Shana Galen (20 page)

“He is not pleased.”

Lady Smythe laughed. “I should think not, but he has faith in you.”

Elinor wrinkled her forehead. “How do you know that?”

“Because if he did not, you would not be going.”

Elinor wanted to bristle at the words, but she had a feeling it was more of a compliment for Winn than a slight directed toward her.

“What do you want to ask me?” Lady Smythe lifted her sandwich and ate it in two bites.

Elinor took a deep breath. What did she want to ask? “I suppose I’m nervous.”

Lady Smythe nodded as she spread jam on a crumpet. “Of course you are, and that is good. Nerves keep you alert, and that is what we want.” She bit into the crumpet.

“What sort of things should I look for?”

“Anything to do with the prince, or any evidence Foncé has been there. If Lefèbvre and Foncé are not meeting at this brothel, where are they meeting?” She gestured to the stack of papers surrounding her chaise longue. “I have looked at all of these reports on the Maîtriser group again and again, and I cannot help but think there is something I am missing. Why the prince regent? What could Foncé possibly hope to gain?” She lifted a scone and peered at her plate. “I thought I had chosen a sandwich.”

“You…” Elinor decided against informing the viscountess she had already eaten it. Instead, she took a bite of her own. “You should try them. They are delicious.”

“Thank you.” She reached for another. “I will. Now, the other thing,” she said when she had swallowed, “is that you will be infiltrating a brothel. I imagine you’ll be presented to the abbess in some manner or other. You want to appear believable, but not so believable that you are cornered in a bedroom and forced to knee a man in order to escape.”

Elinor nodded, making note of kneeing as a possible exit strategy.

“Look pretty but uninteresting. You do not want to catch Lefèbvre’s eye. I imagine at this point, he has seen his fill and barely looks twice at the girls. That should work to your advantage.”

Elinor nodded. “What if I am presented with a customer?”

“Tease him,” Lady Smythe said around a candied violet, “and promise him all manner of things, and then hide until he’s gone. You want to get in and out as quickly as possible. Stay only as long as it takes to gain entrance to Lefèbvre’s personal quarters. When he is occupied or absent, sneak in, rifle his belongings, and steal anything you think might have merit.” Lady Smythe sat back. “I am really quite envious of you. This mission sounds excessively diverting.”

Elinor did not think she would have described it as diverting. Terrifying would have been her description of choice, but then she had chosen this path, and it was infinitely more diverting than supervising preparations for yet another soiree.

“Honestly,” Lady Smythe said, leaning forward to refresh Elinor’s untouched tea. “You will do very well. You are a natural. Trust me. I am a good judge of these things.”

“Thank you.” Elinor could not say why, but Lady Smythe’s words calmed her enough that her hands stopped shaking and she was able to sip her tea without the cup trembling. She could do this. She had proven last night that she was strong and powerful. She could do anything.

Lady Smythe yawned, and Elinor realized she should take her leave.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the viscountess apologized. “I am so tired today.”

“Then perhaps I might give you some advice,” Elinor said, rising. “Rest now. You shall have none when the babe arrives.”

Lady Smythe actually looked wistful at the thought of little or no sleep. “If there is a babe.”

Elinor glanced at the ravaged tea cart. “There will be a babe. Mark my words.”

***

Winn tapped his foot irritably and resisted grabbing Elinor’s mantle and throwing it over her scantily clad form. He did not know where Melbourne had acquired such a disguise, and he didn’t want to know. What he wanted was for this whole thing to be over. Winn wanted his wife back in her demure gowns, seated in her comfortable chair in the front parlor, his daughters bickering over some hair ribbon or other, and Foncé a distant memory.

“It is too dangerous for you to carry any sort of weapon on your person,” Melbourne was telling Elinor. For her part, she was nodding sagely. “In the past, when Agent Saint encountered this problem, we devised an alternate solution.”

Winn wanted to ask how often Agent Saint was called upon to dress as a prostitute and hide a weapon, but he refrained. Now he knew why Agent Wolf’s advice to him while the women were ensconced in Lady Smythe’s chambers had been, “Have a strong drink and find someone to punch. You’ll feel better.”

“What solution is that?” Elinor asked.

Melbourne gestured to Elinor’s head. “If you would not mind, could you style your hair so it is a bit more… puffy.”

“Puffy?” Winn repeated.

Elinor merely smiled. “I think I know what Lord Melbourne has in mind. One moment.” There was a small oval mirror with an ornate frame encasing it hanging on the wall near the door. Elinor went to it, took down her simple, austere bun, and repinned it so the style was looser and, Winn had to admit, puffier. “How is this?” she asked.

“Splendid.” Melbourne opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small silver dagger. It was the length of Winn’s longest finger and perhaps double that in width. His hand would have swallowed the weapon, but when Melbourne handed it to Elinor, it seemed to fit her slender palm perfectly.

“This is not a weapon that will inflict much damage, but it might afford you enough time to run, if the need arises.”

Elinor took a shaky breath and nodded. “I am to hide it in my hair?”

“Precisely. Foncé’s men will not be looking at your—er, hair.” Melbourne reddened, and Winn raised a brow. He had never seen the secretary look abashed before.

With a nod, Elinor expertly slid the small dagger into her hair and arranged the style so the weapon was completely covered. She shook her head slightly, adjusted the weapon so the point was lodged firmly in the thick coil at the crown of her head, and nodded. “I have it. What else?”

“Because you are new and relatively untried,” Melbourne said, “you will be allowed only four hours inside.”

Winn sat straight, but Elinor shook her head. “What if I am not able to complete my mission in that time?”

“Then you get out and save your life,” Winn answered.

She scowled at him and looked pointedly at Melbourne. “My lord?”

“We might be able to send you in again, but Agent Baron is correct. Any observation you make will prove valuable, and God knows we have already lost enough agents to Foncé and his Maîtriser group. I won’t lose another.”

“And if she does not emerge after four hours?” Winn asked.

Melbourne nodded. “Then we assume the worst and go in after her.”

“I volunteer for that operation.”

“Winn.” Elinor shook her head.

“I thought you might,” Melbourne conceded. “Normally, I would not consent. You are too close to this case, but I have no one else available at the moment. It will have to be you, and if I can pull Blue from his watch over the prince, I will send him to assist you.”

Winn nodded then looked at Elinor. “Are you certain you want to do this? It is not too late to change your mind.”

“I am certain,” Elinor said, her face set in what Winn recognized as determination. “I am ready.” At Winn’s frown, she amended, “Or as ready as I am likely to be.”

Melbourne checked his pocket watch. “Night is falling. Both of you be in position by full dark.”

“Yes, sir,” Winn answered. He escorted Elinor to the door, throwing her mantle over her before he did so. He opened the door, and with his hand at the small of her back, was ushering her through when he heard Melbourne’s last words.

“And God go with you.”

Elinor huddled beside Winn in the darkened doorway of a seamstress’s shop. Most of the shops on the street were closed and locked tight for the evening. Across the way, light and raucous laughter spilled from a tavern, along with men in various military uniforms and others in the garb of the working man. The building beside the tavern glowed with soft light, and a steady stream of men went into its doors. If she had been passing by in a carriage, Elinor would not have looked twice at what appeared to be an ordinary street in London. She never would have wondered what went on behind the drawn curtains of the old but neatly kept building across from her.

Not for the first time since arriving, she questioned whether this was the correct location. The large detached house did not look at all how she pictured a pleasure house to look. From the outside she would have guessed the structure had been built sometime in the mid-eighteenth century. It had two floors and what was probably a cramped attic space. Steps at the front of the house indicated a basement entrance for servants. Apparently, not all brothels had half-dressed women hanging out of windows, and gaudy red decoration.

“Once you go in,” Winn said, “I’ll move to the rear of the building. There’s less chance I’ll be spotted there, and more shadows. If Blue is able to join me, I’ll station him in this position. Do not worry about me. Just get out, if need be. I will find you.”

Elinor nodded. She was shaking with nerves and tension, but Winn’s words calmed her. He would find her. She was not alone in this. There was something comforting in knowing he would be only steps away.

“If you do not emerge in four hours,” Winn said, “four exactly, I am coming for you.” As if to emphasize his words, low-pitched church bells clanged ominously in the distance.

Elinor swallowed, dismayed to find her throat seemed to be blocked by a large lump.

Winn took her by the shoulders, and even through the thick wool of her mantle, she could feel the warmth of his hands. “You do not have to do this. You can still change your mind.”

“I want to do this,” she told him, pushing down that lump in her throat until it thudded into her belly and rested there, heavy as a boulder.

He sighed, seeming resigned, and she reached out and stroked his cheek. She had always been the one seeking comfort, and now she felt a little dizzy at the change in their stations. “I will be fine, Winn. I know what I am doing.” Perhaps if she said that enough, she would begin to believe it.

“No, you don’t, but I love that you rush in anyway.”

Elinor blinked. This was the closest he had ever come to telling her he loved her. Loving something about her was not the same as loving her, but it was better than nothing.

“And I love that you will stand and protect me,” she answered after a pause. “Just think of the stories we will have to tell our grandchildren.”

“Just remember, you need to live so we might have the chance to meet those grandchildren.”

She nodded. “Point taken.” The clock clanged its last, the bell reverberating through the night. “I suppose that is my cue,” she said.

“Yes.”

She took a breath and stepped away from him. “I will see you in four hours.” She turned away and started for the appointed house, but before she could take more than a step, she was spun back around and enveloped in Winn’s warm embrace.

“Winn!”

His mouth, warm and possessive, closed over hers, cutting off her protest. She tried to free herself, but as he deepened the kiss with expert skill, she found her legs weakening instead and her arms reaching up to grasp him by the shoulders. She suddenly needed the support. His hands slid up her arms and cupped her face, and the kiss changed from possessive to tender. It was so tender she almost wanted to weep, so tender she never wanted it to end. She had longed to be kissed like this. She had longed to feel cherished and beautiful and utterly irresistible. Winn made her feel that now. Winn made her feel as though he could not exist without her.

And then slowly, reluctantly, he broke the kiss. “Be careful,” he said, his voice husky with a need she felt as well. She nodded, still slightly dazzled but startled into awareness when she felt the cold bite of the cool night air. Winn pulled her mantle off her shoulders and threw it over his arm. “Now you are a fallen woman. Act like one.”

With a deep breath, she turned away from him.

As she stepped into the street, she heard his last whispered command. “Come back to me.”

She turned to tell him she would, but when she looked back, he was gone.

The interior of the house of pleasure was much more what Elinor had expected. It was decorated in red with provocative art hung on the walls. Men were shepherded into a drawing room, where the ladies of the house congregated to entertain them. It sounded like any soiree in any London drawing room, until Elinor noted most of the women were in some state of undress, and couples frequently departed together, climbing the stairs with what appeared to be frantic need.

As she’d expected, she’d been shown to a small parlor and introduced to the proprietor of the establishment, otherwise known as the abbess, and referred to here as Madam Limoge. Elinor was about as French as the woman who stood before her, speaking in a very bad French accent.

“You are pretty enough,
oui
? But why do you want to work for Madame Limoge?”

Elinor had been schooled in the proper responses. “I hear you’re fair. You give a girl what she’s owed.” She lowered her eyes. “And I have need of blunt.”

The abbess nodded. “Lost your protector, did ya?” Her accent seemed to falter. “Think you can find a new one here?”

“I think a partnership between us might be mutually beneficial.”

The abbess narrowed her eyes. “Yer a smart one, no doubt.” She gave Elinor a lengthy perusal from head to toe. “Pretty too. You’ve got curves,
oui
? So many of the girls I get here are all skin and bones. Gentlemen like curves.”

Elinor bit her lip, thinking she should probably make some response, but completely at a loss as to what the appropriate response might be.

“What did you say your name was again?”

Elinor had been schooled here as well. “Mrs. Smith, but my friends call me Chastity.”

The abbess laughed, and Elinor felt all the color rush from her face. Melbourne had said
Chastity
, had he not?

“Amusing too,” the abbess remarked. “All right, I’ll give you a chance. I’ll show you to the room you can use.”

This was what Elinor had been waiting for. She needed to get inside the house to be able to look around and find Foncé’s lieutenant. Melbourne suspected the man was ensconced in one of the rooms on the upper floors. Elinor needed access to those rooms and those floors in order to search for the man.

She followed the abbess through the house of pleasure as the woman pointed out various points of interest—kitchens in the basement below, dining room adjacent to the drawing room on the ground floor, and on the first floor, what she called pleasure rooms. These were bedrooms, whose doors were closed when occupied. As it was a large house, there were half a dozen bedchambers and one or two were presently open, and Elinor could see they were plain in nature, boasting a bed, dresser, and worn rug. But she supposed little else was needed for the activities that went on there. Finally, the abbess came to the end of the hallway and opened the last door. “Here you are, Mrs. Smith. Best room in the house.”

Elinor peeked inside. It looked similar to the other bedrooms. The bed was made, though she was suspicious of the cleanliness of the sheets, and a pitcher of water with two glasses had been placed on the bedside table. “Thank you,” she said, moving inside. “I need but a few moments to ready myself.” She would not be here long. There was a door a few paces away she suspected led to the attic, and she intended to investigate that level.

“Just a moment,” the abbess said, catching the door before Elinor could close it. “There are a few rules.”

Elinor raised a brow.

“First of all, no filching.”

“Filching?”

“First girl to call a man has rights. You don’t try and filch him from her.”

“I see.”

“And another rule. Don’t act so carried away you scream the house down.”

Elinor’s eyes widened. “I don’t take your meaning.”

“A man likes you to act satisfied, but the rest of the men—those waiting for yer attentions, so to speak—also like to imagine they are the only ones. So keep your screams and hollers down.”

“Of course.” Elinor prayed this was the end of the lecture and began to close the door again in hopes of encouraging the abbess to depart.

“One last thing,” Madam Limoge said, wedging her foot in the door. “See that there door?”

Elinor looked around blankly and pretended to notice the door. “That one?”

“Right. Don’t go near it. The attic is private.”

Elinor nodded. “Is that where your rooms are?”

“It’s private. In fact, it’s best if you don’t take too much notice about who comes and goes through that door, if you take my meaning.”

“I do.”

“Good. I’ll see you downstairs.
Oui?
You’re the new girl, which means all the gentlemen will want a quarter hour of your time. I expect to turn a nice profit.”

Elinor forced a smile and finally shoved the door closed. She leaned against the wood, feeling it rattle. It certainly would be no protection against any who wished to gain entrance. She wondered how long she had before her absence in the drawing room below was noted. Assuming she had very little time, she creaked the door opened, peeked out, and started for the door to the forbidden attic.

***

Winn had sat in every imaginable pigsty in the whole of Europe. He’d endured snowstorms and rainstorms, sweltering heat and bitter cold, mud, grime, and everything in between. But no hellhole had ever been worse than the one in which he currently found himself.

It was not that the yard behind the brothel was particularly uncomfortable. He’d found a broken stool on which to sit. Admittedly, it was somewhat lopsided, but Winn did not find that a cause for complaint. The weather was tolerable—neither too cold nor too hot, and for once it was not raining in London. Considering the current weather conditions, the fog would not creep in until the early morning hours, which meant he had an excellent view of the building he was surveying.

Which meant Winn noted precisely when Foncé’s man entered through the rear door. Elinor had been inside a little over an hour, and all appeared to be well. Business seemed to progress as usual, and Winn could only hope she’d managed to avoid that business and had been able to take a peek into Lefèbvre’s chambers.

Until he saw Lefèbvre.

And then it was all Winn could do not to rush into the bawdy house and warn her.

“You’ll only put her in more danger,” a soft voice said near his ear. A hand came down on his shoulder, and Winn, who already had his hand on his dagger, released it and looked into the eyes Blue had been named for.

“I thought you were guarding the prince,” Winn grumbled.

“He’s in bed with his latest mistress and unlikely to leave her side tonight. Perhaps I should be guarding your back. You did not even hear me approach.”

“A lapse I suppose I will never be able to live down.”

Blue smiled. “You know me too well.”

“I don’t know you at all.”

“But I know you, and you were on the verge of going in there.” Blue nodded at the brothel. A dim rectangle of light had spilled from the doorway a few moments before, but when Lefèbvre closed it behind him, the yard went dark again.

“Foncé’s lieutenant is inside.”

“I followed him here.”

Winn stiffened. “He was at Carlton House?”

“The Maîtriser group has been watching it and the regent. They will strike soon.”

“Do you think they have a plan in place?”

Blue shrugged. “If not, I would be very surprised. I hope she can uncover it for us. Even a small clue would be helpful. Right now, I am at a loss.”

Those were not sentiments Winn wanted to hear from one of the Barbican group’s best. If Blue was puzzled by Foncé’s intentions, then they were all in trouble.

“If Lefèbvre discovers Elinor…” Winn began, unable to finish the sentiment.

“She appears clever and resourceful. She will find a way.” Blue extracted a pocket watch from inside his black cape. Winn might have sworn he saw the shine of silk and brocade underneath, but why would Blue be wearing such fripperies? “What time is the rendezvous?”

“Two and three-quarter hours.” Winn did not even have to look at his own pocket watch. He felt every moment’s slow passage in the beating of his heart.

“Good.” Blue snapped the watch closed. “You want me in front?”

Winn nodded, and Blue started for the path that would skirt the building and keep him out of sight. “Blue?” Winn hissed.

Blue looked back.

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet.”

***

Elinor eased the forbidden door near her room open, wincing at the loud whine the hinges made. Heavens! Did no one oil the hinges in this establishment? The sound was enough to wake the dead. She half expected the closed bedroom doors along the corridor to snap open, revealing accusatory looks from Madam Limoge’s girls and their clients, but no door opened, and the sounds of merriment from below did not falter.

Elinor swallowed the bile rising in her throat and willed her heart to slow its thundering against her chest. Instead, she eased the door closed behind her and looked up at a steep flight of stairs leading to the attic floor of the brothel. A weak candle sputtered in the sconce to her right, and Elinor squinted in the gloom. She supposed gloom was what she wanted. After all, if Foncé’s lieutenant was in residence, he would want more light. Now was the perfect time to have a look around. Elinor used the candle to light the lamp she held, then tiptoed up the steep steps. The attic was cramped and narrow and consisted of a corridor with several doors on either side. No rug lined the wood floor, and it had not been polished in some time. She could see tracks in the dust leading to one of the rooms.