Moonglow by Kristen Callihan Page B

herself an overzealous fool once more as her coach rolled up before her quarry. The only information she had to go on were past conversations in which Miranda talked about her days in the streets, days in which their father had forced her to steal for him. Dirty blighter. Had Daisy known of his machinations, she would have put a stop to it, even if it had meant taking a parasol to her father’s rather thick skull.
    Her driver jumped down and murmured a few words to the man lounging against a lamppost. The man nodded, money discreetly changed hands, and Daisy’s stomach rolled in sudden anxiety. Outside her window, an enormous crow circled once, then twice, cawing as if in agitation, and her pulse sped up. She was not generally superstitious but the overgrown bird’s presence simply cried out “ill omen.”
    Her coach door opened. His smell hit her first, ripe onions and old sweat, poorly masked by a copious amount of surprisingly fine cologne. The coach rocked ashe hefted himself inside, clearly not a man accustomed to entering conveyances. Daisy shrank away from the stench until her shoulders hit the bolsters.
    Shrewd eyes, shadowed by a bright orange bowler trimmed in royal purple, studied her as a toothy grin erupted over his narrow face. “Well, ’ello, ’ello.” His long length oiled in next to her. Too close. “ ’Tis me lucky day, I see. Usually don’t provide services meself. But for you, I shall hav’ to reconsider.” He rubbed his hands in clear anticipation, leering at her breasts as he did. “Ah but yer a fine full bushel. Wot will it be? A bit o’ tip the velvet muff? Bump the goat?”
    Daisy could only blink in shock. This was the infamous Billy Finger, Miranda’s former partner in crime? And here Daisy thought she was the sister with the lewd knowledge.
    “Mayhaps somthin’ darker, eh? Cat ’o nines tickle your fancy? Course, I wouldn’t object were you so inclined toward working the gutter lane over the old lobcock here.” With that he grabbed his crotch like an offering.
    Her voice finally broke free. “Oh, do shut up!”
    Billy frowned, but then shrugged, his bony shoulders moving under a canary-yellow frock coat. “Right then. A silent meetin’ o’ flesh, as it were. I understand perfectly, me lady. Dirty puzzle, you are. Let’s get you unrigged.”
    He reached for her, and she slapped his hands. “What? No! Contain yourself, you idiot. I’m not here for an assignation.”
    A scowl twisted his face as he scratched the greasy hair peeking out beneath his hideous example of haberdashery. “An’ what’s a gent to expect, invitin’ him into yer coach? I’ve got no time for chin music with a mad hattress.”
    “I’m here for assistance,” she said with precise deliberation.
    The scowl grew. “If yer wantin’ me for your cove, you’ve got the wrong man. I’m no Nancy what will give up me round mouth for a poke!” He moved to go.
    Daisy’s lips twitched, stuck between a laugh and a scream of frustration. “You are Billy Finger, are you not?”
    Billy froze. Slowly he turned and looked her over with a calculating eye. “Haven’t heard that name in an age.”
    Daisy forced her hand out and gave what she hoped was an amiable smile. “Call me Daisy. I’m Pan’s sister.”
    His chuckle was slow, his brown eyes alight with mischief and fondness. Billy Finger, now called Burnt Bill on account of his scarred arms, a souvenir from tangling with Miranda, was known to hold great affection for her sister. By the looks of his smile, Miranda had not exaggerated. “Ah, Pan. I should have known. Is she getting along all right, then?”
    “Perfectly well, and said to tell you hello.” A small lie, as Miranda had no idea what Daisy was planning, but Daisy wasn’t sorry for the way Billy beamed. “I do apologize for the confusion Mr… erm… Finger. I ought to have said at once, only your—ah, enthusiasm surprised me.”
    “Enthusiasm, eh?” His thin brows waggled. “Can’t