“You are a sharpened Blade to be reckoned with.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wednesday, 20 July 1825
Three in the afternoon
Robert paced thepavement in front of Adrienne Chenevert’s shop, trying to remain calm. He paused and checked his pocket watch one more time, to find that an entire minute had passed since he had last looked at it. Five minutes past three. He contemplated bursting into the shop and demanding to see Eloise, but disregarded the urge as too boorish, especially after a grand dame of Society, her young daughter, another young lady, and three maids descended from an enormous carriage and disappeared through the front door, with only a bare glance at him.
He had remembered to bow and tip his hat. The dame gave one sharp nod, then returned her focus to her daughter’s chatter with her friend. The door shut, and the street went quiet again, except for the passage of an occasional hackney. That’s when he heard a girlish giggle, and he turned toward the far corner of the block. Even from that distance, he recognized the riotous black mane of the modiste, who was on the arm of a young, sharp-dressed man, who looked as if he had given rise to the term “dandy” all on his own.
Although taller than the diminutive modiste by several inches, he was a small man, five-foot-seven or so, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. An azure silk-satin skirted frock coat hugged the slim figure, closed in front by a single row of gold buttons and accented by a velvet collar and cuffs. White buckskin breeches fed into gleaming navy blue boots. A gold brocade waistcoat peeked from beneath the coat, offsetting the white silk shirt and gold-and-white striped cravat. A finely brushed navy top hat sat on reddish brown curls that lapped over the collar and feathered around the hairline, mimicking portraits of Bryon and Keats. Powder had whitened his face, and twin spots of rouge gave the impression of wide, high cheekbones. He carried a dark wood cane with a bronze head and tip.
They sauntered toward Robert as if time were meaningless, the cane occasionally tapping in a staccato manner against the pavement. The man whispered something to the modiste, who laughed again, clutching his arm and leaning against him, her eyes looking up flirtatiously. Robert growled and closed the distance between them.
“Madame Chenevert, I beg your pardon.”
They stopped, peering up at him. The man suddenly seemed oddly familiar.
Robert brushed away the feeling. “I apologize for interrupting, but I was supposed to meet Lady Eloise here at three. Do you have knowledge of her whereabouts?”
Adrienne Chenevert chewed her lower lip. “I do, sir.”
“Can you tell me—”
“Lord Robert.” The man’s voice, a slightly husky tenor, drew his attention.
Robert turned to him, and his gaze locked onto a pair of wide-set amber eyes. His breath caught, and he struggled to speak. “Dear God!”
Adrienne stepped away. “Remarkable, isn’t it? Genius, if I do say so myself. Of course, transformation is nothing without cooperation.”
His voice was still an astonished whisper. “You cut your hair!”
Eloise executed a quick bow. “Lord Edmund Surrey, at your service, my lord.”
“I cannot—I do not—What have you done?”
“I went in for a pound.”
Robert sucked in a breath. “You most certainly did. This”—he gave Adrienne a quick glance—“You did this?”
“I did. But it was her idea. She was afraid someone at White’s might have been a dance partner at some point in time.”
He reached out and plucked at one of the curls emerging from under her hat. “How did you—”
Adrienne pushed his hand down. “Stop that.”
They both looked at her and the modiste shook her head. “You cannot be seen touchinghimlike that. You’ll either give her away or you’ll both be arrested. And stop looking at each other like—”
Eloise scowled. “Like what?”
“Like you are starving children about to set upon a roast chicken.”
Eloise gave a snort of a laugh, then covered her mouth.
Adrienne was relentless. “And do not dothateither. Men do not cover their mouths when they laugh unless they are trying to smother an inappropriate reaction in front of a lady. When men are with men, they do not.”
Robert gave the modiste a look of admiration. “True.” He looked at Eloise again. “I may have a hard time remembering you are a man, but this disguise does help. When I saw you down the street, I had no idea you were a woman.” He frowned. “I cannot believe you cut your hair.”
