Cerise huffed. It wasn’t likely the brother would know. Not if the sister was smart about it.

  The carriage turned a corner, hitting a deep rut. Cerise slid towards Wil. Her hand landed on his thigh, and she used his body for balance.

  Wil sucked in a sharp breath.

  Cerise swore in French and lifted her hand. “I am sorry. Your injury….”

  His gray-green eyes were dark in the carriage, looking almost black. “I was not in pain.”

  Her heart did a queer twist, and she looked away, focusing on the buildings rolling past. It was always this way for them. Greedy for the others’ touch but knowing nothing more could ever come of it. How foolish the heart was.

  “Will anyone still be at this theatre?” Duffy said, interrupting the awkward silence. “Miss DuBois’s play has ended. Won’t the rest of them be over?”

  “The performances, yes.” Covent Garden was showing The Comedy of Errors, which was shorter than her A Tale of Mystery. “But the theatre is a second home for many of my people. They could be there until the early hours of the morning resting and sharing each other’s society.”

  “We’ll find out how many remain.” Wil nodded outside her window. “We’re here.”

  The carriage jerked to a halt, and Wil pushed the door open and hopped down. He held out his hand for Cerise.

  With only a flutter of hesitation, she took it and climbed down. The lights still flickered by the front doors of the theatre, but the building had a deserted feel to it.

  “Come,” she said. “That door will be locked.” Cerise headed around the side of the building. The side door would most likely be locked, too. But someone should be near enough to hear them knocking.

  And after twenty seconds of doing just that, the door swung open. “What do you want?” A burly man with a long white beard peered out at them.

  Cerise smiled. “That is hardly the way one should greet an old friend, no?”

  He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes, before a wide grin creased his wrinkled face. “Cherry! I ‘aven’t seen you since the Burns Theatre.”

  Cerise gave a dramatic shiver. “Don’t remind me of that place. The smell alone still haunts my dreams.”

  Harry Braxton chuckled. He leaned forward and pulled Cerise through the door, wrapping her in a suffocating hug. “It was something awful.” He set her back and looked her up and down. “Well now,” he said as the door snicked shut behind Wil and Duffy. “What brings you ‘ere tonight looking so fine? And who are your friends?”

  She pointed to her left. “Zis is Mr. Duffy.”

  “And I’m Wilberforce.” Wil stepped close to her, slightly wedging his body between hers and Harry’s.

  Cerise gave a small shake of head. Men. As ornery as badgers when their backs were up. Though why a sweet old man should set Wil off, she didn’t know.

  Wil cracked each knuckle on the fingers of his right hand individually. “We’d like to ask you and other members of the theatre some questions. If you are done fondling Miss DuBois.”

  Cerise scooted between the two men. She threaded her arm in Harry’s and led him down the corridor. “Nevermind that one. But I would appreciate any assistance you can give.”

  “Anything for you, Cherry. You know that.”

  A growl sounded behind her. Cerise flapped her hand at Wil, trying to get him to remain silent. It would be hard enough to get these people to talk freely to two investigators. It wouldn’t help matters if one was acting like a bear.

  “We are looking for a young woman.” She waved Duffy forward. “He has a miniature of her, though it is from some years ago. Has anyone been employed here recently who resembles her?”

  Harry squinted at the small painting. “Don’t think so.”

  “Perhaps others might have seen her?” Duffy asked. He kept his voice polite, and Cerise was grateful. No need to point out the obvious, that Harry’s sight was failing.

  Her old friend shrugged. “There’s only about ten of us ‘ere now, but let’s go ask.”

  Wil took her elbow. “Yes, Cherry, let’s go.”

  Ah, so that was the bee in the bonnet. Wil didn’t like when other men were too familiar. She smothered a grin. Even when said men were old enough to be her grandfather.

  They entered backstage, the space filled with the chairs and sofas of past sets. Actors and crew lounged with drinks in their hands, someone softly playing a piano off in the corner. Cerise had worked with one other person there. She gave the woman air kisses and chatted as the portrait was handed around.

  “Abner Joseph is the manager here, yes?” Cerise knew he was, but it never hurt to let people think you didn’t know as much as you actually did.

  “Aye, you just missed him.” Sandy Watson downed her shot of whisky and held her glass out to her neighbor for a refill. “He’s a bit of a git, but he pays well.”

  Yes, and he made actors’ careers.

  “So, who’s this girl you’re looking for?” Sandy asked.

  Oh. Yes. The missing woman. Heat swept up the back of Cerise’s neck and across her face. That was a bit more important than her next job. “She has disappeared and her brother is trying to find her. My friend’s husband owns an inquiry agency, and I agreed to assist.”

  “An inquiry agency.” Sandy raised an eyebrow. “Does that pay well?”

  Cerise’s gaze was drawn to Wil. He knelt by a seated actress and asked her questions as she examined the miniature. His trousers pulled tight against his strong thigh and his black hair looked soft as a cat’s belly in the candlelight.

  She dug her fingers into her gown. They knew the feel of running through his hair. Her whole body remembered the feel of his strength enveloping her.

  She sighed. Wil was like a fine wine. Too much of him was bad for her, but she couldn’t seem to get enough. “Yes, the rewards are very good.”

  Wil rose and approached her and Sandy. Cerise made introductions.

  Wil handed the other actress the miniature. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Sandy held it to a candle. She sucked in a sharp breath. “Lady Juliana.”

  Cerise’s pulse jumped. “You know her?”

  “Aye. She’s a very kind benefactor.” Sandy rubbed her thumb around the gold frame. “She used to come back stage after a show and thank us for the performance. But she hasn’t been around lately. And we definitely haven’t hired her.”

  Cerise’s heart sank. The disappointment of discovering some information and then hitting a block was worse than if they’d learned nothing at all.

  Wil stepped closer. “Do you remember the last time you saw her?”

  Sandy scrunched up her face. “Mayhap three weeks?”

  “And was there anyone here she spoke to more than others?” Wil pressed. “An actress she became particularly close to?”

  Sandy frowned. “She and Bertie seemed real chummy like. Bertie Huddleson. He’s one of our set designers. But he hasn’t been here for the past couple weeks neither.”

  Wil shot Cerise a look, and she nodded. “Do you know where we can find Bertie? He might know something, and we don’t want zis girl wandering on the streets longer than she needs to.”

  “No, of course not, the poor dear.” Sandy waved to a tall, lanky man slouching in the corner. “Hal, come here. You’ve been to Bertie’s place before, haven’t you? Where’s he live?”

  Duffy followed the man over, his eyes narrowed in anticipation. He had the look of a hunting dog following a scent. He’d be right at home in the inquiry agency. Cerise could only hope the man was as competent as he was keen. Investigations could be a dangerous business, and she needed Wil’s associates to help, not put him in harm’s way.

  “Bertie has apartments over on Bowker Street. Across from the pub, The Hind Leg. Why?” Hal’s gaze drifted over Wil suspiciously, but the look he turned on Cerise was much friendlier. “Wanna go for a drink?”

  Wil gripped her elbow with a possessive hand. “She can’t. But thanks for the information.” He nodded to Duffy. The man slid a pouch from his coat pocket and handed some coin to both Hal and Sandy.

  “Come back and visit again,” Sandy told Cerise.

  “I will.” At a more reasonable hour when the manager would be in residence. She said her goodbyes and walked with Wil back out the way they’d come. “So you have a name. And will we go wake him up at zis late hour or wait until morning?”

  “Duffy and I will interview the man.” Wil placed his palm on the small of her back as he guided her through the door. “You will return home. We’ll drop you off.”

  She didn’t want to, but she forced herself away from the heat of his palm. What Wil said was smart. Spending more time with him would only lead to more feelings, and that was something she just wouldn’t do.

  Her intrigues with Wil only led the man to want more, and more was something she couldn’t give.

  Not even when deep inside she might want more, too.

  But her life was on the stage, and Wil had made it clear he disapproved of her profession. And besides, she would make an inferior wife. She knew this. And so did Wil.

  So returning home and going on with her life without Wil was definitely the smart action to take.

  She tipped up her chin. “It is only—” Movement caught her eye. A man wearing an absurdly high top hat drifted deeper into the shadows of the theatre, enjoying his cheroot. She lowered her voice, not wishing to cause a scene. “It is only through my assistance that you obtained zis information. You have me interested now. I want to follow zis through to the end.”

  She always did the smart thing… except when it came to Wil.

  “That address isn’t far from our offices,” Duffy said. “Me and the boys have been to that pub after work a few times. I can always drop you and the lady off at the agency and I’ll go—”

  “No,” Cerise and Wil replied simultaneously.

  She faced off with Wil, planting her fists on her hips. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  He planted his own hands on his hips, mirroring her posture. “As this is my investigation, in point of fact, I do get to say who will be involved.”

  “It’s actually my investigation.” Duffy ran his hand up the back of his head, mussing his hair and looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

  “Quiet,” Wil told him without taking his eyes off Cerise. “Now, I thank you for your help gaining entrance to the theatre, but that is all I’m willing to involve you in.” He blew out a breath. “We both know simple investigations can become dangerous.”

  “And we both know that I can take care of myself.” The back of her throat burned. She still had nightmares about the man she’d killed. There had been so much blood…

  He pressed his lips tight. “Damn it, Cerise, I don’t want—”

  “We are only talking to a set designer.” It was a ruthless thing to do, but Cerise couldn’t face going home alone. Saying goodbye. She stepped close and rested her gloved hand on Wil’s forearm. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and gave him the soft smile she knew he couldn’t resist. “There is nothing threatening about set designers. Besides, I’ll be with you and Duffy. What can happen?”

  Wil scrubbed a hand across his jaw. He cursed under his breath, and Cerise knew that she had won. He helped her into the carriage and muttered, “Those are famous last words if ever I’ve heard them.”

  Chapter Three

  Nothing would happen visiting a set designer. Wil knew this, yet still he berated himself for his weakness. He should have sent her home. Tucked her away in her bed where she’d be safe. Safe and warm and wearing naught but a flimsy night rail….

  He muffled a groan as the carriage stopped in front of Huddleson’s apartments. He had to stop doing this to himself. Cerise told him, over and over, she wanted nothing from him, nothing but the few moments of pleasure she’d allow. And he himself knew they had no future.

  He jumped to the ground, ignoring the pain that flared in his thigh. She was much too good for a man like him. She deserved men like Cooke, someone who could buy her fancy dinners and jewels.

  She deserved more than Wil could give.

  She glided down the coach steps and stood by his side, the faint fragrance of her perfume a tease.

  Yet still he allowed her to accompany him. He was a weak man.

  They followed Duffy into the building.

  “Which room do you think is his?” Cerise asked.

  “Don’t know.” Duffy lifted his meaty hand and knocked on the nearest door.

  It whipped open. A greying man wearing a sleep cap glared out at them.

  “We’re looking for a Mr. Bertrand—”

  “Third floor. Second on your right.” The door slammed shut.

  Duffy looked over his shoulder. “Third floor,” he repeated.

  Wil rolled his eyes. He swept out his hand. “After you.”

  He followed Duffy and Cerise up the stairs. He preferred taking the rear position so no one could see his limp as steps were especially hard on his leg. But it meant having Cerise’s lush behind inches from his face. Her cheeks shifting back and forth beneath her thin silk gown.

  He dropped his gaze to his feet, cursing his weakness.

  Duffy hopped up the last of the stairs and bounded to Huddleson’s door. Cerise crested the top and held a hand to her side. She nodded her head at his associate. “His energy can be most annoying, yes?”

  Wil’s lips twitched. “Indeed.”

  Duffy pounded on the door. Waited three seconds. Pounded again.

  “Why don’t we give him a chance to get up and come to the door,” Wil suggested.

  “Fine,” Duffy muttered. He flexed his hands and shifted his feet, clearing not a man used to waiting patiently.

  But their patience was rewarded. The door swung inwards and a sleepy male face peered out. “Good Gad, what’s the racket? I know I paid my rent.”

  “Mr. Bertrand Huddleson?” Duffy casually slid his boot against the door jamb. “I work for the Bond Agency for Discreet Inquiries. I’d like to ask you some questions about The Lady Juliana Wickham.”

  A loud gasp sounded behind the door. “He’s found me.”

  The blood drained from Huddleson’s face. He shoved the door, trying to close it. It stopped on Duffy’s boot, and the agent easily pushed it open over the smaller man’s efforts.

  Wil hurried in past Duffy. He scanned the room, finding it empty of anyone except Huddleson and a woman who was undoubtedly Snowdon’s sister. “Lady Juliana.” He inclined his head. “Are you all right?”

  “I’d say that depends on you.” The woman skittered back behind a torn settee and looked wildly about. Her gaze landed on a brass candlestick. She grabbed it, holding it aloft, the taper wobbling precariously in its perch. Her eyes were bright with intelligence. And fear.

  Duffy held up his hands. “Easy. We mean you no harm. We’re here to help.”

  Wil ran the possibilities through his head. It was looking less like the lady needed rescuing and more like she was running. He glanced at Huddleson. The young man seemed an odd choice for a lover to abscond away with. Gangly. Narrow-shouldered. Completely lacking the ability to protect his woman if his frantic clutching of the belt on his wrapper was any indication. But since Percy Shelley had popularized the delicate and bloodless look, who knew what attracted women?

  “Are you here against your will?” Wil asked.

  The woman snorted, then covered her mouth, her eyes rounding in embarrassment. She shook her head.

  “Now see here,” Huddleson said. “I would never—”

  Duffy held up his hand and the set designer fell silent. Duffy kept his gaze on Lady Juliana. “Then you ran. Why? Your brother is most concerned?”

  “Is he?” She chewed on her lower lip. “He didn’t seem concerned when I told him of my suspicions.” Her arm trembled, the candlestick drifting an inch lower.

  Duffy eased forward. “And what suspicions are those?”

  “That his secretary is trying to kill our father. And since I’ve discovered his plot, now me, as well.”

  Wil blinked. He shouldn’t be surprised any longer; he’d seen too much in life. But the lady’s words took him aback. That wasn’t an accusation that was thrown about lightly. Or it shouldn’t be.

  “Pickens?” Duffy asked incredulously. “That knobbly man who chastised me for not addressing Snowdon with the proper amount of deference is an attempted killer?”

  “Mon Dieu.” Cerise pulled her wrapper more tightly about her. “So that is why you ran? To save yourself?”

  Lady Juliana’s gaze darted to her and she nodded. “Who are you people?”

  Duffy reached out and plucked the candlestick from her hand, catching the candle before it could hit the floor. “As I said, we work for an inquiry agency. Your brother hired us to find you.”

  She rubbed the arm that had held the weight, taking a step back from Duffy. She examined him from his mud-splattered boots to his mop of dark hair that looked past due for a trim. She swallowed. “And if I don’t want to be found?”

  Duffy frowned. “Once we get your brother’s secretary sorted, why wouldn’t you want to return home instead of living here? No offense,” he tossed over his shoulder to her roommate.

  “None taken.” Huddleson leaned back against a rickety side table. “I told her she was mad to run away from the lap of luxury. But she’s welcome to stay for as long as she wants.”

  Wil had to give the man credit. Duffy had to outweigh him by fifty pounds, but the boy didn’t drop his gaze at Duffy’s glare. And why Duffy should care if the girl stayed here was a mystery to Wil. The man hadn’t seemed like a moralist to turn up his nose at unusual living situations.

  Perhaps he worried the viscount wouldn’t pay if we didn’t return with his sister in tow.

  Lady Juliana rubbed her forehead. “I need to think, and it’s too late to think well. Come back in the morning.”

  Cerise tutted. “But of course. You must be exhausted, you poor thing. Wil, Mr. Duffy, it is time for us to return to our own beds and leave zis poor woman to hers.” Her voice brooked no dissent.

 

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