Regina eyed her skeptically. “Flattered over being treated like a prostitute?”
Nicole shook her head and squeezed Regina’s shoulder once more. “No, not that part, the part where a gorgeous lady wants to spend the night with him.”
Regina heaved a sigh, blowing air into her cheeks to puff them out. “He did say I was beautiful and desirable. But even if hecouldfind it in himself to forgive me, how would I ever have the opportunity to explain? I refuse to return to Bow Street. I’m certain he’d turn me away without seeing me.”
Nicole pulled away and plunked her fists on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me he said you were beautiful and desirable? I’d say that’s a fine start. Though I agree, returning to Bow Street is not the way to go about it. We’ll have to think of something else.” She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side as if deep in thought.
Regina wiped a lock of hair from her brow with the back of her hand. “And I disagree with you. The carriage accidents frightened me. Especially the second one. Perhaps we should listen to Mark.”
A few moments passed before a slow smile spread across Nicole’s pretty face. A twinkle sparkled in her sea-foam-green eyes and she clapped her hands. “The carriage incidents, of course. Oh, Regina. You’re going to love me. I just thought of the perfect plan.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Daffin braced himself against the cold that blasted him as he turned the corner onto an alley in one of London’s seediest areas. Seven Dials was filled with the scum of the earth, the ne’er-do-wells, the criminals, the forgotten. It wasn’t that the neighborhood’s inhabitants couldn’t be law-abiding citizens. His friends the Cavendish twins had grown up here. Both spies, they now worked on the right side of the law, but their old stomping grounds were filled with the kind of miscreants who remained firmly on the wrong side.
Daffin hadn’t been raised here. On the contrary, he’d grown up in a part of town that had the veneer of respectability and the smell of money. Only he’d never belonged there. And he never would.
The cold wind speared under his neckcloth, and he pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. A small group of ragtag urchins were singing Christmas carols on the streetcorner. Christmastide. The season was supposed to be about family, and Daffin had no family. Not anymore.
He’d received a tip that Henry Vickery was staying in a house down this way. Daffin would love nothing better than to find the son of a bitch and drag him off in handcuffs today. Perhaps that would make Daffin’s nagging sense of dread go away. Perhaps he could pretend Christmastide wasn’t happening. Perhaps he could escape the memories this year. He couldn’t sit still. Sitting still led to thoughts of the past.
He tugged the brim of his hat down over his brow. When it came to memories, there was a new one he couldn’t seem to forget.
It had been four days since Regina waltzed into his office with her shocking proposal. He’d been unable to stop thinking about it since. Damn it. Her offer had been ludicrous. So why couldn’t he let it go? Because it was a first? That’s what he kept telling himself. Even if he didn’t believe it.
Oh, he’d been propositioned by ladies before, but most of them were married and bored and looking to cuckold their unassuming husbands with a Bow Street Runner for a lark. Regina was different. She certainly was the first lady to offer him hervirginity.She could also claim the distinction of being the first lady to offer topayhim for sex. He shook his head. What the hell had she been thinking?
She might be slightly older than the average Society miss, but it was ridiculous of her to believe she’d have trouble finding a lover. She didn’t need to pay someone for the privilege, which was what made him uneasy. She’d said he was her choice. But why? True, they’d shared an undeniable flirtation in Surrey, but why had she chosenhim? Because she trusted him? Because he was friendly with her cousins?
She’d looked embarrassed when she’d left his office hastilylast week. In hindsight, perhaps he’d been too harsh in his rejection. Her proposal had caught him off guard. Completely out of her element, she had bungled the thing, but the woman needed to save herself for Dryden. At the very least, she should offer herself to some chap of her same social standing. No doubt, she’d find someone from her set whom she wanted to take to her bed.
Daffin had been flattered and even slightly tempted, but he needed to stop thinking about Regina’s offer and concentrate on finding Henry Vickery, the piece of rubbish who’d robbed half a dozen Mayfair mansions and brutally beaten a young newspaper delivery boy who’d witnessed him leaving one of the houses. The child would have a permanent limp thanks to Vickery. Daffin would like nothing more than to return the favor.
He came to a stop in front of the address he’d been given, number 15 Mercer. He took a deep breath, his blood rushing through his veins. This was the part of his work he liked best. He pounded on the door with his fist, then waited several seconds, leaning in to better hear. Scurrying and curse words met his ears. It took the better part of a minute before a rickety flap in the door opened and two beady, dark eyes blinked at him.
“Who be there?” a gruff male voice asked.
“Someone looking for Henry Vickery,” Daffin returned dryly. “Is he here?”
The beady eyes blinked again. “Who be askin’?”
Daffin put his fists on his hips and glared. He didn’t have time for games. “Why don’t you open the door and I’ll give you my card,” he drawled.
The flap slapped shut, and the door slowly opened to reveal the beady-eyed man was short and hunched. He was alsoin possession of dirty, ripped clothing and questionable shoes. He smelled like a rubbish heap and his greasy dark hair stuck out in all directions from his untidy head.
Daffin bowed. “Daffin Oakleaf, Bow Street Runner, at your service. Are you Henry Vickery?”
“I ain’t.” The chap grimaced at him, revealing a set of rotten, yellow teeth.
Daffin watched him carefully, narrowing his eyes. Years of experience with liars had taught him how to ferret out one quickly. This man was telling the truth, at least about not being Vickery. Besides, Vickery had pulled off heists that had involved a great deal of physical acuity. Daffin doubted the man before him was capable of scaling walls and running quickly.
“Is Mr. Vickery here?” he asked, tugging at his cuff.
“No.” The word came out too quickly and in a strained tone. A lie.
Daffin pushed aside his cloak, opened his overcoat, and pulled a one-pound note from an inner pocket. He held the bill between two fingers. “How about now? Does this serve to assist your memory?”
The man’s eyes flicked back and forth. He was obviously weighing his desire to earn the bill against what was probably his fear of Vickery. But Daffin knew criminals. Greed always won out with their lot.
