Grimacing, Charlie said, “To think, I sent you into that man’s lair just a few weeks ago.”
The night I met Hawk while he was disguised as a thief.
With a twinge of unease, Fi wondered if Hawk knew about von Essen’s death. She couldn’t stop her thoughts from straying: what had Hawk been doing in the count’s study that night? Should she have told Charlie and her friends about her husband’s secret? To do so now felt like a betrayal.
If you don’t want Hawk nosing around in your business, then don’t nose around in his.
Yet the rules of their marriage were changing, shifting in ways that felt exhilarating and scary at once. She adored the life she was building with Hawk: their bantering, sharing, and soul-searing lovemaking. At the same time, the closer they got, the more anxious she felt.
She told herself to focus on the business at hand. “I accomplished the objective then, and I’ll do so tonight.”
“All right,” Charlie relented. “Don’t forget to send word after you’re done.”
Hawker dropped Fi off at Swann’s. The shop was situated on a quiet lane in Soho, a neighborhood that was squeezed like a middle child between haughty Mayfair and saucy Covent Garden. Fi concealed her face with the hood of her cape as she headed to the entrance. Given Mrs. Swann’s reputation for astuteness, Fi’s instincts had told her to forgo an elaborate disguise. The one precaution Charlie had taken was to book the appointment under an alias, a common practice amongst the clientele and unlikely to rouse suspicion.
At first glance, the two-story shop was unprepossessing. Curtains were drawn over the windows, revealing nothing of what was inside. The tidy brick front and beige awning blended with neighboring buildings, making the place easy to miss unless one was looking for it.
Which, Fiona supposed, was rather the point.
A hanging lantern illuminated the brass plate on the door.
By appointment only. Ring bell for assistance.
Fi rung. The door opened to reveal a woman in a black gown, her hair secured in a severe bun. She greeted Fiona with a deferential dip of the knees.
“Good evening. I have an eight o’clock appointment,” Fiona said.
“Mrs. Swann is expecting you, ma’am. Please come in.”
Fiona was led into the establishment. The front room looked like a typical shop with polished wood counters and cabinets. The merchandise on display seemed innocuous: gloves, stockings, and assorted accessories. A glass case showed off a selection of vinaigrettes and accompanying sachets of perfume. The only thing that hinted at anything out of the ordinary was the lighting: the crimson glass shades of the fixtures bathed the room in a sensual glow. The assistant unlocked a door behind the counter, revealing a corridor flickering with that same, carnal light.
“Right this way, ma’am,” she said.
Pulse quickening, Fi followed. She was directed into a room, which she saw with some relief was a regular sitting room. Two black damask chairs sat by a cozy fire, refreshments waiting on a small round table. A bookcase stood against one of the burgundy walls.
“Mrs. Swann will be with you shortly.” The assistant closed the door behind her.
Too nervous to sit, Fi wandered to the bookcase, tilting her head to read the titles.Miss Fanny and the House of Flagellation, The Lust of the Footman, The Secrets of an Amorous Maid…
“See anything of interest, Mrs. Smith?”
Fi jerked upright, her cheeks aflame. The lady who stood in the doorway was younger than she expected…in her mid-twenties perhaps. Blue-black ringlets framed the woman’s oval face, her blue eyes unnervingly bright against her pale tawny skin. Clad in a high-necked gown, she moved with uncommon stealth, her plum-colored skirts barely rustling despite their fashionable fullness.
“Beg pardon, I did not mean to startle you,” she said in a throaty voice. “I am Susanna Swann.”
Fi regained her wits. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Swann.”
“The pleasure is mine. Hopefully, it will be yours as well.” Mrs. Swann’s red lips curled. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable and discuss the purpose of your visit?”
Mrs. Swann waved Fi to a wingchair while she poured small glasses of port. Accepting the drink from her hostess, Fi knew she’d been right to leave off the disguise. Susanna Swann possessed a disquietingly perceptive air. She reposed in the opposite chair, her manner that of a cat watching a mouse.
Here goes.
“I am here on behalf of a friend,” Fi began.
“How original.” Mrs. Swann’s expression turned ironic. “Come now, Mrs. Smith, there is no need for dissembling. If you know about my business, then you also know that I am known for my discretion. Here at Swann’s, you are free to explore your heart’s desires.” She took a sip of the ruby-red beverage. “Of course, getting to those desires may take getting through fear.”
The words sent a shiver through Fi. She thought of Hawk, the excuses she’d told him about her whereabouts tonight. She’d stayed as close to the truth as possible, saying that she was delivering assistance to a woman in need. He’d interpreted this to mean that she was bringing food baskets to the poor. The fact that she hadn’t corrected him—that she was willfully misleading him—made her feel annoyingly guilty.
