At Daedalus’s questioning expression Cordelia explained. “I prefer that only Mister Colwyn know where the house I have taken for the ladies under my care is located. Not even Mister Carrington-Bowles knows the address and he is Polly’s physician.”
“Carrington-Bowles is a physician? Good to know.”
“You can set me down at St. James Square. I have been summoned by Lady Camilla.” Captain Atherton strolled to the door from which Ox and Daedalus had entered the room. “But before we go, I should like to know what lady is so unfortunate as to be invited to your…” He leaned in the doorway, coughed, and turned back to them, his expression one of disgust and disdain. “Private chambers.”
“Ath,” Mister Colwyn warned. “As Whitcombe said, thereisa lady present.”
“Miss Perriton, I meant no insult, but as you are a member of Lady Camilla’s literary society, I suspect you have an opinion on what a lady might find conducive to seduction?”
Daedalus opened his mouth to speak. Cordelia shushed him with a raised hand. “I am no shrinking violet, Captain, in that you are correct. However, Lord Whitcombe does not know me very well. At least not well enough to ask my opinion of his choice of bedchamber furnishings style.”
“Style?” the artist said with a snort. “What style?”
“Is he always like this?” Daedalus asked Mister Colwyn.
“Worse,” the Runner replied. “If it is that bad, perhaps Lady Camilla can lend you her decorator, Whitcombe. He is supposed to be the best in London.”
“Can’t have him at the moment,” the captain said. “He’s decorating the townhouse of one of the Earl of Framlingwood’s mistresses or so Honoria says.”
“One of his mistresses? How many does he have?” Cordelia could not remember when she had enjoyed a conversation more, to be treated as an equal by brilliant men. Or perhaps Daedalus’s glances her way and the charming way he actually blushed at some of the other gentlemen’s remarks accounted for her sense of freedom and well-being.
“Five at last count,” Daedalus said.
“Five? Good heavens.” Cordelia tucked that bit of information back for another day. There was a story there, and she was just the authoress to write that story. Whilst they had been conversing she had slowly made her way around the room until she stood in the doorway into the chamber that had provoked Captain Atherton’s poor assessment. The captain raised an eyebrow and swept one hand into the room. She did not move closer but leaned forward to give the chamber a sweeping perusal. “Hmmm. Shall we go, Mister Colwyn?” She retrieved her bonnet and cape on her way to the door out of the office.
“Miss Perriton?”
She turned at Daedalus’s inquiring tone. “Yes, my lord?” She knew what he wanted, but she had a wicked desire to make him ask. His face fell and she nearly felt sorry for him.
“I will have Ox bring the handbills around when they are ready.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said as Mister Colwyn stepped past her to go down and summon the carriage to the back door. “Captain Atherton, are you coming?” The artist had settled a hip on Daedalus’s desk as if he intended to stay. Daedalus, who had been rummaging through some papers stopped and eyed the man with a murderous expression. Cordelia bit her lower lip.
“I’ll have Ox fetch me a hackney,” he replied and crossed his arms over his chest. “I think our Lord Whitcombe is in need of my advice in the arena of seducing women.”
“I think I shall have Ox fetch you and your advice a swim in the Thames,” Daedalus muttered. He crossed the room and pressed a small slip of parchment into her ungloved hand. Her eyes met his as he closed her fingers around the paper and slowly dragged his fingertips across her knuckles before he stepped back. “You dropped this,” he said softly. “My bedchamber…I…”
“The copper bathing tub appears quite luxurious,” she whispered. “And large enough for two?” His eyes blazed, more blue than grey today. He managed a slow half-smile and tapped her hand.
Cordelia tightened her fist. She forced herself to bob him a curtsey, nod at Captain Atherton, put on the bonnet and cape, and join Mister Colwyn in the carriage.
“Now,” the Bow Street Runner said once she had removed the bonnet yet again and they were on their way to Gracechurch Street. “I want you to tell me everything that led up to Polly O’Hara’s disappearance and then this Tall Mary’s disappearance.”
She nodded and opened her mouth to speak.
“Then perhaps, if you would like to, you can tell me what is going on between you and Lord Whitcombe.” He sat back against the squabs and smiled.
7
Cordelia peered out the carriage window and watched the rain-washed streets of Londonpass slowly by as the unmarked but plush carriage traveled from Covent Garden toward Mayfair. She had made her excuses to her brothers at theentr’acte, pleading a headache, and was now on her way to tutor Daedalus Whitcombe in the art of pleasuring a woman. In her opinion, he needed little instruction and only some pointed encouragement, which made him the ideal lover. A lover with secrets she had an insatiable desire to discover, first and foremost amongst them—where precisely tonight’s lesson was to take place.
Send word of your whereabouts for tomorrow night.
An unmarked carriage will come for you at eight o’ clock.
The contentsof the note he’d tucked into her hand had thrilled her far more than she wanted to admit. Unfortunately, she’d not been able to mask her reaction completely. Archer Colwyn was a dangerous man. He missed nothing, not the passing of a note, nor the slight flush of color to a lady’s face, nor even the quickening of her pulse at a point on her neck. She had refused his inquiries at first. When he’d explained that his knowledge of her comings and goings and the people, especially the men, in her life would help him to discover what had happened to her friends, she had no choice. Which, of course, was the Runner’s plan all along.
She had told him nearly everything. When she revealed her secret identity he had congratulated her. When she explained the women at the Gracechurch Street house were the source of most of her story ideas he had pronounced her brilliant. When she told him Daedalus knew her identity, but not the source of her stories, and their relationship was strictly that of publisher and authoress, Archer Colwyn had laughed, darkly, but had said no more. Too bloody clever by half, but a gentleman. A gentleman, oddly enough, she trusted to keep her secrets and to do his utmost to find Polly and Tall Mary. Despite her guilt about seeking pleasure with Daedalus, she was forced to leave the safety of her friends in the Runner’s hands. Looking for two missing women in the teeming population of London’s seedier streets was beyond her understanding no matter how much time she’d spent in the warrens of Seven Dials.
