If He's Sinful by Hannah Howell Page B

clouds. A partnership with a friend or two. Ashton knew just whom to ask. He knew he could not raise the funds to make a decent investment on his own, but he could certainly raise a share of what was needed.
    “Ah, I see that your lady is looking for you,” Burnage said. “Do you know where she bought those clothes for her page? I want to be sure I never take my business there,” he added in a soft voice as Clarissa joined them, dragging Hector along with her.
    Ashton knew he ought to take offense. It was, after all, a slur upon the taste of his future wife. Instead, he grinned. Hector was dressed in a violent blue coat, pale pink lace flowering at his wrists and throat, an elaborately embroidered waistcoat with what appeared to be every bird in England fighting for room on it, and shoes with garishly ornate silver buckles. His thick black hair had been lightly powdered, making it look a dull gray, and his queue was adorned with a fat pale pink bow.
    He met the boy’s gaze and found a dare to laugh glittering in those wide amber eyes. There was also a pinch of pain in the boy’s expression and Ashton looked down at the thin arm Clarissa held. She squeezed Hector so tightly she had to be cutting off all flow of blood to the boy’s fingers and her long sharp nails had to be digging into the boy despite his clothes. He reached out, snatched her hand off Hector’s arm, and placed it on his.
    “Have you come to tell me that you are ready to go home?” he asked.
    “Yes, most assuredly.” She looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear her, Burnage having moved away, and snapped, “I did not realize you had such a love of trade.”
    She was a beautiful woman with her big hazel eyes, fat blond curls, and lush figure, but Ashton could now see that her beauty was shallow. There was no kindness or heart beneath its gloss. Brant had seen that quicker than he had, but now Ashton’s eyes were open. Open wide enough to know he could never spend the rest of his life with this woman. And Burnage, bless his merchant’s heart, had just taught him ways with which he might yet escape that dire fate.
    “Then let us take our leave,” he said as he led her toward their hostess, the widowed Burnage’s sister. He, too, wanted to get home. He had to make note of all he had learned tonight for it could be what gained him his freedom after years of servitude to his father’s excesses.
    Chapter Seven
     

    “Careful, Paul.”
    Penelope grabbed the young boy before he stepped without thinking into the busy street. For someone already revealing a strong gift for foreseeing things, he could act as blindly as any small child at times. She did not usually take the active boy to the market with her, but today the younger boys were busy with their tutor and Paul had been so restless he had been making it difficult for the others to pay heed to the man. The older boys had simply and mysteriously disappeared. Even Hector had gone off somewhere when he should have been at his lessons. She was going to have to gather all the boys together and give them a stern lecture. They were all too young to run around the dangerous city on their own.
    “What are you going to buy?” Paul asked as he hopped from foot to foot at her side.
    “Something for a stew, I should think. Mrs. Stark’s daughter is still feeling poorly so she only had the time to bring us some bread, ham, and eggs. That will do fine for luncheon today and breakfast on the morrow but I must make you something to eat for your dinner tonight.”
    “Not mutton.”
    “Nay, not mutton. S’truth, I am not sure how to cook it correctly anyway.” She was not sure Mrs. Stark did either for the last one Penelope had tasted had definitely warranted Paul’s aversion to having any more.
    She sighed when Paul raced to the window of a shop that displayed toy soldiers. They were well formed and painted beautifully. The perfect temptation for a little boy. Penelope wished she had