A Kiss In The Dark by Kimberly Logan

made her feel a bit unsettled. “I’ve hired him to accompany me on my … errands here in the Fields.”
    “Well, I can’t say I’m not glad to ’ear it. I’ve been telling you for months you needed more protection when you come down ’ere. Someone besides Cullen—” Lilah came to an abrupt halt, looking quite suddenly aggrieved. “You ’aven’t replaced Cullen, ’ave you?”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it. He’s outside with the carriage.”
    The prostitute rushed to the window and flung open the casement. Waving wildly, she leaned far out over the sill, her ample charms in the low-cut dressing gown well displayed to anyone who might be below on the street. “Oh, Cullen! Cullen! Yoo ’oo! Up ’ere!”
    Deirdre, who had followed Lilah across the room, peered over her shoulder just in time to see the coachman duck his head, his square-jawed face reddening.
    At his less than enthusiastic reaction, Lilah sighed and straightened away from the window ledge. “I’ve done everything but stand on me ’ead in front of that man,” she grumbled, tugging at the belt on her wrapper. “For all the good it does me.”
    One corner of Deirdre’s mouth tilted upward in amusement. She’d known of her friend’s interest in Cullen for some time. Secretly, she was certain he returned those feelings but was just too shy to respond to the woman’s overtures. “You might be surprised.”
    The prostitute sniffed, then eyed Deirdre askance. “You know, luv, you never did say why you’re ’ere.”
    “Actually, we … I am looking for someone.”
    Deirdre turned to Tristan, who had been quiet all this time, observing their conversation with an unreadable expression. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking as she held out her hand to him. “Tristan. The miniature, if you please?”
    He reached into his pocket and withdrew the small, oval-framed portrait of his sister, a brief spark of pain flashing in the depths of his eyes as he glanced down at it before handing it over.
    Deirdre, herself, felt the same sharp pang she’d felt earlier, when Tristan had first showed it to her. Lady Emily was, indeed, a younger version of her mother, beautiful and angelic, with long, golden curls and eyes the same shade of violet as Tristan’s.
    She was unable to keep the hope from rising within her as she showed the portrait to Lilah, but those hopes were immediately dashed when the woman shook her head. “I can’t say I’ve seen ’er.”
    “And you haven’t heard anything? Maybe someone bragging about locating a new girl for their stables?”
    Deirdre knew Tristan had caught on to what she was asking, for she felt him stiffen behind her, his tension almost palpable. She couldn’t blame him. The thought of the innocent Lady Emily being forced into prostitution was horrible to contemplate, but it was an avenue that had to be explored. Things like that happened far too often to young girls in the rookery.
    But once again, Lilah shook her head. “No. I ’aven’t ’eard a thing. But I’ll keep me ear to the ground and let you know if I do.”
    Deirdre sighed and handed the miniature back to Tristan. “Thank you.”
    Lilah tilted her head, studying Deirdre curiously. “She’s a pretty little thing. Who is she?”
    “Oh, just … a friend of a friend.”
    “Run away, ’as she? And ’ighborn to boot, from the looks of ’er. Well, she’s not the first one of those to think life is easier on the streets, and she won’t be the last. But I’d say she’s in for a ’arsh lesson.”
    Deirdre nodded, very much afraid Lilah was right.
    The prostitute’s next words, however, momentarily distracted her from her worry over Tristan’s sister. “And ’ere I thought you’d come because you’d ’eard about Mr. Baldwin.”
    “Baldwin? The pawnbroker?”
    “That’s the one. It’s all over the Fields that they found ’is body in an alleyway this morning. ’E’d been stabbed.”
    “How awful.”
    Lilah shrugged.