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Authors: Lilia Birney
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the g reenhouse just a few days before. What would have happened if Simmons hadn't walked in on them? Would she have completely given in? Yes, of course she would. She was nobody's fool, and Pierce had nearly carried her away on the tide of passion.
There were no servants hanging about in the back vestibule, so she hastened to the doorway. The cold night wind ruffled her hair, sending a chill down her spine. She put up her woolen hood and gathered her cloak about her more tightly. Then, with sure steps, she walked around the back garden and entered the side yard. She could watch for Pierce here, without being seen.
No need to even wait. Horses snorted, blowing steam and wheels crunched in the icy gravel. He was here. She scurried over to the front of the house as his carriage pulled into the semicircle of the driveway , managing to keep her balance even as the ice caused her slippers to skitter . She didn't even wait for the coachman to help her, but wrenched the door open and tumbled in on her own.
Pierce helped her over to the padded velvet seat. "How did you know it was me? You've never even seen my carriage before, my lady."
"Who else would be coming to Lady Winthorpe's just now? Supper has already started. This would be a most unfashionable time to make an appearance." Just being in the carriage with him was exciting. It was like he used up all the air in the room—she could scarce draw breath. Well, she could also attribute that to all to her mad scramble. "Wither are we bound?"
"The Gilded Lily." His voice was a da rk rumble that made her heart dance in a ridiculous patter. "I found the Barclay Agency, and visited it today."
"Oh, Pierce, that's marvelous. And did you see any sign of Cicely?"
"No. The Barclay is merely a front for a very exclusive prostitution business," he replied. "It took every connection I have to track it down. And now, there are two women with black hair and brown eyes waiting for us in the Red Room at the Gilded Lily. I need to sneak you in there so that you can identify them."
"The Barclay is a front for prostitution? How bizarre. " None of this made any sense. How on earth was someone like Cicely mixed up in that? " And just h ow do you propose to get me in to see these women?"
He shrugged in the dim light of the carriage lamps. "You'll need to make a choice. Whore or maid?"
Chapter Eight
Penelope stood outside a side entrance to the Gilded Lily. The keen wind bit through the shoddy wool of her maid's costume. Too bad she hadn't insisted on wearing her cloak, but Pierce wanted her to look like she had been working all night at the brothel. It wouldn't make sense f or her to prowl the hallway in a garment that clearly bore the mark of a French modiste's expert hand. She tugged her cotton cap down over her curls more tightly. If only Pierce would make haste. He promised he would go in the front, make his respects, and then come lurching out to find her as though he needed to relieve himself in the side bushes. But five minutes had passed and still no sign of him. She rubbed her arms to rid herself of the goose bumps. Surely Pierce wasn't inside making his respects—to one of the ladies. He was a thief-taker—but not a cad. Was that not so?
The wind picked up its pace and howled through the barren trees. Here and there a voice sounded in the darkness. Very few gentlemen were hanging about outside in this weather. An owl hooted from a nearby branch. Penelope jumped at the sound, and then giggled at herself. She was as bad as a heroine in a horrid novel, hearing evil and danger in every sound.
Oh, drat that man. He might be attractive, but he was draining every ounce of her patience. It was freezing out here. He knew that. She glanced over at the stables. The stable lads had a fire roaring outside on the gravel drive. If only she could pop over and warm herself at the blaze. She might succeed in asking them questions, where Pierce had failed. Or she could just sneak into the hallway
There were no servants hanging about in the back vestibule, so she hastened to the doorway. The cold night wind ruffled her hair, sending a chill down her spine. She put up her woolen hood and gathered her cloak about her more tightly. Then, with sure steps, she walked around the back garden and entered the side yard. She could watch for Pierce here, without being seen.
No need to even wait. Horses snorted, blowing steam and wheels crunched in the icy gravel. He was here. She scurried over to the front of the house as his carriage pulled into the semicircle of the driveway , managing to keep her balance even as the ice caused her slippers to skitter . She didn't even wait for the coachman to help her, but wrenched the door open and tumbled in on her own.
Pierce helped her over to the padded velvet seat. "How did you know it was me? You've never even seen my carriage before, my lady."
"Who else would be coming to Lady Winthorpe's just now? Supper has already started. This would be a most unfashionable time to make an appearance." Just being in the carriage with him was exciting. It was like he used up all the air in the room—she could scarce draw breath. Well, she could also attribute that to all to her mad scramble. "Wither are we bound?"
"The Gilded Lily." His voice was a da rk rumble that made her heart dance in a ridiculous patter. "I found the Barclay Agency, and visited it today."
"Oh, Pierce, that's marvelous. And did you see any sign of Cicely?"
"No. The Barclay is merely a front for a very exclusive prostitution business," he replied. "It took every connection I have to track it down. And now, there are two women with black hair and brown eyes waiting for us in the Red Room at the Gilded Lily. I need to sneak you in there so that you can identify them."
"The Barclay is a front for prostitution? How bizarre. " None of this made any sense. How on earth was someone like Cicely mixed up in that? " And just h ow do you propose to get me in to see these women?"
He shrugged in the dim light of the carriage lamps. "You'll need to make a choice. Whore or maid?"
Chapter Eight
Penelope stood outside a side entrance to the Gilded Lily. The keen wind bit through the shoddy wool of her maid's costume. Too bad she hadn't insisted on wearing her cloak, but Pierce wanted her to look like she had been working all night at the brothel. It wouldn't make sense f or her to prowl the hallway in a garment that clearly bore the mark of a French modiste's expert hand. She tugged her cotton cap down over her curls more tightly. If only Pierce would make haste. He promised he would go in the front, make his respects, and then come lurching out to find her as though he needed to relieve himself in the side bushes. But five minutes had passed and still no sign of him. She rubbed her arms to rid herself of the goose bumps. Surely Pierce wasn't inside making his respects—to one of the ladies. He was a thief-taker—but not a cad. Was that not so?
The wind picked up its pace and howled through the barren trees. Here and there a voice sounded in the darkness. Very few gentlemen were hanging about outside in this weather. An owl hooted from a nearby branch. Penelope jumped at the sound, and then giggled at herself. She was as bad as a heroine in a horrid novel, hearing evil and danger in every sound.
Oh, drat that man. He might be attractive, but he was draining every ounce of her patience. It was freezing out here. He knew that. She glanced over at the stables. The stable lads had a fire roaring outside on the gravel drive. If only she could pop over and warm herself at the blaze. She might succeed in asking them questions, where Pierce had failed. Or she could just sneak into the hallway
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