Page 11 of Til Death Duke Us Part
“Good God, what is that smell?” He slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Piss, likely. You stepped in it just now. You can go home.”
He said nothing, simply clenched his jaw and continued on at her side.
She was purposefully taking him through the worst streets. Dangerous, particularly since he was dressed like a damned fop, but if he was determined to force her into his servitude, she would force him into discomfort. Besides, these people had done nothing but be poor, and the duke and his like acted as if poverty was a cardinal sin.
When they reached her lodging house, she shook his arm. “I’ll go up alone and get my things.” And then sneak out the back door and run off so he couldn’t find her.
Morington hinged at the waist until they were almost nose to nose. “Do you think me a fool? I’m coming up with you.”
She sighed but let him follow her inside. She’d make her getaway. She just needed the right moment. Her room was at the very top of the building and behind a flimsy door, and the duke’s mouth dropped open when she stepped aside to give him entrance.
“Welcome to my little castle. I know you’re awed by the majesty of the surroundings, but do try to remain calm. It’s not dukely of you to gawk like that.”
She nearly tripped over her threadbare rug, and splashed water on her face at the chipped and discolored washbasin across the room. She pushed the thin, tattered curtains aside, but the yellow light that spilled through the window did not improve the view. Everything gray, though tidy. The bed—just big enough for two—occupied one corner and was sagging in the middle. Her clothes were hung over a line she’d strung across the room, and they separated the sleeping area from the kitchen area—a fireplace, a small table, and a dented brass hip tub for bathing. Though it was difficult to get water for it.
“Could you stand in the hallway?” she asked. “I’d like to bathe before I dress to be carted off across the country. If you please.” She was resigned to going with him. She wouldn’t take his money, though. She’d make sure he didn’t take anything, thwart him at every moment. She’d tag along as his own personal curse, not as a helper, and in the only way she could, she’d protect the grave work of the souls who’d departed long ago.
“No,” he said. “No. No, no, no.” He snatched her gown off the line, a shift, too. “Corset?” he asked.
“Wearing it, naturally.”
“You don’t have another?”
“Of course not.” God, she was tired.
He grabbed a pair of stitched-to-death stockings and tattered ribbons and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He was very handsy. “You can bathe at my house.”
Why not? She wasn’t going to take his money, so she might as well get something out of him.
“Just a moment,” she said in the hallway. She ducked out from under his arm and knocked on the thin door opposite hers.
It opened immediately, and a tall, thin woman with a bundle of baby on each shoulder and big, heavy eyes opened the door. “What do you— Oh, Sephy. It’s you.” Sarah’s gaze flicked to the duke. “Is everything well? Who’s that?”
“An… acquaintance. I just wanted to let you know, Sarah, I’ll be gone a few days. Perhaps a week. I don’t know. A fortnight?” Persephone stroked a palm over the sleeping babies’ heads. Down-soft hair, innocent warmth. “Don’t let them grow up too much before I’m back.”
Sarah grinned. “Course not.”
“And if you need anything, there’s the jar beneath my bed.”
“Won’t touch it.”
“You will if you need it, yes? You helped me, and I owe you.”
Sarah’s mouth tugged to the side. “Fine. You return safely now, ya hear?”
Persephone nodded and hugged her friend. They’d moved into their rooms around the same time, Sarah big with child and thrown over by the man who’d made her that way. They took care of each other.
Back on the street, her arms full with her belongings, the duke guided them west, and once the streets had broadened and the people passing them looked less of pinched misery and more of thoughtless ease, he hailed a hack and bundled her up inside. Less than a quarter hour later, he rushed her back into the street in front of a house.
A huge house. A gargantuan house. All brick and marble and columns and wrought iron details. Looked like someone cleaned it twice a day.
“Is it glamoured?”
“A bit.”
“How many people live here?”
