Chapter Seventeen

Juliet Stanton was not a woman who lacked connections, and her acquaintance was varied in its depth and breadth. Largely, she consorted with the ton , or those who would tolerate and accept her presence, but when occasion demanded, she had many friends who came from the torrid and muddy gutters of the East End.

The man who stood before her now was a member of that society, and his grimy boots had left marks across her carpets. His voluminous overcoat was shabby, patched in places, and the hair that fell over his forehead was lank and greasy. She'd already had opportunity to note his fingernails were ingrained with dirt.

"Well?" she asked, every inch the indolent lady. Her dress, as she ensured, was both expensive and provocative, and she lounged across her sofa with careless grace. Just in case this man didn't know who he was dealing with. "Do you have it?"

"I do, m'lady," he said, his cap clutched between his hands. His gaze slid across the rich furnishings of her drawing room, but although he behaved with every obsequiousness, he didn't seem intimidated by the wealth she had taken such pains to display.

Juliet motioned to a small walnut table inlaid with gold. "Place it there."

"And my payment?"

She dangled a small bag between her fingers, allowing it to chink. "I have it here."

In response, the man reached into his large pockets and withdrew a small vial, placing it on the table. "Three drops is all you need," he said. "More than do the trick."

"Very well." Juliet eyed the clear liquid with suspicion, but tossed the bag across. "No word of this to anyone, you understand?"

"No, m'lady."

She didn't bother correcting his mistake. If he thought her a lady, all the better; he may never be able to identify her if this ever came out.

Not that it would, of course. If there was one thing she had learnt since becoming widowed, it was how to be discreet.

"Take the money and go," she said.

The man needed no further encouragement.