With hours to wait until dawn, he folded his arms across his chest and settled down to keep watch. Few people walked the streets at such an early hour of the morning. Every noise: the clip of shoes on the pavement, the closing of a sash, captured his attention.
When a carriage rattled up and stopped outside Madame Fontaine’s, the blood rushed through Daniel’s veins so rapidly he could not sit still. Without thought, he pulled the pistol from the box under his seat, opened the door and vaulted down.
Roundin
g the suspicious vehicle, he saw a figure lingering in the doorway. The gentleman’s top hat sat askew. His blue velvet coat was crumpled and creased. He stood but a foot from the door, his hands hidden from view.
“What business do you have here?” Daniel’s blunt tone did not rouse a response.
The gentleman burped, wobbled, but did not turn around.
“Show me your damn hands,” Daniel insisted, “else you’ll feel my bullet in your back.”
“W-what?” The man attempted to swing around but lost his balance and ended up in a heap on the ground. “Can a man not take a piss in peace?” He blinked, his eyes growing wide as he noted the barrel of a pistol aimed at his head. “I … I … don’t shoot.” With one hand raised he scrambled to his feet.
Daniel’s gaze drifted to the wet patch on the wall, and to the thin stream trickling towards the gutter. “You have ten seconds to return to your carriage and be on your way. The streets are unsafe at night. Should your bladder prove weak in future, I suggest you carry a pot beneath your seat.” Gripping the pistol with one hand, Daniel removed his watch and flicked open the lid. “Now you have five seconds.”
Clutching his top hat to his head the gentleman scurried to his vehicle, and the conveyance charged away.
Left alone at Madame Fontaine’s door, Daniel contemplated knocking. But what would he say? Mrs Chambers would berate him for his interference.
With a disgruntled sigh and pistol in hand, Daniel returned to his carriage.
A long, lonely hour passed.
Sleep beckoned.
But his heavy lids sprang open at the sudden sliver of light in the upstairs window. He saw her then — Mrs Chambers. She peered out onto the street before closing the drapes.
In the dark confines of the small space, his mind concocted a host of images to account for her movements. He imagined her undressing slowly, sliding in between crisp white sheets, her ebony hair splayed across the pillow. In his fanciful musings, she appeared vulnerable. She needed him — wanted him. Rather than hear her clipped words, he heard the sweet moans of pleasure.
Bloody hell!
He should have taken the wench at the brothel when he had the chance.
Movement in the upstairs window caught his attention. Once again, she glanced out onto the street. With the absence of any light in the room beyond, he could not tell if she wore a dress or nightclothes. Not that it mattered.
Minutes passed.
The drapes twitched.
Damn.
He considered leaving.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. The shapely figure lingered, glanced left and right before striding across the road towards him. As always, the lady presented an amusing contradiction. The pelisse buttoned up to her throat was so opposed to her black hair draped seductively over one shoulder.
She ground to a halt at the door of his carriage and rapped twice on the glass.
With a muttered curse he lowered the window. “Good evening, Mrs Chambers.”
“Evening? I think you’ll find it is almost morning, Mr Thorpe. And this is the third night in a row that you have sat outside my door.”
Daniel cleared his throat, purely because he did not know what to say.
She raised a brow. “Now, either you’re in desperate need of funds and cannot wait for Mr Brown to open his shop, or you’re intent on snooping.”
“Snooping? Madam, snooping is the pastime of a gossip or a debutante with her eye on a suitor.”