Gillian was crooning softly to a small, extremely dirty street Arab. Weston guessed the child was female only because there was a wilting clump of pathetic violets clutched in the urchin’s filthy fist.

“My lord, surely you must recognize that this poor child is in distress and in need of our care.”

Two soft brown eyes peered up at him through a curtain of matted hair. The imp had the cheek to grin at him as she cuddled closer to Gillian.

Weston counted to ten before he addressed the woman kneeling before him. “I appreciate the fact that you have a kind and sensitive nature, Miss Leigh, but now is hardly the time to impress me with your good works. You could have been kil—”

“Impress you with my good works, my lord?”

If Weston didn’t know better, he’d believe the glitter in the eyes of the woman who slowly rose to her feet before him indicated annoyance. He nodded and waved toward the child, who had her eyes greedily fixed on the earl’s watch chain. “It is obvious to me that you seek my approval and wish to demonstrate your concern for the less fortunate, but it is not necessary.”

***

Gillian stared at him openmouthed. God’s nightgown, the arrogance of the man was overwhelming! Impress him, indeed! If he hadn’t addled her brains so thoroughly by standing there looking every inch the handsome rake she knew he was, she’d give him a piece of her mind. What remained of it, that is. A tug at her sleeve reminded her of her duty, however.

“My lord, a coin, please.”

“A coin?” Weston frowned at her outstretched hand.

“Yes, a coin for the child.”

He seemed so surprised by her request that he handed her a coin without thinking. She knelt before the child. “Now, my dear, don’t fret. I shall take charge and you will not have to live on the streets any longer, subject to cold and hunger and the abuses of strangers. I’m sure my aunt and uncle will be happy to take you in and see to your welfare. You’ll be educated, of course—perhaps trained as a lady’s maid? Would you like that? Yes, of course you would. You don’t happen to speak French, do you? ’Tis of no matter; take my hand, sweet. Lord Weston will drive us somewhere we can feed you, and then he’ll escort us home and you’ll have a bath and—”

Weston started to interrupt but was cut short when the child spat out a curse, snatched the coin Gillian held, and dashed off into the crowd.

She watched the child disappear, then closed her mouth with an audible snap and turned to face the earl. “Don’t say it.”

He looked for a moment as if he would take exception to her instruction, then without a word held out his hand and escorted her back to his phaeton.

An hour later, as he was handing her down in front of her uncle’s house, she couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of his cold, unmoving face. Surely a man who had gone through as many trials as he had during their drive should be showing some emotion by now—annoyance over the scene with the street urchin, exasperation when she argued vehemently that they were traveling in the wrong direction based on the position of the sun and the direction of the wind, and finally, there was that painful episode with his horses…but no, it was best to put that behind them. The Lord of Granite held her hand for a moment longer than was proper, and when she looked up into his eyes, he held her gaze.