Page 33 of Their Master

He smiled at her, leaned back, and propped one foot on the wall behind him while lazily spinning his cane.

She broke first. “I’m not the same person I was the last time you saw me. I’m… damaged.”

“I understand you were beaten.”

Moira snorted and rolled her eyes. “Julia?”

“Yes. I’m afraid you wasted your money.”

Money that Moira could have put to far better use.

“Did you know the man?” he asked.

“No.” At least that was the truth.

“I assume he was sent to collect from you?”

“Collect?” The question was out of her mouth before she remembered. “No,” she said hastily, even as something that looked like suspicion flickered across his face. “He wasn’t sent by the people I owe in France.”

He hesitated for a long moment before asking, “What was his name?”

Moira didn’t want to tell himanythingbut she suspected thatBrownhad been a false name, so why not? “He said his was Mr. Brown.”

“You sound skeptical.”

She shrugged.

“What did he look like?”

“Why are you asking me about this man?”

“Humor me.”

Well, what did it matter? If Smith had hired him, then he already knew. And if he hadn’t hired him? Well, it was doubtful the two would ever cross paths in a city of a million people.

“He was about your height, very pale ash blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, and the face of an angel.”

He lifted one eyebrow but didn’t push any further on the matter. “Why did you leave Bernina’s? You know Cecile would take care of you.”

“Her customers would not pay for somebody like me. She would keep me on out of a sense of duty, pity, or guilt; I’ll not be her burden.” Something suddenly occurred to her. “How in the world did you find me here?”

He smiled, reached into his coat, and extracted a banknote from his notecase. “I’ve found that if you pass enough of this around, you can find almost anyone or anything.”

“But why would youwantto find me?”

“I want to see what he did to you.”

Moira gaped, and then shook her head, unable to make sense of this man. “Why would you want to see that?”

“Do you care what my reasons are?” His words were dismissive but his expression was mild—gentle, almost. He held up the banknote, which was big enough to pay her way home to Paris in style. “I’ll trade you; you show me what he did and you can have this.”

Moira swallowed, her eyes on the money. What did it matter if he saw her? She had no shame when it came to being naked; how could she? Besides, the longer she could keep him interested, the better her chances were of getting close to him. If he wanted to befriends, she’d accommodate him.

She set the basket he’d given her on the table and reached for the buttons she’d done up only a short time earlier. The dress wasn’t one of the gowns she wore to visit customers, but a faded old muslin that had seen better days.

His dark eyes followed her fingers as they worked their way from her chin to her navel, his nostrils flaring when he saw that she wore nothing but a single petticoat and chemise beneath the ragged gown. Given the condition of her ribs Moira couldn’t have laced up a corset for any amount of money.

Once the last button was open, she carefully pulled off the sleeves, biting back a wince.

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