Page 88 of The Siren of Sussex

She wiped at her face. “But you’d be disappointed to lose an opportunity for your designs, wouldn’t you? It would distress you if your plans all came to nothing?”

He couldn’t tell if she was dashing away tears or merely clearing the stable dust from her eyes. He feared the former.

His chest constricted.

It was all he could do not to go to her. Not to grasp her arms and compel her to face him.

But he didn’t go to her.

He remained where he was, his emotions under ruthless control. “Naturally I’d be disappointed.”

“Which is why my sister’s arrival in town is as much a danger to you as to me.” She settled her spectacles back on her face. “After the Arundell ball, your reputation will be inextricably linked with mine. And if I’m disgraced—”

“You won’t be,” he said. “You’ve done nothing to merit censure.”

She turned back to him. “When has that ever mattered? A woman is easily tainted by association.”

“What do you propose to do about it?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to sit around, waiting for the roof to come crashing down on my head.” Arms folded, she walked back to the loose box, the hem of her full skirts brushing the hay-strewn floor. “If I could discover them first, I might be able to persuade Fenny to go away from London before she does any further harm.” A notch worked its way between her brows. “But how am I to find her? It seems impossible.”

“It’s not impossible. Not if one knows their way around the city.”

“But I don’t. And I haven’t the means to hire an inquiry agent.”

Ahmad rapidly weighed the various possible outcomes of the situation. None of them would be to the good. Not unless someone intervened on Miss Maltravers’s behalf.

It took him but a moment longer to come to a decision.

“You don’t need to hire anyone to find your sister,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

She gazed up at him in surprise. “You?”

“Why not?” He’d helped locate the missing Earl of Castleton, hadn’t he? And that search had covered a continent thirteen times the size of England. London was nothing in comparison.

She slowly shook her head. “I’m obliged to you for the offer, but . . . I can’t accept it. Not in good conscience. You’re already overwhelmed with making my gowns. I can’t ask you to go haring off after my sister. For one thing, you haven’t the time.”

Ahmad privately conceded her point. “Very well. If not me, then someone else. I know of a solicitor who might help.”

“I can’t afford—”

“He wouldn’t ask for payment.” At least, Ahmad didn’t think so. “Not for something that requires so little work. And this would be the work of a moment for a man like him.”

Finchley wasn’t motivated by money. He trafficked in information. A whispered word into the ear of one of his old contacts and an entire network of informants would spring into action.

“You know this person well?” she asked.

“He and his wife took me on when I left Mrs. Pritchard’s establishment. Mira works for them still. They’re good people, if a trifle eccentric.”

A fleeting smile briefly softened her mouth. “I can’t object to eccentricity.”

“Do you object generally?”

“No. Not if you think it wise to approach this man.”

He nodded once. “Leave it with me.”

Some of the tension eased from her face. “Thank you.”