A rational part of her brain told her it was dangerous in the extreme to try and enter this place without any sort of reconnaissance, but some reckless part of her didn’t care. Adrian probably wouldn’t have thought twice about entering the brothel without a plan. He would have relied on his strength and his wits to carry him through, and perhaps it was time that she started acting like she truly was Prometheus.
Waiting until the coach drove away, she squared her shoulders and turned to the alley that ran behind Mrs. Smythe’s. She’d circle the place and find a back entrance. Generally, that would take her into the service areas, and she could only pray that there would be no one around at this time of night, though perhaps this was the busiest time for a brothel.
Deciding to chance it, she put on the mask and cape and crept around the back of the building until she found the door. She stood on the back porch steps for quite some time, with her ear pressed to the door, before she finally mustered the courage to open it.
Once inside, she found herself in a storage area filled with all manner of crates and barrels. She moved slowly through, ready to duck behind something at the slightest sound, only to find herself at the servants’ stairs.
Experience had taught her that the girls would probably be on the third floor, so she took the stairs two at a time, sprinting up them in a matter of minutes. Once she’d reached the third floor, she heard the tell-tale sounds of sexual activity and crying coming from behind nearly a dozen closed doors. Elated that she’d gotten this far undetected, she ran down to the one open door, which seemed to be a supply closet.
Ducking inside, she pulled the door closed, leaving just a small crack so that she could see out into the hall.
She sagged against the wall, adrenalin coursing through her veins. Though being Prometheus was terrifying, she found it exhilarating as well.
However, as the minutes crept on, she realized she had no idea what to do next. Just as she was beginning to curse herself for not having more of a plan, a door a few down to her left opened, and another drunk young man stumbled out into the hallway. “G’night,” he called in a singsong voice to whoever still occupied the room. “I’ll see you again soon, sweetling.”
He whistled a little tune as he walked by, but as soon as she’d seen him head down the stairs, Fiona slipped out of the closet and raced down to the room he’d just vacated, closing the door behind her.
Inside, she found a very young girl, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, calmly wringing out a cloth at a basin in front of the mirror, pressing it to her split lip. She was completely naked, her pale slim body covered in welts and bruises.
As Fiona came up behind the girl, their gazes met in the mirror and the girl spun around. “Prometheus?” she breathed.
Fiona nodded. “Yes,” she murmured, doing her best to deepen her voice. “I’m here to help you escape.”
For a moment, the girl’s eyes lit with fierce hope and joy, but then, that light went out of her, snuffed like a candle, and she opened her mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs.
Fiona was so startled that for a moment she was frozen. “You don’t understand,” she whispered fiercely. “I’m a friend. I’m here to help you.”
The girl just continued to scream.
Whirling toward the door, Fiona threw it open, only to see two burly men rushing toward her down the hall. She spun and shut the door again, dashing toward the window.
Sliding up the window, she stared at the dizzying drop below. She’d hoped to find some sort of ledge that would allow her to make her escape along the rooftops, but while she was leaning desperately forward, struggling to see some way out that did not involve jumping to her death, someone tugged her viciously back into the room from behind.
She kicked and fought, but the man subdued her easily with his superior strength. “It’s a woman,” he said in shock, as she elbowed him in the stomach. “Prometheus is a woman.”
The other man ripped off her mask, and they both laughed uproariously when her long auburn hair spilled down her back.
“Pretty little thing,” the first man said. “Winters will be pleasantly surprised, I think.”
Still fighting them, Fiona’s gaze caught the girl’s, whose eyes flooded with tears.
“They told me you might come,” she said mournfully. “They said if I didn’t scream and let them know, they’d kill me.”
“I could have helped you,” Fiona shouted, as they forced her out of the door. “I could have gotten you away from here.”
* * *
ROGER WAS IN HIS OFFICEat Mrs. Smythe’s brothel, the first he’d opened since he’d returned to England, when two of the toughs he’d hired burst through the door without knocking.
He was about to yell at them for interrupting him, when his gaze fell upon the struggling auburn-haired beauty they’d brought him.
“Who is this?” Roger asked sharply, taking in her rumpled loveliness and snapping green eyes. His gaze narrowed as he recognized her. “Who are you? I’ve seen you before, at Adrian Strathmore’s wedding.”
She said nothing, tension vibrating from every cell in her body, and he suddenly realized she was wearing trousers and a crimson cape.
One of his hired men cleared his throat. “I believe she’s Prometheus, my lord.” He held up the distinctive mask. “We found her upstairs trying to steal one of the girls away, but the girl screamed as we ordered her to do.”
“Excellent,” Roger said, delight and confusion warring within him. “Tie Prometheus to the chair. I want to have some uninterrupted words with her.”
