by Lilia Birney
She tilted her head and gazed sightlessly in the mirror, when a movement near her reflection caught her eye. She froze, her heart pounding. Surely it was just a shadow cast by the fire in the grate. Her mouth went dry and she couldn’t swallow to save her life.
Nothing stirred. With slow and deliberate movements, she resumed brushing her hair, keeping a sharp gaze trained on the mirror.
There it was again. A movement in the shadows, near her wardrobe.
She stood up quickly, knocking the bench over in her haste. “Who’s there?” she cried with a tell-tale quiver in her voice.
No answer, only a slight scuffling sound. If only she had a candle or a lamp so she could see her enemy. She hurled her hairbrush in the direction of the movement and noise, connecting with her target with a satisfying clank.
“Ow! Oh, please, my lady, don’t hurt me. I come to tell you about Cicely.” A young man, dressed entirely in dark clothing, limped out of the shadows, rubbing his knee.
“Who the devil are you?” Penelope hefted her heavy silver hand mirror.
The young man shrank back, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m Tom. I courted Cicely. Please, your ladyship, don’t strike me again.”
Penelope dropped her mirror onto the dressing-table. “Tom? Are you the stable lad who would come by my home and take Cicely for strolls?”
“I am.” He stayed where he was, slightly hunched over in the shadow of her wardrobe.
“For heaven’s sake, Tom, are you all right?” Penelope rushed over, grasping his leg and rubbing it. “Did I hurt you badly?”
With a loud thump, Penelope’s window swung open wildly. Pierce jumped into the room from the balcony and pushed Penelope aside. He rammed Tom against the wardrobe with enough force to knock the breath out of him in a whoosh.
“Who are you, damn your eyes! I demand to know.” Pierce grasped Tom by the collar, holding him against the furniture so that the young lad’s toes barely skimmed the floor.
“Pierce! Have done,” Penelope cried, grasping Pierce’s arm. “He’s done no harm.”
Pierce relaxed his hold enough so Tom could regain his footing. Then he turned to Penelope, his brows drawing together. “Who is this young pup to you, that he feels he can make himself at home in your boudoir at this hour?”
Tom opened his mouth to speak, but Pierce choked off his explanation with a slight movement of his hand.
“Pierce, let him go. This is ridiculous.” Penelope stroked his forearm. “Tom is Cicely’s beau, and he came here to talk to me about her disappearance. That is all.”
Pierce let go of Tom’s neck, taking a swift step backward. “My apologies, mate,” he replied, patting Tom on the shoulder. “Just looking after her ladyship’s welfare.”
Tom coughed and spluttered, his face a purple hue even in the dim light cast by the fire. Penelope grasped his arm and dragged him over to a chair by the fire. “Sit,” she commanded. She motioned Pierce over to the other chair, and then poured three stout drinks from the small tray she kept for restoratives in her boudoir.
As she splashed the brandy into the cut crystal glasses, she snuck a glance at Pierce. Why had he defended her so vociferously? And why had he demanded to know why a man was in her bedroom? His reaction was most interesting. And if poor Tom hadn’t been so dreadfully shaken, she might even call Pierce’s actions entertaining.
Pierce refused to look at her as she handed him the glass. Very well. His pride must be hurt. Or something else was going on inside of him at that moment. She permitted herself a small inward smile as she sipped slowly at the brandy. This evening might be improving after all.
***
“What did you come to tell Lady Annand?” Perhaps Pierce could save face by asking all the questions. The rest of his actions were inexcusable. Inexplicable too. He had no right to leap into Lady Annand’s bedroom like a musketeer, no right to maul an unsuspecting lad who had been hiding in the shadows. No right, that was, except he cared for the lady. More deeply than he previously thought, which was rather unsettling.
Tom swallowed nervously. “I come to tell her ladyship that Cicely would never leave her service on her own. Cicely was that fond of her ladyship. She loved working here, and had no reason to leave.”
“Indeed?” Penelope arched one eyebrow delicately and her lovely lips curved in a half-smile. I told you so, the expression on her face read. With masterly self-control, he ignored her.
“If Cicely did not leave of her own accord, then why is she gone?” Pierce took another sip of his brandy. The liquor really was incomparable. Just like anything associated with Penelope.
“Well, she had this cousin come to London from the country, and she needed a position. Something that paid well. I don’t know what was happening, but her family were bad off. So, Cicely was going to ask her ladyship for a position for her cousin—”
“She never did,” Penelope interrupted. “Of course I would have given any of Cicely’s friends or family members a place in my household. But Cicely never asked me.”
“Hush, let him finish.” Pierce waved a hand to still Penelope.
She sat back with a huff, nursing her brandy.
“No ma’am, she didn’t ask you for a position. Her cousin needed money quickly, and found a place that was willing to help her find employment fast and make her rich—or so they said. Cicely didn’t think it was a good idea, but her cousin was that set on it. And so Cicely said she would go with her to take a look at this place, to see if those folks were going to take advantage of her cousin, or if it was a real agency.” The young man looked up at Pierce from under lowered brows. “I should have stopped them both. I haven’t seen Cicely since.”
“Was this cousin named Emma?” Penelope asked.
“I believe so. That sounds right,” Tom replied. “I didn’t pay much attention to Emma, ma’am. I only had eyes for Cicely.”
“And was this agency called the Barclay Employment Agency?” Penelope was taking over the questioning again, just when he was beginning to assert his authority. Time for him to regain control. He was, after all, the only legitimate thief-taker in the room.
“I believe so.” Tom frowned, a dark expression clouding his face. “I should have kept my ears open. Should have stopped them both. I didn’t think that any harm would come to them.”
Pierce gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Don’t worry overmuch. I am sure we will find both ladies safe and sound. We’ve already been to visit the Barclay and have some ideas of what to do next. If you think of anything else, be sure to contact Lady Annand or myself. Only—don’t hide in her ladyship’s boudoir any more. Next time she might not be here to hold me back.”
The lad swallowed and nodded. “And your name, sir?”
“Pierce Howe. I’m a professional thief-taker.”
Tom nodded. “I promise if I think of anything else, I will contact Lady Annand or yourself, sir.”
Penelope led the young man downstairs, leaving Pierce behind in her boudoir. When she returned, she would have questions, a lot of questions, for him. And he would have to explain all of his actions. But how could he tell Penelope that he left their rendezvous because one of the Bow Street Runners had threatened him with exposure? After all, Penelope had no clue as to his real identity. Would she be as enamored of Pierce Howland, the second son of the Earl of Chester, as she was of Pierce Howe, the rough and tumble thief-taker? He had his doubts.
He finished off the brandy and paced the floor. How to explain bursting into her bedroom and nearly killing a young stable lad who had taken refuge there? He couldn’t even conceive of his actions. It all happened so quickly. He had been waiting on her balcony for ages, waiting to join her when she retired to her boudoir. And when he heard voices, and heard Penelope call out—why, he had sprung into action to save her. That was all. It was a mere reflex. Certainly nothing to get in a-swither about.
Penelope entered the room, closing the door behind her. Her hair, free of pins and caps, cascade
d in curls around her shoulders. The silhouette of her body, all soft curves, was barely discernable beneath the flannel nightgown she wore. She was Danae or Venus, a young proud goddess whose fall from grace made her that much more desirable and delectable. He was already aroused, and backed toward her bed—a large, complex affair festooned with garlands of curtains and draperies.
Instead of walking toward him, her arms outstretched in supplication, Penelope stalked over to the window.
“Out. The way you came in,” she ordered, with a curt nod of her head.
“B-but, Penelope,” he stuttered, the fire of his ardor doused by the blank expression on her face. “I’d like to stay with you a little…to make sure you are all right…”
“I assure you, Pierce, I am very well. And perfectly capable of taking care of myself. In fact, you were the one who nearly murdered an innocent stable lad with your bare hands.” She opened the window wider. “And now, if you please, I am exhausted and would like to have some rest before dawn breaks.”
Very well. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. He crossed over to the window and leapt onto the sill. “I’ll call for you tomorrow. We shall plan what to do next.”
She leaned against the window frame with a sigh. “Fine. Thank you for a most interesting evening, Pierce.”
He turned to go, and caught a glimpse of a sparkle in her eyes. The lady was playing a game with him. Was she asserting her own authority or merely undermining his? No matter.
It was a game he was quite willing to play.
Chapter Eleven
Here he was again, on the fashionable front steps of the Barclay Employment Agency. Pierce knocked thrice upon the door and whistled, as he had been instructed to do by Lord Blake, and waited for Ms. Ealy to answer. There had to be a way to obtain an invitation to the house party the two women had mentioned the previous evening. It was the clearest path he could find to track down Emma, and once he found her, he was sure to find Cicely.
The glossy black door opened a crack to reveal Mrs. Ealy’s well-preserved visage. “Lord Banks, how good of you to return,” she purred. She opened the door wider. “I trust your visit last night went well?”
“Yes, of course.” He was not about to gossip about it on the front stoop, however. “May I come in? I would like to hire another…maid.”
“Of course.” She motioned him in with a graceful wave of her wrinkled hand. “Won’t you please come into my office?”
Mrs. Ealy led him down the hallway to the same office she had led him to before, with its ornate Louis XIV desk and pedestal. She motioned him to a chair and sat, opening her ledger book. “Now, your lordship, what sort of gel do you have in mind?”
He crossed his legs casually, gauging what he should say next. He didn’t precisely need one of their girls, just an invitation to that house party. “Well, Mrs. Ealy, I have a quandary. As much as I enjoyed last night, I find myself in need of something more.”
“Something more?” Her forehead furrowed. “Are you talking about needing more girls? Or perhaps a longer visit?”
“Definitely a longer visit.” Ah, there we go. Now they were on the right path. “In fact, I feel a need to leave London for a while. Too many young ladies are on the Marriage Mart and they want to rein me in, make me into a husband before I am ready. I’d like to have a good debauch, Mrs. Ealy, something that lasts longer than a few hours at the Gilded Lily.”
She nodded and pursed her lips. “I understand, sir. It can be very difficult indeed to preserve one’s liberty, especially when one is considered such an eligible match.”
“Precisely.” He leaned forward and affected a confidential air. “I should like to retire to the country and bring a few wenches with me. Have you any way of helping me fulfill this desire? Are there any other…gentlemen…who also do that sort of thing?”
“Yes, of course.” She gave him a wide smile. “Many gentlemen hold house parties, even, and invite other gentlemen to partake. Bachelor escapades are quite common during the holiday season. You need not feel any hesitation, your lordship, to pursue this wish of yours.”
“Ah.” Dash it all, he wasn’t feeling embarrassed. He just wanted an invitation to that party. “I would enjoy trying one of those house parties myself. If, of course, you could arrange an invitation for me?”
“Much as I would like to, your lordship, I am afraid I cannot. You see, the host is responsible for the guest list. I merely provide the entertainment. So I am not in a position to invite you, myself.”
“I see.” He fumbled around in his pocket and produced a wad of bills. “I don’t want to put you in an awkward position at all, Mrs. Ealy. But a little recreation in the country does sound mighty refreshing.” He peeled off a few bills—damned if this case wasn’t getting expensive—and laid them on her desk. “Perhaps you could tell me the name of a few estates where these parties are being held? I am sure I could arrange my own invitation.”
“Well…” She was thinking it over. He cast a winning smile her way as she looked over at him. She sighed. “I suppose it wouldn’t do much harm to tell you. Most of our aristocratic clientele are already acquainted. At the moment, there is one house party occurring in Derbyshire. Lord Adam Cavendish is hosting it.”
“Cavendish? Of course I know him. We were at Eton together. Bloody hell, I had no idea he was up to those kinds of shenanigans.” Pierce slapped his thigh. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Ealy. Perhaps I can still get the rest and recreation I deserve before being leg-shackled for life.”
“Of course, your lordship. I am happy to be of service.” She discreetly palmed the bills and secreted them in a drawer of her desk. “If I may make a suggestion, Lord Adam has a theme of sorts for this party. All of the women are blonde with blue or green eyes. He wanted to have a lot of “goddesses,” as he called it, for his friends. Since your tastes run to brunettes, you may be disappointed.”
“Oh, not at all,” he responded, with a wave of his hand. “I find blondes most amusing as well.“In fact, one particular blonde was downright delectable. He still hadn’t completely gotten over his wonder at how Penelope had completely ravished him and then sent him packing. Goddess? There was no one in Mrs. Ealy’s stable who could hold a candle to her.
“Very well, sir.” Mrs. Ealy closed her ledger book and looked at him squarely. “I wish you the best of luck with this house party. May I help you with anything else?”
“One more question for you, Mrs. Ealy. Are there enough women to go around if I should be invited?” A thought was beginning to brew in the back of his mind. A way for him to bring his own goddess to the party.
“I should think so, your lordship. Adams ordered a baker’s dozen of blondes for the space of a fortnight. Of course, you may always ask Adams himself when you make arrangements to attend. And if you need help securing the services of another gel, simply let me know. I should be most happy to help you.” She rose. The interview was over, clearly.
He rose too. “Mrs. Ealy, you are a wonder.” He extended his hand to her. “I am indebted to you, I assure you.”
She grasped his hand briefly. “Not at all, your lordship. And you can always thank me by sending your friends to the Barclay for their needs.”
“Of course, of course.” He allowed Mrs. Ealy to lead him back down the hallway and to the door. “And if I cannot finagle an invitation from Cavendish perhaps I will establish my own house party. In that case, I will certainly call upon the Barclay for my entertainment.”
She opened the door with a flourish and gave him a tight smile. “Of course, your lordship. I shall be most happy to help at any time. Have a pleasant sojourn in the country.”
He nodded, pulling on his hat. “Good day, Mrs. Ealy.”
“Good day.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Well, that went better than he expected. He took the steps two at a time and sprang into his carriage. She was visibly nervous after giving him the information about the house party, but perhaps he had disarmed her with his char
m. Now it was just a matter of finding a way to contact Cavendish and get an invitation to his party. Lord Blake could probably assist with that minor detail. The baronet was a veritable font of information regarding any kind of debauchery.
It was rather too early to call on Blake, though. Knowing him, he had been up until three or four at one of the gaming hells, or at the Lily. Pierce consulted his pocket watch. No, it would be better to wait and call on Blake in the late afternoon. Now, though, he could call on Penelope and report his findings. She would be up and about to partake of luncheon soon. Perhaps they could dine together.
“Lady Annand’s. Grosvenor Square,” he told his driver, and shut the window with a snap.
Yes, he needed to have a little chat with Penelope. Not just about the case. There was a new mystery afoot. The Ice Goddess had made love to him last night, but it was very obvious she had never made love—at least not fully—before. And yet, she had been married to the viscount for years before his death. How on earth could that be? How could such a woman, so desirable, so beautiful, remain a virgin for years while married? Surely her nickname had nothing to do with it. His own explorations had informed him that the Ice Goddess was anything but frigid and cold.
Whatever the reason behind the mystery, he was ready to know the truth. Lady Annand would have to confess it. And then, he would ensure that she made up for turning him away last night, for having to climb back down that dratted balcony. They’d just have to do a little more exploring…together.
***
Why was that name so very familiar? Howland. And why was someone calling Pierce by that name? Whoever it was must certainly have been calling to Pierce. The only other person present that night was Bill. And certainly the person in question needed to speak to Pierce, not Bill. After all, Bill had dared to interrupt their lovemaking twice to try to get Pierce’s attention.
It certainly was a mystery. But one she hadn’t had an opportunity to solve last night. After all, when one had a stable lad hiding in one’s room, and a rather overzealously protective friend hiding on the balcony, one could be forgiven for forgetting incidents that occurred earlier in the evening.
