“Mr. Kent is a good authority on brothels? How charming.”
I glared at him, tired of the elusive act. Who cared about his stupid past? I stormed up to him, flowers be damned, and landed closer than he probably liked. He flinched back a step.
“Let’s pretend I did as you asked and ‘healed’ your friend, Mr. Braddock. You are deeply in my debt. Now, would you kindly share your discoveries and tell me the truth for once?” I clenched my teeth and glared up at the obnoxiously tall man, ignoring the almost imperceptible current that seemed to live between us.
His face was back to a stony mask, all rigid lines and unwavering eyes. But it fell away as he sighed, unfolding a small piece of paper. “I wanted to handle it quietly,” he explained, revealing its contents. An advertisement for the Argyll Rooms, announcing in red block letters its fifty-performer band, renowned conductor, and, at the bottom, the latest singing attraction:
EVERY NIGHT AT 8:00, OUR NEWEST STAR, THE WRITE “ROSE” OF BRAMHURST.
“And you believe that’s Rose? My sister, the serious nurse, Rose?” I asked mockingly.
“I could go speak to her,” he gently suggested.
“Did you see her last night?” I snapped, wanting no gentleness from him.
“No, but the staff had, and their descriptions sounded accurate.”
“They were mistaken.” My head ached and my stomach churned. I sat down blindly at the tea table.
Mr. Braddock looked down at me, pity swimming in his eyes. “Perhaps,” he assented softly. “I had intended to speak to her tonight and, if it was Miss Rosamund, bid her to return. I did not think it proper to involve you in the specifics.”
“That was not your decision to make! You agreed to help find her, and as absurd as it sounds, you seem to think you have. But this is the reason I came to London myself. There are certain things that only I can do,” I said, more furious than rational.
“Which means?”
“I must go speak to whomever this woman is and sort it out,” I said.
“No,” he said simply. “That is entirely out of the question.”
“You cannot presume to tell me such a thing!” I spluttered. “Besides, you said it wasn’t a brothel. Why should I stay away?”
“It still has its share of . . . unsavory individuals. A woman like you does not belong there.”
“If it truly is my sister, our family will have far greater worries, I can assure you,” I said. “In any case, I will wear a mask, and no one will recognize me.”
“It is not only your reputation I am concerned about.” Mr. Braddock’s civil demeanor was beginning to crack.
“I have no care for your concerns,” I said. “This is the only way I will be convinced it’s her. I came to London against my parents’ wishes, and I am perfectly capable of doing this alone, as well.”
He crumpled the paper in his hands, registering how futile it was to argue. He returned to pacing the length of the small garden, shaking his head, and fussing with the seams of his cuffs.
“Very well,” he said. “Then I will be here this evening at seven.”
“Unnecessary. I shall be fine myself.”
“You will be eaten alive.” His voice rasped with scorn. “If you are going to be so foolhardy as to go through with this plan, then I will accompany you.”
“I don’t need a chap—” I automatically snapped, but the memory of the drunken men in the alley was too fresh. I stood up, unable to resist the wine any longer. I poured it into a teacup and ignored the snort behind me.
“Ah, so you know what to do when a man takes you for a doxy?”
Mortified, I felt my face flush, but somehow kept myself from spitting out the wine. “When a man takes me for a . . . doxy? So you see it as an inevitability—why, thank you.”
He prowled uneasily close to me, and I fumbled and dropped the cup. I only heard it shatter, unable to look away from the advancing oaf.
“Forgive me for sullying your innocent ears, but if you go to a dancing room unaccompanied, you will hear much worse. And you will inevitably be taken for that kind of woman even if you’re wearing a nun’s habit.”
“Ah, and you know this with all your infinite brothel experience.”
“Yes,” he said firmly, not acknowledging the insult. “Now, seven o’clock—I will be here. It’s no longer a question. Be ready and wear a plain, unadorned mask—the sort you might wear to a masquerade ball.”
Insufferable. I had nothing left to say to the obstinate man.“Fine,” I muttered. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better places to search this morning.”
“Very well. But let me help—” he said, leaning forward to assist with the cup’s sad remains.
I blocked his way. “I will be quite fine.”
He nodded and drew back gracefully. “Do try to stay out of trouble today.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. He buttoned up his coat and opened the door while I knelt to pick up the shards of porcelain with as much dignity as I could muster.