The heavy scent of perfume in the air almost choked him. Daniel put his clenched fist to his mouth and coughed. Madame Fontaine’s parlour reminded him of Mrs Cooper’s brothel, and of the stuffy rooms in the molly-house where he'd once questioned gentlemen wearing powdered wigs and an excessive amount of rouge.

“Don’t sit there,” Madame Fontaine snapped, shooing him away from the chair. The woman pulled the pins from the padded arm and stuck them into the cushion in her hand. “Sit on the sofa.”

Daniel glanced around the room. Luxurious fabrics, reams of ribbon, and an assortment of silk slippers cluttered every available space. The row of wig stands on the sideboard had painted faces and sat watching the proceedings like disapproving jurors on a bench.

Mrs Chambers stepped forward and assisted the modiste in clearing the seats.

Daniel couldn’t help but sigh while he waited.

“Trust me, Mr Thorpe,” the modiste said, reacting to the sound of his impatience, “if I ruin these fabrics there’ll be little point investigating the theft and broken window. Lady Arnshaw will have me strung up outside Newgate if her gown isn’t ready on time.”

“Surely you have room to store your work elsewhere.”

Madame Fontaine straightened though still only measured an inch over five foot. While her height and slight frame gave an innocent, childlike impression, the woman had the sharp tongue of a seasoned market seller.

“Do you know how much material it takes to make one gown?” Madame Fontaine pushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear like a man seeking satisfaction would cock a pistol. “Only thing is ladies don’t want to see one dress. No. They want a choice of designs, of colours and—”

“Yes, yes.” Daniel waved his hand to silence the woman. “I’ve not come here to discuss dressmaking.” Were it not for his concerns regarding Mrs Chambers’ safety, he’d not have bothered with the modiste at all.

Mrs Chambers appeared at his side and touched his arm. “Let us sit on the sofa, take tea and hear Betsy’s theory about the thief.”

The inquisitive part of his character longed to examine the modiste’s logic, to pick fault, find flaws. Yet the warm hand resting on his sleeve served as a distraction. The gesture was supposed to calm him. So why did the feel of Mrs Chambers’ fingers ignite a fire in his belly that robbed him of all sense and reason?

Daniel fought the urge to stalk from the room, climb into his carriage and race through the streets at breakneck speed, to distance himself from temptation. Only when she dropped her hand and took a seat was he able to think clearly again.

“I shall stand.” He clasped his hands behind his back as men often did when they needed to think.

“Nonsense.” Mrs Chambers patted the worn green cushion next to her. “There’s plenty of room. If you start pacing, I’ll struggle to concentrate.” Her amused gaze scanned his shoulders. “Besides, you’re blocking the light and Betsy can’t afford to burn candles during the daytime.”

“These late nights spent sewing cost me a fortune,” the modiste agreed.

With a huff loud enough to raise the roof, Daniel dropped into the seat next to Mrs Chambers. The sooner he dealt with the theft, the sooner he could get to the real matter at hand. While he respected Mrs Chambers’ skill as an enquiry agent, she lacked the ability to hide her emotions. A sleepless night was not the cause of her pale complexion or the haunted look in her eyes. The woman was too proud, too stubborn to come to him and ask for his help. In that respect, he was grateful to the thief, and to the man responsible for smashing the window. They had paved the way for him to delve a little deeper into the lady’s affairs.

“Someone must have told you that beards are not considered the height of fashion.” Madame Fontaine’s voice dragged him from his reverie.

Daniel shrugged. “Fashion is for fops and dandies. Men make up their own minds.”

“When you decide to lose the beard, I have a use for the hair.” Madame Fontaine nodded at his chin. “Mr Curser on Mill Street makes accessories for men who struggle to grow thick side-whiskers.”

“I’d rather burn in hell than know some man is walking around town with my offcuts stuck to his face. And as time is precious, I suggest you stop talking nonsense and focus on our business.”

“Ooh.” The modiste grinned. “Someone woke with a sore head this morning.”

“Not at all. I take my work seriously. What a shame you lack the capacity to do the same. I suspect if you’d kept your tongue you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

Madame Fontaine’s face flamed red. “Now you listen here—”

“Do you want my help or not?” Daniel was forced to be blunt else they’d be bandying words till nightfall.

Mrs Chambers touched his sleeve again. “Of course we want your help. Don’t we Betsy?”

The modiste and Mrs Chambers exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“There is nothing to stop the thief returning,” Daniel added. “Silk gowns fetch a pretty price if one knows where to sell them. Not all actresses and courtesans have wealthy benefactors. While I have no idea how much silk it takes to make a dress, I know you cannot afford another loss.”

The modiste exhaled deeply. “Nor can I afford for any old strumpet to be seen wearing my exclusive designs.”

“Indeed.” Daniel inclined his head. “Now perhaps we should begin the investigation with the gentleman who smashed the window.”

“As it’s the most recent event, your memory will be clearer,” Mrs Chambers said by way of clarification.

The modiste frowned and shook her head. “But there’s nothing to tell. I’d been in bed but a few hours when I woke to an almighty noise and thought the heavens were falling.”

Those disturbed from sleep often had a distorted view of the facts.

“At any time during the day did you have a disagreement with anyone?” Daniel monitored the woman’s expression with interest. “Had a client complained about your work, argued over the price?”

Madame Fontaine looked aghast. “Don’t be ridiculous. I go to great lengths to ensure all my clients’ needs are met. And no, it was a pretty uneventful day.”

“Who boarded the window?” Daniel asked.

“Mr Brown. He owns the pawnbrokers across the street. Mr Brown said that a quick reaction is the best way to deter thieves. Told me to wait for a while before displaying anything of value in the window.”

“Mr Brown appears to be a fountain of knowledge. Is he married?”

“No.”

“Do you get the impression he admires you?”

“No.”

“Do you have a lover?”

Madame Fontaine looked down her nose. “Do you?”

For some reason unbeknown, Daniel glanced at Mrs Chambers. The lady’s gaze fell to his lips, but she shook her head and said, “Mr Thorpe is attempting to ascertain if jealousy might be a motive. To throw a stone through someone’s window suggests the culprit harbours anger towards the recipient. Such crimes can stem from a jealous rage. A sudden, passionate reaction to something said or witnessed.”

“Then the answer is no, Daphne. I do not have a lover, and Mr Brown is old enough to be my grandfather.”

Hearing Mrs Chambers’ given name spoken aloud sent the blood coursing through Daniel’s veins. It had burst from his lips twice during their acquaintance, both times out of fear and frustration for her safety.

“And I don’t think it was a sudden reaction either,” the modiste added.

Daniel sat forward. Now they were getting somewhere. “What makes you say that?”

“Because the blighter had taken the time to wrap an engraving around the stone. I found it lying amongst the shards of glass. Now you can’t tell me a man walks around with those sorts of things in his pocket.”

“An engraving?” Daniel mused. “Tell me you still have it.”

“Of course. I’m not a dimwit.” Madame Fontaine rose from the chair and strode over to the sideboard. Distracted by a pair of stained slippers on top, she muttered a curse before pulling open the drawer and removing the paper. “Did you think me stupid enough to use it as kindling for the fire?” she said thrusting it at him.

Daniel took the engraving and studied the picture. Upon first inspection, it appeared to be an image of a man and woman taking tea at a small table in a bedchamber. While trying his utmost to focus, Mrs Chambers edged closer and peered over his shoulder.

“Besides the admiral’s hat balanced on her head, the lady is wearing gentlemen’s shoes.” Her arm brushed against his as she pointed to the woman. The muscles in his lower abdomen hardened instantly at her light touch.

Bloody hell!

The years apart had done nothing to ease his craving.

“With her feet wide apart and hands braced on her hips, the lady’s stance is overtly masculine,” Mrs Chambers added.

Daniel stared at the engraving. Distracting his thoughts was the only way to temper his body’s reaction to her. “Upon closer inspection, you can see that the gentleman is wearing rouge and is holding a fan in his lap.” A hint of lavender filled his nostrils as Mrs Chambers bent her head to consider his assessment. Suppressing the need to exhale loudly, he glanced at Madame Fontaine. “Has a man approached you and asked to buy a gown? He may have given the excuse that it is to be a gift for a wife or sister, even produced measurements?”

Mrs Chambers looked up at him. “But you think the gentleman wanted to purchase a dress for himself?”

“The engraving tackles the delicate subject of gender roles. It is not a coincidence.”

“Yes,” Madame Fontaine frowned. “A gentleman did ask me to make a gown. He got into a right old tizzy when I told him I had no appointments for three weeks. After a few muttered curses, he insisted on buying the dress in the window.”

“And again you refused,” Daniel clarified.

“No respected modiste would sell a dress without making sure it’s a perfect fit. A saggy bodice can ruin a reputation.”

“Did you not consider the fact that your disagreement with the gentleman resulted in his need to make a point?”

Madame Fontaine shook her head. “It’s been nigh on two weeks since he came into the shop and I’ve not heard a peep from him since.”

“Does it not stand to reason that the thief and the man who smashed the window could be one and the same?” Mrs Chambers offered. “Theft being the primary motive in both cases.”

“On the surface, one might assume so.” Daniel made the mistake of looking at Mrs Chambers when he spoke. Her emerald eyes dazzled like precious gems whenever she expressed confidence in her assumptions. “But as you’ve said, the thief was careful, calculating. Reckless and unpredictable is the best way to describe the man who threw the stone at the window.” In which case, he carried the engraving around with him as one would a portrait of a family member. “And one must ask, why did he not steal the dress?”

“Perhaps he did not have time, or feared he might injure himself on the broken shards.”

“Or perhaps his conscience got the better of him,” Daniel said.

Mrs Chambers’ mouth formed a pout while she considered his reply. Her lips natural hue was rosebud pink. Many women used balm to achieve a similar effect, but most lacked the fullness necessary to tempt a man to taste them.

“Someone struggling with their identity may be prone to bouts of melancholy,” Mrs Chambers replied, “equally capable of displaying a volatile temperament. Guilt and shame are often common characteristics, too.”

“Precisely.” Had Daniel been a man of great emotion, his tone would have conveyed a hint of admiration for her insight. “Which is why I’m confident I can find the person responsible before the day is out.”

“Well, when you do,” Madame Fontaine blurted, “tell them if they pay for the damage I’ll say no more about it.”

Daniel nodded. “Now let us address the matter of theft. As it’s been days since the thief found a way into the shop, I assume Mrs Chambers has a theory.”

“A theory? I … I have been a little preoccupied of late.” Mrs Chambers looked at her hands resting in her lap. The air of confidence that oozed from every fibre of her being had vanished. “The matter should have been a priority but …”

Her lack of attention proved worrying. “Then tell me all you know.”

When she met his gaze, a look of vulnerability passed over her features. The hairs on his nape stood to attention. Damn it. Something was wrong.

“The thief entered via the basement door,” she said. “As I’ve already told you, he stole two dresses, gloves and slippers.”

Madame Fontaine tutted. “He was so quiet we never heard a thing.”

Daniel was puzzled by the thief’s chosen booty. Why steal accoutrements that held little value when he could have carried another silk dress?

“Were the accessories matching?”

Madame Fontaine nodded. “Once a garment is ready for collection, I box the accessories and keep them together.”

“Did the thief take the boxes?” One man would struggle to carry the packages on his own.

“Yes.”

“Then the appropriate term is thieves.”

“It occurred to me that there might be two men,” Mrs Chambers said, and Daniel was relieved to find that logical thought had not completely abandoned her.

“Who were the dresses made for?”

Madame Fontaine shuffled to the edge of her seat. “One was a mourning gown for Mrs Armstrong-Clarke. The other a ballgown for Miss Cartwright. From the random choice, it’s obvious the thieves took the first garments they came across.”

“Is it?” Daniel suspected otherwise. When it came to the motive for committing a crime, obvious assumptions were often wrong. “Did you have any doubts regarding your clients’ ability to pay?”

“No.” Madame Fontaine averted her gaze, only briefly, but it was enough to rouse Daniel’s suspicion.

“Has either lady ordered dresses from you before?” he said, determined to receive an answer.

“Mrs Armstrong-Clarke has been a loyal customer for two years or more.”

“And what about Miss Cartwright?”

Madame Fontaine batted her lashes far too rapidly. “It’s the first time I’ve made a dress for her.”

“As the woman is unmarried, are her parents paying the bill?” Daniel would drag the truth from the modiste if he had to sit there until Michaelmas.

A brief silence ensued.

Madame Fontaine opened her mouth but snapped it shut.

“What’s wrong, Betsy?” Mrs Chambers said, as it was apparent the woman was reluctant to reply. “Can you not answer Mr Thorpe’s question?”

A faint blush touched the modiste’s cheeks. “Miss Cartwright’s order was cancelled.”

“Cancelled? Why did you not mention it before when I asked you about the theft?” Mrs Chambers’ eyes widened. “You said there was nothing unusual about the transactions.”

Madame Fontaine raised her chin, but her trembling lip belied her confident facade. “That’s because I knew what you’d say if I told you what had happened.”

“What did happen? Could the Cartwrights not afford to pay the bill?” Daphne Chambers sounded most perturbed. Daniel suspected her anxious tone stemmed from embarrassment. Her failure to uncover a vital clue for the motive of the theft spoke of incompetence.

“The lady has no parents,” Madame Fontaine replied. “I doubt Cartwright is her real name. No, her patron was to pay for the new gown.”

In this case, patron was just a polite term for lover.

“I assume this patron agreed to cover all the lady’s expenses,” Daniel said not bothering to curb his cynical tone.

“Isn’t that what patrons do, Mr Thorpe?” the modiste snapped back.

Mrs Chambers frowned. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t mention the cancelled order. It changes everything. It gives Miss Cartwright a motive. Why should it matter so much to me if the lady's patron refused to pay for her dress?”

Daniel stroked his beard while examining the facts. There were only two reasons why a man refused to cover his mistresses expenses. Either the gentleman had exhausted his funds or his wife discovered his secret and demanded he put an end to it.

But why did the modiste fear mentioning the fact to Mrs Chambers?

“I hear a modiste is often party to all the latest gossip,” Daniel said, deciding any man who wanted to please his mistress would simply take the dress and add Madame Fontaine to his list of creditors. To his mind that left one possible avenue of investigation. “The problem with gossip is that one never knows who is listening.”

As expected, Madame Fontaine’s cheeks glowed berry red, and she squirmed in her chair.

“Oh, tell me you didn’t, Betsy.” Mrs Chambers gave a frustrated sigh. “Tell me you kept your tongue and were mindful of your comments. It takes but a word in the wrong ear to ruin your reputation.”

“How was I to know Miss James was the goddaughter of Lady Tranmere? The girl noticed the lilac gown and demanded one similar. I told her the bodice was cut far too low for a debutante.” Madame Fontaine paused for breath. “But the girl’s sister panders to her every whim. Only a courtesan wears a gown that shows so much cleavage, but they insisted on lecturing me on the latest fashions from Paris. Tranmere would chase me out of town if he discovered another woman wore the same gown as his mistress, I said.”

Mrs Chambers sucked in a breath. “Good Lord, Betsy!”

“So, Lady Tranmere discovered the truth about her beloved husband and forced Lord Tranmere to cancel Miss Cartwright's order,” Daniel clarified.

“Yes.” Madame Fontaine’s shoulders sagged. “Miss Cartwright came to see me and asked to purchase the lilac gown, but the thief stole the dress the night before she was due to collect it.”

Daniel sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Then the theft and the smashed window are two separate incidents. Both culprits have motive, but I’m confident that neither of you need fear for your safety.”

Daphne Chambers should have taken comfort from his words, but her weak smile and inability to meet his gaze confirmed his suspicion. Something sinister occupied her thoughts. Was it a secret she was willing to share? Was it something from the past or present?

Clearing his throat, Daniel stood. “Well, I’m sure you’re eager to know the names of those responsible, and so I bid you both good day.” He inclined his head and strode towards the door.

“Wait.” Mrs Chambers jumped up from the sofa and rushed to his side. “If you’re to investigate both matters, then I am coming with you. Two heads are better than one when it comes to solving puzzles.”

Damn right she was coming with him; had he insisted upon it, she would have fought him. Time spent alone in his conveyance would give him an opportunity to uncover her secret.

“My first call will be at a molly-house in Covent Garden. You may wait in the carriage whilst I go inside. You know my views regarding what is considered inappropriate for a lady.”

She pressed her lips together tightly in response, and the surrounding air turned chilly. With a deep sigh and some reluctance, she said, “Very well.”

Daniel was not a fool. There was more chance of a giant eagle swooping down to carry him off than there was of Daphne Chambers following orders. Still, it gave him a means to bargain.

“Then I suggest you fetch your pelisse,” Daniel said. “Wait for me in my carriage. I wish to call in and thank Mr Brown for his help in boarding the window.” And to ask a few questions relating to the identity of the vandal responsible for the damage.

The sudden smile illuminating Mrs Chambers’ features almost melted his steely resolve. The woman had the power to get under his skin. She was the only person alive who roused any emotion in his chest. But she had been quick to refuse his offer of marriage three years ago, saw him as nothing more than an acquaintance, a colleague.

Mentally throwing on his metal breastplate, Daniel straightened. The case of the stolen gowns and smashed window was a simple one. Working closely with Daphne Chambers would prove to be a little more complicated.