Page 51 of Tempting the Scoundrel
How could she blame him if he did? He had grown up here, worlds apart from her own upbringing. He had been forced to survive the same streets of Nick’s childhood, when Whelan demanded loyalty at a high price. Aristocrats cared nothing for this place, or the people in it.
Mr. O’Sullivan let out a soft breath. “I don’t know what you are. Patroness or a carriage lady, it makes no difference to me. I don’t trust aristos. You all demand a high price for your attentions.”
Alexandra chose her next words very carefully. “I assume, from your refined accent, that you know a great deal about this cost.”
His knuckles went white around the handle of the basket. “Yes,” he said simply. Before she could make any further comment, he gestured to the nearest building, one that said, in very lovely, carved letters:Mrs. Ainsley’s Home For Orphaned Children. “We’ve arrived.”
“Lady! Lady!” Fiona ran over and grasped Alexandra’s hand. “You gotta meet the others!”
Alexandra laughed as the girls dragged her inside the orphanage. The building was spotless, the decorations homey and welcoming: chintz furniture, floral draperies that appeared recently purchased, gleaming hardwood floors. The air was redolent with the scent of baked bread, the lemon of cleaning solution. In another room, laughter and chattering voices of the resident children echoed down the long halls.
“Come on, lady,” Fiona said, tugging Alexandra’s hand. “I’m ever so hungry!”
“Mr. O’Sullivan’s the one wiv the pastries, daftie,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes.
“Charlotte,” came a new voice. “Don’t call your sister a daftie. Please apologize.”
A young woman came down the stairs, a set of keys jangling at her waist. The easy way she carried herself implied she was the manager, Mrs. Ainsley. She was striking and tall, with glossy black hair and eyes the color of polished emeralds. Her smile was warm as she regarded the two children in the entryway.
“Sorry, Fi,” Lottie muttered. To Mrs. Ainsley: “Can Lady join us for breakfast?”
“I’ll consider it.” She regarded both of them with a speculative look. “Now. Do you both have anything you wish to confess?” When Lottie shot Mr. O’Sullivan a pleading look, Mrs. Ainsley shook her head. “No, Mr. O’Sullivan will offer you no help here. Tell me. Fiona?”
Fiona hung her head. “We snuck out again.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Charlotte?”
Lottie wrinkled her nose. “And I picked the locks again,” the girl mumbled.
“I appreciate your honesty.” Mrs. Ainsley looked between them. “I will consider your punishment, but until then, go join the others. Tell everyone I want them to have their boots on for school.”
The two girls ran out of the room and Alexandra stared after them in amusement. “They are a handful, aren’t they?”
Mrs. Ainsley sighed. “If that girl keeps picking the locks, I’m going to have to hire a locksmith to Charlotte-proof the orphanage.” She offered her hand to Alexandra. “My apologies. You must be Mr. Thorne’s wife. I’m Mrs. Ainsley, but you must call me Sofia.”
Alexandra gave her hand a firm shake. “Pleasure. Thank you for allowing me to borrow your clothes the other day. I hope you’ll let me replace them.”
“How kind of you, but I have everything I need.” She widened her hands, gesturing to her surroundings.
“Things for the children, then. You only need to ask.” Alexandra scanned the room, noting the meticulous cleanliness once more. It must have been hard work, keeping an orphanage so clean. “Do you run this entire home yourself?”
“I’ve some staff that Mr. Thorne hired after he asked me to become the manager. The previous mistress was not”—her lips thinned—“a kind woman. I shall leave there.” Sofia took a breath and looked at Mr. O’Sullivan. “Mr. O’Sullivan. I’m happy to see you again.”
The factotum was staring at Sofia with a strangest look on his face. “I can’t stay,” he said shortly.
Sofia’s smile tightened. “Nowhere in that statement was a promise I would hold you here against your will. You may come and go as you please. You, of all people, should know that.”
In the short time she’d known him, Alexandra had never seen the Irishman so off kilter; he seemed to be fighting back a grimace. “Going,” he said tightly. “I need to go.” Then he thrust the basket into Sofia’s hands, said, “These are for the kids,” and left. The door shut hard behind him.
Alexandra couldn’t help but ask, “What on earth was that about?”
Sofia stared at the door a bit sadly. “Unfinished business, I’m afraid.” Before Alexandra could ask what she meant, the other woman forced a smile. “Shall we see to the children?”
Chapter 16
Alex was not in her room, and there were no guards at her door.
Thorne tried to calm his surge of panic. Whelan’s return left him frayed at the edges; nightmares of that old, dark cellar had plagued his sleep. They had been so real, that distinctive cheroot stench had burned all the way down his throat until he felt as if he would choke on it. Thorne had gasped awake and barely made it to the water closet to vomit. He’d returned to his bed and pressed his forehead to his knees, and gulped deep, deep breaths.
