“Wait.”
Samantha halted mid-stride and allowed a brief sense of victory to catch her lips before schooling her features. Turning slowly, she faced the younger woman once more, her eyebrows raised in question.
“How…how much are you willing to offer?”
“At least five pounds, possibly more,” Adrian said. “It all depends on what you’re able to tell us.”
The younger woman swallowed. She was clearly still torn, but the eagerness in her eyes told Samantha the offer they’d made her was too irresistible to be ignored. As expected, only a couple more seconds passed before she pulled the door wide and stepped aside, granting them entrance.
“Would you care for some tea?” the woman asked once they’d been shown into her sparsely furnished parlor. “It’s not as hot as it was an hour ago, but it’s got a good flavor and will quench the thirst.”
“Thank you, but we’re not in need of refreshments.”Samantha glanced about, noted the absence of the men they’d hoped to encounter, and finally chose to take a seat on one of two wooden chairs.
Adrian gestured for their hostess to take the other, leaving him with the stool that stood in a corner. He pulled it closer to where the women sat and lowered himself to the round seat, then retrieved his notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket. A quick glance at the woman followed. “I’d like to start with your name, if I may.”
The woman folded her hands in her lap, affecting a more relaxed posture, though the slight movement in the heel of her right foot betrayed her nerves. “Genevieve Fontaine.”
Adrian wrote the name while Samantha, finding it a bit flamboyant for a woman of Miss Fontaine’s station, carefully asked, “Is that your real name or…?”
“It’s the one I use for the stage. I’m an actress, you see, at the Haymarket Theatre.” She nibbled on her lower lip, her attention darting between Samantha and Adrian, who continued jotting down notes. “I switched to it years ago, when I first came to London. Jane Smith isn’t exactly memorable, is it? In fact, I’d prefer to leave that out, if it’s all right with you.”
“It’s perfectly fine with me,” Adrian said. He stopped writing and straightened his back, his elbows resting on his bent knees. “As we mentioned earlier, this visit isn’t so much about you as it is about the person who came here last night between the hours of two and four. We need to know whothat person was, why he was here, and what he said.”
“Um…”
“The more details, the more we’ll pay,” Samantha reminded Miss Fontaine.
Those folded hands started to fidget. “His name is Mr. Frederick Trenton. He works as valet to a certain Mr. Benjamin Lawrence. After seeing me perform last year, he sought me out in the way gentlemen oftentimes do with actresses, ballerinas, and opera singers.”
“In other words,” Samantha said, her voice light, nonjudgemental, “he made you his mistress.”
She shared a quick look with Adrian and acknowledged how wrong they had been in their deduction. The man who’d come here was clearly not connected to the thugs Lawrence had hired. All he was after was a bit of bedsport.
Adding to this, Miss Fontaine said, “He got me this place, and while it may not look like much, it’s a step up from where I was before, the best part being that I don’t have to share it with anyone.”
Adrian frowned and proceeded to scan their surroundings. Samantha did the same, and it suddenly struck her that while the furnishings might not be costly, the place appeared to be both well-maintained and clean. It was also spacious, if the other doors she’d seen in the hallway led to additional rooms of a similar size.
“Quite an expense, I should think, even for a high-ranking servant,” Adrian said, giving voice to Samantha’s thoughts.
“Frederick claims his employer pays him exceedingly well.”
“So he’s happy with his job?”
“I would think so. He’s always praising Mr. Lawrence for his kindness. It’s so very tragic what happened to him, and at such a young age.”
“Have you ever met him?” Adrian asked. “Mr. Lawrence, that is?”
A shrill laugh broke past Miss Fontaine’s lips. “Goodness, no. What reason would I possibly have for that?”
“I was merely curious.” Adrian returned his attention to his notebook. He tapped it with the end of his pencil. “Describe Mr. Thompson’s appearance to me, if you will.”
Samantha was glad he’d thought to ask this question. The information it led to would surely be useful if they ever needed to track Mr. Thompson down.
“He’s a little bit shorter than you, with a handsome face defined by an elegant jaw, straight nose, and the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever encountered. Yours are lovely as well, Mrs. Croft, but Frederick’s are slightly darker.” Miss Fontaine’s smile turned beatific as she described the rest of her protector’s features as though he were Cupid incarnate. “Honestly, I’ve never met anyone more deserving of an artist’s rendering than him. A pity he can’t afford to have his portrait painted.”
Samantha blinked, her lips slightly parted in wonderand…something far more disturbing. Every word Miss Fontaine had uttered twisted the pieces of knowledge she’d had when she’d come here until a dangerous truth began to emerge.
She shot a look at Adrian, his dark eyes meeting hers with sharp understanding. Their thoughts were aligned, their question the same. How the hell was this possible?
