A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) (2 page)

She jumped out into the street, creeping around the carriage. Minnie peered around the black lacquer, watching as the coachman approached the miserable schoolmarm. The two spoke at the doorstep, the busyness of Camden Street drowning out their exchange.

Go inside, go inside. Go. Inside.

The headmistress nodded, scowling down at the carriage, no doubt intended for Minnie and her incompetence, before the heinous woman followed the coachman inside to search for a bag that didn’t exist.

Minnie shot off, dashing through the foot traffic until she reached the first corner, then broke into a run and headed south to Leicester Square. She held her hat as she threw her head back and laughed, watching the beautiful morning transform into a sacred memory. She had plotted for months and finally she was free of that dreadful school, free to pursue her dreams, free of her guardian’s misguided plans.

Minnie Ravensdale was a proper runaway now.

*

They were faster than they looked—much.

Alex peeked over his shoulder, swatting away the line of laundry as he dashed through the alleyway. A petticoat stuck to his front, nearly taking off his cap as he tried to fling it off. His lungs burned as he took another corner, waiting for the sound of the chase to fade away. They were persistent, he’d give them that.

“Marwick!”

He’d come to hate the name he’d given himself. Though if he hadn’t stolen that silver platter from the shopkeeper this morning, maybe he wouldn’t be running blindly through the chaotic traffic of Whitechapel Street right now.

A carriage narrowly missed barreling into him, threatening to flatten him in the street. He missed one and barely escaped a second.

“Marwick! You filthy mick bastard. Mr. Davoren will hear of this, you’ll be sure of that, you will.” The man’s voice got lost in the street noise, carried only to Alex over the fetid air of factories and tenements.

Alex stumbled backward, scrambling for footing. The world was loud today, everything out of order, and yet he felt as though he could knock the city on its feet given the chance. He coyly jumped around the rear of a meat wagon and held on to its rails as it continued on its way.

His breathing even though his heart still raced, Alex jumped off at the next intersection, finding a corner to lean against and gather himself. The trouble would have been worth it if he hadn’t been caught. Instead the silver platter had been taken back and his pockets were all the more empty for it. That’s what happened when he caved to his hunger. His eyes became greedy. He wiped the blood from his lip and cheek, peering down the street. Little spoke of life this early spring day. The city was drab, the colors of his childhood. They spoke of the same misery. Almost.

And then there was a sight that nearly knocked him on his arse.

It was as if Heaven opened its gates and an angel had descended to walk among the filthy sinners of Whitechapel. A
well-dressed
angel who could put food in Alex’s stomach.

He pressed tighter against the brick façade of a butcher shop, his cap pulled low as he studied the girl. The fancy feathers on her hat stood tall, waving to passersby as if to declare: I have deep pockets. Her silk dress, livelier than the half-dead blooms of the flower sellers, was far too fine for an unaccompanied girl in this part of the city. Her boots were well-polished, free of holes and not worn from work. No doubt, she was a lady through and through.

If she was an angel, then Alex was the devil himself, pushing off the wall to trail behind. She was an easy target, a lamb in the company of prowling wolves. He hadn’t been the only one to notice, either. A stout man elbowed through the crowd, shouting after her.

The girl startled, dropping the handkerchief clutched in her hand. She bent to retrieve it, jostled by the others around her on the busy street. Alex shouldered through everyone until he was near enough to fetch it for her, his hand ready to snatch the reticule at her dress’s waist, before her eyes met his.

He sucked in a breath, struck. Men like Alex were meant for the shadows, not to be seen, certainly not to be studied as she did now. Two hazel orbs remained fixed on him, wide with fear and comprehension. She blinked and broke the moment, sprinting for a narrow alleyway in search of an escape. The bird wouldn’t find a way out, only empty pockets and torn petticoats. Cries for help had a way of falling upon deaf ears in this part of the city.

Feckin’ eejit.
She’d get herself killed.

It’d be best to turn around. He had a mission here in London and he’d get nowhere if he went and landed himself in more trouble. But with her retreating figure and the last glimpse of that bright dress of hers, he followed. It was easy to keep pace with a drunk and a girl weighed down with heavy skirts. To her credit, she was handling the situation brilliantly, if not for the last turn into a dead end.

Alex skidded to a stop and peeked around the corner as the girl drew back a blue valise and struck her assailant. The stout man faltered a step, but it was no use. A taller man emerged from the shadowed doorway holding a rag. The men hadn’t seen Alex. He could slip away, search for another to pickpocket. He was a bastard for thinking so, especially when the rag was likely soaked in ether.

“Let her go,” he said, stepping out from the around the corner. He clenched his sore fists as the shorter man drew a knife. Today was not going in Alex’s favor, not that they often ever did.

She struggled in the taller man’s firm grasp, fighting against the rag meant to knock her out, until she spotted Alex. Her body went slack. He hoped she was holding her breath or she’d be down like a bag of bricks soon, none the wiser to the rest of the world.

The taller man dropped the rag, stepped forward, wiping his arm across his face, and then spat. “Bugger off.” He pulled the valise from her hand and a blade from his boot, waving it toward Alex.

He pushed up the worn sleeves of his coat and flexed his dirty fingers. “You’re in the company of a lady. Mind your tongue. And your hands.” Alex edged forward, raising his arms and eying the girl’s valise. It would be nice to have money lining his pockets for once. Maybe a warm meal, too.

“Back off,” the drunk threatened, his words slurred. “We found her. She’s ours.”

“
All
of her.” The taller man circled her with a keen eye.

She tilted her head and mumbled to the men, her words too quiet. Whatever they were, they weren’t appreciated. The drunk dragged her into a tight hold and drew a blade against her throat. A small stream of blood trickled down the column of her neck, staining the lace collar of her dress.

Alex charged forward, catching the taller man by surprise with a fist under his chin. The man’s head snapped back, he wavered, then crumpled to the ground. Alex reached around and pried the blade from the others man’s hand, saving the girl from having her neck slit open, then shoved her aside.

She scurried over to her valise, as Alex circled the second man. For a drunk, he had a stubborn hold of the ground.

“Well, hit him!” She flung her hands out into the air, flapping like a bird about to take flight. The weight of the bag almost toppled her as it swung back and knocked against her small waist.

He never saw the drunk barreling forward until he slammed Alex to the ground. The air rushed from his lungs as he collided against the cobbled alleyway. The man was saying something above him, but the words weren’t registering over the ringing in his ears.

The man settled above him, snarling, his face as red as a tart’s lips. Jagged metal rasped against his neck. Alex’s stomach churned at the man’s foul breath, trying to work out how best to escape with his head still attached. Then the man’s eyes widened and he collapsed onto Alex, as the blue valise swung overhead, followed with a loud thwack.

The girl rolled the man off Alex with a shove, standing there with a smug smile. “Well,” she said, offering a hand to help him up.

He stared at the dark blood dripping down the flawless, clean skin of her neck. This was no place for a girl like her. He ignored her hand and stood on his own. “Come on,” Alex said, walking to the brick wall at the end of the alley, side-stepping the fetid puddles. If he saw her to safety, then he could try nicking her purse as reward for his efforts without having to behave like a complete cad.

“I’m not lost,” she said, staring steadfast into his eyes.

Alex pulled his cap lower and stepped back. “They’re going to wake up soon,” he said, scaling the drain pipe. “I wouldn’t be around when they do.”

The girl paused, considering him.

“They’ll strip you bare and leave you dead in the gutter.” He rubbed at the ache throbbing at the back of his head.

“I’m not daft.” She edged closer, her eyes fixed on the fallen men, her lips curled in disgust. “I’m—”

“—Stubborn.”

She kicked one of the men in the gut with her polished boot. “No. I’m finished now.” The girl clapped her hands together as if she were dismissing the whole mess. “If you would show me a way to escape, I’d be thankful.”

*

The man waved for her to scale the wall and follow. Minnie took no caution in guarding her annoyed glare. She didn’t appreciate his herding her around like a wayward sheep.

“Give that to me,” he said, reaching down for her valise as she struggled with the weight of her skirts to shimmy up the drain pipe.

“You could run off with it and leave me with nothing.”

“It’s possible.” He leaned closer, his weight divided over the narrow brick wall. “Except I just saved you from those brutes. Have a bit of faith, yeah?”

“I don’t need rescuing,” she bristled back, holding the valise out of his reach. Let him lean forward and fall if he wished to wrestle it free. Minnie hadn’t run away to be ordered around by a complete stranger. She was ordered around by every other person in her life all ready.

“I thought you’d say something to that effect.”

She swiped her gloved hand over her throat, feeling the fresh sting of a scratch. Her hand returned red, stained with enough blood to signify it more than a scratch. When she started this morning, everything seemed possible. She had London in her hands and her dream of dancing finally within her grasp. Except the day was growing late and what she thought had been a few wrong turns had turned into being thoroughly lost and nearly mugged.

For the niece of an adventurer, she should be better with directions.

The man lifted an eyebrow as if to declare: you’re foolish and need me. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of carrying on like the rest of the girls her age. Minnie Ravensdale was made of stronger stock. So instead, she lowered her hand and smiled back at the man, defiant.

“There he is! Marwick!” a man shouted from the opposite end of the alley. “And look, he’s got that chit with him.” Behind him, a pack of hooligans gathered, their eyes hungry as if she were a Sunday roast.

With a nervous swallow, Minnie shoved her valise into the stranger’s hand. “We can go now.” She scrambled up the drain pipe without an ounce of grace, looking over her shoulder as the group climbed to their feet and rushed forward. With a wave of her bloodied glove, she smiled, laughing as her taunt provoked them closer.

Her rescuer, if he proved himself as such, tugged hard on her boot and cut her teasing short. Minnie lost her balance and toppled over the wall.

He tensed as she landed into his arms. “Do you
want
to die?” he asked, holding her tight against his rough coat.

She gazed up at him, the world swirling around her. “No.” She thought to say more, but she was lost at repeating his words, the lulling cadence causing a smile as they passed over her lips.

He stared down at her, blue eyes dark and burning as if
she
had just attacked him in the alley. “You’re well on your way today.” As quickly as they settled into the quiet moment, he dropped her feet and righted her. “Right, let’s go.” Before she could answer, he grabbed her bag and wrist, then led them forward into the maze of dark alleys ahead. They weaved in and out of the crowds, dodged behind lines of drying laundry, ducked into shops—anything to put distance between themselves and the thugs.