“I cannot believe I agreed to this,” Alaric said.

Emma beamed at him. “’Twas a fair bargain, Your Grace.”

She looked as smug as if she’d haggled with the butcher and secured a prime cut at a steal of a price. Certainly, she seemed to have no qualms whatsoever about being in a third-rate, ramshackle theatre several blocks from Drury Lane. “Actresses” were milling about, and their skimpy robes and painted faces suggested that The Cytherea’s main source of income was not the ribald plays it put on, but the entertainment it offered to male patrons afterward in the “visiting” chambers.

As usual, Emma was too focused upon her goal to take any notice of the impropriety of her being in such a place. What would she do without me to protect her from herself? Alaric wondered wryly. He’d taken the precaution of posting guards around the theatre and greased the palm of the manager to let him and Emma backstage.

“Who should we approach first?” she said.

His lips twitched. Truly, she looked like a child in a confectionary, her eyes wide and shining as she considered all the options.

“You’re the one who wanted to come here and investigate. I thought you had a plan,” he said.

“Of course I do.” She pulled her shoulders back. “Just, um, follow my lead.”

Because he found her determination to help him so damned adorable—and coming in her sweet palms had put him in an indulgent mood—he complied. In her primrose walking dress, she was a blast of sunshine in the windowless space. She meandered between the rickety vanities that served as primping stations for the cast. She stopped at one and, clearing her throat, tapped the shoulder of a ginger-haired actress who sat powdering her face before a cracked looking glass.

The tart eyed Emma in the reflection. “Gor, ’oo are you?”

“My name is Emma Kent,” she began. “I’m looking for an actress who used to work here by the name of Lily White.”

“I don’t know nothin’—which is what I told that other investigator who showed up askin’ questions about Lily earlier this week.” The woman turned her attention back to the powdering.

“But it’s vital that you speak with us. You see, Lily may be involved in a crime and—”

“She could be involved wif the King o’ England for all I care. I don’t poke my nose where it don’t belong. Now I got a show to ready myself for.”

Alaric stepped forward. “Excuse me, Miss ...?”

The actress turned in her seat to face him. Her sooted eyelashes fanned, and she readjusted the neckline of her robe, showing more of her twin assets.

“Well, ’ello, luvie,” she purred. “Didn’t see you there. The name’s Miss Bloom, but you can call me Daisy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alaric saw Emma frown.

“Miss Bloom,” he said, “finding Miss White is a matter of some urgency. Anything you recall would be helpful, and I will be happy to compensate you for your time.”

“What kind o’ compensation do you ’ave in mind, ’andsome?” she cooed.

“He means with money.” Emma’s hands fisted on her hips.

Alaric hid a smile. It was nice to know his kitten felt as possessive over him as he did over her. For an instant, the memory of Laura’s crazed jealousy raised its malignant head—and he pushed it aside.

This was different. Emma was different.

She had every right to defend what was hers; if the situation were reversed, he wouldn’t countenance any man propositioning her.

He removed a small purse from his pocket and saw Daisy’s ears perk as the coins within jingled. As she reached for the bag, he kept it just out of reach.

“For your assistance,” he said.

“I like a man who drives a ’ard bargain.” Winking, she said, “Onto business, then. Lily worked ’ere for about six months before she upped and left well o’er a month ago.”

“Do you know where she went?” Emma said.

“We weren’t bosom friends. In competition, weren’t we, for the best, ahem, patrons.” Daisy sent him an arch look. “Lily couldn’t act worth a farthing, but she ’ad the kind o’ talent coves admired, if you know what I mean.”

“Was anyone here close to Lily?” Emma asked.

“Like I said, she was close to plenty o’ gents. But you might try Peter Dunn—four-eyes o’er there.” She angled her head toward a gangly bespectacled fellow standing next to a set of plaster columns. “’E’s the playwright. Lily had ’im wound round ’er finger so that he’d write ’er good parts.”

“Thank you,” Emma said.

Daisy aimed a pointed gaze at the coin purse.

When Alaric gave it to her, she cooed, “Come alone next time, luvie, an’ I’ll give you a private showin’ o’ The Cytherea’s main attractions.” She wriggled her shoulders, causing said attractions to nearly tumble free of her robe.

Emma took hold of his arm and tugged him away. Out of earshot of the actress, she muttered, “You can close your mouth now.”

Amused, he arched a brow. “You’re not jealous?”

“Of course not. I just think it’s rude to be staring at a woman—anywhere below her face,” she said primly.

“First of all, I wasn’t staring at her. Second, I look at you all the time below your face. And when I’m really lucky,” he murmured, “I get to do more than look.”

She blushed. He hoped she never grew out of that charming habit.

As they approached the playwright, she said in a brisk undertone, “I’ll do the talking.”

“I wouldn’t dream of interfering with a professional at work,” he said.

She slid him a narrow-eyed glance, and he bit back a smile. He had to admit that sleuthing with Emma was rather ... fun. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in, well, he couldn’t recall the last time. His amusement only grew as they neared Peter Dunn, who was trying to instruct a buxom actress on her accent.

“Repeat the line after me,” the lanky bespectacled fellow said. “The heavens weep and I submit/ to the hail of the Gods upon my bosom.”

“The ’eavens weep and I submit,” the actress began.

“Heavens,” he repeated.

“That’s wot I said. ’Eavens.”

“Heavens and ’eavens—can’t you hear the difference?”

“I can ’ear just fine.” The actress pouted and flipped a black lock over her shoulder. “Now can we get on wif it?”

“Go on,” Dunn said with a sigh.

“The ’eavens weep and I submit to the ... the ’ail o’ the Gods ’pon ...” A notch formed between her brows before she finished triumphantly, “my tits!”

Alaric choked back a laugh.

“It’s bosom.” Dunn looked ready to rip his hair out.

The actress jutted a hip. “I know a good rhyme when I ’ear one—and it ain’t bosom.”

“Mr. Dunn?” Emma said.

“What is it?” The playwright swung around to face her, and his expression went from aggrieved to enchanted in a way that set Alaric’s teeth on edge. Dunn smoothed his blond hair in place and gave a flourished bow. “Egad, if it isn’t Aphrodite, walking amongst mere mortals.”

“Actually, my name is Emma Kent. Miss Bloom said you might be able to help me.”

“I would be delighted to be of assistance,” Dunn said. “And to be freed of the labors of Sisyphus.”

“Gor, you ain’t got no right to call me a sissy puss—or whate’er that bad name was,” the actress put in sulkily.

“I wasn’t—never mind. We’ll work on the lines later.” Dunn gave an impatient wave, and the actress flounced off. He flashed a dazzling smile at Emma. “How can I be of service to you, fair maiden?”

“You can start by not calling her fair maiden,” Alaric said.

Dunn blinked, pushing up his spectacles. “Pardon. I didn’t notice you, sir.”

“We’re looking for Lily White,” Emma said, shooting Alaric a warning look, “and we understand that you knew her better than most.”

Dunn gave a dramatic sigh. “She was my muse, my guiding star. Then one day she abandoned me, left me in the fading twilight of love.”

“I’m, er, sorry to hear it,” Emma said.

“Your kindness is a balm to my heart.” Dunn reached for her hand.

“Touch her, and you will be requiring balm for other bodily parts,” Alaric warned.

Dunn’s hand fell to his side. “Like that, is it?”

“Yes,” Alaric said.

Emma’s gaze cast heavenward. “Look, Mr. Dunn, we really need to know where Lily went.”

“Why?”

“We have reason to believe that she is involved in dangerous business. We must find her to ascertain the truth and prevent further harm from occurring.”

Alaric had to admire Emma’s truthful yet tactful reply.

“Lily’s mixed up with a bad lot, is she?” Dunn surprised Alaric by saying.

“Why do you say that?” Emma said quickly.

Dunn snorted. “I may be a playwright, but my head ain’t in the clouds. One day Lily is as poor as a church mouse and the next she’s swimming in blunt. She said it came from a windfall, some dead relative she never met, but I didn’t believe her.”

“Why not?”

“Because she was right jumpy, desperate even, to leave London immediately. As if she were running from trouble. Fool that I was, I let her convince me to go with her. Got the tickets, made the plans, and packed up everything to run off to Brighton with her,” Dunn said darkly.

Brighton. Alaric met Emma’s gaze and saw his own excitement reflected in her eyes. Finally, they’d picked up the maid’s lead.

“You went to Brighton with Lily?” Emma said eagerly.

Dunn shook his head. “Never made it that far. We weren’t halfway there when she met some rich cove travelling in our coach. Next thing I knew, she threw me over and ran off with that bounder.”

“How long ago was this?” Alaric demanded. “Do you know where they were headed?”

“It was nearly three weeks ago and, as far as I know, they were continuing on to Brighton. I came back here and was lucky that I could get my old job back. All I have left of Lily is this.” Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a miniature of the maid. “I carry it as a reminder of love’s cruelty.”

Emma exchanged looks with Alaric.

“We’re going to need that portrait, Mr. Dunn,” she said.