Chapter Six

Tess opened the front door just as a postboy with a letter in his hand ascended the steps. Daisy took it and scanned the contents.

"It's from Mr. Bullock. He's asked you to meet him at his museum, instead of here."

"The Egyptian Hall, in Piccadilly?" Ellie asked.

"Yes."

"We can take my carriage."

Harry's voice came from directly behind her, and she stiffened. The man was as silent as a mouse!

He placed his top hat on his head at the same jaunty angle as before and gestured down the street, to where a handsome equipage waited, drawn by two perfectly matched grays. The liveried coachman was dressed as smartly as one of the king's own servants, and Ellie squinted to see the painted crest adorning the door panels. It was not one she recognized, consisting of three lions rampant on a red shield with a gold chevron, and she wondered briefly if it was a fanciful decoration created purely for the "Comte de Carabas."

"That's not a stolen carriage, is it?" Daisy asked, a faint note of hopefulness in her tone.

"Of course not," Harry said with mock dignity. "I'm merely borrowing it from a friend."

Tess smiled. "Is your friend aware of that fact?"

"He is indeed." Harry's dimples deepened in appreciation of her wit. "Fear not, Your Grace. Sweet Ellie and I shan't be arrested by Bow Street's finest on our way to Piccadilly."

Ellie frowned, but Daisy sent her a delighted smile as she stepped up into Tess's carriage. "In that case, best of luck. Ellie, you can tell us all about it when you get back."

Tess joined Daisy in their carriage, and the two of them pointedly ignored Ellie's narrow-eyed glare for abandoning her to the dubious charms of Harry-No-Name.

They clattered away, and Ellie resigned herself to sharing a coach with her unwanted new accomplice. He gallantly stepped aside as she headed back into the office to retrieve her coat and gloves, and by the time she emerged he was settled comfortably in his own carriage that had drawn up outside.

The coachman handed her up the step, and she sank onto the plush velvet seat across from Harry while trying not to look impressed by the luxuriousness of the interior.

The horses set off. Harry appeared completely at ease, unaffected by the erratic bouncing of the wheels over the cobbles. His big body was fluid and athletic, his legs stretched at an angle to accommodate their length, and Ellie drew her own heels back against her seat, beneath her skirts, to avoid brushing his ankle.

Oddly, despite his size and undoubted masculinity, she didn't feel threatened by his presence. He seemed to possess an enviable ability to make his companion feel at ease. She was, however, acutely aware of his proximity, and the delicious scent of his cologne that seemed to permeate the carriage and sent her pulse rate soaring.

"I can see why the three of you have been so successful," he said presently.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're all clearly in possession of above-average intelligence, which is something most men will have failed to notice, I'm sorry to say. Gentlemen rarely think of women as anything other than ornamental, especially when they're as beautiful as you and your friends. Many will have underestimated you, at their peril."

Ellie blinked at the casual way he'd just called her beautiful. Men used the word to describe Tess on a daily basis, and Daisy, too, but she herself was more often overlooked. Her curly brown hair and hazel eyes were not the height of fashion, and her studious air of detachment—the inevitable result of vainly refusing to wear her spectacles in public—usually made men head in the opposite direction.

Harry didn't seem to notice her self-conscious flush, however. "I suspect there are times when one of you provides the most wonderful distraction, while the others do what needs to be done. It's like three-card monte."

"A what?" Ellie frowned.

"It's a card trick. A ruse, based mainly on sleight of hand. The mark—the person who's being conned—is so busy watching the money card, the Queen of Hearts, for example, that they ignore everything else."

Ellie nodded. "That's certainly true on occasion, but there are also plenty of times when a woman can be almost invisible. Men tend to ignore female servants—as long as they're not too pretty—and often speak freely in front of them, as if they were a piece of furniture."

"Have you ever disguised yourself as a servant?"

"Once or twice. It's quite useful for overhearing gossip in the cloakrooms at parties."

"We're not so dissimilar, then. We've both assumed roles for the purposes of subterfuge."

"It's not the same at all," Ellie countered sternly. " I've never donned a disguise to commit a crime. Only to foil them."

He seemed amused, instead of chastened by her scolding. "That said, there are places where respectable women can't easily go. The gentlemen's clubs, for one. And gaming hells. One hears a great deal when the members have been at the claret. I may be of use to you yet."

Ellie managed a disdainful sniff. "That remains to be seen."

Luckily for her peace of mind, they arrived at the building that housed Bullock's museum in short order. The Egyptian Hall was one of the most recognizable landmarks in Piccadilly, and probably in London too. Bullock had commissioned it a few years previously, at the height of Egyptomania, when Bonaparte's voyages to the country, and the subsequent discoveries of its treasures, had created a fascination with all things Egyptian.

Some called the building an eyesore, but Ellie secretly loved the unashamed flamboyance of the place. Two huge, fluted pillars flanked the door, their tops shaped like tulips, both painted in a gaudy array of colors. Above them, a pair of huge stone statues stood guard, each wearing the traditional headdress of the pharaohs. One was a female, representing Isis, the Egyptian goddess of healing, holding a palm frond, the other an improbably muscled male depicting Osiris, the god of fertility, cradling a small crocodile. An array of carved sphinxes, scarab beetles, winged suns, and all manner of other exotic embellishments enlivened the rest of the exterior.

The sight of Osiris made her wonder what Harry looked like beneath his clothes, and heat rushed to her cheeks. What was wrong with her?

"Perhaps I should wait in the carriage," she said suddenly. "If someone sees us together, without a chaperone, we'll start all sorts of rumors."

He rolled his eyes, as if he had no time for such propriety.

"My parents know that I work with Daisy and Tess at King and Company," she explained, "but they think I just sit in the office and read witness statements and sift through potential evidence. They have no idea that I sometimes go out undercover. They certainly wouldn't approve of me going somewhere with an unmarried gentleman. I should have come in disguise."

"If anyone recognizes you, you can introduce me as your long-lost, distant Italian cousin, and I'll pretend I don't speak a word of English."

"And what if they already know you as Henri Bonheur?"

"We'll cross that bridge if and when we get to it. Come on."