The Peculiar Pets of Miss Pleasance by Delilah S. Dawson Read Free Book Online Page A

a letter and a mynah bird in a rough wooden cage. In the wobbly, loopy hand of a man accustomed to being at sea, it read:
    To: Miss Frannie Pleasance, Tamer of Beasts
    Bill for: Acts of Altruism
    Fee: One ticket to the theater
    From: Thomas Maccallan, Finder of Lost Things
    Frannie gave the courier a copper and tucked the note into her jacket pocket. She held her finger out, gratified when the mynah stepped up and ruffled its feathers. As soon as it was settled back in its usual cage, it said, “Naughty lad. Naughty lad, don’t eat that. She’s a pretty lass, no?”
    She couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

    The next morning, Casper swaggered down the stairs and into the pet shop, clearly not dressed for helping out with the muck. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to be, not after he’d overpaid her so generously.
    “You’re all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning, eh?”
    He looked up with a winning grin. “It’s recently been brought to my attention that I can come across as a bit disreputable. I’m trying to clean up my act.”
    “I’ll admit you look sharper without sick all over your shirt.”
    He winced and brushed a few stray feathers off his slightly-too-fine jacket. “That was one unfortunate incident that I’m going to blame on a concussion. I’m a talented, self-supporting male in my prime. A star on the rise.”
    “And a pet-shop assistant?”
    He clutched his chest and rolled his eyes. “Anything to impress a lady fair.”
    She rolled her eyes right back. “You’re not my type, lad.”
    “I’ll keep trying.”
    “Please don’t.”
    She spun on her heel, and he put a hand on her arm as she passed. “Frannie, come on—”
    Smacking his hand away, she balled her fists and turned on him. “Who do you think you are? With your grins and your pretty words and your money? Do you think you can buy me, Casper Sterling?”
    The look of utter confusion and mortification on his face made her slightly less angry. “Buy you? God, no. I just . . . have kind of a crush on you.”
    “A crush?” She snorted. “You’ve known me for three days, and most of that time, you were drunk or asleep. Just because I dragged you out of the gutter doesn’t mean you can grab me and start asking favors.”
    “It’s not like that.”
    “What’s it like, then?”
    Casper walked to the counter, hopping up to sit on her ledger and receiving another death glare for his trouble. “Things just don’t seem to work in London the way they work elsewhere. How does a guy show polite interest in a nice girl here? I keep mucking it up.”
    “I saw the rouge stains on your chest, lad. Something tells me you know exactly what you’re doing.”
    It was his turn to snort and shake his head. “There’s a certain kind of woman who throws herself at me. I know how to handle that, but it’s never serious. It’s never real. This is the second time I’ve told a girl here I genuinely liked her, and she’s treated me like I’m a total ass.” He looked at his bare fingers with confusion. “Why do the good girls always say no?”
    Frannie chuckled and sighed, punching him lightly on the arm in a sisterly fashion. “Saying no to fellows like you is what keeps us good girls good.”
    “But what if I want to be good, too?”
    She stood back to look him up and down.
    He made a token fuss at his cravat, held his arms out wide, and smiled a winning, dimpled smile.
    “You’re not good. You might want to be, but you’re reckless and foolish and smooth and sly. And any girl worth her salt will notice and run away.”
    “Why?”
    “Maybe you’re asking the wrong person.” She raised her eyebrows at him, and he looked down as if the answers were written on the floor.
    As Frannie headed upstairs on an imaginary errand, she realized that she knew exactly what Casper’s problem was. He may have thought he wanted to be good, but he was a rake at heart. A dashing devil with a dimpled smile and a hunger for