Tied With a Bow

a puzzle, like two halves sliding together to make one whole. It’s you.
    Behind her blue, translucent eyes, recognition wavered. Doubt bloomed.
    Tension thrummed along his nerves.
    If she knew the role he had played in her life, would she still feel grateful? Or would she hate him?
    It didn’t matter. She could never know. The threat of demons, the unpredictability of humankind, compelled the Nephilim to live secretly.
    She could never know him.
    He drew a ragged breath, torn between relief and regret. Though why he should feel regret he was not sure.
    “Is that why you want to go to London?” he asked. “To make a new life?”
    She blinked those long, lovely lashes like a dreamer waking from sleep. “What?”
    He helped her over a log fallen in the snow. “You wanted to talk with me about a position in London.”
    “Not for myself. For Miss Finch. Julia’s lady’s maid.”
    Lucien raised his brows. “If the girl thinks to improve her lot in London, why doesn’t she apply to your housekeeper for a reference? Or Lady Basing.”
    “Her lot is not so easily remedied,” Aimée said. “She is with child.”
    Ah.
    Lucien considered. “Can the father be brought to marry her?”
    Aimée pressed her lips together. “No.”
    Suspicion stirred in his gut. “Basing?” he asked grimly.
    She lifted one shoulder in a little shrug. “He denies it. He will not take any financial responsibility for her or the child.”
    Swiving son of a bitch. “So you came to me.”
    “I am not asking you for money,” Aimée said hastily. “I know you are . . . That is, this is none of your affair. But . . .”
    She knew he was short on funds. She had applied to him for help anyway. He was oddly moved by her trust.
    “You did the right thing,” he said. “Martin can take her to Fanny.”
    “Fanny?”
    “Fanny Grinton on Maiden Lane. She can give your maid shelter until permanent placement can be found.”
    Aimée bit her lower lip. “How much will it cost? I can contribute a little to Finch’s keep, but . . .”
    He shook his head. “It isn’t necessary.”
    She shot him a skeptical look, very French. “Your Miss Grinton takes in boarders out of the goodness of her heart?”
    “Yes,” he said shortly.
    She looked unconvinced.
    “Fanny was in service herself once,” he explained reluctantly. “Until she was debauched by the master of the house. When his wife threw her into the street, Fanny prostituted herself to survive. Now she rescues others who have suffered a similar fate.”
    “This is an inspiring story. But inspiration does not pay the bills.”
    “The residents of the house take in sewing and laundry. They contribute what they can,” he said.
    “And you provide the rest,” Aimée guessed with an approving nod. “Which is altogether noble and generous of you.”
    He was shaken by her faith in him. Unlike Amherst, she believed the best of him without hesitation. Without question.
    He did not deserve her good opinion.
    “I am no hero. No angel. I am not even a very good man.”
    “Most gentlemen in your circumstances would not spend their resources on those less fortunate.”
    “I have to.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. He forced himself to relax them, forced himself to say, “I hired her.”
    Aimée’s brow puckered. “This house on Maiden Lane . . . It was your idea? You hired Miss Grinton to run it?”
    “Yes.” His head throbbed. He was tempted to let her go on believing that. To let her think well of him. But he had never been good at pretense. “No. I was her last client.”
    Aimée continued to regard him, her face calm.
    Didn’t she understand?
    “I hired her as a whore,” he said harshly.
    He didn’t know why he told her. To shock her, to drive her away? Or was he hoping, against hope and all reason, for her absolution?
    He held himself stiffly, prepared for her blushes, braced for her condemnation.
    She did blush, a rosy flush that swept from her jawline to the brim of her bonnet. “If you set up every lady of intimate acquaintance in a house with a budget and instructions to rescue other unfortunates, it is no wonder you are short of funds.”
    He wanted to laugh. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do any number of inappropriate things.
    Because he could not, he glowered at her instead. “I am not intimately acquainted with any other woman.”
    She tilted her head. “Only the one? Miss Grinton.”
    What was she getting at?
    “Yes,” he snapped.
    “Did you