Chapter One

1820

Strolling through Vauxhall Garden Brett MacLachlan concentrated on the little brown and white dog with the curly tail that terrorized the visitors of the gardens. No one was immune to his quick feet and even faster nose. In less than a second the dog was able to pick a handkerchief or a small purse from its intended victim’s pocket before darting away to safety.

The quick-footed animal snatched something from a young man then scurried into a secluded corner of the park before the victim realized what had been done. Brett laughed at the animal’s antics. He’d been watching now for the better part of ten minutes and was sure he knew precisely where the animal disappeared.

The slight pressure to his hip caught his attention. “Bloody Hell! Scoundrel. Demon dog.” He sprinted after the animal, having a good idea the direction the dog would take. Dodging through the people, the dog made substantial speed. The small animal was agile and quick on his feet. Brett swore again then watched the mongrel duck down an untraveled and unlighted path.

His frustration kept him from rational thought as he followed the dog into the shifting light of the darkened footpath. A slight scuffling noise to his right brought him to an abrupt halt as he reached for the knife he kept in his boot.

Poising on the balls of his feet, he waited; patience in battle, a strong suit. Silence seemed to encompass him, shadows painting an eerie picture in the waning light. All his senses tuned into the tiny area he knew was inhabited by the dog and the boy. What exactly he would do when he trapped them, he wasn’t at all sure.

He ran after the unlikely pair because he wanted his purse back, but now he craved something more, an answer to his curiosity perhaps. At the moment he wasn’t sure what that was, but he meant to figure it out once he had the young man by the scruff of his tiny neck.

A small noise in the bushes sent his body on edge, muscles tense, all instincts honed, but it seemed to be nothing more than lovers looking for some privacy in the darkness. A male groan then a slight mew told him he was right to refocus the direction of his task.

Slowly moving forward, he meticulously studied the dancing shadows and listened for any sound. Breathing was hard to conceal. One had to take in air and let it out, after all. He supposed the boy could hold his breath, but the dog wouldn’t. The couple most likely had experience in hiding and adapted to task. Indeed, to succeed in this game they played and not end up in Newgate prison, he had to win the game and never lose.

“Show yourself and it will go better for you. If you give me back my purse, I’ll give you a reward.” The command, he knew, would not be obeyed. In this case the boy stayed alive by outsmarting the opponent, and showing himself would not work to his advantage. He had to try though and perhaps his words would give him some advantage. Didn’t know what that might be yet, but he was willing to try.

The slight breeze shifted the air before the wind stilled. Sultry and hot, it seemed stagnant this deep into the forested area, as did the shadows. Attuned to every movement, he froze, ready for whatever the boy would try. If he were the cornered prey, a mad dash might seem the best course, but from experience he knew sitting still would serve the lad well. If he tried to scurry away, he knew he could catch him.

No way in hell, though, would he abandon this quest. Since the boy single handedly put a damper on the evening with his mistress he had planned, the lesson he intended teaching changed dramatically.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, hoping his words were believable. Once more he watched for the wild rush to freedom he assumed would eventually materialize. “Come out and we’ll talk.”

Then…the dog dashed in one direction and the lad in the opposite. He wasn’t swayed in his purpose. The animal could go anywhere it pleased. Two strides put him next to the boy. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The lad turned, swinging at him and kicking, connecting more times than Brett wanted to count.

“Oy, governor, le’ me go! Bloody eyes but yer hurtin’ me.” For a second the lad broke free.

“No, don’t think I mean to let you go anytime soon. You stole my purse. I could hand you over to the magistrate if it pleased me, but fortunate for you it doesn’t.”

Brett grabbed him by the neck before he could get away, gripping him tightly. “Whether you’re agreeable to my plan or not, it’s your lucky day. I found you and I do believe I’m going to enjoy taking you off the streets.”

“Not lucky in my mind.” The lad squirmed, trying to escape his hold.

“I’m going to give you a chance to improve your lot in life. I’m sure you’ll find my home more amenable than what you can find in St. Giles.” Brett felt a bit smug at his thought, but he didn’t know why he had this sudden feeling of charity. Improving this lad’s life would not be an easy feat, especially if the lad fought him every step of the way.

“Like it just the way it is,” the lad bit out, taking another swing at his benefactor and connecting.

Brett let out a slight grunt. “Perhaps boxing lessons should be one of your first lessons. That was pretty weak even for a boy of your age. Would think you had a bit more muscle to put into that punch.”

“Don’t want no boxin’ lessons.” But he stopped as Brett’s fingers tightened around the lad’s neck as did the grip on the boy’s arm.

“You have a name, lad?” Brett asked, wondering if the boy would give him any information.

“None that I’d tell you.”

“That’s what I thought.” By now they had reached one of the better lit and traveled pathways in the park. “I’d like to call you something besides boy or lad.

For some reason the lad stopped fighting him, yet Brett didn’t let up, tightening his hold and waiting for an attack from some unknown angle, perhaps the dog. No one appeared to defend the boy or help him from this predicament.

Keeping a watchful eye, Brett looked to other attackers, a friend of the boy, someone who might care what happened to him. For all anyone knew, he was on his way to find a constable.

No one came to the lad’s defense.

Brett hailed a cab, keeping his grip tight on the boy’s neck and looking over his shoulder for the dog to materialize.

Nothing.

“Get inside,” he directed the boy, staying close but obviously having to loosen his hold and expecting the lad to duck out the other side. Instead, the boy sat on the middle of the seat, his hands between his legs and his head down, appearing contrite and amenable, something Brett didn’t think the boy was capable of pulling off.

“What you plannin’ on doin’ with me?” he asked without looking up, his defiance seeming to vanish.

“Not too sure at this moment. Depends on how you decide to act.” Rubbing his chin, Brett wondered at the lad’s sudden inquiry. He could have asked any number of questions. He had ideas, but that’s all they were—ideas.

“Don’t want to go to Newgate.” The boy looked at him, his deep blue eyes shimmering with what Brett could only define as fear.

Brett leaned forward, his arms resting on his legs as he studied the boy. “Don’t plan on sending you there. But if you give me any problems…” He didn’t want to delude the boy. If he had to, he’d call in the law.

“Not going to give you any problems, governor, but I can’t vouch for Jocko and his crew. They’ll come lookin’ for me and they’re mean devils.”

“Who’s Jocko?” This was something new to consider. Jocko was probably his handler, the man who received all the stolen bounty. Bounty he’d forgotten about in his quest to catch this thief. The purse was inconsequential, having only a few coins in it. He never carried anything of value when he visited Vauxhall.

“None of your business. What you don’t know won’t hurt you more.” He squirmed in his seat, looking uncomfortable.

“Perhaps I need to know in order to keep you safe from this man. You say he’s going to come after you. Why?” Brett asked, studying the lad whose features seemed too delicate for a boy. And yet… If this boy were unimportant, no one would look for him.

The incessant barking behind and around the carriage brought him to the most immediate present. “What the devil, is that your dog?”

“He won’t stop until you let him inside. Rogue, for some reason, wants to protect me. He’s loyal to me.”

“Rogue, you say. Is that his name?” Brett asked, trying for as much information as possible. He didn’t want to take a dog into his home along with this unpredictable lad, yet he saw no other way.

He tapped on the roof and the carriage rolled to a stop. When he opened the door, the dog leapt inside and with a growl before he settled beside the boy. His obvious protective nature gave Brett a reason to smile.

Brett sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting to reach home and not feeling as if anything could be gained from further conversation. Every instinct he possessed told him there was something wrong with this scenario, but he couldn’t figure anything out. He didn’t dare close his eyes and try to think.

The townhouse he just purchased was his destination, and he decided the first order of business when they arrived would be a bath for both boy and dog. Maybe it would take two dunks in the tub for the lad to really be clean. He didn’t dare tell the boy. It might cause him to bolt, and Brett didn’t have any desire to chase him again.

“You takin’ my dog too?” the boy asked belligerently, hands on his hips.

“If that’s what you want,” Brett said, hoping to learn more about the boy who now didn’t seem to want to leave. “You know you have to give over the handkerchiefs and the purses you and Rouge stole. They will go back to their rightful owners if the constables can locate them.”

The boy shrugged and his shoulders pressed against the fabric of his shirt seemed too slender for a boy his age. Perhaps he’d not been fed or perhaps this was part of what didn’t quite seem right.

“Doesn’t make no difference to me. I would’ve had to give everything to Jocko anyway. He only lets me keep a coin or two.”

Curious about this man, “What does this Jocko give to you in exchange for all the risks you take,” he paused, “besides a coin or two? There must be more for you to keep going back to him.”

“Protection,” he said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “And food. Gives me clothes, too, when these wear out.” He plucked at his shirt. “He’s training me for when I’m older, too old to pick pockets.”

“So,” he paused in thought, “you take all the chances and he gives you food, none of the money these things merit. Not even half? What is it he’s training you for?”

“Not my place to question what he does and doesn’t do. He gives me a safe place to sleep and something to eat. Don’t have to look over my shoulder just to stay alive. Know I’m not going to be attacked in the middle of the night.”

“I suppose some place to sleep at night is important as well as food.” Brett rubbed his chin thoughtfully, understanding there was a lot more to this story, and he was going to discover every intricate nuance.

“Then there’s the scarred man, even Jocko’s afraid of him. He says I’ve got to be careful of that man and try not to do anything to get on his bad side. Says he knows something about me that could hurt me. He also said if I discovered the truth, he’d kill me. Seems he’s keeping me alive only because I’m ignorant.”

“The scarred man…why are you telling me all of this when you won’t even tell me your name?” This tale grew more interesting with every passing sentence.

“You haven’t asked me my name since I’ve not been scared of you anymore. When you stopped to get my dog, I knew you were nice, and I didn’t have any reason to think you’d do something bad.”

“What’s your name then?” He smiled, wondering if he would continue to give him information.

“Piper. What’s yours?” he shot back to him.

“Brett MacLachlan. Do you have a last name?”

“Not that I know of, but Jocko knows, at least I think he does. He once told me that I’d never know what it is because the scarred man would make sure I didn’t. If I asked too many questions about my name, I wouldn’t live to see another day.

Hearing those words, a shiver shot down Brett’s spine. This lad’s truths caught every instinct he possessed and stretched them thin. For some reason, he wanted to solve the growing mystery surrounding Piper.

“We’re here,” Brett said, wondering how difficult it would be to get this boy into a bath. Confined in the tight quarters of the carriage, his stench was overwhelming.

“This yer home? It’s quite the thing. Never been inside one of these.” He peered out the window, nose poking outside as if he tried to see everything. “Only been in little houses, ones with a room or two.

“Yes, and now it’s yours.” He tried to figure out what he was going to do with the boy. Supposed he could be a stable hand if he wasn’t afraid of horses.

“Why aren’t we goin’ in the front door?” the boy asked, watching him with wide eyes. “Isn’t that what civilized folks do?”

“Well…” Brett didn’t know how to answer his questions without giving his intentions away.

“Get on with it. Bloody eyes, just tell me the truth. Not used to hearin’ lies except from my enemies and I’m hoping you’re not my enemy.”

Brett wanted to get him in the house before he confronted the lad, Piper, with a bath, figuring the boy might not even know what a bath was. Then there was the dubious thought the lad would work for him and in what capacity exactly.

They stepped inside, Rogue following. “Mrs. Pickery, this is Piper. He’s going to work here, and he needs a bath, the dog too.”

Rogue settled down in a corner, his head resting on his paws, seeming to watch the scene enfolding.

“Oy, governor. Don’t want or need no bath. What you tryin’ to do? Torture me?” Piper asked slowly, moving backward, arms stretched out in front of him as if he could stop Brett.

“No torture intended. Have you ever had a bath?” Brett asked and while they spoke, he watched Mrs. Pickery begin to heat the water. “There’s a large tub in the scullery, Mrs. Pickery. We’ll use that one.”

“Not that I can remember. Never had a bath. Not goin’ to take one now.”

“Then you’ve years of dirt to wash off.” Brett grinned, watching the delightful and at times horrific play of emotions sweeping across the lad’s face.

Piper stood in one corner, pale faced, while he watched the tub as it was brought into the kitchen then the hot water dumped into the large vat. Brett didn’t understand the sudden terror in the boy’s eyes. Piper seemed resolved to what was going on here, even pleased that he would no longer live on the streets, until the bathtub appeared.

“Don’t want to wash any dirt off,” he mumbled then pushed against the wall as if he wanted to become one with it. “Like me just the way I am. I do.”

“You won’t know how great a tub of hot water feels until you try it. I’ll stay in here with you and Mrs. Pickery will find something to do in another part of the house. You don’t need to be shy.”

His eyes grew wide and his gaze focused on the door as if he longed to dash through it.

Mrs. Pickery nodded, slipping from the scullery. “I’ll leave the two of you and I’ll put out the word that we need some britches and shirts. Those clothes can’t be salvaged.”

“There it is. Take your clothes off and get into the tub.” Brett watched as Piper started shaking, his face pale as a ghost, his eyes wide.

“If you leave,” Piper asked the impossible, yet seeming adamant in his request. “Not taking my clothes off with you in the same room. Can’t do that, no siree. Jocko told me never to do anything like that. He’d have my hide if he ever found out as well as the man who saw me.”

“You’d rather have Mrs. Pickery stay in here with you?” Brett tossed that out as an afterthought, but when Piper nodded, his misgivings escalated. “Bloody hell, what the devil are you thinking?” He stepped forward, believing he needed to shake a bit of sense into the lad.

When the boy darted across the room, picking up a butcher knife and waving it in front of him, Brett backed up a step. This wasn’t something he expected.

“Bloody eyes, governor, don’t test me or I’ll skewer you through. Don’t you ever doubt my intentions. I’ll use this sticker. I will.” He backed away, the weapon held in front of him, his hands shaking.

“Put it down, Piper. You don’t want to hurt anyone.” He searched his mind for the reasons behind this bazaar behavior. “Just hand it over to me and if it’s Mrs. Pickery you want, then I’ll get her. Problem is, it might make her very uncomfortable to see a young man naked. Do you want to make her uncomfortable?”

“No…” Piper’s voice wavered. “No, no I don’t but…”

For a moment and another time, he looked to the door as if he meant to run. Brett lunged, grabbing his wrist. The knife fell to the floor before he kicked it aside. “I’m not playing anymore games with you. The bath is getting cold while we waste time with this nonsense.” He ripped the shirt. “Mrs. Pickery is looking for new clothing as we speak.”

The boy seemed to freeze, his arms wrapped around himself. “Now that you got your way.” His voice weakened, sounded as if he suddenly gave up. His narrow delicate shoulders were shaking so hard, his breath seemed to catch in his throat before turning to sobbing gasps.

With the shirt off, without stopping to reflect, Brett reached for the knife and slit the bindings that were wrapped around his chest from top to bottom. Frustrated and irritated with the boy, he didn’t stop to think about the bindings and what they might mean. “Britches off now.” He understood the force of his voice and wished he wasn’t letting his annoyance get the best of him.

With his back turned to him, the boy stepped from his pants.

The air Brett was holding in his lungs rushed out painfully. It seemed he finally saw the entire picture.

Brett suddenly realized the bindings around the boy’s chest and the baggy pants were hiding a girl. Her slender waist and wide hips without the fabric covering her curves was obvious. “Mrs. Pickery.”

“Mrs. Pickery!”

Good God, but he couldn’t take his gaze from her perfectly formed figure. Her tight butt was nothing like the women he bedded, his mistresses. In a flash, his body hardened with a desire he couldn’t control. “Mrs. Pickery!”

“Yes, sir.” His cook poked her head in the door. “What is it?”

“He’s a she.”

“What did you say?”

“Get her in the bath. If you need anything, ring for me and I’ll be here even though she’s naked. Don’t let her leave.” Well, that was stupid. He really didn’t think she’d run out the back door stark naked.

His gut rolled. He’d never forcefully disrobed a girl, ripped her shirt. He rubbed his face then roughed his hands through his hair. Trying to make excuses, and attempting to convince himself, he truly believed Piper was a boy. He inhaled a long deep breath, wishing he could take the last few minutes back and do them over.

“It’s alright, sir. You didn’t know. None of us knew. I’ll take care of her now.” Mrs. Pickery touched him on the back. “Don’t you worry about her.”

“That’s just it. I should have known. Every instinct I possess was telling me there was something wrong, but I didn’t listen to my gut.” He berated himself then before he strode through the kitchen door. “Don’t give Mrs. Pickery any grief. You’ll rue the day you were born if you do.”

“I’ve already done that too many times to count,” she told him, looking over her shoulder, her breasts visible to him.

His hands fisted tight, he strode through the house and out the front door. For a few seconds he thought to get his horse. A good ride might ease the tension radiating across his shoulders and throughout the rest of his damn body. The site of her naked evoked a powerful sensation through him.

He stopped himself when he rounded the corner of the house and saw the back door, the entrance to the scullery, reminding him of the girl soaking in his tub. A young lady who’d had one hell of a life. He decided to find out more about her.

Swiveling on a heel, he walked back to the house, entering through the front door. Brandy seemed to call his name. At the sideboard, he poured a full glass and thought to sit down and wait for the outcome of the bath. He didn’t hear anything emanating from that direction and decided that was a good thing.

“Ah.” He swirled the amber liquid in the crystal, mesmerized by the changing colors or thoughts of Piper, he wasn’t too sure. What was he going to do with the lass? And what about Jocko and the scarred man? If anything, she said held a hint of truth, her life might be in danger now that she was out of their fold.

The alcohol burned an enjoyable path down his throat. She would need clothing, everything a woman likes as well as a position in the house.

The downstairs maid perhaps.

He didn’t need one but she would have to have some means of employment. The last thing he wanted or needed was gossip surrounding him. She would have to live in his home. There were small servant quarters on the third floor.

Perhaps Mrs. Pickery could help with the clothing. She did have a daughter who he thought was about Piper’s age. That was another thing. How old was Piper? Dressed as a boy he guessed her to be about thirteen. Now as a girl, he paused in thought. She could be any age. However, he supposed her handler would hand her over to a pimp as soon as possible.

That didn’t make sense. Fourteen-year-old girls were sold to whore houses and pimps. By the short glimpse he caught of Piper’s curves, she was well past fourteen. He’d guess at least eighteen. If he’d looked closely, he would have seen her hips and even the curve of her breasts beneath the bindings. He’d been intent on one thing, catching her, so he’d lost his concentration.

He snatched a side view of her when she looked over her shoulder to give her parting shot. She rued the day she was born too many times to count. He decided he’d be the man to change that.

Smiling to himself, he sipped again closing his eyes and trying to image her naked, all of her, from tips of her toes to the top of her short cut hair. He bolted upright, reminding himself he had no right to do that. Well, something about Piper intrigued and fascinated him more than he wanted to admit.

There was something regal about her.

He reached over and rang the bell signaling Molly, his scullery maid. A few minutes passed before she appeared.

“Sir.” Molly curtsied before stepping back to wait for his order.

“Can you poke your head into the scullery and let me know how it’s going in there? If Mrs. Pickery needs any help,” he asked, downing the last bit of brandy, wishing he dared look instead.

“Yes, sir.” She turned to do his bidding.

Waiting didn’t suit him. He stood again, pacing the room, needing to occupy himself. He turned in the direction of the scullery.

“Sir,” Angus, his valet, stood in front of him. “I set out clothes for you, for tonight. Are you wanting a bath first?”

“What? Oh, I forgot.” Muira, his current mistress, would be waiting for him. He’d agreed to take her to the opera tonight. A boring night for him, but she begged. Now the little interest he had in the opera as well as Muira vanished. His only concern now was Piper and what would happen next. He was captivated and excited to discover more about Miss Piper.

“Sir,” It seemed Angus was losing patience with him.

“Send a message to Muira with my apologies, but I’ve pressing business to attend to tonight. Don’t want a bath or a change of clothes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Brett chuckled slightly, hearing the censure in the man’s voice. Angus usually berated him for seeing Muira, a mistress, and now it seemed she was the preferable entertainment.

“Master Brett.” Mrs. Pickery stood in front of him. “You should come see Piper. Except for one thing, I think you’ll be pleased.”

~ * ~

Piper hugged her arms around herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been stark naked and humiliated in front of anyone let alone a man. Brett saw her with nothing on, naked. Even when she took a quick swim in the lake, she wore her clothes. Now she stood in the scullery, naked, with a man staring at her backside, a man she barely knew. Her long-kept secret was secret no longer.

When she decided to stay with the man, she never thought her identity would be uncovered, never expected a bath, of all the nerve. Over the years she’d taken huge steps to keep people from knowing she was a girl. Jocko helped but it was only because he had something in mind for her, something he said that would make them both rich. Said they’d live a life of luxury. Jocko told her he would train her to be a rich man’s mistress and—

“Come on now, get in the water, dear. Let’s not be wastin’ anytime. Master Brett is going to want to see you when we’re all done here, and I want him to be proud. Need to check for lice and make sure you’re squeaky clean. After that, we’ll give your dog a bath.” Mrs. Pickery seemed to chatter nonstop.

Slowly, she turned and feeling as if she walked to her execution, she approached the vat of steaming water. She looked at Mrs. Pickery before accepting her fate. Heaving a huge breath of air, she stepped into the water.

“Ouch!”

“Now, Miss Piper, the water is not too hot. Cold water will not soak off the layers of grime covering you. God knows what some of it is, but no one else wants to know. Would you like me to wash you or can you do it yourself?” Mrs. Pickery held out a soapy sponge, eyeing her as if she was a little child.

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she started to shake her head. The last thing she wanted was someone else doing something to her. “Want to do it myself, but not really sure what to do. Never had a bath,” she mumbled, swirling the water around with her hand.

“That’s easy, dear. Just rub this,” she held out the sponge, “with the soap on it all over your body. Don’t miss any spot or I’ll have to do it myself. While you’re doing that, I’m going to wash your hair and make sure there’s no little nits in it.”

Minutes later the water was a cesspool of filth. Looking down, Piper couldn’t see her body for the dirt. Inwardly cringing, “How am I going to get clean when the water is so dirty?”

“Good question lass, that’s why I’ve got more water heating for a second bath in another tub. Angus brought one from upstairs a few minutes ago. Seems Master Brett had the same idea.” She nodded toward the kitchen stove and the pails of steaming liquid. “Now let me pour this bucket over your head and rinse out the soap.”

To Piper, it seemed an eternity before Mrs. Pickery was finally finished and handing her a towel. “Wrap it around you then we’ll get you dressed. Sent Molly out lookin’ for a dress that might fit. We’ll see how she did.”

After the second bath, mindless and confused, Piper followed the cook’s directions. She cloaked herself in the towel and waited for what would come next. Mrs. Pickery vanished for a moment then reappeared holding a dress in front of her and what appeared to be underthings.

“You want me to wear that? What is it and how does it work?” She pointed to the garments. “Don’t believe I’ve ever worn one of those things. How does one…” she paused, “put it on?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little self about that. Molly and I will help you then when you’re ready, we’ll take you to Master Brett.”

“Molly?” She thought it had just been the two of them.

“Molly, there you are,” Mrs. Pickery said.

“Master Brett wanted me to check on you. Let me just tell him you’ll be ready soon and I’ll be back.” She curtsied and disappeared only to return in a few seconds.

Piper felt pushed and pulled in every direction possible while the maid and the cook laughed and chatted. Finally, she was laced into a contraption she had no idea how she would get out of and clothed in a dress that left her breasts revealed for anyone to see.

She pulled at the top of the bodice, trying to cover herself then looked at Mrs. Pickery, hoping she would have the answer to her problem. “I don’t think this is supposed to be this low.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Pickery said, rubbing her hands together, clearly distraught. “Her bubbies are too big for the dress.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Can’t show her to Master Brett like this.”

Molly whispered, “They’re more like kettle drums.”

“Hush now, Master Brett not’s going to like this on her, but it’s the best we have right now. Maybe he’ll have a solution.”

“We can’t present her to him like this,” Molly moaned softly, shaking her head as if that would give her some clue as to how to fix this. “Can’t, just can’t. He’s a refined gentleman.”

“You’ll never convince me he’s never seen a woman’s breasts before,” Mrs. Pickery said indignantly.

“No, of course not but it might put wayward thoughts into his head,” Molly said with a slight moan of despair.

“I’ve no doubt he’ll make this right. The sooner we show her to him, the sooner we can get back to our regular work. He’s not going to ravish her just because he can almost see her nipples. I’ve not started anything for dinner and as you well know, he’s had a change in plans. He’s not visiting his mistress tonight. Come along, Miss Piper. Let’s show you off.”

Mrs. Pickery held open the door and waited.

Piper inhaled a long breath of air before starting forward. Being talked about and around had not been enjoyable. “Why do you have to show me to him?” she asked but her experience with men in her short life told her they always wanted to have all the information so they could be in charge.

When she stepped in front of him, she closed her eyes. She didn’t know what she expected, not complete silence, but that seemed to be what was happening. Jocko was never silent. She always knew what to anticipate and what he was thinking simply because he told her.

“Mrs. Pickery?” His voice held a tinge of irritation.

“Yes, sir.” She stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her. “The dress, it’s all we could find on such short notice, sir. Didn’t expect her to be so…” She looked to Piper then back to Brett.

“So well endowed?” he asked pleasantly, one eyebrow tilted upward. “Can you find her a small shawl, something to cover herself, privacy you understand? And something to pin it with?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll be back soon, sir, but you might not get your dinner until later.” She started to leave.

“Forget about dinner. We’ll be going on an errand soon. Sit down, Piper. Would you like something to drink?” His smile seemed pleasant enough.

Piper sat down next to him where he patted the seat. “You don’t like the way I look?” she asked, not sure if she felt meek or was acting strangely. She wanted to please him simply because she needed him to like her. If he kicked her out, she no longer had her disguise, so she’d be sold to a pimp or a whorehouse. His opinion meant everything to her, meant her life.

“You clean up very nicely. The dress is wonderful on you but shows a bit too much you. I think we can rectify the situation.”

He handed her a drink. “Sip it slowly.”

His words came too late. She coughed and droplets of brandy splattered in front of her. She covered her mouth with a hand. “So sorry. I didn’t know…” Jocko warned her about spirits and the consequence they might have for her. Told her never to drink anything stronger than tea.

“It burns a little, but you can get used to it if you like.” He smiled. “Mrs. Pickery could bring you tea if you would rather have that.”

The look in his dark brown eyes melted her heart. “I’ve never had spirits. Jocko says they’re the root of all evil, but this is fine.”

“Jocko never drinks? For some reason I’ve trouble believing that. Maybe you should tell me more about this man you’ve spent a lot of time with.”

“Oh, he drinks. It’s just what he tells me. Says my mind shouldn’t ever be impaired.” Yet she sipped again, this time more slowly. “I think I like it. What is it?”

“Brandy.” He took the half empty glass from her hand. “Perhaps Jocko has a point.”

“I’ve known Jocko ever since I can remember,” she said, recalling the times he played with her on the floor of his apartment.

“How long is that?”

“I might have been two, but I’ve never known anyone else. He’s always taken care of me. He’s sort of like a father. What are we going to do now?” She smoothed her skirts and when she did, it seemed the bodice slipped farther down.

He was staring at her and when she looked where his gaze was riveted, she saw the circles that surrounded her nipples. Quickly, she tugged her dress upward. His eyes shimmered with something she’d never seen before. Jocko never looked at her like that.

“Here you go, sir,” Mrs. Pickery hurried into the room, holding out a small lace shawl, one that would just cover her bodice.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pickery. You may go home for the night. Piper and I will be at the dress shop. I’m hoping Madame Chantal will have something appropriate for Piper to wear. She can’t run around popping out of her dress.”

Popping out of my dress. “A dress shop? A place where you buy clothes?” Hands shaking, she picked up her glass of brandy and downed it all before Brett could take it away from her.

“Where else would you get clothes?” He smiled at her, one eyebrow cocked upward. “I hope you don’t regret downing your drink. If your head starts feeling a bit hazy, let me know. Don’t want you to faint.”

She wondered how he did that, lift one eyebrow and not the other. She scrunched her face, trying to do the same thing but to no avail. “Never got any clothes in a dress shop.”

“Of course dress shops are where you get clothes. Where do you get your clothes?” he asked, seeming to watch her intensely.

Unable to help herself, she smoothed her skirts. When his eyes darkened farther, she moved uncomfortably. Jocko warned her about men and the way they looked at women, but she never believed him. Now she understood but she didn’t feel dirty, not like Jocko said she would. She liked the way he looked at her.

“Piper?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about your eyes.” His gorgeous dark brown eyes that seemed to change color according to his mood.

“You were—my eyes?”

She started to smooth her skirt again then stopped herself. Instead, she moistened her lips before sucking the lower one into her mouth. “You had that look Jocko told me about. The one where men stare at you and make you feel dirty, but I didn’t feel that way, dirty.”

“Oh,” he sat back, his arms across the back of the sofa, grinning. “I love your honesty. It’s refreshing. How did my looking at you make you feel?”

“Hot.”

He ran a finger around his collar before clearing his throat and laughing. “We should leave now. There’s Angus. The carriage is ready. You can tell me more about yourself on our ride through town.”

“Two rides in a carriage in one day.” She stood, feeling as if she was in a brand new world. “Before this day I’ve never set foot in one, a carriage.”

“Wait.” He stopped her and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, his finger brushing the tops of her breasts when he fastened it. Then he held out his arm for her, his gaze touching hers, her heart pounding out of control.

She wasn’t positive what he wanted her to do, but she placed her hand on his arm and walked with him. It must have been the right thing because he made no comment.

Inside the carriage, she watched him settle back on the seat, his arms spread wide on both sides. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Only if you tell me about you,” she countered, watching his brows draw together and shrugging her shoulders. “It’s only fair.”

“Very well, you’re right, I suppose it’s only fair. In fact, I’ll start. I grew up in Scotland. Ran wild and did pretty much what I wanted until I turned fifteen.” He stretched his legs, crossing them.

She leaned forward, fascinated by the size of the man, not so much by what he didn’t tell her but by the width of his shoulders and the muscles that seemed to stretch his jacket to its limits. “What brought you to London?”

“My turn.” He picked up her hand and studied it, tracing tiny circles in the palm, sending shivers of heat through her. “They even got your fingernails clean. What’s the first thing you remember?”

Feeling sensations she didn’t understand begin to spiral and surge through her in the strangest manner, she pulled her hand from his. “I must have been about two, I think. No one knows how old I am or where I came from. No one but the scarred man and maybe Jocko knows.”

“What is it you remember?” He prodded.

“Just Jocko playing with me. I had this little doll. I’ve always had it until now. I suppose they’ll throw it away now that I’m not living with them.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. The doll was her only connection to her past.

“A doll, it might lead us to your mother or father.”

“Don’t know why you’d want to do that. If there was any family who wanted me, I wouldn’t have ended up in the orphanage. Mother and father must be dead, dead for a long time.” She heard the bitterness in her voice well up inside her.

“Not sure I understand. If Jocko and the scarred man were taking care of you, why would they put you in the orphanage?”

She was shaking her head, unable to stop the barrage of memories. “I was in the orphanage to learn how to pick pockets, nothing more. I rarely stayed there at night. Jocko started my education for after my pickpocket days last year. He told me I wasn’t going to get away with pretending I’m a boy much longer.”

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. “And what would that be? What are his plans for you?”

“Jocko was training me to be a mistress to some rich gent,” she blurted, not really sure of the difference between a whore and a mistress, but Jocko reassured her many times that it was infinitely better to be a mistress than a whore.

“We’re here and I hope to continue this conversation when you’re finished.” He walked her into the dress shop.

“Blimey, never seen anything like this. What do I do now?” she whispered, clutching Brett’s arm as if he could protect her from the woman descending on them. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and she could barely breathe.

Brett cleared his throat, smiling. “Chantal, how nice to see you. I need some everyday clothing for this young lady. She’s going to be my downstairs maid and she has nothing to wear. I’d also like one walking dress.”

“I see,” Chantal said as if she truly could see through the miniscule scarf Brett wrapped around her for modesty sake. “You have a large problem. Where did you get this dress?”

“My cook’s daughter was happy to lend this to Piper. They are approximately the same size except for the bust.” Brett said, grinning while he kept his gaze averted from her bosom.

Piper didn’t understand anything that was going on or why the size of her breasts was the topic of conversation.

“This will take some time but let me get her measurements while you choose some fabrics,” Chantal said, picking up the tape. “We should go into a fitting room.”

“I’ll need one dress finished by tomorrow morning and delivered to my house as well. I don’t mind paying the extra fee to make sure that happens. She does need something decent to wear,” Brett called out as they disappeared into the room.

“Now, let’s take the shawl off so I can measure you. No reason to take all your clothing off. I can get everything I need without doing that. I’m assuming you’re not wearing a corset and don’t want one.”

“I…” Piper swallowed hard before clearing her throat. “Never wore one,” she managed to mumble. Wasn’t too sure what the dressmaker was talking about.

“Never? My dear, where have you been?”

Piper didn’t really think the lady should know anything about her, so she chose not to answer. And she didn’t appreciate the dressmaker’s tone of voice. She stood still for her while she moved the tape from place to place then wrote something on a piece of paper.

“Done, shall we see what Monsieur MacLachlan has picked out for you? She smiled, opening the door for her.

They stepped outside the room. Brett was immersed in the fabrics and fashion plates as if this was a second home to him. The two spoke while she fiddled with the shawl and the pin, unsure of what she should do with them.

When they were finished, “Come here, Piper.” Brett reached for the shawl and adeptly fastened the scrap of material. “There you go,” he whispered as the backs of his fingers floated across her skin.

She felt the touch to the tips of her toes, saw the look of disapproval on the dressmaker’s face. “Can we get out of here? Please?”

“Of course, are you hungry? There are food carts. We can walk if you like since the sun is out and it’s not too cold. We could find a pub and get something to eat there.”

“I suppose I’d like that, but I don’t have any money. You took the purse I stole from you.” She shouldn’t have said that, somehow knowing Brett wouldn’t like to be reminded of this afternoon.

He cleared his throat, seeming to ignore her statement. “Mademoiselle Chantal will have one dress ready for you tomorrow morning as well as underclothes. I’ve arranged for them to be sent to my home.”

“Underclothes? Except for the bindings, I’ve never worn anything under my clothes. Why would you want to do that?”

Brett roughed his hands through his hair before letting out a bellow of laughter. “Don’t know exactly,” he frowned. “We just do. I don’t think I could get much done if I knew you didn’t have anything on under your dresses.”

“Do I have to?” she queried, wondering at the ridiculous waste of time of putting on more clothing than what was essential as well as trying to figure out what he just said about getting things done. “Why would it make a difference to you if I wore underthings or not?”

“You should wear them.” He laughed softly and the look in his eyes told Piper he was thinking of something pleasant.

“Why?” she persisted.

“It’s not important. Let’s go inside here,” The pub sat on a corner. “This is a nice quiet place to eat and have a pint.”

“A pint?” It seemed she didn’t know about anything he talked about. She guessed from some of the conversations she’d overheard Jocko and his friends it was something to drink.

“You’ll like it. At least I hope so.” Brett took her hand, leading her into the tavern and finding a spot in the corner of the room where one could see everyone. “Had no idea just how innocent you were. Didn’t expect a street lad to be naïve.”

“Promise? Will it be like the brandy you gave me?” She laughed, enjoying herself even as she heard her stomach rumbling noisily. “Don’t really care about the pint, but I am hungry. Haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

He ordered and it was only a few minutes before they each had a pint of ale in front of them and a basket of bread on the table; cheese followed.

She watched him, so in his element and here she was, unsure and hesitant. Sipping the ale, she wasn’t all that positive she liked it, but with most of the glass gone, she was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded.

“As to your duties, you’ll start tomorrow, and I expect you to dust everything every day and sweep the floors.”

“Is that all?” she asked. “It’s not going to take very long to sweep and dust. What will I do the rest of the time?”

“For now, that’s all and you can do anything you want the rest of the day,” he told her, leaning forward. “Tell me more about Jocko and this mistress training.”

She sighed, letting out a long breath of air. “Shouldn’t have told you about his intentions. Doesn’t make any difference now that I’ve a job and a place to live.”

“Of course you should. If I’m going to protect you from this man, I need to know everything about the people you used to live with and how they treated you. You did live on the wrong side of the law.”

“I didn’t really live with anyone. Jocko gave me a room to use, that’s all. I never shared it with anyone because he didn’t want the fact I was a girl to get out. He told me he couldn’t protect me if it did.”

Brett’s brows drew together as if he was muddling over what she said. “Why would he want to protect you? What makes you different than every other pickpocket in London?”

“Not really sure. Think it must have had something to do with Scarface. Jocko’s afraid of the man, and I think he knows something about me he won’t share.”

“Think I’ll find out everything I can about Scarface,” Brett mumbled.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Jocko says Scarface would murder his own brother if he could turn a profit.” Suddenly, she didn’t feel all that well. “Brett…” she began then closing her eyes, she rested her head on the table.

“What is it?” He reached out, touching her.

She moaned, looking up and licking her lips, which had turned suddenly very dry. “I don’t feel well. Can we go home?”

Without answering, he left coin on the table then sweeping her into his arms, he carried her outside. She clung to him, finding comfort in the warmth emanating from his muscled body. Letting her head fall against his shoulder, she let down her guard for the first time since she could remember.

He hailed a cab and set her inside. She leaned back, her head against the back of the coach. “I think it was the drink.”

“On no food,” he added. “We’ll be home in a few minutes, and I’ll put you to bed. No, you should eat first. I’ll have to see what cook left for us. Then I’ll put you to bed,” he repeated.

Drowsily, she mumbled. “Never slept on a bed before. How does one put someone else to bed? Seems like something a person can do by themselves.”

He laughed. “Only if you know where your bed is. Do you?” He picked up her hands, warming them.

“No, do you?” she countered.

~ * ~

“What happened to Piper?” Jocko paced the two-room apartment in St. Giles he called home. The only place Piper had ever lived. “She can’t just vanish. Someone has to have seen something.”

“Saw her get into a cab with some gent, an aristocrat if my guess is right. He stopped the carriage for the dog too,” Bobby told him.

“Saw him too,” Billy said, rubbing his jaw as if thinking. “What’s goin’ to happen’ to him? The gent didn’t seem to be takin’ him to the constables. Looked like he was headed in the wrong direction for that.”

“The two of you are going to find out where he took Piper and bring the lad back to us,” Jocko stared out the one window, his grip on the sill tightening. “Needs to be done before something happens to the boy.”

“How we gonna do that?” Bobby asked, cleaning his nails with a knife. “We ain’t got no way of finding out who the bloke was.”

“You two just sit tight while I put out some feelers. I’ll find out the details and get back to you. The two of you can break into his house in the middle of the night, take Piper back and pick up a few valuables in addition.” Jocko tried to hide the trepidation he felt. Scarface might just kill him if he didn’t get the girl back.

Except for Scarface and the man’s anger, Jocko thought the plan a fine one, but he had to find out where she was for starters. A trip to see Scarface was in order. The thought of confessing he lost Piper sent a shiver down his spine. Perhaps it would be best to wait until he got the girl back.

“Not real good at waitin’.” Billy said, “Need to be out and about. Don’t mind the idea of robbin’ the place but don’t know if Piper will come with us. If he’s got a nice place to settle down, he won’t want to come back here.”

“Fine then, get out on the streets and see what you can find out. Go to Vauxhall, maybe someone saw him there and knows who took him.”

Jocko watched the boys leave before picking up his jacket and setting out to find Scarface. The man would be angry he contacted him, but under the circumstances Jocko didn’t see another choice. He’d be angrier if he didn’t tell him.

With the sun setting, Jocko stood at the back entrance to the townhouse of Viscount Avery Bainbridge. Stepping inside, he waited for someone to realize they had a visitor.

On his way across town, Jocko took every precaution to make sure he wasn’t followed. Now he hoped Avery would appreciate the effort and not skewer him through for doing the unthinkable, visiting him at his home.

“Bloody hell, what are you doing here?” Avery stepped through the door from the kitchen into the scullery. “My butler told me I had a visitor. Didn’t expect the likes of you. Did anyone see you?”

“Couldn’t wait for our next meeting,” Jocko said, running a finger around his collar. “Important information. Something that you have to know now.”

“It better be.” Avery stood back, feet apart, his arms crossed over his chest. “As you know, I’ve no patience for failure or surprises.”

“Piper’s gone,” Jocko blurted waiting for the explosion of wrath that was sure to follow the words. What he didn’t expect was the calmness of Avery.

“Just where has she gone? A lass or lad, with no means to her name can’t go very far. Find her.”

“Got a couple of lads workin’ on it.”

“She’s important to my plans, plans that were going to be put in motion in the next year. I don’t want any problems.”

“You never told me about any special plans.” Jocko suddenly felt the world he planned falling apart. If Avery wanted her as his mistress, there would be no extra funds coming his way. He remembered the day Avery brought the baby to him. The viscount told him to keep the child alive but nothing else.

“You didn’t need to know. Your instructions were to make sure her virginity remained intact. I assume you’ve done that.” His calm seemed to escalate to anger.

“She’s still a virgin, but I can’t guarantee anything now that she’s lost to me. A gent took her and if he knows he’s a she, then…” He’d seen her naked, helped her from time to time with her bindings, knew any man would love to get a hold of her tits. They were very pretty and large. He’d been hard pressed to keep his hands to himself for the last several years.

“Make sure you get her back before something happens. It won’t go well for you if you don’t.”

Avery’s subtle threat didn’t go unnoticed by Jocko. “Have her back in my lair tomorrow. The boys will find her. They’re out doin’ their jobs right now.”

“I’ll check in with you tomorrow night. Whatever you do, don’t come here again. I’ll let you know where to meet me.”