Chapter One
London
Summer, 1847
"It's not that you were a pickpocket, Samantha. It's that
you persist in exposing your employers' foibles to your
employers themselves, and they don't care for it." Adorna,
Lady Bucknell, spoke in her soft and husky voice, and
anyone listening would think she placidly accepted
Samantha's most recent dismissal.
Samantha Prendregast didn't make that mistake. She stood
before the desk with her chin up, shoulders back, just as
Adorna had taught her. "No, ma'am."
The study of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses had
been decorated in shades of pale blue, and Adorna's lush
blonde beauty shone like a diamond in a satin setting. "I
warned you about Mr. Wordlaw. I told you he was a martinet
who believes women should be seen and not heard, and you
assured me you would be able to handle him." Samantha
resisted the desire to shift back and forth. "Yes, ma'am."
"Yet in two short months you are back at the Distinguished
Academy of Governesses without a job, without a reference,
and with a guarantee that Mr. Wordlaw's vengefulness will
spread your larcenous reputation among the few of the ton
who don't yet know it." Adorna folded her hands beneath her
chin and fixed her large blue eyes on Samantha. "So what is
your defense this time?"
Samantha thought of what she should say, how she could
pacify Adorna, but she had given up lying at the same time
she had given up stealing. "He bullies his son. The lad
doesn't want to study the law. Little Norman stammers
already, and when his father dragged him up in front of the
entire family and mocked him, my heart ached for him, and I
wanted to" -- she grewwarm as she thought about that day,
or perhaps the heat of a summer day in the City affected
her -- "teach that man a lesson."
"So you told his wife about his mistress and convinced his
mistress to abandon him. How will that benefit young
Norman?"
"Mrs. Wordlaw's father controls the money. She has taken
her son and left Wordlaw, which she should have done years
ago, but she was too proud to admit she'd made a mistake.
Norman's grandfather will make sure Norman gets to follow
his dream." Samantha remembered how science fascinated the
boy. "I think the lad is going to invent something
wonderful."
"And the mistress?"
Samantha grinned. "She's a friend of mine from my street
days. She relished giving the old whoreson the heave-ho for
a chance at young Lord Penwyn."
"How did she get that chance?"
"I arranged it."
Adorna's delicate sigh conveyed resignation. "I'll wager
you did."
"My lady, I'm sorry I lost the position and brought
disgrace upon the Distinguished Academy of Governesses."
Samantha really was sorry, sorrier than she could say. "But
I'm not sorry I helped Norman."
"No, I'm not sorry, either. But there are always more
discreet ways of maneuvering."
Samantha hated that she had disappointed Adorna --
again. "I know. I really, really do. I try to remember what
you tell me, but sometimes I lose my temper, and I don't
get it back for a long time. By then it's too late."
"Sit down." Adorna indicated the blue velvet chair beside
Samantha.
Samantha slid into it gratefully. Adorna had rescued her
from the streets six years before, and for the first three
of those years Samantha had studied Adorna's every word and
move in hopes of emulating her charm and beauty. Now, at
the age of twenty-two, Samantha faced the fact that a tall
blonde Viking with outspoken tendencies could never squeeze
herself into Adorna's dainty, circumspect mold. But the
time spent contemplating Adorna had given Samantha insight
into the shrewd mind her patron hid beneath her breathy
voice and curvaceous body. The worst of the censure was
over. Now she must face the consequences.
And she knew how to face consequences. She'd learned that,
not from Adorna, but from a father who, from the time she
could toddle, taught her to pick a pocket and smile
charmingly all the while.
"Mr. Wordlaw had quite the black eye when he came here to
complain," Adorna said.
Samantha bunched up her skinny fist.
Adorna nodded. "That's what I thought. Did he attack you?"
"He tried. After his wife had moved out." Their tussle had
been brief and sharp, and Samantha's arm ached where he had
wrenched it. She didn't allow herself to show the terror
that struggle had engendered, nor would she admit how often
she came awake, heart pounding, in the grips of a
nightmare. "He really is a despicable little man."
"He's over six foot. Most people would not call him little."
"Not in stature. In character."
"Hm. Yes. Be that as it may, he is a respected judge --"
"Respected?"
"For the moment. Until I can spread gossip to the contrary."
"You are good, my lady." Samantha folded her hands in her
lap and tried to appear demure.
She obviously didn't succeed, for Adorna's voice
sharpened. "Even then, my dear young crusader for justice,
there are those who believe a woman should honor her vows
regardless of how corrupt her husband is."
"Men, mostly."
"Mostly." Adorna tapped her nails on the open letter before
her and stared beyond Samantha. "Part of the problem with
placing you is that you're an attractive young woman."
"Thank you, my lady." Adorna had taught Samantha many
things, among them how to make the most of her best
features. Samantha braided her platinum blonde hair and
wrapped it over her ears, and into a loose knot at the back
of her neck. She used her large brown eyes to flirt and
admire, and never did she allow them to reveal her
intelligence. Her lips were generous -- too generous, in
her opinion, but Adorna had told her men would want to kiss
them. That turned out to be true ...
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