She glanced down the stairs toward the cobblestones painted in crossed golden squares by the windows of the café. “But I love this part of the city. It’s so alive, so full of youth and art and poetry.” “And cutpurses and rakes and prostitutes.” That drew another warm laugh from her throat. “Most of whom know me from the Yard. I am careful and I feel quite safe here. Besides,” she added lightly. “We can’t all afford a terrace near Mayfair, now can we?”
