pleasure?”
He rubbed his chin, scratching at the pale stubble. Perhaps they were the same clothes after all. Had he even been to bed? And if not, why not?
“You look better,” he said after a moment.
“Yes,” I said warily, “your brother is good at his job.”
“So you’ll be leaving soon?”
The steely tone made my pulse bump unpleasantly. “Simon wants me to stay here a week.”
“Convenient.”
“Not really,” I countered. “I have a job. I don’t know if they’ll keep my position if I miss a week of work.”
“Is that so?” Guy drawled, his accent suddenly drifting elsewhere again. Wherever elsewhere was, the men were dangerous, I was sure. The drawl was rough yet honeyed, seemingly pitched to scrape just right against female nerves.
Or perhaps to addle their brains. I gathered my wits. “Yes,” I replied crisply in what I hoped was an I’m-completely-unaffected-by-you-and-completely-innocent tone. “It is.”
“Strange. I wasn’t aware that spies kept regular hours.”
Chapter Five
HOLLY
Lords of hell. He knew who I was.
First rule of discovery.
Deny, deny, deny
.
I lifted my chin even as my skin chilled with horror. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I work for a modiste.”
He shook his head. “Nice story, but I spent some time in Brightown last night. Looking for someone who might be able to procure some information. After I’d poured enough gin down enough throats, I got a recommendation to contact the Owl. Who, apparently, might go by the name of Holly some of the time. Care to try again?” His voice was dangerously flat and cold.
Stick to the story, Holly girl
. “I’m sure I’m not the only female in the City named Holly.” I fought not to dig my hands into the counterpane, settling for smoothing it out with brisk strokes instead.
“You’re the only one I know who climbs about on rooftops in the middle of the night,” he countered. “Seems a strange thing for a seamstress to do.”
“Perhaps that was why I was so bad at it.”
“Perhaps you were having a bad night. We all have those.”
Sometimes we have bad days too,
I thought mutinously. If Guy had figured out my real identity, then Lady only knew what might happen. At worst he’d try to have me kicked out of St. Giles, though maybe I could claim haven if he did. At best, I’d be viewed with suspicion, which would make fulfilling the task Cormen had set that much harder. “I already told you why I was on the roof.”
“Yes, and a very unconvincing tale it was too,” he said, blue eyes still studying me with a chill that made me want to huddle under the blankets.
Winter indeed.
Cold and potentially lethal.
“Strangely, no one could tell me exactly what this Owl looks like. Female, they agree on, average height, but one man swore red hair and blue eyes and another black with brown.”
“Whereas I have hazel eyes and brown hair.”
“If you call that brown,” Guy said. “I’d imagine a spy can change her appearance. Your hair was darker the night we met.”
“That was probably the gaslight. Everything looks different under gaslight,” I said, silently cursing the failed glamour that had left me horrified to see my true hair color—odd streaks and all—in the mirror on the first morning I’d woken up here. I could’ve cast another, but I didn’t really have the energy to spare.
“Oh, I’m a fairly good judge of how things look under gaslight,” he said. “The one thing that people did seem to agree on is that several of them have seen a heavy gold chain around this Owl’s neck. Quite distinctive, they said. Links like feathers. Though no one could tell me what might be hanging from it.”
He leaned forward and ran one finger under the collar of my nightgown.
I froze as his finger stroked my skin, and heat rushed through me. My body liked his touch. My brain, however, was flat-out horrified.
His eyes met mine and for a moment he stilled as well, as if
He rubbed his chin, scratching at the pale stubble. Perhaps they were the same clothes after all. Had he even been to bed? And if not, why not?
“You look better,” he said after a moment.
“Yes,” I said warily, “your brother is good at his job.”
“So you’ll be leaving soon?”
The steely tone made my pulse bump unpleasantly. “Simon wants me to stay here a week.”
“Convenient.”
“Not really,” I countered. “I have a job. I don’t know if they’ll keep my position if I miss a week of work.”
“Is that so?” Guy drawled, his accent suddenly drifting elsewhere again. Wherever elsewhere was, the men were dangerous, I was sure. The drawl was rough yet honeyed, seemingly pitched to scrape just right against female nerves.
Or perhaps to addle their brains. I gathered my wits. “Yes,” I replied crisply in what I hoped was an I’m-completely-unaffected-by-you-and-completely-innocent tone. “It is.”
“Strange. I wasn’t aware that spies kept regular hours.”
Chapter Five
HOLLY
Lords of hell. He knew who I was.
First rule of discovery.
Deny, deny, deny
.
I lifted my chin even as my skin chilled with horror. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I work for a modiste.”
He shook his head. “Nice story, but I spent some time in Brightown last night. Looking for someone who might be able to procure some information. After I’d poured enough gin down enough throats, I got a recommendation to contact the Owl. Who, apparently, might go by the name of Holly some of the time. Care to try again?” His voice was dangerously flat and cold.
Stick to the story, Holly girl
. “I’m sure I’m not the only female in the City named Holly.” I fought not to dig my hands into the counterpane, settling for smoothing it out with brisk strokes instead.
“You’re the only one I know who climbs about on rooftops in the middle of the night,” he countered. “Seems a strange thing for a seamstress to do.”
“Perhaps that was why I was so bad at it.”
“Perhaps you were having a bad night. We all have those.”
Sometimes we have bad days too,
I thought mutinously. If Guy had figured out my real identity, then Lady only knew what might happen. At worst he’d try to have me kicked out of St. Giles, though maybe I could claim haven if he did. At best, I’d be viewed with suspicion, which would make fulfilling the task Cormen had set that much harder. “I already told you why I was on the roof.”
“Yes, and a very unconvincing tale it was too,” he said, blue eyes still studying me with a chill that made me want to huddle under the blankets.
Winter indeed.
Cold and potentially lethal.
“Strangely, no one could tell me exactly what this Owl looks like. Female, they agree on, average height, but one man swore red hair and blue eyes and another black with brown.”
“Whereas I have hazel eyes and brown hair.”
“If you call that brown,” Guy said. “I’d imagine a spy can change her appearance. Your hair was darker the night we met.”
“That was probably the gaslight. Everything looks different under gaslight,” I said, silently cursing the failed glamour that had left me horrified to see my true hair color—odd streaks and all—in the mirror on the first morning I’d woken up here. I could’ve cast another, but I didn’t really have the energy to spare.
“Oh, I’m a fairly good judge of how things look under gaslight,” he said. “The one thing that people did seem to agree on is that several of them have seen a heavy gold chain around this Owl’s neck. Quite distinctive, they said. Links like feathers. Though no one could tell me what might be hanging from it.”
He leaned forward and ran one finger under the collar of my nightgown.
I froze as his finger stroked my skin, and heat rushed through me. My body liked his touch. My brain, however, was flat-out horrified.
His eyes met mine and for a moment he stilled as well, as if
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