“Good.” Her words stung, but he didn’t want to ponder why.
“May I offer you some advice in kind?” The last of the glow in her eyes and skin faded. She was the prim and proper Miss Perriton now, no longer his siren authoress.
“Viscount Ravenwood is the last man your niece should marry.” She rose of her toes to kiss his cheek. “Good night, Daedalus. Thank you for a mostpleasurableevening.” She ran her palm up the hardened cock behind his falls and sauntered into the darkness, not toward Breadmore’s ballroom, but toward the mews at the back of the house. He hurried in that direction and arrived just in time to see a rather plain carriage disappear down the narrow lane behind the garden walls.
Where the hell was she going at this time of night, alone? The possibilities that came to mind soured his stomach. And what did she mean about Ravenwood? These lessons in pleasure were going to cost him far more than he’d ever bargained for, that much was certain.
6
Four days had passed since her encounter with Daedalus Whitcombe.Four days, and Cordelia had neither seen nor heard from the man. Encounter? What a terribly plain word for an experience that had opened her eyes to an entirely new world of possibilities. How she had managed to walk away from him and step into her carriage as if nothing had happened she would never understand. The moment she had settled onto the squabs of the family conveyance her legs had commenced to shake as if every hint of bone had been removed. Only yesterday she had finally gone most of the daylight hours without daydreaming about his hands and his lips on her body. He had taken over her nights, however, like a conquering medieval overlord. All her years of pleasuring herself to the idea of some nameless, faceless lover counted as naught against the fantasies she played out in her mind featuring the gentle, passionate lover her inexperienced pupil had proved himself to be.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath. She was no innocent miss exhibiting her wares in a white dress in the ballrooms of Mayfair. She likely knew as much or more about physical passion between a man and a woman than any lady of her acquaintance, save the women of Seven Dials for whom she worked to—
“Are you well, Miss Perriton?”
She raised her head to meet the steady gaze of Captain Atherton. He and Mister Archer Colwyn, Bow Street Runner and betrothed of London’s most skilled chess mistress, sat on the rear-facing seat of the sumptuous carriage in which they traveled. They had agreed to accompany her to have handbills printed inquiring for information about the whereabouts of Polly O’Hara and now Tall Mary, who had gone missing yesterday.
“Of course, Captain Atherton.”Do calm yourself, Cordelia. “I was merely observing that my fears are likely the result of a ridiculously overwrought imagination. These two ladies are playing least in sight for, I’m certain, a very good reason.”
“You don’t strike me as a ridiculous sort of female,” Mister Colwyn observed. “One missing lady from a household may be explained away. Two in the space of a week?” He shook his head. “I think not.”
“My wife declares you to be one of the most sensible ladies of her acquaintance,” Captain Atherton said. “Not to mention CB is quite disturbed his patient has disappeared when she promised to return for him to ensure her injuries are on the mend. I ignore my wife’s opinion and CB’s concerns at my peril, believe me.”
“I am most grateful to both of you for your assistance. My brothers are useless in these situations, not to mention they do not approve of my work with the Seven Dials ladies.”
“Few brothers would,” Mister Colwyn said. “But your work and our friend, CB’s, work is greatly appreciated by those you help, believe me. Damned nuisance, brothers.” The man was deadly handsome when he smiled. No wonder Charlotte Smythe spoke of him with the expression of a woman well loved.
“I daresay the man we are about to ask for help with these handbills would agree with you, Col. His ducal brother is a nightmare from what Honoria tells me.” Captain Atherton leaned forward to peer out the carriage window.
“She would know,” Mister Colwyn agreed. “She grew up with Chelmsford and his brother, did she not?”
Chelmsford? They were going to see the Duke of Chelmsford’s brother?Cordelia swallowed against the sudden sinking in her stomach.
“Indeed. And apparently Chelmsford is doing all in his power to drag Whitcombe out of the naughty book business.”
“Whitcombe?” She tried to even out her tone. “We are going to see Lord Whitcombe? At his place of business?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Mister Colwyn shook his head.
“I thought you did or Honoria did.”
A cold sweat swept over her body. “Gentlemen, Lord Whitcombe seems a worthy gentleman,” An image of Daedalus, his lips on her breast, flashed through her mind. “And whilst I approve heartily of the existence of Whitcombe’s bookshop, I cannot be seen entering said establishment.” She rattled on, her words picking up speed like a child’s toy sent down a hill. “Especially not in the company of two gentlemen. I despise the notion, but my ability to help the women I sponsor depends on my spotless reputation to garner support and to find positions for them in—”
“Miss Perriton,” Captain Atherton said as he waved his hand before her face. “We will be coming and going from the mews and alley behind the bookshop.” Mister Colwyn drew a bundle from beneath their seat. “And Honoria sent these for you to wear to and from the carriage.”
“No harm will come to your reputation,” Mister Colwyn said. “I just hope you can see to walk up and down the stairs in all of that.” He gestured at the full-length black cape and the monstrous heavily veiled bonnet Cordelia struggled to don.
Cordelia cared not a wit for navigating the stairs. She simply did not want anyone to connect her with Daedalus Whitcombe. Of all the places to come about the handbills of the missing women…
“Is there a reason we are coming to this particular shop to have the handbills printed?” she asked as the carriage slowed and turned down a narrow mews lane. The vehicle rocked to a stop and a footman in rather austere livery opened the door and lowered the steps.
“Whitcombe owes us a favor,’ Captain Atherton said as he handed her down.
“Whitcombe owes a great many favors,” Mister Colwyn said as he took her arm and led her toward the wooden staircase at the back of the building.
“Too bloody right,’ Captain Atherton agreed and followed them up the stairs. “Not to mention he has the latest in steam presses and can print these in a thrice.” He held in his hand the handbill he and Cordelia had put together. The images of Polly and Tall Mary were uncanny, but they would be. Captain Atherton had drawn them.
“What favors does he owe you?” she asked as she entered the back of the bookshop and waited for one of them to direct her to Daedalus’s office. No need to give them even a hint she already knew the way. The only men more troublesome than beautiful men were clever men. With what she knew of Lady Honoria, Charlotte Smythe, and Lady Jane Cordelia had already surmised they would not align themselves with unintelligent men.
