Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (4 page)

"How do you know about that?" she replied faintly. It was as though he had used up all the air in the carriage. She was finding it hard to draw breath.

"The Ice Goddess? Your reputation precedes you, I must admit." He chuckled ruefully.

"Yes, but if you do not go out in society—how would you know what the
ton
thinks of me?" This was growing more puzzling by the moment. His behavior, his words—surely she was missing something. Surely there was an answer, somewhere.

"It is how I earn my bread. I make a point of knowing my employers before I take on a case."

She strained to study his expression in the gathering darkness of the carriage, but as always, he was inscrutable. There was a definite pattern to his behavior. Every time a window opened onto his soul, he shut it with a snap. Well, two could play at that game. She drew back with a deliberate movement and scrambled to the safety of her own side of the carriage. The swaying motion of the carriage began to slow, and the howl of drunken voices grew louder in the still night air.

"I believe we've made our destination, Mr. Howe," she informed him airily. "The Gilded Lily."

"Stay in the carriage," he barked, peering out the window. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about me, Mr. Howe. Feel free to take your time." she deliberately infused sweetness into her tone.

He glanced back at her, one eyebrow cocked, as he departed the carriage. She cast a honeyed grin his way and was gratified to see a startled flush rush into his cheek in the flickering torchlight. Good. He had his ways and mean
s and "methods," as he called the
m. And she definitely had hers.

Chapter Four

The rapidly descending crunch of Howe's boot steps
across the
snow-covered
driveway
announced his departure. Penelope strained her ears to catch other sounds, sounds that might help her identify what to do next. There was nothing except the jingle of bridles and occasional squeak of carriage wheels, a barked order here and there, and the odd drunken voice slurring into the night. But nothing stood out. Frustrated, Penelope flicked the curtain aside and peered out the coach window.

'Twas difficult to make out anything other than shadows in the guttering torchlight. She bit her lip, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. If only she could see something—anything—that might provide her with more information about Cicely.

Wait. A flash of white out of the corner of her eye made her turn her head. A servant girl
, wrapped head to toe
in a white
shawl carried a basket across the yard
toward the brothel. Now was her chance. Penelope opened the carriage door and stepped down, nearly turning her ankle in her haste. She slammed the door shut harder than she meant to, but if the sound startled anyone, they made no sign of it. Gathering her skirts along with her courage, Penelope sprinted toward the servant girl.

"Excuse me, Miss? Miss, please wait!" She waved her hand to catch the girl's attention.

The servant halted, half-turning toward her. Her brows were drawn together in confusion. "Yes?"

Penelope drew up beside her, panting slightly
, her breath making clouds in the frigid air
. "I was wondering if you could help me."

"Help you?" The servant shifted her basket onto her hip. "
If ye want my advice, miss, ye’d leave this place quickly. There’s men ‘ere who would pay their last shillin’ for a tumble with the likes of ye."

Heat flooded Penelope's cheeks. She hadn't thought herself in danger—until now. She swallowed. Nothing to do but go forward, as quickly as possible, now that she had the maid's attention.

"I am looking for my
maid
, her name is Cicely. She went missing a few days ago, and I was wondering if she came here."

"Why
'
d a girl come here, if she had a good job as a servant to a lady?" The maid looked askance at Penelope. "Did y
e
beat her and she
run off
?"

"Certainly not!" Penelope spat out. "I don't know what happened. She's been in my employ for years. One day she was here, and the next day she was gone. I cannot understand it. She is such a sweet, steady girl."

The
girl
's face softened in the sputtering flame of the torchlight. She looked around carefully, and then turned back to Penelope. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of a
nyone
named Cicely. I'm sorry."

Penelope's stomach dropped like a stone. She nodded. "Thank you for your time." She turned to go, but the servant caught her elbow.

"Ye
might want to seek out the Barclay Employment Agency," she whispered, urgency running like a thread through her voice.

"The Barclay Employment Agency?" Penelope echoed. "Why?"

She shook
her head and released Penelope's arm. "That's all I can tell y
e
." She shifted her basket from her hip and scurried off into the night.

Penelope turned back toward the carriage. Why would Cicely need an employment agency? After all, she already had a position. And if she wanted a change, she could have simply asked Penelope for a letter of recommendation and help seeking a new post. None of this made any sense, and yet it was the only clue she'd found.

She gathered her skirts and took a step, only to be caught around the waist from behind. Unable to breathe from the pressure of the arm around her middle, she kicked backward, connecting with her assailant's right knee.

"Damnation!" A familiar voice swore, and her captor released her. Rubbing her ribs, she turned to see Pierce kneeling in the dirt.

"Pierce, are you terribly hurt?" She knelt beside him, tucking her skirt to pad her knees. "I'm so sorry. You frightened me. I didn't know it was you."

"I was worried when I returned to the carriage and you weren't there," he
groaned
, rubbing his kneecap. "I should know now, I need never worry for your safety again. Who knew a lady's boot heel could be quite so painful?"

"You shouldn't have grabbed me so," she replied tartly. "How was I supposed to react? Here we are in the yard of a most notorious brothel—any man with a grain of sense would have approached me differently."

"Believe me, madam, I am regretting my mistake most heartily at the moment." He gingerly flexed his leg, grimacing slightly. "What the devil are you doing out of the carriage anyway?"

"I saw a servant passing by, and thought it would be wise to question her." She took his leg in both of her hands, pressing it gently. Heavens, what a strong, muscled leg he had. She was thankful for the darkness, which hopefully covered her blush. "Does this hurt?"

"I'll survive." He leaned back on his elbows in the grass, staring at her from under lowered brows. "I was concerned for your safety,
Lady Annand
."

"Thank you, but I can defend myself. As you now know." She withdrew her hands from his leg, keeping her eyes lowered. If he read her thoughts at that moment, how he would laugh at her—how everyone would laugh. The Ice Goddess, reduced to nothing but a bowl of porridge after touching a man's knee.

"Well, though that may be true, I don't like it when my orders are disobeyed. I told you plainly not to leave the carriage."

"You are not my master, sir. We are partners in this endeavor, after all. And I saw an opportunity to help our cause.
Honestly
, you are behaving in a most infuriating manner." She rose, shaking out her skirts. "Shall we go?" She extended her hand.

He grasped her hand, but used the advantage to pull her down beside him in the dirt. "You may be used to the fops of the
ton
falling all over themselves to obey your every whim, my lady," he muttered, his tone laced with polite warning. "I am not going to go along with your every whim. If we are to continue on this ridiculous exercise in futility as partners, you will at least defer to me in matters of safety." He rose, still clasping her hand. "Now, shall we go?"

"Yes." She bit the word out b
etween clenched teeth. M
en could be so exasperating. Even Peter would treat her in a high-handed manner when he was sure he was in the right. Of course, they had learned to rub along well enough together after a time, but that was after Peter learned his boundaries while she respected her limits, and they became good friends.

She glanced up at Howe's dour profile as he pulled her along to the carriage. High-handed was too kind a term to describe him just at that moment. Bossy, domineering, autocratic—those words sprang to mind instead. Just for that, she wouldn't tell him about the Barclay Employment Agency. She would just have to search for that establishment—and its possible connection to Cicely—herself.

***

Lady
Annand
was simply being mulish. That's all there was to it.

Her hardened expression and "yes" or "no" answers on the way home—as well as her monotonous tone of voice—said it all. She knew something and was withholding information to put him in his place. The only question was--what did she learn from that servant?

He ran his hand through his hair and continued to pace the floor of his bedroom. It was probably something that she would try to find the answers to herself—and that meant she would probably put herself in the direct path of trouble once more.

He couldn't allow her to put herself in danger. The risk of
danger or harm
was much too great. She was too proud and too stubborn to see, as a woman—and a wealthy one at that—how desirable a target she was to unscrupulous men. It was up to him to keep her safe.

He couldn't bear
for harm to befall her
.
Since losing Charlotte, he'd kept on his guard
.

A knock sounded on the door. He paused in his pacing only long enough to bark, "
Come in
."

His valet, Joseph, entered. He was bearing a tray with a familiar cut-glass decanter and a short glass. Pierce eyed the amber liquid with dawning appreciation. Yes, a drink would be just the thing.

"Thank you, Joseph." He sat beside the fire and accepted the tray with a tired smile.

"Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?" Joseph backed a few respectful paces away.

"Yes. Send Bill in, if you please." Pierce poured a long draught of
brand
y into the glass.

"Right away, sir. Good night."

Pierce held a mouthful of the
brandy
, breathing slowly through his nose. Damn, that was smooth. He swallowed and closed his eyes as the liquid burned a path down his throat and even seemed to branch through his lungs. What a delightful way to end the evening. Not as delightful as it could have been, of course. His mind flashed back to
Lady Annand
's soft hands stroking his knee. He sat up and adjusted himself. It would never do to get too excited by memories before he spoke to Bill.

What was wrong with him, anyway? A lot of men would have taken the opportunity to sleuth in a brothel as an opportunity to have a bit of sport, as well. To, at the very least, take a peek at what went on. And yet he was too driven by the idea of shutting the place down to enjoy it at all. And what had the stable lads told him? Not much of anything at all. Nothing that would trace him to Cicely, and nothing that was potentially incriminating enough to shut down the Gilded Lily.

In fact, the only thing he had discovered over the course of the evening is that he was as attracted to
Lady Annand
as he had been the moment he met her. In short, he learned nothing new and nothing helpful.

A knock rattled the door nearly off its hinges, and Bill entered. A hulking brute of a man, Bill had to duck to make it through the doorway. "Evening, your lordship. Joseph said you wanted me."

"Yes. I need to you to keep an eye on someone for me. Her name is
Lady
Annand
." He nodded toward the tray with its decanter, but Bill shook his head. Ah, yes. Since his conversion to Methodism, Bill refused to imbibe. Oh well, that left more for his employer. "I am working with her ladyship on a case, and I have a hunch that she is likely to do something rash that could land her in danger. I want you to follow her, and if needed, interfere when I am not around."

"Yes, your lordship." Bill bowed respectfully.

"Stop calling me your lordship. Haven't we spoken about that time and again? Sir is good enough." Pierce took another sip of
brandy
.

"My apologies, sir. Force of habit." Bill shifted uneasily on his feet. Poor devil. A man of few words, and one who hated any kind of social contact. On the other hand, he was an excellent bodyguard, and Pierce made use of his physical prowess for his clients frequently.

"Very well. You are forgiven." Pierce pulled a scrap of foolscap out of his jacket pocket. "Here's the lady's address. Don't worry about shadowing her tonight. I doubt she will go back out. But do make sure to begin in the morning. I have a feeling that she will try something as soon as the sun comes up."

Bill accepted the paper, his rough, calloused fingers folding it into a neat square. "Will do. When should I report back to you?"

"Come and speak to me every evening, before
dinner
," Pierce replied.

Bill nodded and bowed. Then he hesitated, as though he had something more to say.

"Well, then? Out with it," Pierce commanded.

"I don't know that it means anything, sir, but I saw someone poking around the house earlier this evening. A slight fellow, with thinning hair. So I stopped him, and made him tell me what he was about. Come to find out, he was with the Runners."

Of course, he might have expected they'd come snooping about. He swirled the whisky around in his glass. "And?"

"Well, I gave him what for. Sent him running back with his tail between his legs, so to speak. No need to worry about him returning, sir." Bill cracked one of his rare grins.

Pierce smiled in return. "Good man, but they will be back. They want my help on a case, and I am not sure I want to give it. You and I know I am a creature of habit. I prefer to work alone." He turned toward the fire, extended his feet to the blaze. "Thank you, Bill. And don't forget to shadow Lady
Annand
starting tomorrow morning."

"I won't." With that, the giant departed, and Pierce was once again alone. The whisky was beginning to take effect. His very bones relaxed, and he closed his eyes. By God, he was weary. And though he hated to admit it—even to himself—his knee still throbbed where
Lady Annand
's heel had made its connection.