Chapter One

The tavern’s Thursday night show—which was one of the biggest attractions for patrons—was about to end.

Margaret got to her feet with a sigh, ready to start cleaning. It was so packed that there was hardly room to breathe; she wondered how the crowds could stand it in there.

She preferred to watch the performance from behind the makeshift stage. It almost felt as if she were part of the show as she watched the players from this vantage point as she recited their lines loudly on stage and then ran off, complaining that their bonnets were too tight. Beside her, Oscar hacked and spit a glob of green mucous on the ground with a choking sound. Grabbing the ever-present cup on her belt, she hurried to the pitcher of water sitting on the table behind the stage.

Her brother shook his head, twisting his lips. “I don’t need it.”

“Well, drink it because I want you to, Oscar.” Her voice was sharper than she’d meant it to be.

He gave her a deep, put upon sigh and reached for the cup. “Alright.” She watched him down it all, the blue tinge around his lips and labored breathing worrying her more than she could say. But there wasn’t much else she could do for him at the moment.

She had taken him to a healer she knew in the rookeries a few weeks ago, who gave her some yarrow and purple foxglove to make into a tea. It had helped a little, but not enough, and every day she woke up fearing she might lose her five-year-old brother.

Her one and only remaining kin.

Oscar looked up at her and frowned as he returned the cup. “Why are you frowning like that? Did Luther steal your buns again?”

In spite of herself, she could not help but huff in amusement. Luther was the chimney sweep who spent his time when not working hiding in corners and stealing food. He had so far managed to pick Margaret’s pockets twice, much to her annoyance, but she was wise to him now. She wasn’t surprised it had come to Oscar’s mind. The last time Luther had done that, they’d had to sleep hungry.

“Not at all. I’m just worried that there might not be any soup left over, seeing as it’s so full tonight.”

Oscar wrinkled his nose. “Oh, well…” he hacked and coughed and spat again, the globule of mucous tinged ominously dark, “I’m not very hungry tonight anyway.”

She knew full well it was a lie but didn’t call him out on it or point out that she’d heard his stomach growling. If she had some spare change, she might have gone out to get him a pigeon pie, but tonight they would have to rely on Mrs. Gendry’s generosity to eat.

Margaret’s lip twisted, “Go on and get me my bucket. The sooner I finish, the faster we can leave and you can get some hot water for your throat. Don’t think I missed your wheezing there, young man.”

“I wasn’t hiding it.” Oscar tossed his head dramatically, “I shall go now and get a bucket from Maisie. She’s much nicer to me than you are.”

Margaret laughed, knowing full well that Oscar adored her employer. “You do that.”

She listened as he walked away, his breath seeming to come increasingly short with every step. She could not wait to get to their lodgings at the Devil’s Acre, tuck him into the meager blanket on their palette, and give him some hot water to drink. Not being able to afford some tea or, better yet, a tisane for him, it was the best she could do.

With the Season approaching in a few weeks, gentlemen tended to abandon King’s Street entertainment for the more hallowed ballrooms and parlors of the West End. As a consequence, Margaret and all the other tavern girls got fewer tips. She was eager for the surge in patrons, though she did not exactly enjoy having to endure the groping and remarks that accompanied them. Many a gentleman had tried to lure her to the dark alley behind the tavern, in search of something more than a quick grab at her bottom.

Fighting them off had become so commonplace that she hardly thought about it these days. Her hands shook as she rinsed out the rag she used to wipe off the tables. Oscar’s wheezing drew closer as he returned with her bucket and she knew she was going to have to do something about that soon.

Perhaps I should accept carte-blanche from some wealthy gent, as the actresses do.

She shuddered at the thought. Her mother had lived under just such an arrangement with a minor nobleman. The toll it had taken on her was apparent to anyone who had been forced to live with her bad moods when he was not around. When she had sickened with the consumption, her protector had simply disappeared, leaving a young Margaret to watch helplessly as her mother faded away, all the while begging for scraps to feed herself and her brother.

I won’t do that again. I won’t watch another loved one die before my eyes. There must be some remedy I can try. Dear God, won’t you help me?

***

Edward Gillet, Baron Rodney stumbled into the tavern, deep in his cups and yet not deep enough to forget the news that had made him start reaching for the nearest bottle.

It can’t be.

Three hours later, and he still could not believe it. He’d loved Leonora de Havilland since they were children. He could not imagine spending the rest of his life without her. He’d thought she felt the same.

So why is she engaged to the Duke of Grafton?

He had to assume that her father had forced her hand. There could be no other explanation.

“Don’t you worry, Leonora, I will save you,” he slurred as he dropped into a seat, raising his hand for the serving girl to bring him a drink. As she walked towards him, hips swaying with unconscious grace and blatant voluptuousness, he found himself caught up in appreciation of her wiles. His eyes traveled upward, taking in her tightly cinched waist that then blossomed into two pillowy soft cushions that looked quite conducive to laying one’s head. The creamy expanse of her cleavage seemed unmarred by any blemishes, quite unusual for a demi-rep.

I would wager that Grafton would not say no to her substantial temptations.

The woman cleared her throat rather loudly and he lifted his gaze, realizing that he’d been staring rather rudely at her breasts. His eyebrows quirked in some surprise as he took in her heart-shaped face. Her body was compelling, but her face, complete with full lips and dark, seductive eyes, was certainly stunning.

“What is a beautiful woman such as yourself doing working in this squalor when you could be living in comfort?” he blurted unintentionally.

She blinked at him, not looking surprised, but rather disappointed. “I do not make my fortune on my back, thank you very much. Here is your ale.” She placed the tankard down with some force, so much so that a little of the liquid flew up and landed on his hand, which shot out to capture her arm.

“Wait.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to imply…” he trailed off, realizing he was about to utter a lie. He absolutely had meant to imply. “Forgive me, I meant nothing untoward.”

She twisted her arm out of his. “That’s quite alright.” She marched away, every step imbued with anger. He blinked a few times, watching her leave with regret. “I’m sorry…”

He put his elbows on the table like the commonest plebeian, his mind mulling blearily over his encounter. He was not usually that clumsy with women, but he could forgive himself because he wasn’t usually this miserable.

Oh, Leonora…what could you possibly have been thinking?

He grabbed the tankard of ale and downed it. He’d been around the Ton long enough to know what kind of reputation the Duke of Grafton had.  He was quite the bounder, frequenting James Street quite often, as well as it’s more wanton neighbor, King’s Street.

Not that Edward had first-hand knowledge of this; the Duke of Grafton hardly spared him a glance, let alone socialized with him. Were the Duke to grace him—a mere baron—with his presence, it would have to be a matter of singular urgency. Perhaps if he lost his cravat and needed a quick replacement he might demand that Edward surrender his. He’d seen the Duke do just that to other men at their club.

Not that Edward would surrender his cravat. He hadn’t put in all those hours at the Pugilist Society to allow himself to be pushed around by anyone—duke or not. He frowned, taking another drink as he thought morosely of Grafton pushing Leonora around. Granted, she would be a duchess with a substantial fortune to her name, but she could never be happy with him—he was sure of it.

I must save her!

He looked up to see the beautiful server putting down a bottle at the next table along with several glasses. Her nose was turned up as she subtly and skillfully ignored one of the men who was trying to get her to sit in his lap. Very deftly, as if quite accustomed to it, she twisted out of his grasp and swayed away. Edward shook his head, impressed by her presence of mind. There was more to this girl than met the eye.

She does not belong in this place.

***

Margaret sighed as she put down her tray, slipping off her cap so that she could re-knot her hair. It kept slipping out of its ties and falling in a black curtain about her face. In addition to obscuring her vision, it was just another thing that an ill-mannered gentleman could grab onto in an attempt to bend her to his will.

She would not have it.

She was so very tired of this place. If it were not for her brother, she might have left long ago, settled herself on a quiet street corner, and waited for death. She looked to the corner where the cook let Oscar huddle as he played with the stick figures he’d whittled himself. Margaret was quite proud of his talent and was already thinking that they might sell some in the market once he got older and his skill was more developed. It would give her a respite from this place, and maybe she could find other things to sell.

Oscar doubled over, sounding as though he was choking as he hacked and coughed, his thin shoulders shaking. Margaret’s shoulders dropped and she closed her eyes in despair.

Please don’t take him away from me.

She didn’t even know who she was begging; she felt that any higher power had abandoned them long ago.

She walked up to the cook. “Ma’am, may I have some hot water for my brother to drink?”

Mrs. Gendry looked up at her, a frown marring her forehead. She inclined her chin towards the cauldron of boiling water that was used to clean the dishes, and Margaret took that as permission. Grabbing a cup, she filled it and then walked to Oscar. Crouching in front of him, she held out the cup. “Here, drink this. Be careful, it’s hot.”

Oscar nodded, taking the cup tentatively and sipping slowly.

Margaret nodded. “Good boy.”

“Old Tom for the gentleman in the corner!” the publican called and Margaret quickly got to her feet. She took the tray of gin and made her way back out into the public room. Her eyes passed over the room, realizing that the ‘gentleman in the corner’ was the same who had asked her what she was doing here.

She had first spotted him as he’d made his unsteady way to a seat, and had felt sorry for him. His shoulders had drooped and he was hunched over as if he was dealing with a heavy burden. She had gone up to him, meaning to be kind and perhaps make him smile. But as soon as he’d opened his mouth and proved himself no better than all the other gentlemen who frequented the tavern, her pity had turned to inexplicable, blinding anger and disappointment.

When she returned with his drink, she merely slammed it on the table and tried to flounce it away. However, it was not surprising that he detained her by slipping his cool fingers around her wrist.

“Let me go, sir,” she said with as much firmness as possible, willing her voice not to shake. She could feel every one of his fingers on her hands, however, and it was unsettling to her spirit.

“I will. Forgive me, I do not wish to cut up your peace. I simply have a question.”

Margaret blinked at him, already anticipating what he would say. She waited in silence for him to prove her right.

“Would you like to leave this place forever?”

And there it is.

She pulled at her hand, which was still trapped in his. “Not at any price, sir. I will not sacrifice my dignity or my virtue for any man.”

He huffed in annoyance. “You misunderstand me. I do not offer you carte blanche or any such arrangement. I mean to give you a job.”

Both her eyebrows rose in disbelief. “A job? As what? Your mistress?”

“Oh no.” He sighed, casting his eyes about. “It is difficult to explain.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He growled in his throat. “Would you stop thinking the worst of me for five minutes?”

“Let me go then.”

To her surprise, he let go of her wrist, his large hand returning to his knee. He was a big man, and she was relieved that he let her go without much fuss. There was no way that she could have fought him if he insisted on holding onto her. “There you go. Now you’re free. So will you listen?”

She placed both hands on her tray, inclined her head to the side, and indicated that he should continue. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes before fixing his dark gaze on her again. “Alright, this may sound slightly beyond the pale, but let the records show that I wish you to do no more than compromise his position. That is all. You need not do a thing more.”

Margaret frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The dark-haired man pointed to the other chair. “Won’t you sit down and let me explain?”

Margaret shook her head. “I cannot. I’m working.”

“Alright then…” he cast his eyes about, biting his lip as he thought, “what about if we meet after you are finished here?”

“I cannot. I have to take my brother home.”

He sighed in exasperation. “What if I take you home in my carriage?”

“It would not be a good idea. I live in Devil’s Acre. You would be robbed of everything you own—including your carriage—should you set foot there.”

He pursed his lips. “In that case, would you consent to me hosting you for the night in my abode at St. John’s Wood? No one will see you there and you’re welcome to use it as long as you like, with no interference from me.”

She frowned. “Why can you not just tell me now?”

“It is difficult to explain. You have my word as a gentleman that neither you nor your brother will come to any harm. I keep a cottage there in case I do not wish to make the journey to my manor. I assure you, you will be safe and no one will disturb you there.”

Margaret looked him over thoughtfully. What he was offering was exactly her idea of heaven. A roof over her head, a warm place for her brother to lay his head. It sounded too good to be true, and she could not help feeling like it was a trap.

She studied the man from head to toe; the cut of his jib spoke of quality and riches. His impossibly wide shoulders said he did not spend all his time on sedentary tasks. The size of his hands was alternately frightful and compelling. His dark eyes looked into hers as if he could see into her soul. She had to blink a few times to stop herself from shivering as she met his gaze. Nothing and everything about him rang alarm bells in her mind. He looked like a man used to getting what he wanted—without having to take it by force. She sighed, her eyes sliding to the hidden corner where her brother sat hunched over, coughing his lungs out.

He looks honest enough, and his house is likely warmer than the hovel we live in. At least Oscar will sleep warm tonight.

Hoping she wouldn’t regret it, she agreed that she and her brother would consent to be his guests for the night.

The strange man nodded, his shoulders sagging as if with relief. “I thank you.”

She nodded and went back to her duties. She half expected that he would get tired of waiting and slip away, but he sat, sipping at his Blue Ruin with studied slowness, watching her in a surreptitious way. Throughout the night, she noticed his eyes would dart to her and then away. Considering she could feel his eyes on her like a brand, he wasn’t as discreet as he thought he was.

Once her shift was over and she had finished wiping down the tables, she went over to collect Oscar in the kitchen. Bending over him, she whispered in his ear, “Now we’re going to a different place to sleep tonight. I need you to behave yourself until we are alone. Do not speak. Do not ask questions. Can you do that?”

Oscar nodded, his eyes wide and full of questions.

They walked up to the man. “We are ready now,” Margaret said.

Chapter Two

Edward sought the right words to ask the skittish chit to do what he wanted without scaring her and failed to find them. They rode to his cottage in St. John’s Wood in silence. The only sound in the carriage was the boy’s hacking cough, which seemed to be quite bad. Edward gave him a sidelong glance, his mind churning with ideas. Judging by how closely she held the boy, he surmised that she was worried about him. Edward couldn’t blame her—the lad sounded quite ill.

He would ask his housekeeper, Mrs. Phillips, to inspect the boy’s chest and find something that might help. He might even offer to fetch a physician to look over the boy.

That might be worth her cooperation.

He relaxed back into his seat, satisfied that he had a plan. The carriage came to a stop at the door and he stepped down, turning to help Margaret and her brother out of the carriage. The driver would wait for him and take him home once he was done. Edward directed them to precede him to the front door, not missing how they looked around in fear.

He gestured towards the cottage’s parlor. “Please, have a seat while I see what refreshment I have on hand.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “No no, I can do it. Just show me where…”

He opened his mouth and then realized that he did not know her name. “Forgive me, I did not introduce myself. I am Edward Gillet, Baron Rodney, at your service.” He gave her a very proper bow.

“Er, I’m Margaret Russell, this is my brother Oscar.” She stammered a bit over the words, as if unsure if she was doing it correctly, and then gave an awkward curtsey.

He smiled and nodded. “That’s a good start.”

Her eyebrows wiggled in confusion. “I’m sorry, what is a good start?”

“The curtsey.” He took her by the elbow and steered her towards the parlor. “You will have to learn to do it properly if we are to succeed in this endeavor, but at least you have the rudiments.”

“I do not understand.” Her elbow was sharp and bony in his hand and he wondered if she had eaten any dinner yet. He seated her on his red crushed-velvet armchair, her brother sinking to the floor beside her on his imported rug.

“Please, just relax here. I do believe I have some wine, cakes, and fruit.”

He crossed to the fireplace to coax the flames to life and place two candelabras on the tables for additional light. Edward noted that while Margaret sat stiffly, her brother was less wary, looking around curiously at everything as he leaned back against the seat. He was clearly tired and should have been abed long ago. Edward imagined that Margaret had no one to leave him with when she was working.

The boy was rather gaunt, his dark hair lying limp against his face and far too long for a child his age. His clothes were patched and old, but as well-kept as needle and thread could manage. Edward suspected that his welfare was the key to her agreeing with his plan.

She sat hunched in on herself, looking just a little intimidated by her surroundings. He was quite proud of the room. He’d decorated it to suit his tastes and only his—it was his space. The walls were lined with blue and gold silk wallpaper, brightening the room without feminizing it. The plush soft leather settees were dark brown and gave off a good contrast while the hand-woven Turkish rug rounded out the room nicely. The entire room was bathed in soft firelight, softening Margaret’s features and giving her brother’s face a healthy cast.

He could see the boy surrendering slowly to the arms of Morpheus and decided to wait until the boy was asleep before making his proposal.

He went to fetch what food he had on hand and returned with a tray piled high with cakes, fruit, a decanter of brandy for himself, and a hot toddy for the girl and her brother. Oscar was now wide-awake and staring at the array of choices in wonder.

“Is all this for us?” he piped up, his very first words.

Edward quirked an eyebrow. “Of course it is. Tuck in. Eat as much as you want.”

Oscar looked extremely skeptical at Edward’s words but reached slowly for a honey cake, his eyes still on Edward. When the Baron made no move to stop him, Oscar snatched it up and stuffed it quickly into his mouth. Margaret was far subtler, picking up a piece and eating it fast, but not blatantly so.

Edward wondered when they’d last had a good meal but pushed the thought away as rather too depressing in his present mood. Instead, he smiled, pushing the tray closer to them.

“M-may I have another?” Oscar was staring warily at him, hand half-outstretched even as he asked.

“Of course.”

The boy snatched another cake, biting into it with relish.

“Have a drink as well. It will warm you right up.”

“Oh, it’s quite warm in here.” Oscar nodded, nevertheless picking the cup up carefully and taking a sip. He choked a bit. “What is this?”

“Have you not had chocolate before?” Edward had added some into the boy’s drink to sweeten it.

He shook his head vigorously before burying his head in the cup. Edward hoped it had cooled enough not to burn his tongue. His eyes flicked to Margaret, who was watching her brother with sad eyes, her cake gone.

“Won’t you have an apple, Miss Russell?”

She turned to give him a sharp look at that. “I’m just Margaret,” she said.

“Not if you agree to my proposal, you’re not.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “And what proposal is that?”

He gave Oscar a pointed look before leaning back, his hands flat on the arms of the chair. “All in good time.”

***

Watching Oscar stuff himself with food, Margaret could not even be annoyed with the Baron for his evasiveness. But she worried about what she would have to do to pay him back for all this. Whatever he meant her to do, it must be quite horrible. She put down her cup of cocoa.

“Is there somewhere my brother can lay down for the night?”

Oscar whipped his head around to give her a betrayed look, his mouth open and lined with crumbs.

“Of course. Just down the hall is a bedchamber. I’m afraid you’ll have to share the bed, but I daresay it’s big enough for both of you.”

He got to his feet. “Oscar, please do follow me.”

Oscar met Margaret’s gaze, his own wide and filled with wonder. He had no sense of danger in this place, which was relieving—but also worrying. “Go with him, I shall join you shortly.” She put some emphasis on the latter part, chiefly for the Baron’s benefit. Oscar stood up, snatching up one more cake before he followed the Baron from the room. She waited, tapping her fingers, until the Baron returned and took his seat opposite her.

“Alright then, we’re alone. Now tell me what I have to do in this ‘job’.”

The Baron took a deep breath, his eyes darting hither and thither as if trying to think how to tell her. She wondered if perhaps he was some sort of cannibal.

Does he mean to eat me?

He had said it wasn’t some carte blanche arrangement. She could cook and clean but she doubted that was what he needed her for. There were far too many people more qualified than her to work in a nobleman’s kitchen.

“There is a certain…gentleman,” the Baron began before he stopped, blinking furiously as he looked into the fire, “that I would like you to seduce.”

Margaret shot to her feet, words of recrimination already on her lips. The Baron calmly held up a hand. “Hear me out.”

Slowly, she sat back down, glaring at him. “When I say ‘seduce,’ I do not mean that you need to compromise yourself in any way. A mere kiss will do.”

Again, she opened her mouth but he held up his finger. “In return,” he put in quickly, “I will turn you into a lady. I will purchase everything you require to look like one, allow you to live under my roof, and I shall have a physician by to see to your brother’s cough.”

Margaret blinked, stared at him, and blinked again. She looked around, relishing the feel of being truly warm for the first time in months—years, perhaps. She hadn’t failed to notice that Oscar’s coughing had reduced significantly once he was somewhere warm and dry. And the Baron had said he would get him treated.

A part of her was still skeptical as to his motives. Surely if all she needed to do was kiss the man, there were plenty of more qualified people who could do that. Why, any bit of muslin standing on a dark street corner was more qualified than she to carry this out. She swallowed, thinking of the cold pallet awaiting them in the hovel they called home.

“When you say you will turn me into a lady, what do you mean by that?”

He took a breath. “Well, you will need a new wardrobe for sure. A few lessons in manners, perhaps some cream to soften your hands and powder to lighten your skin.” He cocked his head to the side. “Although it is remarkably unblemished for one of your class. We might not need to do much with it.”

“Why do it at all? Why not get some other lady who already has all that to kiss this gentleman?” Margaret asked.

“Well…because, frankly, no lady would do it. When I saw you, I knew that you were just the kind of beauty that would turn his head. You do not seem to be aware of it, but you’re quite breathtaking.” His eyes gleamed darkly as he stared at her and she could not help the blush that stole over her face.

Lowering her lashes, she avoided his gaze. “And once I have kissed this man, then what?”

“Well, I shall settle an amount upon you and…” he paused, his finger pointing to the ceiling, “I shall give you this house to live in.”

She raised an eyebrow. “All that, in exchange for a kiss? It does not seem like an equal exchange.”

“To me, the end result is worth anything.” She frowned, hearing the emotion in his voice. There was something more here than she knew. Something personal to the Baron. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a faint cough from down the hall reminding her exactly why she needed to agree to this.

How can I turn this down?

She had never kissed a man, let alone seduced one, but the Baron had not asked if she had experience. He had merely assumed that because she was baseborn, she was one shift away from being a bit of muslin. She wanted to be angry with him, to rail and scold, but she did not have the luxury of refusal.

If I don’t do this, Oscar will die.

She had asked for an answer and this was the one that came.

“You say I do not have to compromise myself, but how will I get this man to kiss me and then get him to stop?”

He leaned forward eagerly. “Well, it’s simple. I shall transform you into a lady. Heaven knows you’re a thing of beauty—in the right clothes, with the right mannerisms, no man will be able to resist you. He will take a liberty or two, but he won’t go too far if he thinks you’re a lady.”

“The right clothes will not make me a lady.”

“No, they will not. We shall have to get you the right name, too. That’s solved easily enough.”

Margaret’s eyebrow quirked. “I do not understand.”

Edward sat back, hand on his chin. “Lady Gabriella will do nicely, I think. She is my cousin and a widow. She resides in the country and seldom comes to Town. Being widowed would also explain the boy. You will have to pass him off as your son.”

Margaret’s frown got deeper. “Slow down, please. I do not follow you. You want me, in addition to seducing an unsuspecting gentleman, to pretend to be someone else?”

“I know, I know. It’s much to take in. Why don’t you go and rest and we can discuss it further in the morning?”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “I have to work in the morning.”

He shook his head. “Not anymore. You have only one duty now, and that is learning to be a lady.”

She blinked a few times, extremely skeptical about everything. She did not want to resign her position, just in case this—whatever this was—turned out to be a bunch of nonsense. No doubt the Baron was fairly flush in the pockets, but that did not mean he was serious about this endeavor.

“I…”

He stood up, reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet. “For now I will ask only one thing of you; that you trust me. Please, go and rest. It’s very late and you’re tired. I shall be back in the morning with breakfast.”

Margaret stared at the man before her, trying to take his measure. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he had had plenty of opportunity this night. Could it be that his strange proposal was sincere—could it truly be that simple?

The only thing Margaret knew for certain was that she was dead on her feet.

She nodded her agreement and the Baron bowed to her.

Let us just see what happens. If worse comes to worst, I can insist that he get me new employment.

“Good night, Miss Russell.”

She turned her head so fast that her cap was dislodged and half her hair hung down over her shoulders. “Goodnight, sir.”

She reached up, trying to straighten her cap as she walked down the corridor. After a moment, she gave it up as a lost cause and snatched the cap off her head, walking until she saw a wooden door at the end of the corridor. Behind her, she heard a door open and close and concluded that the Baron had left.

Reaching for the door, she slipped into the room. There was a single burning candle on the dresser, the light just enough so that she could see her way around. She half expected that Oscar would be waiting anxiously for her, but he was buried under a mountain of blankets, sprawled on the bed, snoring softly. She smiled, watching him sleep for a while before looking around the room in awe. It was bigger than their entire lodgings, the bed a huge four-poster piled high with blankets. There was wood paneling on the walls and huge bay windows, now covered by red velvet curtains. Everything screamed luxury, and Margaret was afraid to touch a single thing.

Shucking off her woolen gown, she climbed into the bed in her shift and settled herself comfortably. Oscar immediately shifted around so that his foot lay on top of her knees and his arm stretched across her face. She smiled, very familiar with his manner of sleeping, seeing as they usually shared a pallet.

She sighed. This is much more comfortable.

She closed her eyes, trying to relax. It was difficult, as her stomach was still twisted with worry and her mind was swirling with confusion. The Baron’s words echoed in her mind as she wondered if she could even pull off his scheme convincingly. She was no lady, had no aspirations to be one, but she wanted this for Oscar—a comfortable warm bed for him to sleep in and plenty of food to eat, as well as medicine for his cough.

But will I be able to pay the price for it?

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