Page 69 of When Dashing Met Danger

“Thank you, again. Whatever you have will be wonderful.” Lucia couldn’t wait to get out of the ragged pink dress.

“You look a great deal like him,” the woman said, her eyes narrowing.

Lucia frowned. “Like who?”

“Like the boy who was staying upstairs. His name was Jean, I think.”

A bolt of lightning tore through Lucia, and she jumped to her feet. “John! That’s my brother! Is he well?” She knelt at the woman’s feet, grasping her hand and clutching it. “Please. You must take me to him.”

The woman glanced at Alex, and Lucia saw something pass between them.

“I would like nothing better,” Sophie said, “but he left several weeks ago.”

“What was his destination?” Alex asked.

“Paris, I believe. Why?”

Alex glanced at Lucia. “We’re looking for him. Dewhurst tells me his sources haven’t heard from the boy in weeks.”

So that’s what they were discussing in the hallway of Alex’s town house, Lucia thought. The news did not comfort her.

“If I hear anything I’ll let you know at once,” she offered. She squeezed Lucia’s hand. “I’ll leave you now.”

“Thank you, Sophie,” Alex said. Lucia wanted to thank her as well, but her voice was choked in her throat.

“It is nothing,” Sophie said, opening the door and stepping out into the hall.

Chapter Twenty-one

Lucia sat motionless. John. John had been here. Where was he now? Was he safe? Well? Alive? Oh, Lord, please, please let him be alive. I’ll do anything . . .

“Lucia, lie down.”

She glanced up as Alex took her by the shoulders and led her to the bed.

“John was here,” she said, feeling dazed.

“I heard.”

She sat down, and Alex lifted her foot, removing one pink slipper and then the other.

“I told you he wasn’t in London,” she said, staring at her discarded shoe.

He chuckled. “I should have listened to you.” He reached around her and began unbuttoning her dress.

She made no attempt to stop him, but she said, “The food is coming. I have to keep my clothes on.” She barely felt his hands on her.

“No one will notice one more woman in her chemise,” Alex said. He was close to her, and his voice was low and soothing. “Slip out of your dress and lie down.”

She did as he said, and he tucked the vulgar red bedcover around her. She felt like a little girl again, waiting for her nanny to read her a bedtime story. But she was no little girl now, and this place was nothing like her childhood bedroom. For one, it wasn’t pink. Still, it felt very good to rest on a bed, even if it was in a brothel.

Alex stroked her hair, then began taking off his boots. Too exhausted to sleep, Lucia studied the room, wondering if John’s had been anything like hers. Lord, she hoped not.

She swallowed hard, glancing at the paintings of the naked women again. How had Sophie found so many illustrations of women in such varied . . . poses? And who had painted them? Her eye caught one particularly suggestive picture, and she had to look quickly away, her cheeks burning hot.

“Do you want me to take them down?” Alex was grinning at her.

She gave him a superior look. “No. Whatever for?”

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