The Earl and the Pickpocket. Helen Dickson

left the room. Alone at last, immediately Edwina was out of bed and lowering herself into the hot scented water, revelling in the sheer luxury. She scrubbed weeks-old grime from her skin and soaped the gnarled thatch of hair, careful when she washed over the cut on the side of her face, which was extremely tender.

      When she was satisfied that she was clean, she relaxed and closed her eyes. Her body now smelled of roses, and not the hateful stench of poverty. Not knowing what would happen next, and that there was every possibility that she would be turned back out onto to street, she was determined to savour the moment to the full.

      It was mid-morning when Adam arrived at Dolly’s Place. Striding with a natural exuberance into the spacious hall, with elegant, sumptuously carpeted and furnished gaming rooms leading off, he was met by Dolly herself. She ran her establishment and her girls with stern efficiency and the keen eye of an army commander, and no one seeing her now, bright and cheerful as ever, would suspect that she would not have sought her bed until the dawn light was peeping over the horizon.

      With a smile curving her lips, she swept an eye of admiring approval over Adam’s well-groomed form. He was attired in buff-coloured breeches above trim brown knee boots, a cream silk waistcoat embroidered with silver fleurs-de-lis, and a superbly cut tan frock coat, the lace tumbling from his jabot and spilling over his wrists of the finest quality.

      Darkly handsome and imbued with potent masculine allure, he exuded virility and a casual, lazy confidence. There was little wonder women were eager for his affections, falling over themselves in the rush to get close to him. Seeing him here at her humble establishment was like seeing a royal prince consorting with the commoners.

      Mid-morning, and with most of the girls still sleeping off a busy night, the establishment was relatively quiet.

      ‘How’s Ed? How does he fare this morning, Dolly?’ Adam enquired briskly, removing his gloves and placing them with his tricorn on an occasional table at the bottom of the wide, white marble staircase.

      ‘She’s much better—and cleaner,’ Dolly replied, preceding him up the stairs. She paused and glanced back at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘I think you’ll be impressed.’

      ‘She?’ Adam asked, standing stock still and staring up at her blankly.

      ‘Yes, she,’ Dolly repeated, enjoying his confusion. ‘Ed—or perhaps I should say Edwina—my dear Adam, is no boy.’

      ‘He isn’t? Don’t be ridiculous, Dolly. Have you taken leave of your senses?’

      ‘No—’ Dolly chuckled richly ‘—but you must have if you, of all people, can’t tell the difference. You have been completely hoodwinked. Now stop gawping and come and see.’

      She ushered Adam inside the room before making herself scarce. A young woman dressed in an extremely fetching buttercup-yellow dress stood by the window, her hands clasped at her trim waist. Small and as slender as a willow, she was watching him warily. Without taking his eyes off her, he moved towards her, staring in disbelief. Could this delectable, lovely young creature be the boy Ed? Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his hand, raising her face. He could only stare in wonder at the face that was unmistakably Ed’s.

      ‘Good Lord!’ The words were uttered on a breath. ‘I should have known.’ She had a femininity he could have put to his lips and drunk, and she was so close he could feel her breathing, feel the warmth of her, and smell her natural scent.

      Never had he seen such shimmering perfection in his life before, as he did now, when he gazed at her vibrant copper-and-gold-coloured hair curling in soft, feathery wisps, framing a finely proportioned visage, flawless, except for the small cut and purple bruise on her temple. Her eyes were as he remembered, a sparkling shade of blue-green—jade, he now noted with an artist’s expert eye. She wore an expression that combined vitality and youthful curiosity, without appearing indelicate or wanton. She was quite enchanting.

      Rather nervously Edwina withstood the intensity of his gaze, meeting those disturbing deep blue eyes of his levelled on her own. His dark brows lifted a fraction in bland enquiry.

      ‘Do you mind?’

      Edwina continued to stare up at him, aware of two things—his darkly handsome face, and the richly textured deep voice. The combination sent a peculiar warmth up her spine.

      ‘Mind?’ she repeated stupidly.

      ‘If I look at you.’

      ‘No—oh, no.’

      A chuckle started deep in his chest. ‘Well, Ed? What do you have to say for this deception?’ he asked, dropping his hand and taking a step back.

      His eyes were dark, probing, quizzical. His smile was rakishly winsome, and must have fluttered many feminine hearts. ‘I say it was no deception. You seem surprised—about my being a girl, I mean.’

      ‘Frankly, my dear, I believe you to be full of surprises.’

      ‘Are you disappointed?’

      ‘A little. It means I can no longer employ you to look for Toby.’

      ‘I don’t see why that should make a difference. I can revert back to Ed any time I choose.’

      Adam laughed lightly, not taking her reply seriously. Her voice was soft centred, lovely, creamy. The vivid colour of her dress brought a glow to her pale skin. Without realising it she was standing straight, her head high. There was the hint of the kind of sophistication that seemed natural to young ladies of breeding—straight shoulders, the confidence of a level gaze, smooth line of spine, with no slouch.

      ‘I must thank you for coming to my aid last night. I hope it didn’t spoil your evening at the theatre,’ Edwina remarked, wondering who the dark-haired woman was and how closely linked they were.

      ‘I was glad to be on hand to render assistance,’ he said rather formally. ‘I’m afraid the ruffian who attacked you got clean away. Now—explain to me what has prompted you to adopt such a mode of attire.’

      ‘I dressed as a boy for my own protection. As a girl in St Giles I would have been ready bait.’ She gazed steadily into his clear blue eyes. ‘You are a man, so you will know what I mean.’

      ‘Perfectly. However, you seemed well at home in your boy’s clothes—but I like these better,’ he murmured in such a way that it brought an embarrassed flush to Edwina’s cheeks.

      Having played the lad so long, she found the conversion to feminine ways difficult. Besides, with the air positively crackling with Adam’s virile presence, for the first time in her life she had met a man who made her feel alert and alive, and curiously stimulated.

      ‘I don’t know your reasons for the masquerade,’ he went on, recalling their conversation in the alehouse when the boy Ed had told him he had secrets he wished to keep, ‘nor do I particularly want to know. Suffice it to say that is your business—not mine. What we must decide is what is to be done with you. Just how old are you?’

      ‘Eighteen.’

      ‘I thought you were much younger. And the man who attacked you? Who was he?’

      ‘That was Jack.’

      ‘Your fence—receiver?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘And is he aware of your sex?’

      ‘No. No one is. I told you, it was for my own protection that I dressed as a boy.’

      ‘Yes, I can understand that. Why did he attack you?’

      ‘Because I ran away.’

      ‘Are you afraid of him?’

      ‘I’m afraid he will put the law on me—that I will go to prison—and because I ran away from him nothing would please Jack more than to see me rotting in a filthy cell. If he were to discover I am a girl in boy’s clothing, it would simply amuse him, and he would use it against me.’

      ‘Then