As Tilly had been leaving The Iris, she’d made yet another impulsive move and directed the driver here.
You only met the girl once. Still, here she was.
It had been a risk to come here without Verity, but in all honesty her constant carping about the way a lady should behave had her leaving her behind again this morning. Tilly could only imagine what she would say about her current location. If her parents or, and dare she even think his name, Ambrose, found out, there would be hell to pay.
The problem was, if something got into her head, Tilly had to see it through to its completion. She took out her handkerchief and pretended to blow her nose. The stench was horrid, and it was all around her.
It was not a single smell but a layeringof them, like coal smoke and river mud, plus the sour tang of too many unwashed bodies. Tilly raised her handkerchief to her nose again.
She kept her eyes forward as she walked, knowing that soon she would have to ask for the location to Flower and Dean Street. The buildings leaned toward one another overhead like they were sharing secrets, their upper stories almost touching, blocking the pale morning light to a grey trickle.
Tilly was used to people and lots of them, but here they were everywhere.Women with baskets barged past her without apology, and children in rags ran barefoot across filthy streets. A man slept upright in a doorway. A girl no older than ten hawked matches from a tray strung around her neck, her face appeared old in all the wrong ways.
At least Tilly had worn a dark brown coat and sturdy black boots today. Her bonnet was brown also, and hercream scarf was tucked inside her coat out of sight, but she still felt conspicuous and could feel eyes on her.
She saw an old lady sitting on a rickety stool to the right and made herself walk that way.
“Good day to you. I was wondering if you could tell me in which direction is Flower and Dean Street?”
The woman had no teeth, and the skin above her eyes seemed to almost cover them. She was wrapped in dirty shawls and was probably not as old as she appeared. “Why do you want to know?”
“I have business there, madam,” Tilly said. “I am to meet with Ruby Little.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied Tilly. “Don’t know the name or the street.” She then spat on the ground at Tilly’s feet.
“Well, thank you anyway.” Walking away fast, she carried on down the street.
An approaching vehicle had her stepping closer to the buildings. A carriage was passing, and the man staring out of the window made her shrink into the shadows.
What was Ambrose doing here?
Turning her head so their eyes would not meet, she hurried away.
“Tilly!”
She ignored the roar and walked faster.
“Stop at once!”
Drat.
Turning, she saw he was standing in the carriage doorway now, glaring at her. She could just run away and would likely lose him in no time, but he knew how to find her and would make a point of tracking her down to yell at her some more.
He stepped down, spoke briefly to his driver, and then stalked her way, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around him.
“My lord, what brings you here?” Tilly said, her tone genial, which wasn’t easy, as her throat felt tight.
He stopped when the toes of his large boots brushed hers. Leaning in to deliberately intimidate her, he roared, “The more important question, Miss Wilson, is what the bloody hell areyoudoing in such a place alone?”
“I’m sure cussing is not necessary, my?—”
“Tilly.” Her name came out as a warning.
“Well, as to that, I am trying to locate someone, thank you for asking.”
He lowered his dark brows, and there was a pulse pounding in his neck now. Anger vibrated off the man. She always seemed to have that effect on him.
It was then she saw the mark on his cheek.