“I was a solider. The Royal Army. For many years—twelve. I fought in France, the Peninsula. When I had the opportunity to leave soldiering, I took it. My family needed me in London. I’d only been home a month when a former officer asked me to help him locate a wayward son who’d skipped off to the Continent. I’d been useful in reconnaissance in the war.”
“And did you find him?”
“I did.”
“Of course you did.” So much now made sense. “No wonder I feel safe with you.”
“Oh no,” he said, waving away this notion. “I am not safe. I am very dangerous. I’m lethal. Everyone says it.” He actually sounded irritated. Helena stifled a smile.
“Have you ever been hired to ‘mind’ someone before?”
“No.”
“Have you ever posed as a servant before?”
“Yes—no. I can’t remember.”
“Have you ever . . . shot someone?”
“I’ve been to war, my lady.”
“Have you ever—”
“Whatever you’re thinking,” he cut in, “I’ve done it.”
They’d come to the end of the street. Her sisters could be seen preening through the front window of the adjacent café. Shoppers—none of them Lady Genevieve—came and went. Helena pulled an apple from her pocket and took a bite.
She tried to comprehend what his profession meant to her personally, as a woman—as a woman he’d touched and kissed. Likely, he kissed breathless women in stables and carriages all the time.
What could an earl’s virgin daughter mean to him? Was it better that he was a mercenary and not a groom?
She couldn’t know.
And also she couldn’t devote any more of this fleeting day to thinking about it.
She forced herself to ask, “It’s bad that we’ve seen no sign of Lady G, isn’t it? In your professional opinion?” In her head she added,As a mercenary?
“The probability of encountering her was always very slim,” he said, gazing down the street. “Finding any of these girls, especially the first day out? I put the odds at ten percent. But the outing isn’t over. Your fitting will take time; convening six women to depart New Bond Street will take time. It was always a complicated plan, but we have more time. For now, collect your sisters and go to Madame Layfette’s. I’ll keep watch.”
Declan heard Lady Genevieve before he saw her. A trill of laughter, pitched too loud to be borne of amusement. A whoop. The delicate clapping of gloved hands.
Nothing in New Bond Street was that amusing. He shoved off the wall beside Madame Layfette’s shop.
A carriage, shiny and well sprung, had come to a stop five yards away. Footmen and grooms hurried to secure steps and mollify horses. Declan took a step closer, his breath held.
From the open door, a hat emerged, ivory with crimson trim.
Next, a head, popping out like a mole from a hole. Her laughing smile was so broad it made him blink. She looked as if she’d arrived at a delightful party already in progress. When she turned her head, he saw coil upon coil of white-blonde plaits tucked neatly beneath the hat.
Her body was compact, a little plump, but with all the correct geography, sheathed in a cherry-red dress. The color alone demanded attention, a bold choice for which she was obviously prepared, and it fit her like the casing of a sausage. She clutched a small dog to her chest, its neck tied with a magenta bow.
Lady Genevieve Vance.It could be no other. New Bond Street was awash in fashionable ladies, yet this girl shone brighter, and laughed louder. Men stopped walking to stare. Women turned to study the gown and the hat and the dog, their subtlety and reserve given over to open curiosity. Her staff played their part, scurrying about as if the royal family had arrived.
Declan adopted his best air of biddable servant on orders and melted into the crowds of New Bond Street. He trudged past the window of Madame Layfette’s. There was no sign of Helena in the showroom. Lady Pembrook, the earl’s cousin, and at least one sister were bent over counters or peered at unfurled bolts of fabric. He could think of no subterfuge that would admit him, and certainly no way to get word to Lady Helena.
He changed course and circled behind the shop to the alley. The rear door was propped open by a brick; beyond the door, an empty corridor stretched the length of the building. Unintelligible voices mumbled through walls and industrious footfalls clattered on distant stairs. Declan considered his limited options, mindful of the minutes ticking away. If Helena was being fitted, she would be in a room along this corridor.
Within moments, a serving boy appeared, lugging a bundle of firewood. Declan saw opportunity and gave a low whistle. When the boy looked back, Declan flipped a shiny coin into the air.
