Phoebe smiled. “Tell Em to set up a meeting between Lady Pelham and Jessica for…perhaps two days from today. That’ll give us time to get her references done, and give her an extra day to prepare…”
Eyes still closed, enjoying the soothing warmth of the water, Phoebe grimaced. She would have preferred to speak with Jessica herself, to prepare the girl for her interview, to tell her what Lady Pelham was like and soothe the girl’s nervousness.
With all the women she’d rescued, that lingering fear and the nervousness it inspired had always affected her most keenly, always moved her to do whatever she could to as swiftly as possible eradicate it.
Not an easy task, as she well knew.
Behind her, she heard Skinner head for the door.
“I’m going to take this skirt down to brush. You all right until I get back?”
Phoebe raised a dripping hand and waved her on.
Skinner paused by the door. “Once you’re out this evening, and his viscountship’s watching you, I’ll pop around to Church Street and give Em the news.”
“Yes, do—just be careful. Deverell seems to be concentrating on just me, but let’s not take any chances.”
On a humph, Skinner left. Phoebe heard the door close.
With a sigh, she opened her eyes and sat up. Lifting the sponge, she squeezed and watched the droplets trickle down her hand and drip into the cooling water. “Damn Deverell.”
He and his actions were starting to interfere with the safe and effective running of the agency. She didn’t approve at all.
She wondered what “lines of inquiry” he’d set in train.
The longer he remained focused on learning her secret—the one of her involvement in making maids disappear—the more he would disrupt the agency’s work, potentially even exposing it and bringing the whole to ruin.
All she’d worked for for the past four and more years he now threatened. And it wasn’t just herself involved; there were her people—both of her small household and those she employed at the agency, and others like Loftus and, albeit at a distance, Edith—who lent their aid in various ways.
And, of course, there were the girls and women the agency helped.
The water was growing cold. She put the sponge to her skin, slowly bathed her limbs…felt the gentle stroking, remembered his hand stroking, the sensations, the excitement…
She stared across the room. She couldn’t let him continue to push ahead with his inquiries and threaten the agency and its work. She was going to have to act, to do something about him; she couldn’t simply hope she’d be able to cope with whatever disaster he brought down on their heads.
Which meant she was going to have to distract him.
Give him something else—let him think he might learn something else by turning his attention away from the agency.
To her. To her other secret.
It was the only distraction she could imagine that might work.
The door opened; Skinner whisked in. “You nearly done there?”
Phoebe straightened and applied the sponge more vigorously. “Nearly.” After a moment, she said, “I’ve changed my mind. Not the blue gown—the dark ruby red.”
Skinner paused to bend a puzzled look on her, then shrugged and headed for the wardrobe. “You know best, but if it’s discouraging his viscountship you’re set on, the ruby red’s not going to help.”
Chapter 9
The last of the day’s light was fading from the sky above the city’s rooftops. Deverell sat in the chair before Montague’s desk, steadily working his way through a list of dates and figures written in Montague’s neat, precise hand.
He’d been at the club when Montague’s message had reached him. When he’d arrived, Montague had said nothing, simply handed him the list and indicated he should read.
He’d now read enough to understand his man-of-business’s tactful silence. The evidence before him strongly suggested that Phoebe Malleson was being blackmailed.
Only he’d take an oath that wasn’t the case. Despite his earlier hypothesis, she didn’t have the right temperament for a target—a blackmailee.