Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,15

would find herself in love with a rake. The following day, she took herself to task as she mused upon Lord Marshfield’s fine figure and his handsome face. He had been attentive and charming during Lady Pritchard’s sumptuous dinner, telling her amusing story after story. And he’d asked her many questions about herself, astonished to learn she was a vicar’s daughter.

Moreover, she had the distinct impression he suspected she’d stolen from him. Once again, he’d started to reference finding her in his bedroom, but she’d managed to divert him. Still, she couldn’t help feeling an uncomfortable emotion she hadn’t previously had, not even once since beginning to take from the ridiculously wealthy and give to the unbearably poor.

She’d experienced a pang of guilt.

After dinner ended, they still had another dance to go, and when her reticule walloped him in the shoulder, he’d offered to put it in his pocket for the duration.

“No,” she’d practically shrieked when he’d reached for it, losing her calm demeanor for the first time.

He’d given her such a curious look, she feared he knew what was in her small satin bag.

“My apologies,” she muttered quickly. “One is taught when in London to be wary with one’s purse at all times.”

He’d smiled wryly. “I don’t think that applies to earls.”

Nevertheless, he’d let her reticule alone. And she’d been sorry to part with him when Mrs. Zebodar deemed it time to leave. It was the first event in London in which Julia had enjoyed the company more than anything else. Usually, the success of snagging a few baubles was the reward of the night, knowing within two days, she would be able to turn over a sizable sum to an orphanage or workhouse.

That night, however, she’d gone to bed feeling something else entirely — the thrill of being interested in a man who seemed to be interested in return.

Moreover, Julia started thinking about when Sarah might marry again. If this Denbigh fellow her sister had enjoyed meeting a few weeks earlier turned out to be a love interest, that would be splendid. Not that Julia wished to be rid of her, but Sarah had promised her the Worthington house if ever she remarried. And the previous night, it had occurred to her a single woman with a modest allowance, as she received from her sister, could fairly well do as she pleased if she had a home of her own.

Julia could, in fact, invite a certain earl over for a late supper with no one the wiser. And Marshfield seemed exactly the type of man who would accept.

Which was precisely why she shouldn’t be dreaming of spending time with him, particularly not time alone. His reputation was well-earned, and she would be nothing but a passing fancy of his. In the interim, before his fancy passed, she could — and probably would — get into all sorts of trouble.

Sighing and finishing her breakfast, she turned her thoughts to a higher calling than dallying with the earl and kissing him and feeling his hands on her, not just while dancing but while doing other wicked things.

Instead, she would sell the valuables and seek out St. James’s Workhouse, one of the most well-respected of London’s residences for the poor, of which she believed there to be about seventy others. Months ago, she’d sent her father a letter, asking his advice on what he would do were he in London, surrounded by such poverty. He’d suggested she ask if they needed spiritual guidance. It was far more likely they needed new linens, meat, vegetables and ale.

To that end, at eleven o’clock, wearing a day dress of pale primrose with cream trim, she set out for a new place to pawn, having decided her regular shop didn’t have the funds necessary to pay her a fair price, not for everything she had with her that day.

Leaving Sarah’s maid in the carriage, Julia entered through the attractive four-columned storefront of the jeweler Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell, in the shadow of St. Paul’s Cathedral. She not only had Lady Pritchard’s earrings, but also Lord Marshfield’s cravat pin. If he hadn’t been wearing another fine one at the ball, she might have relented and slipped his pin into his pocket at some future occasion.

The store’s interior was plainer than she’d expected for such a well-known establishment, but all around her were sumptuous wares, indicating they dealt in high-cost items.

As if to assure himself of not being culpable in any crime, the jeweler with whom she