Passion Wears Pearls (6 page)

“I take it Madame Claremont wasn’t shocked?” He knelt on the back of his heels at the bottom of the steps, wary of frightening her off.

She shook her head.

“She dismissed you?”

This time the ruby curls bobbed as she nodded. Finally she spoke. “I’m a fool.”

“You aren’t a fool.”

Fire flashed behind the green, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of it. She was so crystal clear to him, and he couldn’t tell why; Josiah wasn’t even sure he wanted to know why. He just didn’t want to stop looking at her, and lose his chance to see color again.

“She dismissed me because I … offended her customer! She actually
expected
me to—” Her cheeks darkened in embarrassment, and she was clearly unwilling to even give voice to the unseemly proposition of Madame Claremont and her client. “There was no side work! The other girls knew, and probably … oh my! Margaret was about to warn me and I was so distracted. …”

Her composure was starting to give way, and Josiah sensed that any woman who possessed her courage was
entitled to a grand case of hysterics.
She is probably overdue, so this might be tricky.

“May I have your name?” She stiffened, so he immediately added, “I’ve broken a man’s nose on your behalf and it seems strange not to at least know your name.”

“I am Eleanor Beckett.” A single tear escaped down her cheek, and Josiah’s hands clenched into fists at the amazing beauty of it, but also to prevent himself from reaching for her inappropriately to wipe it away.

“Miss Beckett.” He kept as still as he could, trying not to frighten her. “I am Josiah Hastings, and at your service.” Josiah held out his handkerchief. “Here.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to cry, Mr. Hastings. I am not the kind of woman to dissolve into useless tears.”

“I see.” He tucked the embroidered square of linen back into his pocket and tried not to smile. “Does Madame Claremont owe you wages?” He was hoping that the focus on practical matters might anchor her for a few minutes more.

He could see the panic in her face, but she said nothing. So he tried repeating the question as gently as he could. “Does she owe you wages?”

She shook her head slowly, but the tears began to flow silently. “I had hoped yesterday … I worked so hard … but no. …”

“You’re certain?”

The tears turn into a torrent. “I … had to buy … the red velvet. … Mrs. Carlisle … wouldn’t … There wasn’t time … to finish. … She deducted it … but I …” It was mostly incomprehensible in between the hiccups and sobs, but he was able to gather that the poor thing was falsely indebted to her employer. This time when he held out his handkerchief, she took it without hesitation. “I’ve left the red velvet inside. … Now I’ve nothing … to show for my … labors.”

“Come, Miss Beckett. You must get out of the cold.” He escorted her out to the street and raised his hand to bring a hackney carriage to the curb. He addressed the driver and held up a sovereign to make sure he had the man’s attention.
“The lady will wait inside your carriage while I attend to some business within. Please see that she is safe in your keeping until I come back, yes?”

“Aye, captain! You can count on John!” The coin disappeared into his coat pocket and he winked to seal the contract. “I’m your man!”

Josiah offered her a hand up, but she hesitated, eyeing him with some suspicion.

“I cannot … afford to pay you back for a carriage, Mr. Hastings,” she said.

He shook his head. “I don’t need repayment. But I do need you to wait here while I see to this. A few minutes, Miss Beckett, and I’ll return. Promise me that you’ll wait here inside the carriage where it’s warm.”

She nodded slowly and accepted his help up into the carriage. “I’ll wait, if only to continue a debate on the impossibility of accepting your charity, Mr. Hastings.”

“I look forward to it.” He touched his hat and shut the carriage door to make his way back up the walk and up into Madame Claremont’s lovely establishment.

His hesitation at the door had nothing to do with his conviction about Miss Beckett’s cause, but everything to do with an attempt to summon the bravado of days gone by. Rowan was right. He’d once been as cavalier and worldly as any man walking, mocking Galen’s dark moods and accepting any dare that Ashe had tossed out. But those days were gone.

Come on, Hastings. You remember the game! We’ll play the lord and give this wicked creature a taste of humble pie.

He straightened his spine and walked in as bold as brass.

“Ah! May I help you … sir?” A portly woman in black came forward briskly, her tone changing from solicitous to suspicious in a single breath.

Damn. I really do need a new coat if even this bird is being put off.

“Madame Claremont?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve come to collect Miss Beckett’s red velvet gown and, of course, any wages you owe her in good faith.” He heard a squeak of surprise from one of the other shop girls and thought he saw a bit of movement at the back of the showroom, but he didn’t dare look away from his opponent. “Now.”

The woman snorted in disbelief. “
Miss Beckett’s
red gown?”

“I gather you deducted the cost of it from her wages, so that would make it hers.” He folded his arms, settling in for the argument. “If you cannot produce the gown, then I’ll expect her wages in full. It’s a simple matter of math, isn’t it?”

“And—who are you to Miss Beckett?”

He didn’t even blink, giving her his coldest look. “It should give you pause, madame, that Miss Beckett may not be alone in the world and may not now be without resources. I am a wealthy and eccentric man, and whatever my relation to Miss Beckett, I recommend you pray that it’s not too sentimental an attachment or I may forgo giving you this opportunity to settle your accounts amicably with the young lady and, instead, contact my solicitor and the authorities.”

“Wealthy?” The snort returned with a bit less force, but the woman held her ground. “What man of substance quibbles over a shop girl’s meager wages?”

“One with a distaste for bullies and a determination to see that you recall the day before you try to press another young girl into your service. My name is Josiah Hastings.” He lowered his voice, the calm far more menacing than if he’d bellowed. “Don’t let the state of my coat fool you, Madame Claremont. Mind your manners and obey your betters, or I’ll take pleasure in what will follow when I call in the watch.”

The woman’s mouth fell open before she could close it, a fish out of water. “M-Maggie! The red opera gown! Bring it!”

He relaxed his stance and even pretended to admire a few of the dresses she had on display. The dim shop made it all colorless and lifeless to him, but he was enjoying the awkward presence of Madame Claremont as she tried to decide how best to get him appeased and out of her shop before another customer arrived.

“It’s quite an expensive gown, sir. She didn’t make enough to pay for it and I had planned to withhold her wages for the rest of the month as well. Naturally, if you’ll pay the balance, she can have the gown. I didn’t mean to quarrel with you, but you can understand I cannot absorb the cost for a girl I have just let go.”

He ignored her and turned one of the hats on its display stand. “I don’t care.”

“I don’t know who you are or what she’s told you, but the girl is quite spoiled and prone to lies.”

“Is she?” He turned back to the woman. “A liar, you say?”

“Here is the dress, Madame Claremont.” Maggie interrupted the exchange, handing the dress directly to Josiah and betraying that she was well aware of the subject at hand and her own position on the matter. “Is Eleanor all right? I also brought out her reticule. Miss Beckett left it in the drawer by the sewing machine and I know it’s her favorite.”

She held out the small beaded bag, but Madame Claremont moved quickly to make her claim, glaring at the young girl. “I should see that she didn’t help herself to anything else!”

“Is Miss Beckett also a thief, then?” He grabbed the reticule from the greedy woman’s grasp. “You are a piece of work, woman. If so much as a farthing is missing from Miss Beckett’s purse, I’ll call the authorities and have you touted as the soulless flesh-peddler you aspire to be!”

“You have no—”

“Here, miss.” Josiah pulled out his wallet from inside his waistcoat pocket, unfolding several pound notes without even trying to look at their amounts. “A gift for your trouble and your kindness to Miss Beckett.”

Maggie took the money in astonishment. “Thank you, sir!”

As an afterthought, he also gave the girl his card, and then turned back to the modiste. “That same threat about calling the authorities applies to this young lady as well. There wasn’t a penny of that intended for you, Madame Claremont, and if you punish her for the gift, I warrant she’s smart enough to let me know. Aren’t you, Maggie?”

Maggie bobbed a curtsy and tucked his card safely away. “Yes, Mr. Hastings,” she said, and then vanished into the back of the shop.

Madame Claremont abandoned all affectation and put her fists on her hips, her accent suddenly as coarse as burlap. “You cannot just walk into my shop and … toss about threats and throw money at my … Whatever Miss Beckett told you is a lie and slander! It’s her word up against mine, and I’ll see to it that they hear how she invited that man’s attentions and was eager for it. I’ll say that’s why I threw her out and who’s to say otherwise?”

Josiah’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of his anger and indignation making it hard to focus. For a few seconds, it had been like a game, swaggering in and getting the dress, even giving the other shop girl a chance to run. But this—he’d never wanted to hit a woman in his entire life—until that moment. “Your word will be worth nothing by the time I’m through. Your reputation will be forfeit, madame, and I wonder how many respectable ladies will cross your doorstep if they know how you encourage your girls to sell themselves for your benefit? I’m not sure”—he looked at her with contempt, before continuing—“but I don’t think they’ll want their day dresses pawed over by whores.”

She gasped, her color draining quickly, and even in the shop’s poor light, he could see the change. “You’re a devil! Take her and good riddance! That little baggage thinks she’s too good for it, does she? Well, I had no idea that Mr. Perring meant her any harm! He comes from a very good family, and any other girl would have been flattered. Hell, I was doing that chit a favor!”

And there it is. Spoken like a true pimp. God, what world is this and how do any of us survive it?

He turned to go, but the woman screeched out one last protest. “You’re no better than the others! You’re no saint! You’ve
saved
her for your own wicked pleasure, no doubt! And when you’ve ruined that strawberry and set her out in the cold, I hope you remember that I saw you for what you are! You’re the Devil!”

His stride never slowed, but the words stung a bit. It was true his motives weren’t as altruistic as one might hope. But he wasn’t going to ruin her, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the cruel badger of a woman see him stumble on his way back to the carriage.

You’re the Devil!
Eleanor shuddered as her ex-employer’s words echoed into the street. Her rescuer gave every indication of being a gentleman even if there was something of the buccaneer in the way he carried himself. Tall and rakish, she still wasn’t sure what to make of her remarkably handsome guardian angel. Mr. Hastings might be Satan himself, but at the moment, she felt lost and wasn’t sure what a lady would say to uncover the truth.
He may be a terrible fiend, and what have I to do? Politely thank him and climb out of this carriage so that I can honorably freeze to death?

Even so, the sight of him coming down the shop steps with that impossibly red velvet evening gown was an arresting experience. He was being so heroic on her behalf, but the sight of the loathed garment made her want to start crying all over again.

Oh, God.

He climbed inside the carriage, setting the rescued gown down onto the seat next to her with as much care as he
could. “I didn’t manage to extort any funds from the woman, but I did manage to get the gown she’d forced you to buy.”