Nine Buck's Row by Jennifer Wilde Read Free Book Online Page A

studies for the government. He visits slums and doss houses and brothels and makes notes on what he finds there. I believe he’s presently working on a report about living conditions in the East End, and that’s why he’s living on Buck’s Row, even though he has a house in the country. His great-aunt owns number nine. She has a hat shop with living quarters above, and I believe she takes in boarders—”
    â€œOh, Suzy, it sounds so fas cinating. I can hardly wait to see him!”
    She dashed over to the window again, her skirts billowing like yellow blossoms. She leaned far out and looked down, the wind blowing locks of hair across her face. There was the sound of a carriage pulling up outside. Millie whirled around, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
    â€œIt’s him! He’s getting out of the cab—”
    â€œCome away from the window! He’ll see you.”
    I pulled her back, and we stood nervously listening for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Millie was demure now, all her vivacity vanished as she realized what those footsteps would mean.
    That is the way Nicholas Craig found us as he pushed open the door and stepped into the room. Millie and I were both silent, and he looked from one to the other, not certain which of us was to be his new ward.
    â€œMiss Susannah Hunt?” he inquired.
    â€œI’m Susannah,” I said in a tight voice. “This is my friend Millie.”
    â€œHow do you do?” Nicholas Craig said stiffly.
    I expected Millie to make a pert curtsy. She didn’t even acknowledge his greeting. She just stared, hands clasped in front of her. Nicholas Craig tilted his head to one side and studied both of us with narrowed lids as though trying to get a perspective on a picture he intended to paint. I groped for Millie’s hand. She seized it eagerly.
    Nicholas Craig studied us. We stared back. He was tall and slender, dressed in a stylish but rumpled black suit, the trousers narrow, the jacket hanging loose to reveal a maroon satin vest embroidered with black flowers. His boots needed polish. His ruffled white shirtfront looked a bit dingy. He had a long, stern face, his complexion pasty, as though he didn’t get enough sunlight. His nose was straight, his cheekbones high, hollows beneath them, and his mouth was much too wide. His eyes were a dark, brooding brown, magnetic eyes that seemed to pierce and probe. The lids were heavy, giving him a lazy look, smooth brows arching above them like dark wings. His black hair was untidy, curling at the back of the neck and around his ears, several locks spilling over his high forehead. He was beginning to gray prematurely, and one forelock was streaked with silver.
    â€œAre you afraid of me?” Craig asked.
    â€œOf course not!” Millie snapped.
    â€œCertainly not,” I added.
    He spread his wide mouth in a rather severe smile. Nicholas Craig was not a handsome man, but there was something fascinating about him. He had an air of lazy superiority, and there was an undeniable arrogance in the way he tilted his head to one side, studying us. One sensed that he could be harsh and intolerant or, if necessary, employ a persuasive charm that would melt any opposition. Women would be mad for him. Men would distrust him.
    â€œHave you finally sized me up?” he inquired. The smile still lingered on his lips.
    â€œI think so,” I replied primly.
    â€œAnd do you like what you see?”
    â€œI—I’m not sure.”
    â€œIt hardly matters,” he retorted. “We seem to be stuck with each other for the time being. I could have let them send you to an orphanage or board you out with some respectable family, but Aunt Margaret insisted I take you on. She gets lonely.”
    â€œI—I didn’t even know I had a Cousin Nicholas,” I said uneasily. “I thought Marietta was my only relative—”
    â€œThe relationship is thin, to be sure.