Page 72 of The Dueling Duchess

“His lordship let us in.” The voice now sounded challenging—braver.

Cecile’s mouth pulled into a grim smile. “His lordship, eh?” She noticed something glinting on the child’s cheek. “Is that jam on your face?”

“We didn’t steal it! His lordship gave it to us.”

Cecile muttered some curse words in her native tongue. “Your dog better not have piddled in there—or you either.”

The child looked outraged by her accusation; so did the dog, for that matter, baring its teeth and growling low.

Cecile picked up the broom again.

The urchin flung skinny arms around the cur and hugged it tight. “Don’t hit him, please! He won’t hurt anything.”

Cecile sighed; she was going to strangle Guy.

She was going to wake him from the tiny, uncomfortable cot she’d allowed him to have and strangle him.

“Please, missus, we didn’t hurt anything. We’ll go. Don’t call the Watch.”

Cecile decided the voice belonged to a female—a young one. She watched in silence as the dirty creature gathered a few possessions and put them in a burlap sack. The girl’s shoulders were spindly and narrow, her bones as delicate as a bird’s. Even the scrubby cur’s shoulders seemed to slump.

Cecile groaned and she heaved a sigh. “Fine. You can stay—for tonight.”

The girl gave a breathless little sob that did more to touch Cecile’s heart than anything in a long, long time.

“Thank you, miss,” she mumbled, her chin wobbling dangerously.

“What is your name?”

“Cat.”

“That’s not a name—it’s an animal.”

Cat bristled, just like her namesake. “It’s the only one I’ve got.”

Cecile grunted; that sounded like a lie. “How old are you?”

The girl shrugged.

Cecile took a step closer and then recoiled. “Mon Dieu!” she gasped as the smell hit her.

“What?” Cat snapped.

“You smell like—like—” Cecile gagged.

“It’s not my fault,” Cat retorted.

Cecile decided that was probably true.

“Do you and the hound have fleas?” She raised a staying hand before the girl could answer. “Never mind. You both will take a bath before you spend a night in my house.”

“A bath?” Cat sounded as if Cecile were speaking a foreign language.

Oh God. Had the child never even heard of a bath? How many years’ worth of filth would Cecile discover beneath the layer of dirt she could see?

And why was she doing this?

She should just take the girl—and her dog—and drop them in Guy’s room. If he wanted to take in filthy urchins, then he should have to tend to them.