“It can wait until we reach home.” John tucked the dagger back up his sleeve. “Or better yet, since I now know that you’re ready, perhaps we can start upon the job tonight. I’d like to show you around some gaming hells. Rouse interest in my suggestive yet shy and retiring new companion. My quarry should be in one of them. Men who gamble to the extent he does can’t stay away.”
“You want me to go into gaming hells?” Her stomach sank to her boots.
“Yes.” John ran a hand up the back of his head, rumpling his hair. “That is where one typically finds games, and gamblers.”
“Yes. Right.” She concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, her hands still by her sides. When he’d spoken of the game, she’d envisioned it at John’s home. Somewhere private. Safe. How many of her father’s contemporaries went to these hells? And more importantly, would they recognize the woman she was now?
She searched about for an excuse and came up with a plum one. “I have nothing to wear. I came to the theatre in my trousers.”
John frowned. “We’ll stop at home, of course. Mags will have you dressed in your new costume in no time at all. And bring your face paint. I want you to look as young as possible.”
“I don’t have face paint. I’ll have to purchase some tomorrow.”
He looked pointedly at the small jars on her table.
“I don’t have therightface paint.” She worried the hem of her chemisette. “If you want me to shed a couple of years, I will need to go shopping.”
A divot appeared in Cerise’s forehead, and she opened her mouth.
Netta gave a brief shake to her head,and her friend took the hint and remained quiet.
John took a step towards her. “Is there some reason you don’t wish to accompany me?”
Her mind went blank. If she told him there were men she must avoid, her use to him would become nonexistent. There would go her four thousand pounds. If she were to do a thorough job of disguising herself, she would need more time to prepare.
More time to steel her nerve.
“I…” Her mouth went dry.
John looked at Wilberforce and jerked his chin at the door.
His man held out his arm. “Miss?” he said to Cerise. “I’ll escort you to the neighboring room. If you’ll come with me?”
Cerise looked from John to Wilberforce to Netta.
Netta nodded, and Cerise swept from the room, the ends of her wrapper swirling about her legs.
Wilberforce jerked his gaze up and blew out a breath as he followed, closing the door softly behind him.
“Now,” John said, planting his hands on his lean hips, “what is the problem?”
She couldn’t think of a believable excuse. One that would keep her in his employ yet avoid threat of detection. She, devious, scheming Netta, was drawing a blank.
“I’ve started my monthly courses,” she blurted out. “I feel unwell.”
His face blanched, and she sent a prayer heavenward. The magical words to end all inquiries. She should have thought of it sooner.
“Yes.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Certainly you must stay home. When we arrive, I’ll ask Margaret to draw you a warm bath, shall I?”
Her throat went thick. He truly was a dear man. So much more considerate and sweeter than he liked to admit.
And she’d lied to him. Again. A small one to be sure, but they were adding up. How many lies would he allow before his forgiveness ran dry?
“Thank you.” She turned her back and crossed to the small wardrobe. “I’ll dress and be right out.”
“Of course.”
It hardly mattered. If all went as planned, he would never know of her guilt. She would remain a fond memory of his, the actress he once knew who helped him in his time of need.
