a fine lad and share the reward with an ol’ friend, eh?”
Prim gaped for a moment as the two spoke, indifferent to her presence.
Simon scoffed. “When ’ave ye ever shared yer loot with me?”
She tsked. “Don’t be greedy, Simon.”
Clearly Primrose had miscalculated. She was a little ashamed of her assumption in light of the reality of the situation. Of course a woman could be the villain, too. She had read enough Shakespeare to know that. She should not have assumed so suddenly that the fairer sex could commit no wrongdoing. It was naïve of her.
More and more tonight, she was learning that she was naïve in many ways. She had craved this, the outside world, but it wasn’t all fun and adventure.
“I don’t even know what she ’as in ’er purse yet.”
Nell shifted her attention to Prim, looking her over with an assessing eye. “Nice gown.”
Prim’s hand flew to her bodice. “Th-thank you.” No sense explaining how it was not her gown but one she had borrowed.
Nell reached out to touch her sleeve, stroking the fabric in admiration. “Very nice. Take it off. I’ll be keeping it.”
Women are delicate creatures that must be cosseted.
—Lady Druthers’s Guide to Perfect Deportment and Etiquette
Childbirth.
Chapter Eleven
Primrose must have misunderstood the woman. Why would she want her gown? She gave her head a little shake as though that might help clear it.
“The gown,” Nell repeated. “Remove it.”
“Begging your pardon?” Prim asked, tugging her arm away and taking a step back. Surely Nell would not strip the dress off her back. That could not be her intention.
Simon chuckled. “What ye going to do with ’er dress, Nell?”
Nell squared her shoulders. “Why wear it, of course. I’ll look quite the lady, don’t you think?”
Simon jerked a thumb in Prim’s direction. “This one’s got more meat on ’er than ye. It won’t even fit. The thing will hang off ye.”
Nell slapped his arm. “Watch yer tongue. I’ll not ’ave ye insulting another woman for the shape the good Lord saw fit to bless ’er with.”
Simon sputtered, gesturing at Primrose. “I merely pointed out that ye and she do not—”
“Enough.” Nell waved a finger to silence him. “Next thing you’ll be insulting me.”
Prim looked back and forth between them in bewilderment. One moment she was being deprived of her reticule—and quite possibly her dress—and in the next a lady thief was jumping to her defense.
All hope that the theft of her gown was forgotten fled when Nell looked back at her and directed, “Your dress, please, miss.” The fact that she was smiling as she uttered the polite request did nothing to ease its sting.
“You’ll leave me . . . naked?” Certainly not.
Nell shook her head with a tsk. “I’m not that heartless. Of course I would not subject ye to that indignity. I’ll leave ye in yer shift and chemise and petticoats. Ye can find yer way to the main path and some gentleman will certainly be gallant enough to provide ye with his jacket.”
She made it sound so very reasonable. As though a woman being relieved of her gown in public would be neither traumatic nor reputation ruining. Prim made no move to undress, of course. How could she?
“I don’t think she ’eard ye,” Simon offered.
Nell sent him an irritated glance, and Primrose took her chance and swung her reticule, hoping the weight of the coins she carried would be enough to inflict some pain.
Her blow knocked Simon’s top hat off his head. “Oww!” Simon staggered, clutching his bared head as the hat toppled to the ground.
Nell released a short cry and reached out to grasp his arm.
Prim did not wait to take measure of the extent of her damage. She knew she could not have inflicted much. She only hoped it would give her enough time to escape.
Turning, she fled down the path, her feet pounding over the cobbles, trying to get as far as possible before they could give pursuit. Perhaps they wouldn’t. Perhaps they would decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.
She was mistaken again. That had been happening a lot tonight.
Shouts chased after her, and she risked a look behind her before she turned down onto another row. Nell, Simon, and the other man were giving chase.
Splendid. Apparently, the bandit in the shrubs had resurfaced. All three were fleet of foot, as only veteran cutpurses could be. She had long since lost track of direction. Prim didn’t know if she was close to exiting onto a well-lit row or diving deeper into Vauxhall’s dark