style="font-size:15px;"> The door opened, and the same two women came out, female screeches from the inside ringing behind them. They glanced around the street as if uncertain what to do.
Sloane approached. ‘Pardon me, miss. Do you require assistance?’
He directed this question to the young woman he’d recognised correctly—Lucy was her name, he recalled. She did not answer him.
From behind a great deal of netting attached to the hat of the other female came a familiar voice.
‘Mr Sloane!’
Chapter Five
‘Miss Hart!’ Sloane’s stick slipped on the pavement, but the lady stood very composed while Lucy hid behind her and peeked about furtively. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
She lifted her chin. ‘We were on an errand.’
He could barely make out her features through the haze of net. ‘Are you mad? What errand would bring you to this street at this hour of the day? To this place?’ He pointed to the glove shop.
‘It is an errand of a private nature, sir.’ Her tone of voice was excessively dignified. ‘If you truly wish to be of assistance, you might procure a hackney coach for us. I do not see one about.’
He gave her a very stern stare. ‘You would be lucky indeed to find one here. There will be an abundance of them on St James’s, however, but that would require walking down that street past White’s and Brooks’s.’
Any respectable lady put her reputation in jeopardy by walking in this part of town at this hour. What the devil had she been thinking of?
Sloane leaned closer to her and spoke in a smooth, ironic voice. ‘Miss Hart, are you merely buffleheaded or must I consider you a fast woman?’
To her credit, she did not flinch from this query. If she blushed, it was obscured in gauze.
‘Why I am here is, as I have explained, a private matter. If I must walk down St James’s unescorted and unprotected, I will.’ She pointedly shifted her gaze from him to her companion, ‘Come, Lucy. Let us find a hack.’
With head held high, she strode off towards St James’s Street. Sloane hesitated a moment. It was not his responsibility to extricate Morgana Hart from every foolhardy bramble she trod into. Let her suffer the catcalls and whistles of the young dandies lounging on the corners. Let her identity be exposed when one of those young bucks mistook her for a fancy piece and pulled off her hat. He started off in the other direction, but took no more than two steps before he turned around.
Even with his long legs, he nearly had to run to catch up with her. ‘Miss Hart!’
She stopped and whirled around as if to confront an annoying pest.
He reached her side and pulled her by the arm to a doorway of a shop whose curtains were drawn. ‘Wait here, speak to no one, and I will procure the hack.’
‘Thank you, Mr Sloane,’ she said with exaggerated politeness. ‘That is very gentlemanly of you, but I do wish you would not call out my name in the street.’
He winced and looked about, fearing he’d exposed her, the very circumstance he hoped to prevent. Good fortune was with them. There was no one in sight.
‘I will be but a moment.’ He hurried off to where Jermyn Street met St James’s.
Morgana leaned against the locked shop door and moaned as Lucy took a peek out of their hiding place.
Lucy tucked herself back in the doorway. ‘I have caused you more trouble, haven’t I, Miss Hart? You should not have come here.’
Lucy need not blame herself for Morgana’s foolishness. Morgana patted the girl’s arm reassuringly. ‘Mr Sloane has saved us from trouble, hasn’t he? He will find us transport and we shall be home directly.’
Morgana resisted the impulse to lean out of the doorway to watch him striding towards the corner. She ought to be mortified that he had discovered her in this part of town. What must he think of her now? First her skirmish in the park. Now this—this parading where no respectable woman would dare set foot in the afternoon. But frankly, she had been so relieved to see him.
The interview with the madam had not gone well. The woman had the gall to threaten Morgana with violence if she ever darkened her door again. Mrs Rice, as the abbess of the establishment was named, believed Morgana to be setting up a fancy house of her own. How appalling! Mrs Rice, furthermore, went into high dudgeon at the prospect of competition. She also accused Morgana of stealing her newest referral, Lucy. After such a disagreeable interview, Morgana had feared Mrs Rice would make good her threat and send some hulking footpad after them.
When Sloane appeared, her fears fled. She knew she could trust him to see to their safe return and to not speak a word to anyone of the incident.
‘He’s that man from the park, that’s who he is. Isn’t he, miss?’
‘Yes, are we not lucky he has rescued us a second time?’
Lucy nodded in agreement. If the maid wondered why Morgana knew his name, she did not let on.
Sloane did not keep them waiting long. A black hackney pulled up in front of them, and he hopped down to assist them inside.
When they were seated on the hack’s cracked leather seats, Sloane rapped on the roof and the coach lurched into motion.
He faced Morgana, Lucy seated at her side.
‘I thank you again for coming to our assistance,’ Morgana said, sounding more genuine in her gratitude this time.
He peered at her from beneath the rim of his beaver hat. ‘It is becoming a habit of mine.’
She could not help but smile, but quickly wiped it off her face when his expression remained grim.
He leaned forward. ‘Do you have any idea what risk you took for your mysterious errand?’ His gaze shifted momentarily to Lucy, who shrank to the corner of the vehicle.
‘I protected my identity,’ Morgana protested.
He lifted the netting away from her face. ‘See how easy it is to expose you?’
She pulled it back in place and pretended to gaze out of the window at the passing parade of street hawkers and carriages.
She felt him shift position. ‘If you are into some havey-cavey business, Miss Hart, I wish to know of it.’ He gave a pause. ‘Since we are to be neighbours.’
Her gaze flew back to him. Even Lucy straightened in her seat. ‘Neighbours?’
He gave her the slow, lazy grin that made her heart do a flip. ‘I have purchased the property next to yours.’
Morgana stifled a gasp. So it was true. Seeing Sloane’s secretary two days in a row had raised her concerns—or was that her hopes?—that
