searching the sky for some unknown sign.

“For the love of all that’s holy,” Alex said, coming to stand next to her. “What are you doing? You’re in everyone’s way.”

“Rather, they’re in mine.”

And that, that was the true sign of Anne being a proper lady. She could try to play at this game of pauper, but fine things and manners were bred into her. There was no escaping that.

“You left.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, not fully. His eyes settled at the collar of her serviceable dress. The fabric must be coarse. It left a red mark against the side of her throat, just below the healing slice from the knife blade. Alex wished he knew where she sold her finer dress. That was more fitting for her than the rags she wore now.

Anne turned, grimacing as another pushed past her roughly. “Hmm?”

“You. Left.”

Her gorgeous hazel eyes met his for a moment before a blush pinked the apples of her cheeks. “Well, yes. I wasn’t about to end my adventure there. And I must be going now, really. Goodbye, Alex.”

Alex stood, his voice lost as she walked away once again. It was damned confusing why he felt he needed to follow. He had meant to nick her purse and be on his way. Instead, he spent two nights with her. He had spent the little he had on securing a room for them both. He was the world’s worst thief, apparently.

Anne stopped at the end of the street, pausing at the busy intersection. Once again her eyes were trained to the sky.

Alex chuckled to himself as he casually strolled up to her, leaning close to her ear. “You’re lost.”

“Am not!” She whirled around to face him, pointing a gloved finger in his face. “I know where I’m going.” Anne bit her lip, gazing over his shoulder. “And I want to head north. So good afternoon. Good luck. And stop following me, Alex.”

She hurried off, heading east. He waited for her to catch her mistake, then laughed again when he realized she truly believed she was heading north. She’d end up in France if she wasn’t careful. Alex marched up and grabbed her bag, spinning her in the right direction. “I’ll take you to where you’re heading, then we’ll part ways. If I left you now, you’d wind up in the North Sea.”

She huffed, following behind his large stride. The streets were crowded, too crowded for Alex. He wished to be in bed. No, he wished to be in a dark room, on a bare floor, left alone. Out in the rare London sun, the world felt entirely too big.

If he had the money, he’d hail a hackney or they’d hop on the omnibus. At least that way he could be sure she couldn’t land them in any more trouble. “Where are we going?”

“If you could slow down.” Anne came up beside him, elbowing him in the side. “I’m heading to Leicester Square. To the Alhambra, to be more precise.” She unfolded a map and handed it to him. “This should do the trick.”

Alex shrugged it off, made uncomfortable by the twisting lines of the London streets labeled with words he couldn’t read. “I’ll leave that to you. Just out point where we’re going. At least I have a better sense of direction.”

It was a long walk, longer than he expected. They passed the time in general silence, which was best. He didn’t have anything else to say to Anne. To know more would just invite her closer to him, and Alex hadn’t come to London to become friends with anyone. He came to discover who he truly was. He wished, above all, to know his true name.