A Rebel Without a Rogue by Bliss Bennet

struggling to recover, was Irish. And as much as he’d like to deny it, he loved her, and mourns her deeply. You’ll forgive me for believing your presence, no matter your intentions, likely to do more harm than good.”
    Fianna knew the signs of a lying man, and Kit Pennington showed them all. What cause had he to keep her from the position Mrs. Allyne had offered? Her nationality couldn’t be the reason, not if his family had employed an Irishwoman before.
    Her eyes narrowed. All fine and well for an aunt to give charity to the downtrodden, it would seem, but to invite a fallen woman into the bosom of her home—no, no man as family proud as was Kit Pennington would allow a female of his family to risk her reputation so.
    Frowning, she crossed her arms. “And so once again I find myself without shelter or protection?”
    “I would be happy to accompany you back to the Guardian Society, and explain why you are still in need of its services.”
    “No!”
    Kit Pennington was not the only one surprised by the vehemence of her refusal. How unwise, to show this man that the constant reminders from the asylum’s inmates and staff that she was no better than a dirty Irish whore had any power to hurt her. Fianna wished for a mental knife, one sharp enough to cut out that last bit of softness within her, the one that still sought consolation against the quotidian cruelties that continued to shape her life.
    Turning away from the expression of pity suffusing his face, she schooled her voice to impassive coldness. “You did not inform me that the Guardian Society would be no better than a prison, sir. How did you imagine I would find the man for whom I seek when I am not even allowed to leave its premises?”
    He took a step back, clasping his arms behind his back. “I told you I would see to it, Fianna.”
    “Since I’ve not seen hide nor hair of you since you left me there, Kit , you’ll forgive me for presuming that you have not, in fact, seen to it.”
    Lord, had he actually blushed at that reminder of the rudeness he’d shown in using her given name? If playing on his carnal instincts seemed doomed to failure, perhaps invoking his chivalrous ones would meet with greater success.
    “Am I wrong, sir?”
    “No, but—”
    “And there is no employment for me in Mrs. Allyne’s home?”
    “I am afraid not.”
    “Then I beg you excuse me,” she said, raising the small valise at her feet and dropping him a polite curtsy. “I must resume my search. If I have to find another protector in order to do so, well. . .”  
      She shrugged, then turned her back and stepped toward the entrance to the alley. As if she’d ever consent to such a degradation again! The mere thought of placing her body in the hands of another fumbling nobleman sent the bile rising in her throat.
    But she had to make the threat convincing. One step, then another—
    “Miss Cameron, wait!” She tried not to shudder in relief as a restraining hand grasped her elbow. “You know no one in London—how will you find a suitable. . .”
    Fianna donned her most brittle smile before facing him again. “The word is ‘protector,’ Mr. Pennington. ‘Protector.’ A man must have coined the term, do you not agree? Alas, the irony of the appellation tends to escape those who employ it. As for suitability, well, nice manners and expeditious dispatch in the bedroom would both be more than welcome. But little beyond the pecuniary is truly required.”
    His brow furrowed again. Curse her hand for that momentary twitch, as if it would reach out to smooth the lines away. Time to twist the knife deeper, not pull it free.
    “Are you acquainted with a Mr. Davenport, sir? Or Lord Kirkland? Both of the gentlemen expressed some interest in my future plans, despite purporting to be friends of Lord Ingestrie’s.”
    “No.” The hand on her elbow tightened. “No protector. I’ll provide for you.”  
    “You’ll provide for me?” He would do her such a