TheCharmer (10 page)

An idea bloomed. Anything to make him leave. "I'll make a wager with you, Collis," she said enticingly. "The first of us to infiltrate the house by any means necessary will take command of the mission."

Collis hesitated, obviously intrigued. "By any means necessary?"

She nodded. "Any means. You can bribe your way in for all I care."

He snorted. "And the loser?"

She raised her hand as if making a vow. "The loser follows the winner's orders."

"Without question," he prompted.

She placed her other hand over her heart. "Without question."

He smiled cockily. "Well, that will be refreshing."

Still he hesitated. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "I double-damn dare you."

He sucked in his cheeks and narrowed his own gaze. "I believe I'll take that wager." He held out his hand.

She shook it quickly, trying very hard not to relish how large and warm his hand felt wrapped around her own. "Very well." She held out her hand. "The dossier, if you please."

He crossed his good arm over his chest, the leather-clad folder held prisoner behind the wall of his stubbornness. He grinned. "And give away my advantage? You did say 'by any means necessary.' "

Fry it
. She had. Rose reached for patience. Patience wasn't home, so she had to make do with sheer will.
I won't toss him over my shoulder. I won't toss him over my shoulder
. "Then, might I have the address, please? Or will any man do?"

"Any man?" He grinned at that, a flirtatious flash of teeth that likely melted apart the knees of many a barmaid. "Why, Rose! Such a saucy question!" He moved closer. "Are you sure you want the answer?" His voice was low and coaxing. She knew very well he didn't mean it but was only trying to discomfit her.

She really, really wanted to toss him. That resounding
thud
he made when he landed was fast becoming her favorite sound in the world.

"Don't wear yourself out on me,
Collis
. I'm immune." She held out her hand. "The address?"

He tipped the file to his forehead in salute. "Very well." He opened the file and read aloud. "Our gentleman 'is thirty years of age, lives at

Eighty-seven Milton Crescent

. Wife, no offspring. Spends his days at his factory in the East End District, unless he is at his club'—of which you don't need to know, since you could never get in—'and he likes to dress very well indeed.' " He paused, then smiled. "I believe that part is in Button's handwriting." He snapped the dossier shut. "We'll begin tomorrow at dawn."

"Dawn?" Dismayed, Rose realized that was only a few hours away. "But people of that sort don't stir before noon, or ten at the earliest!"

"Ah, ah, ah." He waved a scolding finger at her, mockingly. "Assumptions again, Briar Rose. You won't truly establish their habits until you've observed them, now will you?"

Rose's hand tightened around her mug. That phrase was straight from day one of training. Fry it. She wished she'd had the chance to use it on him first.

Hard floor. Big man. The thud would be so very satisfying…

Collis, clearly feeling that a strategic retreat was in order after winning the last fray, waved cheerily at her as he ducked out her low door. He didn't even hit his head.

Pity.

 

The next morning didn't dawn at all, at least not as far as Rose was concerned. She stood indifferent to the damp, partially hidden behind the corner of the last house on the opposite side of the street from

87 Milton Crescent

.

She eyed the dark gray sky and calculated how long it would be before the rain came. There was little wind at least. That meant the storm wasn't immediately in the offing. If she was fortunate, the day would merely remain horrible and damp throughout.

Lovely. In a few hours, Collis would probably be jollying up to the master of the house in some gentlemen's club, drinking fine brandy by a roaring fire, being served delicacies on silver trays, while he finagled an invitation into the house.

Luckily, her goal wasn't to meet the mistress socially. Her goal was to get into the house! " 'By any means necessary,' " she quoted softly to herself. "Now, how does a young, hardworking servant girl get into a stranger's house?" Grinning wickedly, she gathered her shawl and dashed across the empty street.

The service entrance was down a short flight of stairs to one side of the front door, as in most terraced houses. She trotted down the steps to end up before an unadorned wooden door. "Why, she knocks, of course," she whispered to herself with a giggle.

The sour-faced cook who answered only glared at her suspiciously. "State y'business!"

Good. Sour was much better than jolly. Rose put on an earnest face. "I've come t'fill the housemaid position. The agency sent me."

The woman squinted at her. "We've no—"

Rose interrupted with a hand to her face and an expression of wide-eyed idiocy. "This is Number Eighty-five, isn't it?"

Rose could see calculation crossing the woman's face. Wrong number, dim-witted agency maid, bitter, overworked cook. Recipe for a bit of cheating in any household. The only person to suffer from such a mistake would be the servant sent by the agency, once the mistake was discovered. In the meantime, this household would enjoy the services of one able-bodied servant at no charge.

The door swung wide enough for Rose to trot in from the cold like a lamb to the wolves' den. "Am I to tend the bedchambers or only abovestairs?" She hung her shawl on a nearby peg and turned around—

To find a grimy apron shoved into her hands. "You'll see abovestairs only when you've cleaned up after the day's bakin'," the cook barked. "You mind those cheeky ways when you do go up. The master of this house is no ordinary bloke. Not him what dines with the Prime Minister himself!"

Well, that might very well be true, if the family was associated with Lord Etheridge. Meekly Rose tied the crusted apron on and went to work on the giant bread bowls. More cleaning, of course. She released a small sigh of regret but then rallied when she remembered that it wasn't yet nine in the morning and she was already inside the house! She felt a glow of satisfaction that she only usually achieved when she gave Collis a toss over her shoulder.

"Take that, Collis Tremayne," she whispered to the crusted bowl.

Thud.

Chapter Seven

«
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Collis had spent happy moments over his leisurely breakfast, picturing Rose on her pre-dawn surveillance. It was a nasty morning out. Perfect. She would be as mad as a wet cat by the time the lady of the house awoke and went about her day.

His conscience nagged, but he defended himself. It wasn't an entirely useless effort for her. She'd likely make her way into the house eventually. She was a smart one, his Rose.

He pulled the open dossier closer to his breakfast plate. The information within was so skeletal as to be embarrassing for an organization as thorough as the Liars. There was nothing at all within regarding the man's wife, other than the fact that the target was married. Basic information-gathering such as Rose was doing was necessary.

Still, to ease his own eroding principles, he decided it was time to get to work on their "case" himself. Time to go dangle a worm before his prey. The target was a very wealthy man with decidedly middle-class roots. In Collis's experience, such people who stood trembling on the edge of high society couldn't bear to pass up a chance to reach higher.

He stood and gathered up the flimsy file, tucking it under his bad arm and looking down at himself. "Not sufficiently wormy," he said to himself. He wasn't dressed for fishing. He ought to go change into something more dandified.

Denny had laid something nicely flashy out in Collis's bedchamber upstairs, but when he got there he saw that someone had left his bedchamber door slightly ajar. "Oh, no," he breathed, then pushed the door open slowly.

"Damn." It was worse than he'd thought. There was his finery, laid upon the pristine coverlet like a paper cutout of Collis himself. And there, in the center of his fine shirt, was the Beast from Hell.

"Mrowww." It wasn't a greeting. The huge street-scarred orange-striped tabby that went by the deceptively sweet name of Marmalade never greeted Collis. No, that deep and hair-raising sound was a warning.
Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry
.

Collis held both palms up and slid sideways through the door, frantically trying to come up with a plan. "Denny?" he hissed over his shoulder into the hall. "Sergeant?
Sergeant
!"

The Sergeant popped up from nowhere. Collis would swear the man had magical powers. "Yes, Master Collis?"

"Quick, come help me!"

The Sergeant stepped forward smartly, as Collis imagined he had through every battle he'd ever seen. The man was a decorated veteran, a proven paragon of valor and experience—

At the sight of the cat on the bed, the Sergeant gasped and jerked backward, automatically pressing his back to the opposite wall as if he could blend into the cheerful paper. "Oh, no, sir! I have special dispensation from his lordship! I need never have anything to do with That Animal!"

"Coward," Collis accused, though he had to admit, he himself wasn't going to take a step further without some backup. "Where is my aunt?" Only Clara could tame the creature. Marmalade turned into melted candy when Clara was about. Of course, that meant that Clara didn't believe a single word said against her beloved pet. Beauty and the Beast.

"Milady is out."

"Oh, hell."

At that moment,
Dalton
ambled down the hall, putting the final touches to his own day's ensemble. "What's the panic?" he asked amiably enough as he tugged at his cuffs, although Collis noted a certain sideways look concerning himself. Well enough, he would deal with his powerful and demanding uncle later. Right now he had bigger problems.

"The Devil Incarnate is getting hair all over my shirt."

Collis was gratified that even
Dalton
's eyes widened at that. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "I don't suppose you have another you can wear instead?"

"I am surrounded by cowards," Collis muttered.

"But I just got dressed," his uncle said plaintively.

Collis narrowed his eyes. "No shirt, no mission."

Dalton
sighed. "If you insist." He turned to his majordomo. "Sergeant, if you would please see to putting out some fresh clothing for me—and perhaps… some ointment and bandages?"

The Sergeant went pale and mournful. "No, my lord! Please, wait for Milady!"

Dalton
shook his head, resolute. "No. It must be now." He clapped the Sergeant on the shoulder. "Don't take on so, old man. I'll be fine."

Collis didn't think he sounded any too sure. Come to think of it, he wasn't at all sure himself.
Dalton
removed his frock coat and Collis put his file on the hall table. They poised outside the door.

"You go down. I'll go up,"
Dalton
whispered. "On three." They took position.
Dalton
held up one finger, two, three—

They leaped from their hiding places. Collis jumped to the back of the settee by the fire. "Hyah!"

Dalton
went in low and deadly while Collis held the enemy's deadly emerald-eyed attention. With his frock coat rolled around both forearms,
Dalton
managed to extract the hissing cat from her nest atop Collis's bed.

Dalton
carefully carried her out at arm's length, then returned to the room a moment later at a run, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Safe at last."

Collis was holding up his shirt to the light, peering ruefully at the damage. "I can see through these holes. Can you see through these holes?"

Dalton
sighed. "So charge a new shirt to me. I'll pay for it."

Collis held up what had once been a lovely brocade waistcoat. "I want another weskit while you're at it. Denny will never be able to get these stains out."

"Fine."
Dalton
folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the door. "What are you still doing here? Don't you have a mission?"

"Which I am trying to dress for." Collis couldn't help smirking at
Dalton
. "Everything is 'need to know.' "

"Where is Rose?"

"Surveillance."

Dalton
raised a brow, visibly impressed. "So the two of you have come to some sort of accord?"

"Of course." Collis smiled sweetly.
I'll soon be in charge and she'll do as she's told. Perfect accord
.