Cassie picked up a bottle with essence of roses, exhaling wistfully after she smelled it. “Would you be able to make a perfume just for me?”
“I’ll be happy to, but I’ll need to know you better.” Kiri studied the other woman thoughtfully. “You have many secrets, many layers of character. I imagine that is usual in your trade. The right perfume for you would reflect that.”
Cassie’s expression blanked and she stoppered the rose essence. “Better that you not seek to know more. Come, I’ll take you to the rag shop.”
“I’ll go, too,” Mackenzie said. “To carry your purchases home, like a footman.”
“I’m unlikely to need that much help,” Kiri pointed out. “I’m buying the most basic of wardrobes.”
“Maybe you’ll need protection between here and there.”
Cassie snorted. “If I thought you were deliberately insulting my abilities to protect, Mackenzie, you’d pay for that remark.”
His mobile features changed to a mask of fear. “No, no! No insult intended!” His face relaxed into a smile. “Mostly I want to come because I’m bored.”
“That’s a reason I can understand,” Kiri said.
“Very well,” Cassie agreed. “Come along, but try to stay out of mischief.”
Mackenzie switched to a wounded expression. “Would I cause trouble?”
“Trouble is your middle name!” Kiri and Cassie said the words in unison, then looked at each other and laughed.
“Maybe I’ll change my middle name,” Mackenzie said as he ushered the two of them out of Kiri’s room. “T for Thaddeus, perhaps. Or Tarquin. Or Tancred. Or . . .”
“Trouble is the most suitable,” Kiri said, her eyes dancing. Mackenzie’s presence wouldn’t be required tonight. But she was sinfully pleased that he was with them.
The rag shop was small and badly lit, and so stuffed with secondhand clothing that it resembled Aladdin’s cave.
As Kiri tried to make sense of the jumble, Cassie called, “Customers, Mrs. B.! I’ve brought you a lass who needs pretty much everything.”
A rustling sound from the back heralded the appearance of a wiry old lady with an unlit clay pipe clamped between her teeth. “That you, Cassie? Aye, and this must be your lass.” She stopped by Kiri and pinched Kiri’s left sleeve, rubbing the fabric between thumb and forefinger. “Very nice. Want to trade it in? I’ll give you at least two gowns in return, maybe more, depending on what you pick.”
Kiri thought of herself as adaptable, but the idea of wearing one of those unwashed garments out of the shop made her twitch. “First I’ll look at what you got. Me old mum made this for me just before she died, and I’m right fond of it.”
The pipe in the old lady’s mouth twitched. “Anything else she made that you might be willing to sell?”
Kiri saw a satiric glint in Cassie’s eyes, and realized that the other woman wanted to see how Kiri managed life and business outside the beau monde. She shook her head dolefully. “Haven’t anything else my mum made. I just ran away from my man with only the clothes on my back. That’s why I’m here.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a gold guinea. “I have this to spend. How much can I buy with a guinea?”
As the proprietress’s eyes gleamed, Mackenzie held up a green satin gown. “Try on this. You’d look good in it.”
“If you think I’m looking for another man, Daniels,” Kiri said saucily, “your loft is to let. I need everyday clothes, not some trumpery gown that’s been worn by a woman no better than she should be.”
“Go ahead,” he said coaxingly. “You’ll look mighty fine in green silk. I’ll take you to a play.”
“If you insist,” Kiri said with a show of mock reluctance. They were flirting in the guise of poor Londoners, which kept a safe distance between them. Carrie Ford could behave in ways Kiri Lawford wouldn’t. This could become interesting.
“Is there a place where I can try this on, Mrs. B.? I don’t want Danny Boy here to get ideas if I try this in front of him.” She fluttered her lashes at Mackenzie as she collected the green dress, her fingertips trailing over his wrist. He tried to catch her hand, but she slid away, saying, “Cassie, will you help me?”
“Back here in the corner.” Mrs. B. led the way back to a small area created by hanging old draperies. Very little light penetrated from the main shop, and there was just about room for Kiri and Cassie. Mrs. B. withdrew and began a raucous flirtation with Mackenzie, who responded the same way.
“How am I doing?” Kiri asked Cassie in an undertone as the other woman helped her out of her gown.
“Well enough, but it’s only been five minutes.” Cassie worked with brisk efficiency. “Mrs. B. has good stock, but I warn you, she’s a tough bargainer.”
“I’ll try not to be too easy a mark.” After the green silk gown was laced up, Kiri stared down at her very bare chest. “If this was cut any lower, my navel would show.”
Cassie chuckled. “It’s a gown that will allow you to get close to gambling men when you visit a hell. How good are you at defending your virtue?”
Kiri frowned, recognizing a new problem. “Too good. If I’m not careful, I might break bones. Maybe you can teach me some gentler means of discouraging unruly men.”
Cassie looked surprised, then intrigued. “We’ll talk about this later.” She glanced at her own more modest figure. “I’ve never had to fight for my virtue as hard as you’ll have to. But now it’s time to emerge and dazzle your aspiring suitor.”
Another trait the women in her family had had since the world egg hatched was an ability to turn their allure on and off. Looking as provocative as she knew how, Kiri returned to the main space.
Mackenzie stared at her and a muscle in his jaw jerked. “If you don’t buy that, I’ll buy it for you.”
She smiled sweetly, wondering how much of his reaction was real and how much was the game they were playing. “And have you think I owe you something? I’m no such fool!” She smoothed the silk of the skirt. There were a few snags in the fabric and a small stain, but it was certainly a dramatic gown, and it suited her, in a sluttish way. “I need other kinds of clothes more than I need anything like this.”
Mackenzie looked mournful. “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”
Maybe she would. But for now, it was more fun to tease Mackenzie.
In the end, Kiri left Mrs. B.’s with the green silk gown, a golden evening gown that wasn’t quite as sluttish as the green one, a morning gown, and several other garments. Her bargaining ability left Mackenzie and Cassie wideeyed with amazement.
When Kiri had squeezed every last ha’penny out of her guinea, she piled her folded purchases into Mackenzie’s arms. “Make yourself useful, Danny Boy, or you won’t see that green gown on me again.”
“Yes, Miss Ford,” he said meekly, but his visible eye danced with amusement.
When the three of them were halfway home, Cassie asked, “Where did you learn to bargain like that? I thought Mrs. B. would weep before you were done with her.”
“She enjoyed it as much as I did.” Kiri grinned. “As for where I learned—there is no training ground like an Eastern bazaar.”
The others laughed, and she sensed that Cassie was less doubtful about Kiri’s ability to do this work. She had passed her first test.
Chapter 19
Mac doubted that Kiri would wear the green silk gown for their expedition to Les Heures, but a man could hope. His first reaction was disappointment when she floated down the stairs to join him dressed in black.
His second reaction was paralysis. She wore an elegant black mourning outfit she’d brought with her. He guessed it should have a fichu tucked into the bodice for modesty’s sake. But the fichu was missing, revealing enough of her magnificent figure to ensure that any man breathing would lust after her, and feel guilty for doing so.
Her deep mourning bonnet had yards of black veil that drifted around her head and shoulders. The veil blurred her features and created a tragic, haunted beauty while making her hard to identify.
Breathe, Mackenzie, breathe.
When his brain began functioning again, he said, “You look like you just stepped out of a Gothic novel. The Wanton Widow.”
“Splendid!” She lifted a black lace fan and wafted it gently. “I was aiming for grieving but toothsome widow, hoping that a combination of sympathy and lechery might loosen some information.”
“Those poor devils at Les Heures haven’t a chance,” he said with conviction.
“I hope not.” Kiri pulled a black armband from her reticule and tied it around his arm. “My servants must also be in mourning, of course. A really high-priced footman wouldn’t have an eye patch, but it’s a nice touch that you matched it to your gray livery.”
“I loathe powdered wigs, but details make all the difference when one is pretending to be someone else.” He ushered her outside to the waiting carriage.
Kirkland kept several vehicles in Town. One was an eye-catching coach with his arms painted on the door, another was the shabby hire carriage used when anonymity was preferred. The carriage Mac had borrowed today was expensive but with no markings that made it memorable. It would not look out of place in fashionable St. James Street.
Mac nodded to the driver, one of Kirkland’s men, and handed Kiri into the carriage. After flipping up the steps and closing the door, he took his position on the back step of the vehicle. It would be much more amusing to ride inside with the lady, but he was a servant. He needed the reminder of the social distance between them in the real world, because his brain tended to work badly around her.
When they reached Les Heures, Mac helped Kiri from the carriage. She handed him a folded piece of paper and said under her breath, “Be prepared to take notes.”
Notes? Obediently he said, “Yes, milady.”
In his most formal footman fashion, he held open the shop door and she swept through, a grand lady assuming that where she led, her servant would follow. Under her black veil, she looked imperious and vulnerable, and older than her actual years.
Les Heures was richly scented and quietly luxurious. Behind the counter was a well-dressed man of mature years. He came to immediate attention when Kiri entered, Mac in her wake.
Voice sultry, Kiri said to the salesman, “Good day, sir. I am told that you sell the finest fragrances in London?”
“Indeed we do. I am Mr. Woodhull. And you are Lady . . .” His voice trailed off with a question.
Kiri waved her hand to silence him. “Please, no names, Mr. Woodhull, though no doubt you recognize me. It is not entirely proper for me to be shopping for something so frivolous as scent when my dear husband is barely cold in his grave.”
Mac admired the pretty little catch in her voice. The devastated widow, bravely carrying on.
She continued, “I find that beautiful fragrances help keep melancholia at bay.”
“You are not alone, milady,” Woodhull said in an unctuous voice. “Others have said exactly the same thing to me. It is your
duty
to use anything that will help you maintain your strength at such a difficult time.”
“So very true,” she said with warm gratitude. “What do you consider your finest perfume?”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “For you, milady, I suggest Royal Violets.” He unlocked a glass-fronted case and brought out a handsome little bottle with a gold-leaf pattern incised in it. “This is the same scent cherished by the Empress Josephine.”
Kiri breathed a happy sigh. “Lovely. Let me test it.” She slowly peeled off her left glove, exposing her creamy skin in a luxurious contrast to the black glove.
Mr. Woodhull watched in fascination. Mac was just as fascinated, and also amused. Removing the glove revealed a plain gold wedding band that supported Kiri’s status as widow. She also understood the necessity of proper details.
Gracefully Kiri extended her hand to Mr. Woodhull, palm up. “Will you place a touch of Royal Violets right over the pulse?”
Swallowing hard, he obeyed. She raised her wrist and delicately sniffed the perfume through her veil. “How very fine. But not only violets, I think. There’s a touch of carnation, and I believe lily of the valley?”
His brows lifted. “Your ladyship has superior perception.”
Her long black lashes fluttered modestly, easily visible despite the veil. “I should like to try several others if you will.”
Mr. Woodhull was willing. Several more bottles were removed from the locked case, applied in different places on her left forearm, then discussed. Not only was Kiri demonstrating her knowledge of perfumes, but she was making the man sweat with suppressed lust. Mac would have laughed except that he was equally enthralled.
Finally Kiri chose a perfume, paying an eye-popping price with more gold guineas. Mac was wondering how any of this would help them find the chief kidnapper when she leaned in to Mr. Woodhull and said with breathy confidentiality, “There is another matter I wish to discuss. I believe you make the cologne called Alejandro?”
“Indeed we do. It’s the finest fragrance for gentlemen made anywhere, if I do say so.” He made an attempt to look into her eyes rather than at her décolletage. “Was it the choice of your late, lamented husband?”
“He preferred Eau de Cologne, which is a fine scent, though rather too common.” She looked regretful. “Might I try Alejandro to see if the scent is as I remember it?”
“Of course, milady.” He opened a different case and brought out a bottle. Again Kiri extended her slim wrist and he applied a touch of scent.
She closed her eyes as she lifted her wrist and inhaled reverently. “Ah, yes, this is what I remember. I’ll take a bottle.”
“Of course, milady.” Mr. Woodhull collected a price that was even higher than what she’d paid for the bottle of Royal Violets. As he wrapped the cologne in a heavy parchment, he asked, “Is this a gift?”
“It’s . . . hard to explain.” Kiri cast her eyes down bashfully as she tucked the wrapped bottle in her reticule next to the Royal Violets. “I met a gentleman under rather difficult circumstances. He was so kind to me in my grief. I would like to find him and thank him for his kindness, but we were interrupted before I could learn his name. I thought he was wearing Alejandro, and now that is confirmed.”
“You’re certain it was Alejandro?” Mr. Woodhull asked.
Kiri’s brows arched delicately. “I do not make mistakes about scents, sir.”
“No, no, of course you don’t,” he said hastily. “Your ability to identify scents is the equal of a professional perfumer. You are buying the cologne to remember his kindness? Scent works very powerfully on memory.”
“Actually, I hope to locate the gentleman. Since Alejandro is so rare and expensive, you surely have only a handful of regular buyers. There can be no harm in mentioning who they are.” She smiled enchantingly.
Mr. Woodhull frowned, torn between professional discretion and desire to please the lady. “I don’t know that it would be proper for me to reveal the names of customers.”
“How can a man’s cologne be considered a private matter when it’s worn in public for all the world to appreciate?” Kiri pointed out.
“That’s true,” he said uncertainly. “But the number of customers is large enough that it would be difficult to list them all. Can you describe the gentleman?”
“He was quite tall”—Kiri indicated a height with her hand—“well built, with broad shoulders and a fine figure. Early middle years, I think, with medium brown hair that was thinning just a little.”
“That narrows the possibilities a bit,” Mr. Woodhull agreed. Reluctant but unable to resist Kiri’s great, hopeful eyes, he pulled a ledger from a drawer. Even across the room, Mac could read the script that spelled out “Alejandro” on the leather cover.
Kiri moved so that Woodhull was looking in her direction, leaving Mac free to pull out the paper and pencil she’d given him. Mr. Woodhull paged through the book. “Let’s see, who fits your description? Perhaps Lord Hargreave. Or Mr. Sheraton. Or Captain Hawley. Or perhaps . . .”
As he listed names, Kiri listened intently and Mac jotted them down. After mentioning a dozen or so, the perfumer closed the ledger. “That’s the lot, milady. As you said, there are only a handful of men who use Alejandro, and fewer still who might be the gentleman you seek.”
“You have been so
very
kind!” Kiri leaned forward and brushed a light kiss on his cheek through her veil. “You have my deepest gratitude.”
Mr. Woodhull beamed, but there was a rueful light in his eyes. A perfumer must be glad for a swift kiss, while the mystery man, if Kiri found him, would receive much more of her attention and person. “I am glad to be of service, milady.”
Giving one last radiant smile, Kiri turned and headed for the door of the shop. Mac held it open, then followed her into the street, every inch the proper footman.
Kirkland’s carriage waited only a short distance down the street. When they reached it, Mac helped Kiri into the carriage. Then properness vanished as he told the coachman, “Exeter Street, please,” and climbed inside to sit opposite her.
Kiri grinned at him as she tossed the veil back from her face. “That went rather well. But shouldn’t you be on the outside of the carriage?”
“Having spent a couple of hours being respectable, I feel the need to revert to my usual behavior.” He glanced out the window, afraid to look at her in such close quarters. Unfortunately, not looking at her ravishing person made him intensely aware of the delicious rainbow of scents that wafted around her. He took a deep, slow breath. “Why were those perfumes so insanely expensive?”
“The ingredients are very costly, but it’s also necessary to pay the rent and ensure the perfumers a fine profit,” she replied. “Les Heures caters to people who think the more expensive a perfume is, the better it must be. The Alejandro isn’t bad, but the Royal Violets is rather boring. I’ll play with it to make it better.”
“Why did you buy them?” It was conspicuous to be staring out the window when they were talking, so he tried to gaze in her general direction without looking
at
her. “Apart from the fact that spending lots of money makes a shopkeeper happy.”
“That was part of it, but I thought it would be useful if everyone involved in this hunt had a chance to learn what Alejandro smells like.” She rustled in her reticule and produced the bottle, then handed it across the carriage. “It’s distinctive enough that most people should be able to recognize the scent even if they don’t notice the subtle variations on different wearers.”
He unstopped the bottle and took a whiff. “It seems like a combination of musk and something sharp. Can’t say as I like it.” He put the stopper back and returned it.
“You have a good nose.” She returned it to her reticule. “But it’s distinctive, masculine, and smells expensive, which pleases some men. Did you recognize any of the names he listed?”
“Most of them have visited Damian’s at one time or another.” He frowned. “I wish I’d had a closer look at the fellow. I saw enough to confirm your general description, but not enough to recognize which of my customers he might be.”
“Perhaps Kirkland will have some thoughts when he sees the list.” Humor sounded in her voice. “Why won’t you look at me? Are you appalled at my flirtatiousness? It’s my job to get information, after all.”
Mac felt like grinding his teeth together. “I half expected you to pull Woodhull down behind the counter and give him an experience he’d never forget.”
“It was rather fun to flirt without consequences,” she said thoughtfully.
“
Without consequences?
” He finally allowed himself to look at her, darkly alluring as Lilith, every inch of her lush body an incentive to sin. He yanked down the shades on both windows, then turned and pulled Kiri into a fierce, carnal kiss.
He had been prepared for the enticing taste of her mouth and the soft pressure of her lips. He was
not
prepared for her to flow forward into his arms as she kissed him back. Her mouth opened in invitation and her arms slid around his neck. Mac’s pulse began to hammer, driving out all rational thought.
Somehow she was on his lap, her knees bracketing his. They ground together, their bodies as urgent as their mouths. Common sense wasn’t even a distant memory. All he could think of was Kiri—brave and irresistible, and more than a little wicked.
His hand slid up her left leg under her skirt, cupping the perfect curve of her derriere. “Dear God,” he groaned. “Kiri . . .”