Luck Be a Lady by Meredith Duran Read Free Book Online Page A

any position to judge her! He was impertinent, boorish, ill-bred, and criminal. Shemust never forget that, even if at present he wore a black tailcoat fit for a ball.
    She frowned at him. He was in fact dressed with ludicrous elegance, with a diamond stickpin at his neck. “I was unaware that Whitechapel required evening dress of its strollers,” she said tartly. “Next time I come, I’ll be sure to wear a ball gown.”
    â€œYou do that, darling. And be sure to keep an eye out for the weather, too.”
    â€œI always do.” As though in reply, another raindrop hit her chin. “I enjoy the rain.”
    His laughter had a rich, ringing note to it, unexpectedly beautiful. “Aye, you look as pleased as a wet cat.”
    â€œThe words of a poet, Mr. O’Shea.” She peered around him. No sign of Peter yet.
    â€œWho are you waiting for?”
    That purring tone drew her attention back to him. Despite his formal wear, he was lounging against the brick wall with the slouching posture of a dockworker. The sight of such physical perfection, married to such calumny, vexed her in the extreme.
    She fixed her attention on the bump in his nose, the single imperfection to which she would direct all her scorn. How rudely he had replied to her letter! What kind of criminal turned down money, anyway? She had thought to hire him to intimidate Peter. It would have made an easy profit for him. “Is it any of your concern what I do, or for whom I wait?”
    â€œIn my streets? Yes.”
    â€œ Your streets?” She lifted her brows at this magnificently understated arrogance. “Has Her Majesty been informed of your claim?”
    â€œOh, I reckon Her Majesty would be glad to cede this piece of London,” he said amiably. “Certainly she’s never bothered to worry for it.”
    That smacked of radicalism, which was just what she expected from a man like him. “I cannot say I blame her. There is a man lying in the road nearby, nearly dead from the cold.”
    â€œThomas,” he said lightly. “The gin keeps him warm enough.”
    She scoffed. “How unsurprising, that you should know the names of the local drunkards.”
    â€œHe’s a relation, in fact.” His accent had grown abruptly coarser. “Husband to my cousin.”
    â€œNote my continued lack of surprise.”
    â€œI’ll be surprised for both of us,” he said. “Didn’t figure you for a soft touch. Next time you see a drunkard in the street, best keep moving.”
    He had seen her stop to speak to the man? “Were you following me?”
    â€œThe streets have eyes, sweetheart. And they all report to me.”
    Goodness. She glanced past him, toward the open lane. “You mean to say you employ spies? How . . . peculiar.”
    â€œHouse of Diamonds is just down the way.” He waved in the direction of the high road, causing the multiple rings on his long fingers to glitter. His jewelry was as gaudy as a grocery girl’s. “Patrons don’t like to be disturbed. So I keep track of who’s coming down the lane.”
    She nodded tightly. The House of Diamonds was his gambling palace—thoroughly illegal, although it scraped by on the pretense of a social club. That explained his apparel, then. She recalled having read, invarious scathing editorials by upright crusaders, of the dress code enforced there.
    If he kept track of passersby, he would certainly know all the tenants in this street. “Do you know who lives in that building?” She pointed toward the tenement into which her brother had vanished.
    He did not follow her gesture. “Reckon I do.”
    â€œThen—might you share their names with me?”
    â€œNo.” His gaze met hers squarely, forestalling argument.
    He had remarkable eyes, the color of quicksilver, thickly and darkly lashed. She gazed into them a moment too long before remembering herself. She