Small as her reaction was, his touch affected her; it was as fortifying as a good night’s sleep.
“I have never been here before, but I have a fair idea of what and who we will find,” he said cautiously. “They are unlikely to be forthcoming with information. And I don’t need to remind you that every minute we delay could impact Jared’s recovery.”
“Then we must be swift about it,” she insisted.
“Leave the questioning to me. If they resist, I’ll have to resort to ungentlemanly tactics. There’s an excellent chance that my behavior will disappoint you.”
She evaluated this for a moment before concluding, “Only if you don’t succeed.”
He alighted from the coach first so he could hand her out, which she managed smoothly considering the morass of her skirts. Without a word, she threaded her arm through his so he could lead her across the cobblestoned lane to a faded green door.
The burly doorman allowed them in without a protracted negotiation and nodded to a set of ungodly steep stairs, which opened into an elegant receiving room.
Ian didn’t make a habit of visiting Soho brothels, and he was relieved to find themselves in one of the more discerning establishments, judging from the sumptuous parlor furnishings. A generous fire burned away in the small grate to accommodate the sparse wardrobes of the working women. The one who greeted them wore little more than a negligee.
He didn’t know where to point his eyes. Staring at the floor wasn’t an option; there was no telling who might walk through the door, and while Diana could handle herself against many threats, rich punters behaved badly when their blood was high with lust. And if he looked at Diana, he’d risk betraying the inappropriate thoughts their surroundings roused in him.
A woman wearing a more modest silk dress with a plunging neckline approached them. “What can we do for you, my dears?”
“You’re the proprietress?” Ian asked.
“I am. Don’t tell me you’re the tax man, come ta collect,” she teased.
“My brother was here last evening. You may recall him as the man who could not remove himself this morning.”
The madam gave a short, throaty laugh. “That wasyourbrover?”
“It’s true, although they don’t resemble each other at all. Different mothers,” Diana offered from behind her cloak.
This did not appease the proprietress. She retreated to the fireplace and laid a casual hand on the iron poker.
“We’re not here to stir up trouble,” Ian said evenly.
“And we’re not with the police,” Diana added. “They’re the last people we want involved with this.”
Ian nodded. “My brother is ill, and we are trying to trace his movements so we may understand what would help him. We’d like to speak to whoever was with him last night.”
“How do I know you won’t send the bobbies chasing after us?” the proprietress asked.
“Because the scandal would be too costly for my family.”
The madam was unmoved by this.
“We will, of course, compensate you and your staff for their time away from their duties,” Diana offered.
Ian clenched his teeth. It set a terrible precedent to offer payment so quickly. He could be exceedingly convincing without resorting to such expenses.
Begrudgingly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a shilling.
The proprietress lifted it from him with the ease of a veteran pickpocket. “The gentleman was wiv Patrice last night. This way.”
The madam led them down a dim hallway and rapped on the door at the end. “Patrice, you’ve got special visitors.”
A long-lashed man, clothed in a half-buttoned shirt and form-fitting trousers, answered the door. His eyes traversed the length of Ian’s body, and then widened when he took in Diana, standing behind him.
Ian had known for years that Jared had shared his bed with men and women alike. Both he and his brother had gone to great lengths to keep it secret, to protect the reputation of the family, and Holt & Company.
But if it was a surprise to Diana, she barely registered it. The lack of emotion she displayed was almost unnatural.