He would never let her go, he vowed silently, not to Hudson or any other man.
He stroked the length of her body from bare breast to bare thigh. Her skin was soft, sleek, and wonderfully resilient to the touch. She arched beneath him. He plunged his fingers into her warmth.
“You are, indeed, very wet,” he said into her mouth. “Perfect.”
She moaned and twisted against him, closing her thighs around him. He could feel the fullness of the small button at the top of her cleft. He stroked lightly until she sank her nails into him.
He could wait no longer.
He eased slowly, deliberately into her snug, warm passage and groaned aloud at the raw satisfaction.
He felt the edge of her teeth on the skin of his shoulder. She clung to him so tightly that he thought they surely must be bound together for all time.
Anthony felt the tiny jolt of electricity across the back of his neck again. No doubt about it, the flower-seller was following him. He caught sight of the now-familiar shape of the massive gray bonnet at the edge of his vision. It disappeared quickly behind a farmer’s cart, but he was sure it was the same flower-seller he had spotted a few minutes ago in the square.
A tingle of anticipation, a heightening of all his senses arced through him. He suddenly felt more alert. Objects, buildings, and the people around him appeared to be more sharply focused.
He wondered if this odd excitement was one of the lures that drew Tobias to the business of conducting private inquiries. The sensations were certainly vastly more stimulating than those that came with placing a wager or watching a boxing match, he thought.
There was no time to contemplate the philosophy of his new profession. The goal now was to identify the person who was spying on him.
“Thank you for your assistance, miss.” He handed the streetwalker a few coins. She was the youngest woman he had talked to today. He guessed her age to be fifteen or sixteen at the most. “Something for your trouble.”
“No trouble at all, sir.” She giggled and made the money disappear into the front of her shabby gown. “Glad to help.”
Her laughter made him uneasy. For a moment or two she sounded like an innocent young chit who ought to be in the schoolroom, looking forward to being launched into Society, not a hardened prostitute with no hope of a future. He wondered what sad fate had brought her here to this corner.
He touched the brim of his hat politely in farewell. The girl broke into another gale of giggles. Evidently the notion of a man offering her a small gesture of gallantry struck her as vastly entertaining.
He shook off the depressing ruminations that had been brought on by the interview and turned his attention to thinking of ways to get a closer look at the flower-seller. This could be a turning point in the case, he thought. If he handled this situation carefully, he might turn up a nugget of useful information.
The thought of proving that he had a real talent for this profession was an added incentive. If he came back with a clue, Tobias might even stop dropping hints about the advantages of pursuing a career as a man of business.
He moved quickly through the maze of twisted lanes and walks. The task of interviewing the prostitutes had drawn him into this mean neighborhood an hour ago. It was a place where the principal businesses were gambling hells, dingy taverns, and establishments run by fences who dealt in stolen goods.
He turned a corner and saw the shadowy opening of a small alley. The smell-a mix of urine, foul refuse, and some decaying animal parts-hit him with the force of a slap. He held his breath and slipped into the narrow passage.
Two boys ambled past the entrance, intent on a conversation concerning the best way to steal hot pies from the pie cart across the street. They were followed by an elderly man who leaned heavily on a walking stick.
Just as he was about to give up hope, the flower-seller drifted slowly into view. The huge gray bonnet hid her face. A tattered cloak fell around her in voluminous folds, concealing her figure. The flowers in the basket on her arm drooped.
The woman’s shoulders were bent, but something about the way she moved told Anthony that she was not as old as her garments and demeanor indicated.
The flower-seller came to a halt at the entrance of the alley, obviously bewildered by the sudden disappearance of her quarry. She started to turn slowly in a circle, searching her surroundings.
Anthony moved forward, encircled her waist with one arm, and hauled her sharply into the alley. He spun her around and pinned her against the brick wall.
“Bloody hell. I should have known,” he said.
There was a shocked gasp. The oversize bonnet lifted abruptly, catching Anthony under the chin. He leaned back slightly to avoid the obstacle and then scowled at Emeline.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
His pulse was still racing, he realized. He was breathing hard, in spite of the unpleasant odors in the alley. Suddenly the only thing he could think about was the one time he had kissed her. Very carefully he released her.
“I was following you, of course.” She straightened and shook out the cloak. “What did you think I was doing?”
“Are you mad? This is an extremely dangerous neighborhood.”
“You behaved very secretively this morning when I asked you about your plans for the day.” She righted the bonnet. “I knew you were up to something.”
“So you followed me? Of all the nonsensical, idiotic-”
“Why were you talking to that girl on the corner? And that woman who was hanging about the tavern at the far end of the street, why did you speak to her?”
“I can explain.” He took her arm and hauled her briskly out of the alley. “But first we must get you away from here. Ladies do not come to this part of town.”
She glanced back at the prostitute he had just interviewed. “Some do,” she said quietly. “But not by choice, I think.”
“No, not by choice.”
He whisked her down the street to a small square. He heard the clatter of hooves on stone and turned to see a hackney coming toward them. Relief shot through him. He raised a hand to hail the vehicle.
“Anthony, I demand to know what you were doing. I think I have the right.”
The hackney rattled to a halt. He yanked open the door and very nearly tossed Emeline inside. She bounced a little when she landed on the seat. He paused to give the Claremont Lane address to the coachman and then vaulted up into the cab.
“You owe me an explanation,” Emeline announced.
“Tobias asked me to make a few inquiries.” He sat down and slammed the door.
“That girl on the corner. She was a prostitute, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And so was the woman outside the tavern.” Emeline’s voice was very tight.
“Yes.”
“I trust you are not going to fob off some Banbury tale on me about these interviews being connected to the Medusa bracelet case.”
“No.”
“Well?” She removed the gray bonnet and placed it very precisely on the seat beside her. When she looked at him her gaze was somber and wary. “Why are you chatting with prostitutes, Anthony? Is this a regular habit of yours?”
He cursed softly and lounged back into the corner of the seat, considering how much to say. But this was Emeline. He could not bring himself to lie to her.
“If I tell you the truth, you must promise not to mention it to your aunt.”
“Why should I promise?” she asked.
“Because Tobias does not want her to know how deeply concerned he is about Oscar Pelling’s presence here in Town, that’s why.”