anger dissipated. Two weeks in the house and I’d already forgotten how the real world worked. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to make as much money as she possibly could.
She grinned a toothless grin and held out her grimy hand. “If it makes ye feel better, I charge the others even more.”
“Very well.” I dropped the coins onto her palm. What did it matter? It wasn’t my money, after all. Still, seeing the coins glinting in the weak sunlight that managed to spill through the fog and coal smoke, had my heart lurching. What I could do with the mere coins they spent on food for a week. Blimey, I could live a lifetime.
She gave me a mock curtsey. “Thank you kindly, m’lady.”
Annoyed, I grabbed the bag of ginger and spun around to leave, only to run into a hard, unrelenting chest. “Watch where you’re going!” I snapped. “Bloody bastard.”
The sleet had melted and it was a surprisingly warm day. If I hurried, I’d have time to walk through the park. I started to dart around the man, cursing him under my breath.
“Ginny?”
Startled, I tore my gaze from his chest. All too familiar blue eyes stared back. A surge of horror and humiliation washed over me. Even though I no longer worked for the factory owner, I felt his power like an anvil about to drop. I wasn’t sure who intimidated me more: Mr. McKinnon or Gabe.
I dipped into a quick curtsey, something that had been ingrained in me since moving to the big house. “Mr. McKinnon.”
“Miss Smith.”
I peeked up at him under the rim of my bonnet. Was that amusement in his eyes? There was no doubt he was handsome. Although not as handsome as Gabe, he was still frighteningly good looking. While he no longer controlled my future, there was something in his air that made me nervous all the same. Mr. McKinnon was a mystery. I’d never liked mysteries.
“Your new position…?”
“Well,” I blurted out. “Very well.”
Hardly very well, but I certainly didn’t need to tell him the truth. Truth was, it was barely better than working in a factory. At least in the factory after we left, we could do what we wanted when we wanted. In the big house we were always on duty, scraping and bowing, at their beck and call. No privacy. No spot of our own to relax.
“You’re always welcome back, if it becomes not so very well.”
Was he mocking? It was so hard to tell. An odd stirring of warmth and desperation coursed through me. He was close, and he was tall and strong, and smelled so good. And even better…he was familiar. I’d felt the stirrings of desire when I’d seen a handsome gent now and then, but nothing to tempt me. But for Gabe. Damn him.
However here, now, I felt so utterly isolated amongst the titled, it was tempting to smile invitingly up at him. Did I want him to kiss me, or was I merely lonely? Or perhaps, maybe, I wanted to prove to myself that I could be attracted to someone other than Gabe.
Not even Violet and I had time to talk anymore. We were so bloody exhausted, we immediately fell asleep at night. I’d lost my freedom and my friend.
But he was familiar, and he was interested, and handsome. And he…he understood my past, my life before the fancy house. It didn’t mean I’d toss up my skirts for the man, but what would be wrong with a little harmless flirting? If I allowed him to walk with me through the park? Perhaps buy me a sweet, if he was so bold.
I stepped closer. “Mr. McKinnon, would you—”
“Miss Ginny.” The hard voice startled me.
I squeaked and stumbled back away from Mr. McKinnon, into a man selling posies.
“Watch out, luv,” he cried.
“Sorry,” I somehow managed.
I’d been surprised to see Mr. McKinnon in the market, but finding Gabe standing there in his perfectly tailored suit was more than surprising, it was downright shocking. His cold gaze wasn’t on me, it was pinned to Mr. McKinnon. A shiver of unease whispered through the very air around us. I felt like a cat caught between two fuming mutts.
“You are?” The arrogance in Gabe’s tone worried me. No one had ever spoken to Mr. McKinnon that way. Or if he had, the man had disappeared soon after.
“Mr. McKinnon.”
“You own a factory, or something of the kind?” Gabe slowly slapped his gloves against his open palm. Each crack of leather against skin