Her hair had been a rather lopsided mess, no doubt because she’d not been tutored on how to style it. She’d had a maid to do it for her, and that maid was no longer about to ensure every strand remained where it needed to be. He’d like to remove the pins and watch the heavy tresses tumble around her shoulders.

He recalled the skewing of her mouth, the quick burst of air, as she tried to control the rebellious hair that had no desire to behave. He doubted she’d ever done that in Mayfair. It was pure Whitechapel, possibly the only thing about her that was.

Had she been embroiled in a scandal? Was there some handsome swain who stole her heart and then did wrong by her? Had she fallen in love with a commoner, cast aside the world for which she’d been prepared? Was he the man who’d come for her tonight, the one whose arrival had pleased her so damned much, brought her such relief?

Why was she even bombarding his thoughts? It wasn’t as though she’d have any role in his life other than bringing him his favorite libation when he visited his sister’s tavern.

Perhaps he should take one of the women with him the next time he went. Show the bawd how gracefully every aspect of her moved in tandem, how perfect her posture, how calm and steady her mien—

He’d have to explain mien and tandem. It wasn’t enough for them to observe. They needed to be shown how it was done, how to acquire that level of inherent confidence. They needed a tutor. Where the devil was he going to find one of those in one of the poorest areas of London? It wasn’t as though these streets were teeming with the posh.

Settling back, he picked up his glass and studied the way the flames created dancing light over the cut crystal. Whitechapel wasn’t teeming with the posh. But it did have one.

And he knew exactly where to find her.

Chapter 2

It was after ten when Althea felt him walk through the door. Her back was to it as she set two tankards on the table, and yet she knew with every fiber of her being that when she turned, he would be there. Tall, broad, bold, with his gaze homed in on her.

Still, she was surprised when she finally spun around to see that he hadn’t moved beyond the entry, as though he’d been arrested by the sight of her. To say her gaze slammed into his was putting it mildly. What was it about him that made her feel as though he was brushing up against her, and not at all in the objectional way Jimmy had been touching her the night before, but in a manner that made her nipples pucker? Damned rebellious things.