Chapter Two

Talia set her shoulder to the wall, head bowed to make herself small as she moved to the next tiny room on the second level of the Jolly Vassal.

Chamber pot after chamber pot she had emptied during the past three hours, but at least now she had finally been allowed upstairs in the brothel. After receiving a few propositions, the last maid assigned to this floor of rooms had decided she would be better off making her coin on her back. So the witch that ordered all the girls about and doled out the pittance of pay for labor had sent Talia to service this floor.

Progress. At least in the fact that Talia could search for Louise in all the rooms of this floor. The guards at the end of the hall ensured Talia didn't move to the upper two floors of the brothel, where only the "experienced" maids worked. But if she kept her head down and emptied enough pots, Talia hoped she could find just one moment when she could slip past them and search the rest of the upper rooms. If Louise wasn't here, she needed to move onto the next brothel. She had already heard some patron's downstairs talking about the auctions at the Robin's Roost five blocks to the west.

Her knuckles hit the peeling paint on the door in the middle of the hallway, giving a quick knock. It took a moment before Talia heard a grunted "yes."

She opened the door and stepped in, only to see a naked woman standing, bent over at the waist and staring at her. Talia froze in the doorway. A half-dressed man, his dark jacket hanging off from only one arm, was straining right behind the woman, his face to the ceiling and hands on her hips as he grunted, thrusting.

Talia ducked her head, her eyes on the floor as heat swamped her face. "Me ‘pologies, lady." The working women all insisted the maids call them "lady." Talia always adhered, even as she recognized the sheer ludicrousness of the hierarchy instilled in the most derelict of places.

Talia's feet shuffled backward as she tried to silently back out of the room.

"Stop, ye wench. Yer ‘ere, take ‘e pot."

Talia stilled, both horrified and humiliated. Without disengaging from the pumping man, the "lady" leaned to the side, grabbing the chamber pot. "Girl—'ere. Bloody litt'e idiot."

Talia took a quick step forward, holding out her hands while trying to avert her eyes to the floor by her toes.

Not close enough to hand it to her, the woman grunted, flinging the pot at Talia. "Out with ye."

The pot hit Talia in the stomach and she fumbled to catch it, the contents sloshing up and onto her chest. Talia swallowed instant bile, stumbling backward out of the room.

Clear of the doorway, she jumped sideways, kicking the door closed with her foot.

She could hear the guard at the end of the hall chuckling. Arse.

Her chin deep on her chest, the rancid smell of the pot filling her nose, Talia sped down the hall and past the guard. It wasn't until she had made it to the darkness of the back alley that she took a full breath.

After dumping the chamber pot into the cesspit, she set it onto the squish of muck by her feet as she tried to scrub her hands clean on her apron. Lifting a mostly clean corner of her apron, she tilted her face high to the sliver of sky she could see between the rooftops, and she wiped the wetness that had splattered onto her neck, her tongue still deep in her throat to stay back the bile.

"Ain't worth payin' fer this bitch."

The garbled words reached her ears only a second before she realized they were about her.

In the next second a brute was on her, shoving her against the far wall, his thick mitt of a hand wrapped around the back of her neck, choking her to the wall, her face smashed into the rough brick.

Rage sent her body into a frenzy. Twisting, her arms thrashed. No matter how small, how unattractive she had tried to make herself—she smelled like dung, for heaven's sake—all these bastards saw was a hole to abuse.

Cold air hit the backs of her legs, her skirts lifting. She clawed against the brick, her throat crushed against the wall, cutting all sound. She tried to kick backward without losing her footing. No contact.

The struggle made his hand go tighter around her neck.

Breath left her.

No air. No air. No air.

Her skirts still moved behind her. But her arms had gone so heavy. No air. She thought she was still flailing her hands, but she looked down along the wall only to see her arm had slowed, no longer reacting to her panic.

Her body ignoring her.

Her body leaving her.

No air.

She fought to keep her eyes open as she felt her body slide down the wall, slumping into a heap, her cheek sinking into muck.

Boots. Shiny boots, the glare showing even in the dark. Boots half buried in dung directly in front of her eyes.

The boots disappeared, blackness taking over.

***

Talia cracked her eyes open. The ball. She was going to make them late to the ball.

She had promised Mama she wouldn't fall asleep in the tub again, and now they would be late. Mama hated tardiness. Disrespectful, Mama always said.

She would just have to smile with extra innocence at Papa. He would defend her. He always did and he knew exactly how to erase Mama's sour moods. Papa would be her way out.

That meant she could sleep a little while longer. Her eyes slipped closed.

The warm water. So soothing. A wet bubble popped under her chin. Lavender.

Lavender?

Mama sneezed around lavender. They didn't keep anything of lavender in any of their homes.

Talia's eyes opened.

Panic wrapped her. Not her tub. Not her home.

Her body froze, even as her eyes flew about the room.

Do not panic. Do not panic. No sudden movements.

Memory shot through her mind.

She had no home. She had a nearly starved mother in Norfolk and a missing sister. She was a maid in a brothel. And she was in a tub?

The panic she was attempting to ignore turned into terror.

"You are awake."

The voice came from behind her. Where did she recognize the voice from?

Lord Lockston.

She moved her chin up a sliver, truly taking in the room. Dark wainscoting covered the walls, rich sconces evenly spaced within the panels and lighting the room. A green marble fireplace with high flames to her right. Tall, hunter green drapes closed off a window to her left.

And Lord Lockston behind her. She glanced down. She could feel she still wore her thin chemise. But the few bubbles covering the surface of the water were quickly disintegrating.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

What was she doing in a tub?

She swallowed, a lump sticking just past her tongue where sharp pain cut around her throat. The choking. The bastard in the alley. She must have fallen unconscious.

Talia opened her mouth, hoping her words would make it past the painful clamp around her throat. "Why am I in a tub?"

She heard rustling behind her. Boots clicking on wood. Lord Lockston was standing, moving.

He appeared to her right, his thigh hitting the lip of the copper tub. A quick glance upward, and Talia gave a slight exhale of relief. He was fully clothed. Trousers, waistcoat, jacket—even his cravat was neatly in place. Not a drop of water on him. Someone set her into this tub, but it wasn't him.

Or he had changed clothes.

She shifted uneasily.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Her eyes lifted to meet his and she was struck at the grey of them—so unique in their lack of color that she wasn't able to read them.

"You are in the tub because you smelled like…shit. Please excuse my language, Lady Natalia, but there is no other proper word for it."

Talia laughed at the absurdity, both of his words and her current situation—whatever this situation possibly was. "I was covered in it. Of course I smelled of it."

His stony fa?ade did not crack, nor did his eyes veer from her face, and for that, she gave him credit. He did have a madwoman sitting in his tub.

She glanced down at the water past the popped bubbles, verifying what she imagined—her soaked chemise had turned undoubtedly transparent. Her forearms slid over her chest. "Who stripped me and put me in here?"

"A maid helped me."

She nodded, her chin tilting upward so she could meet his eyes—read them—read anything about why he had brought her here and plopped her into a bath. In her old life, she would have been ruined ten times over by merely imaging this current situation. Good thing she was now just a maid in a brothel. Yet her arms tightened instinctively above her breasts.

He stared down at her, his grey eyes now nearly vibrating. Vibrating with…outrage?

The credit she had given him a moment ago disappeared with his next words.

"Look at you, you stupid girl. Look at what you have done to yourself."

"You have no right, Lord Lockston. No right at all to judge me." She shifted in the tub, water sloshing as instant hostility burned through her veins. She looked up at him, the side of her lip pulling back. "I will go to any depth to find my sister. I have only myself to do so, if you recall. And being a damn maid is the only way I can get into these places. I will find her—I will not be stopped."

"So you will heave shit and piss? Get buried in it? Have you no pride?"

Talia exhaled a seethed breath, shaking her head. A man of his station would never understand. "Pride will not find my sister, Lord Lockston. I have no other choice. Bring forth all your arrogant judgement, but there is no action beneath me when it comes to finding her."

He leaned down, his face dangerously close to hers. "You will be raped?"

Her mouth clamped shut.

He straightened, pulling to his full height, but his glare did not leave her face.

She shook her head, meeting his stare. "I do not think you understand the depths to which I will go to find my sister. I will do anything—anything it requires of me to find her."

"I am beginning to understand that."

"There is nothing for you to understand. You have no desire to help me, Lord Lockston. You made that perfectly clear yesterday morning. Why do you feel the need to interfere now?"

"I would not come upon the scene that I did in that alley and not interfere, Lady Natalia."

"Yes." Her eyes narrowed at him. "But you could have very well left me in that brothel."

A flicker flashed through his grey eyes, a flicker Talia didn't understand, nor had the energy to even try to guess at.

He shrugged. "I have decided to help you. You were right about what you saw two nights ago when I bought that virgin. You did find the right man, and I will help you to find your sister." He paused, his eyes leaving her face for the first time to look at something behind her head. His look dropped back to her. "But it will come at a price."

He spun away, walking to the door next to the fireplace where he stopped, but he did not turn back to her. "The bubbles are almost gone, Lady Natalia. There is a dress on the chair behind you that should fit. Wash the rest of that black crud and stench from your hair, and then put it on. I will speak to you downstairs in my study."

He left the room.

Talia stared at the closed door, fury steaming with each exhale.

The man was pompous. Insufferable. Overbearing. Condescending. A cad.

And also going to help her find Louise.

And aggravatingly handsome.

And respectful as possible, given the situation.

Talia heaved a sigh, grabbing the lavender soap from the tray next to the tub. She knew she should have been highly offended at his notice of the disappearing bubbles. But she couldn't quite conjure true offense at that particular infraction.

Yet what exactly was going to be his price for helping her?

***

Talia tugged the span of silk down along her hips. The cerulean blue dress had been made for someone shorter than her, without as ample a bosom, and she had to keep tugging the fabric down as it was wedged awkwardly under her breasts. The sleeves were short on the dress, the lace trim ending in the middle of her upper arms—completely inappropriate for the chill outside, but Lord Lockston's home was unusually warm. Or maybe it was just that she had grown accustomed to the constant chill on her skin.

Practicality aside, the silk almost made her feel like a lady again, though she had foregone the slippers that sat on the floor near the dress and tugged on her boots instead. Silk slippers would do her no good against the sludge on the London streets—especially the streets near her boardinghouse.

She had waited for a few minutes in the washing chamber for a maid or Lord Lockston to appear, but as she had apparently been abandoned, she was now tiptoeing her way through the darkness of the townhouse. Two lit sconces by the curved staircase were the only illumination against the night. It was still early in the morning—so early she heard no movement in the house—not even a cook clanking about several levels below.

From the foyer at the bottom of the stairs, Talia recognized the drawing room from the previous day. She spun around the hefty newel post and went down the center hall, peeking into dark rooms. It wasn't until she neared the back of the townhouse that she saw a warm glow of light past a half-closed door.

Stopping alongside the frame of the doorway, she leaned forward, peeking into the room. It was a study. A large, but not ostentatious room. Full bookcases lined one wall across from Talia, several large windows along the back faced a garden, and a wide fireplace with a black marble surround anchored the wall opposite the garden.

Lord Lockston sat in a dark leather wing chair facing the fire, his feet propped up on a leather-encased ottoman footstool. His thumb and forefinger balanced a tumbler of amber liquid on the arm of the chair. Talia could only see the edge of his profile, but his eyes were open, staring at the healthy fire.

She watched the flicker of light from the flames dance off his face. He was handsome, she had not mistaken that earlier. He possessed a strong but not too big nose, a chin that cut sharply to his neck, not a hanging jowl in sight. His brown hair sat slightly longer than fashionable, but it stayed off his face due to a natural swirl at his brow, setting his hair back. Individually, everything about his face was hard—intimidating—yet as a whole, he still radiated approachability.

The man was approachable, but clearly not by the likes of her. That was made apparent by their conversation yesterday. So what could he possibly want from her? She had not a thing he could not buy for himself.

Talia braced herself, adjusting the few pins at the back of her head valiantly trying to hold up her wet hair. Lord Lockston was about to demand a price, and she was about to find out if she could stand by her words—that nothing was beneath her when it came to finding Louise.

Clearing her still raw throat, she stepped into the room.

At her footsteps on the wood floor, his face turned to her.

Talia clasped her hands in front of her belly, wishing she had tugged once more on the dress before stepping into the room. "Thank you for your assistance in the alley, Lord Lockston. The happenstance of you or some other stranger coming upon that scene was my only escape."

"You are welcome. How is your neck?"

"Bruised. Nothing more." Talia swallowed. Talking felt like she was swallowing jagged rocks, but he did not need to know that.

With a nod, he stood, stepping behind the chair, his hand patting the top of it. "Please, sit, Lady Natalia."

"I would prefer to stand."

"I would prefer you to sit."

Talia eyed him. For all his approachable charm, his grey eyes were quite solidly set on this demand of her. She swallowed her innate defiance that her mother always chided her for possessing. She would be no closer to finding her sister if they stood at a ridiculous impasse in his study.

She walked forward, stepping widely around Lord Lockston's form as she tried not to notice how closely he watched her, his eyes consuming her every move.

Dipping down, Talia sat at the edge of the leather chair, her spine straight, her chin tilted slightly up as she watched him.

"You still sit like a lady. That is good."

"Why is that good?"

The left side of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. "We will get to that."

"You would like to start elsewhere?"

"Yes. I would like to start with what you saw at the Jolly Vassal the other night. With me buying the virgin."

"The reason why you buy virgins to save them?"

He moved to stand next to the fireplace and faced her fully. "Yes. But only if you can promise absolute discretion."

"I would no more want my current station in life to be discovered, than you would your business at the brothel."

"I imagined that to be so. Then we can agree to mutual confidence?"

Talia nodded. "We can."

"Very well. I do purchase the virgins to save them. You are right about that."

"Why?"

"I inherited this business from a close friend, and I do it because it is something of value I can contribute to the world." He shrugged. "My part may be small, but it is an act I can do for the way of good. How my friend's involvement in this business began is another story, but as it stands now, I purchase the virgins from the brothel, and then I hand them over to women who work for me. The girls that are saved are given a choice—they can start a new life here in London with our assistance, or they can be delivered back to their homes from where they were stolen."

He tilted his forehead to her. "Which is what I assume must have happened to the girl from your village you spoke of—the one that told you of me."

"You do not know what happens to the girls after you buy them?"

"No. I deliver the girls to the women who can either guide them home or through starting a new life in a much better way than I ever could. That is what you saw when I set that one girl into the carriage the other night." His thumb rubbed the scab on the back of his hand. "I doubt that any of the girls ever even see my face, as they almost always have hoods over their heads until they get to the carriage."

A chill shot down Talia's spine. She had seen the hoods over the heads of the girls on the stage in the brothel—saw how they quaked, could feel their fear. She had vomited into the chamber pot she carried the first time she had seen it. Louise could have gone through that very thing.

Talia's head dropped, her chin tucking into her shoulder as bile threatened upward.

No. Do not think. Do not imagine.

"You are thinking about your sister's fate?" His question came soft, wrapped in concern.

She forced a breath deep into her lungs and looked up at him. Shaking her head, she couldn't stop the tears from welling in her eyes. "I cannot afford the energy wasted on imaginings. It does not bring me closer to the reality of finding her."

His grey eyes pierced her, waiting several breaths, waiting for her tears to fall. Talia held them in place, tilting her face upward. Tears meant defeat. And she was far from defeat. She would find Louise. She would.

"Exactly. Concentrate on reality." Lord Lockston took a sip from the tumbler in his hand. He shifted, setting his elbow on the fireplace mantel. "So the girls that choose to stay in London, they build a new life here, learn a trade or marry, whatever they desire to do. We have a home on Baker Street where they live as long as they see fit to."

"You think Louise may be there?"

"No. I am the only one that buys virgins, and I have not purchased any in the past weeks with the description you told me of your sister. There is no other way to find the Baker Street home except through me."

Her shoulders slumping, Talia's head cocked. "So why tell me of it?"

"I want you to live at the Baker Street house."

"No. I am quite comfortable in my room at the boarding house."

"That you are staying at a boarding house alone tells me it will not only be much more convenient, but also safer for you at the Baker Street house."

"Yes. But it is not mine—it is charity." Talia's shoulders straightened. "I have paid my own way at the boarding house. I will continue to do so."

His elbow slid off the mantel and he took a step toward her. "With what? You have already admitted you lack funds."

"I can afford the room with the pittance I get from the brothels." She bit down on her tongue. No matter that she had missed last night's pay after falling unconscious and ending up here in Lord Lockston's home—she could make her last coins stretch. Beg for more time from the landlady.

He took another step toward her, his knees almost touching the skirts of the silk dress. His voice hardened as he looked down at her. "You have worked at more than one brothel?"

"What?"

"You said ‘brothels.'"

"Yes, there was the first one I worked at, the Seahawk Den, until I assured myself Louise was not there. Then I moved on to the Jolly Vassal." Her hands clasped together on her lap. Must the man know everything about her current situation?

"How did you find work at them?"

"I show up, talk to the barkeep. I came to realize quite quickly that establishments of nefarious dealings are always in need of maids to do the dirtiest work. It is hard to keep a girl emptying chamber pots when she is surrounded by a much more lucrative profession. The brothels hire and pay nightly."

"So you are concerned as well about being paid?"

Her chin jutted out. "I will not accept charity, Lord Lockston, nor be dependent upon any man."

His grey eyes narrowed, and Talia stretched her spine tight. She would have to fight him on this.

Instead, his eyes softened. Softened almost to coddling, if she believed the man capable of coddling. Which she didn't.

"Fine, Lady Natalia. Stay at the boarding house. That part of the deal was merely for your comfort."

"So we are finally to speak of the deal." Her forehead crinkled. "What is the price of your assistance in finding my sister?"

Lord Lockston turned from her, stepping around the ottoman to stand before the fire, his back to her. Several moments passed before he spoke, his voice low. "It starts with my great aunt—my Aunt Penelope. She raised me, my older brother, and my sister after my father died when I was seven."

"Where was your mother?"

"My mother died when I was four."

Talia eyed the long stretch of his dark jacket along his back, shoulder tip to shoulder tip. "You need me to do something for your aunt?"

"She desperately wants to see me wed. See the Lockston line continued."

"So do so."

"I would prefer not to."

"So then, do not do so. You are a marquess—with all the wealth and power that accompanies the title—no one controls you so what care do you have?"

He spun to her, his grey eyes skewering her. "My care is for my aunt. I love her dearly, and I do want to assuage her worry for me."

Talia shrugged. "So then do so. What do I have to do with any of this?"

"I would like your assistance, Lady Natalia. I would like you to accompany me to several events. I would like it to appear as though I am seriously pursuing you as my wife."

Talia jumped to her feet, hearing, but unable to believe his words. "You want me to what?"

"It will soothe my aunt's worry. It will merely take a few hours of your time every few days. You are the perfect candidate for the role, as you are a lady, even with your recent disappearance from society, but you are not attached to an overbearing family that would insist upon moving forward with a wedding."

A coarse chuckle erupted from her ragged throat. "You do understand I am a maid at a brothel, Lord Lockston, and so far removed from the ton it is entirely laughable?"

"Yes, but that is hardly common knowledge. And you have disguised yourself well—I barely recognized you in that alley tonight."

"So I appear as your possible intended, and you will help me find my sister?"

"Yes. That is the price I am asking. I do not think it too great a burden for you to bear. I will supply the clothing, and you will receive a few hearty meals at the events." His eyes dove to her left arm. "And from the looks of it, your body would appreciate a few full meals."

Her fingers flew to her upper arms, wrapping around the bare skin. Yes, her arms were skinnier than she would like them to be. But she didn't care for the gall of his opinion. "None of this, Lord Lockston—including seeing me in that bathtub—entitles you to make judgements upon my person."

Eyebrow cocking, he looked her up and down. Talia attempted not to fidget under his stare.

Silently, his eyes settled on her face.

"No judgements."

"I said nothing." He gave a half-hearted shrug.

Talia drew a breath, attempting to ignore the judgement running rampant in his look. She was skinny. Haggard. No longer representative of a lady. She knew it. But she also didn't need the fact tossed in her face. His help had better be worth this humiliation. "If I accept your trade, when will these events I am to attend take place?"

"The first one is tonight."

"Tonight—no, I have to work at the Jolly Vassal."

"It is an early event, a dinner. We will be excused to move on to the next affair while the eve is young, which will give you plenty of time to make your way to your…job."

Talia's eyes fell to the fire as her fingernails dug into the muscles in her upper arms.

Two choices. She could continue forth as she had been, alone, with no progress. Or she could accept his absurd offer and pray that the trouble of him was worth it and he could truly help her find Louise.

A week ago—days ago—she would have rejected his offer. But every day that passed with no evidence of her sister, with no lead to follow, was another day that Louise slipped further from Talia.

She looked up to him. He already knew her answer—the twitch of his lips told her so. She almost changed her mind.

Instead, she nodded. "I will play the part."

A restrained smile touched his lips. "Splendid. Then I would like you to call me Fletch. Only close personal friends do, and it will add credence to our relationship if you do so in front of my aunt. So you may as well begin."

Her eyes closed, her head shook in disbelief at what she had just agreed to. She opened her eyes to him. "I will do so."

He stepped toward her, setting his palm at the small of her back as he began to usher her out the door. "Do you prefer to be called Natalia? Or some other term of endearment?"

"Talia. It is what my family calls me."

"My carriage will take you to your boarding house so you can sleep. The maid should have already cleaned your clothes and placed them inside." They stepped through the doorway of the study. "Can you arrive back here early—six—by way of the mews? If you wear your maid's clothing, no one will note your presence. Plus, your clothes will be readily available to change back into after we are done and you leave. I will have a gown and a maid available to work your hair."

He opened the back door of his townhouse, his hand going to her elbow as they descended the three stairs into the pathway going through the dormant gardens.

"I will be here." She craned her neck to look up at him in the early morning darkness. "And you swear you will help me find my sister?"

"I promise. I will begin posthaste and I will do everything in my power to find her."

His voice held such conviction, Talia had no cause to question it.

His feet stopped as he looked down at her, his jaw slipping to the side. "I did not figure on this cold with that dress."

Talia looked down at her bare arms, goose bumps covering her flesh. She hadn't even noticed the cold with Lord Lockston's heat next to her.

He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it on her shoulders before she could protest. Just as she opened her mouth to do so, he started propelling her forward as he leaned down to her ear.

"I do not want to argue about my jacket. I rarely have to choose clothing for a woman, and I was the one that chose that dress, so I am the one remedying the problem. I will not send you home cold. But if you must argue it, do so quickly, as I am tired."

His words took every bit of resistance from her mouth. She offered one slow nod with a smirk as they stopped by the open carriage door. "As I am tired as well, I will save my defiance for another time, and instead, thank you for your chivalry."

"Chivalry?"

"Something akin to that. It has been a long time since I have been around a man with honor."

A frown settled on his face at the word honor. He grabbed her hand, helping her up the carriage step. "I do not know that it is honor that you see, Talia, but as far as our farce of a love affair goes, this banter will do nicely."

Talia settled into the plush velvet seat. "Find my sister, Lord Lockston, and I will banter with you until the end of days."

"Then, ‘till the end of days, Talia." With an incline of his head he closed the carriage door.

Only at the last second did Talia see his frown deepen. Curious.

But she meant her words.

If he found her sister, she would trade her soul—do anything this man demanded of her.