“You stay.”
She jerked her chin up. “I go.” Then she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “I thought we were on the same side. Did this afternoon mean nothing to you?”
He could see what it cost her to mention their liaison. Her cheeks flamed red, making a lovely contrast to her copper hair. Neil reached out and touched one of those rosy cheeks. “It meant everything to me. That is why I want to keep you safe.”
She moved out of his reach. “And if I wanted to be safe and locked up tightly, I would have stayed home in Mayfair. I will have my way in this. Either I go with you or I follow behind. I think it safer if we go together.”
Neil saw the truth of her words in the hard set of her mouth and the lift of her brows in a slight challenge. He had been fighting for days to control his temper, but she’d finally cut the last tether. “Bloody hell, woman! Do you want to die?” he yelled.
“Watch your language, sir.”
“I bloody hell won’t.” He grabbed her shoulders, not roughly, but firmly enough that she couldn’t shake him off. “I am trying to keep you safe.”
“And who do you think kept me safe before you came?” She pointed at her chest. “Me. I can take care of myself, and I won’t have you coming in here and taking over.”
This wasn’t worth a raging tirade. Neil released her and clenched his fists. “If you want to die, fine. Let’s go.”
“Fine, let’s go.” She unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“After you,” he said, and she marched out the door. Neil had never wanted to throttle a woman so badly.
Sixteen
Julia shuddered at the dark street, which seemed menacing tonight and such a contrast to the warm, comforting hand on her shoulder. Neil took her arm then and led her away from Sunnybrooke and into the heart of Spitalfields.
“I know you are angry,” she said, as they stepped into the street, keeping to the side and out of the way of any carts and horses. She glanced at Neil, but his face was stoic and unreadable. He had a look of menace, a look of danger that was probably intended to keep criminals at bay.
“That is not the word I would use,” he answered.
“Furious? Enraged? I know you are worried, but you cannot expect me to stay home.”
He slanted her a look. “This won’t be a garden party, sweetheart.”
“I am well aware, sir, but neither must it be the battle you have made it out to be. Perhaps my presence might have a positive effect on the negotiations. At the least, we can all behave civilly.”
Neil laughed, and she huffed and looked away from him. She would reason with Slag, to buy them all more time. Perhaps if she gave him part of the money, he would be mollified.
Fall was upon them, and the days had begun to grow shorter. Men and women made their way through the streets, ostensibly to homes where they would see family and eat a meager evening meal. The beggars sat on every corner and every stoop, hands out, eyes pleading.
Julia looked down. The children were the ones who tore at her heart. When she had first come here, she had tried to take some of them in. For her efforts, she’d been chased away and accused of kidnapping. She’d quickly learned the children’s parents—at least that’s what the adults had claimed to be—benefitted from the pitiful, little beggars and were not eager to part with them.
The sad-eyed dogs and skinny cats were as omnipresent as the dirt and the smell of burnt onion. She would have liked to rescue them if she could ever gather the funds for some sort of kennel.
Prostitutes were another staple of the streets. Julia had learned stay away from them. She’d always thought them poor women forced into selling their bodies for blunt. Perhaps that was true, but they were not kind—at least not to her. She had the sense most of them would slit her throat and rob her blind before they’d ever consider any charity from her.
Not that she could blame them. A hard heart kept them alive in the rookeries of London. They could not afford to trust anyone.
Julia kept her head down and avoided the malevolent stares of the prostitutes, the pleas of the children, and the whines of the dogs. Neil must have known where the alehouse was located because he walked confidently past wipe shop after wipe shop—all selling stolen handkerchiefs. Julia clutched her own handkerchief—in her hand and ready should she need to cover her nose—tightly.
Finally, Neil stopped, and she squinted up at a low, dark building that looked to have been built at least two hundred years before. The small windows were grimy and the building’s paint had chipped off. The sign out front must have portrayed proud illustrations of an ox and a bull once, but they had faded to almost unrecognizability.
It was the sort of establishment Julia would have crossed to the other side of the street to avoid. Too late now. She swallowed. “Are we going inside?”
“Not yet.”
To her relief, Neil waited for a passing cart, then led her across the street. As she was about to inquire where he was taking her, a tall, fair-haired man with pale-blue eyes stepped into view. Mostyn. Julia could not have said where he had been a moment before, but his height and Nordic appearance made him stand out in the crowd of stoop-shouldered, dirty passersby. She had the sense that she would not have seen him until he wished to be seen. Clearly that was now, as Neil was leading her directly for him.
When they reached Mostyn, Julia looked up to meet his eyes. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Mostyn.”
He nodded at her, not speaking. In fact, he barely glanced at her before he returned his attention to Neil.
“Report,” Neil said, sounding very much like she imagined a general on the battlefield might sound.
“No one new in or out since I’ve been here,” Mostyn answered.
“The boy is still inside.”
Mostyn lifted a shoulder. “I can’t see the rear exit.”
Neil looked at her. “Then I suppose there is only one way to be certain. You have my back.”
It wasn’t a question, and Mostyn didn’t dignify the remark with an answer. But when Neil turned to lead Julia back toward the alehouse, Mostyn stepped in front of them. They had no choice but to pause. To do otherwise would be to attempt to walk through a stone wall.
“The lady,” Mostyn said.
Neil sighed, sounding weary. “I cannot leave her alone outside, and she refused to stay at the orphanage.”
Mostyn’s gaze flicked to her, then back to Neil. Whatever he saw when he looked at her must have convinced him persuading her to return to the orphanage was not an option. “I can go in alone,” he said.
Neil shook his head. “I considered that on the way here, but I want to attempt negotiation first. You are not known for your skills in that arena, my friend.”
“Why bother?” Mostyn asked. “Give Slag all the words you want. It will end the same way.”
“Are you implying violence is inevitable, Mr. Mostyn?” Julia asked.
He looked at her. “I never imply.”
“True enough,” Neil said. “But you have your orders.” He looked at Julia. “Revised somewhat, but basically the same. Are you ready?”
“I have my dancing shoes on,” Mostyn replied.
Julia wondered what that was supposed to mean. But she had no time to ask as, a moment later, she was ushered inside the Ox and Bull. It was even darker inside than she had anticipated, and it was rank with the smell of urine, smoke, and the odor of unwashed humans. She put her handkerchief to her nose, but even the rose fragrance she dabbed on the cloth could not disguise this stench. She coughed and attempted not to wretch. The sound seemed unbearably loud because as soon as they entered, all conversation ceased.