“Had one asking about work a month back. But she wasn’t looking for this kind of employment.” The barkeep gestured toward the main floor, where painted women plied their trade. “Wanted serving or cleaning. Strange, that. Most girls who end up here ain’t got other options.”
A month ago. The same answer he’d received at other establishments that evening. The timing sent ice through Owen’s veins.
“Do you remember anything else about her?” he asked.
“Pretty enough, but thin as a stick. Dark hair, spoke with a French accent.” The barkeep shrugged. “Told her to try the factories. Ain’t seen her since.”
Owen pushed another coin forward. “If anyone asks, we never spoke.”
“My lips are sealed.” The barkeep pocketed the money with practiced ease.
Owen moved deeper into the establishment, scanning faces without hope.
Adele wouldn’t be here. If she’d been reduced to this kind of work, she would have taken the first position offered rather than maintaining standards about employment.
Unless she’d been looking for something else entirely.
Information, perhaps. Or simply a place to disappear.
The thought of Nicholas’s lover reduced to begging for work in gaming halls made Owen’s chest tighten with guilt. He should have searched for her sooner. Should have expected that a foreign woman with no connections might struggle to survive on London’s unforgiving streets.
“Looking for company, Your Grace?”
An older woman materialized at his elbow. Her painted face showed the wear of too many years in places like this. She moved with the practiced grace of someone who’d learned to read men’s desires before they said them aloud.
“Information,” Owen corrected, steering her toward an empty table in the corner. “About one of your colleagues. A French girl named Adele.”
The woman’s expression sharpened with interest. “Information costs extra.”
Owen produced his purse, noting how her eyes tracked the movement. “What can you tell me about her?”
“Adele.” She repeated the name slowly, as if doing so would jog her memory. “Pretty little thing. Came around, asking questions a few weeks back. Looked like she hadn’t eaten in days.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About work, mostly. But not the kind we offer here.” The woman leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Seemed more interested in finding someone than finding employment. Kept asking if we’d seen any gentlemen matching particular descriptions.”
Owen’s pulse quickened. “What descriptions?”
“Black hair, gray eyes. Well-dressed. The kind of man who might frequent establishments like this for entertainment.” Her smile held no warmth. “Could have been describing half the gentlemen in London.”
Or one specific duke who’d been searching gaming halls for information about a dead friend’s lover.
“Did she find what she was looking for?”
“Not here. But she seemed to think she might have better luck elsewhere.” The woman studied him with calculating eyes. “Strange thing, though. She had that look about her.”
“What look?”
“The hollow-eyed exhaustion of a woman who’d recently given birth. And she kept touching her stomach like she was missing something.” The woman held out her hand expectantly. “Is that enough for you?”
Owen placed several more coins in her palm. “If anyone else comes around asking about Adele, you’ve never heard the name.”
“Of course,” she said and tucked the money away with professional efficiency.
As Owen made his way toward the exit, his mind raced. This was another establishment where he’d received the same disturbing information.
Adele had been in London, searching for someone who matched his description. Which meant she’d been looking for him.
