blurted.
“So I’m told.” Jumping nimbly off the stool, Art Bishop removed her hat. A long rope of tawny gold hair tumbled down her back. With a smirk, she stretched her arms high over her head. “Were you expecting someone else?”
“N-no,” Calliope stammered. “It’s just that…”
“You assumed I was a man.”
“Yes,” said Helena. “We did.”
The thief-taker flashed a grin. Now that Calliope knew she was woman, it was hard to fathom how she’d ever mistaken Art for the opposite sex. Despite her manly attire–an oversized tailcoat, white shirt, and breeches that bunched at the knees–Art Bishop’s delicate bone structure was obviously female. She had winged eyebrows a shade darker than her hair, large, luminous eyes as blue as the ocean, a narrow nose, and full lips. If she were dressed in a gown with her hair in an elegant twist, she wouldn’t have been out of place in a ballroom.
“Not to worry. It’s a common mistake. My full name is Artemis, but around here, everyone either calls me Art or Bishop.” She shook Helena’s hand. “Do you want a drink?”
“Oh,” Calliope said, looking dubiously at the row of dirty tin tankards sitting on a dusty shelf behind the bar. “We couldn’t possibly–”
“We’d love to,” Helena interceded.
“Smithy is having a quick tup at Molly’s. I’m in charge until he gets back.” With impressive athleticism, Art launched herself over the bar and promptly filled three cups to overflowing with dark, frothy ale. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Helena and Calliope echoed as they picked up their tankards.
“So,” said Art after she’d taken a liberal sip. “What brings two fine ladies to this part of town? Something dire, I’d wager. Unless you’ve decided to apply for work at Molly’s? I heard she’s looking a few new girls.”
Calliope and Helena stared at each other.
Art gave a peal of laughter. “I’m jesting! I’m only jesting. You should see your faces.”
“Ha, ha,” Calliope said weakly. “Very amusing.”
“We’re here because our friend, Percy, has been kidnapped.” Helena slid onto a stool. “We believe the Duke of Glastonbury hired someone to take her.”
Art leaned against the shelf and tilted her head. “Why would a duke do a thing like that?”
“Because Percy is his wife,” Calliope explained.
“And she ran away from him after he nearly beat her to death,” Helena added grimly. “We’ve been protecting her ever since.”
“Well, you haven’t done a very good job, have you?” Reaching for her tankard, Art took another drink. “I want to help you, ladies. Truly, I do. But I’m not about to get tangled up in a duke’s affairs.”
“We have money to pay you.” Untying her reticule from her wrist, Calliope spilled its contents onto the bar. “Almost five pounds to start.”
Art smiled thinly. Then, she pulled out a silver dagger. It was small but sharp, and she handled it with ease, flipping the blade from her left hand to her right. “And what’s to prevent me from taking those coins and slitting both your throats?”
Instinctively Calliope’s fingers wrapped around her neck. “I…”
“Because there’s more where that came from,” Helena said smoothly. “Much more. Our friend is very valuable to us.”
“She must be, to go through all this trouble.” The thief-taker held up her dagger and studied her reflection in the flat of the blade. Peeling back her lips, she picked something from between her teeth. “All right. I’ll help you. Five pounds to start, fifty when I find this friend of yours.”
“Fifty pounds?” Helena yelped. “I know I said there’s more, but that’s blind robbery! Do you realize how many hats I could buy with fifty pounds? Infinite. An infinite amount of hats. Red hats. Felt hats. Feathered hats. Hats with–”
“Helena,” said Calliope with a strained smile, “why don’t we agree to give the nice lady with the knife what she wants?”
“Fine,” the countess grumbled. “But Percy better be found.”
Art tucked her dagger away. “Consider it done.”
Chapter Eight
That evening, Lucas had invited Percy to dine with him.
She was reluctant to accept the invitation. After her impulsive kiss, she didn’t trust herself around him.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
Still, between taking a tray of food in her bedchamber and being allowed to move about the house, what choice did she have but the latter? True to her word, Bessie had drawn her a bath, and after soaking in the luxurious bubbles for what felt like hours, she’d dressed, brushed out her hair, and joined her kidnapper in the dining room.
Lucas stood when she entered, those golden eyes sliding over her with an intensity that had her plucking