He conjured his most charming smile. “Not this evening.”
There was a long pause as she considered the lethal danger etched onto his features. She was a woman who had seen enough of the world to sense Dimitri’s feral nature. At last she gave a shrug.
“Very well.”
Waving away the curious cluster of females, the older woman led him down the long corridor, pushing open the last door to escort him into a sitting room that was filled with solid English furniture and gingham curtains that were distinctly out of place in a brothel. Dimitri felt a pang of regret at his insistence. This was Mrs. Pickford’s home and he was an unwelcome intruder.
“This way,” she stiffly urged, waving her hand toward the connecting door.
“Actually this will do,” he said gently.
The woman turned to face him, her expression wary. “What is it you’re wanting from me?”
“Nothing more than information.”
“A dangerous commodity.”
“I assure you that whatever you tell me in this room will go no further.”
She snorted at his smooth promise. “And why should I trust you?”
“Because my mother shared your profession.”
Mrs. Pickford sucked in a shocked breath at Dimitri’s blunt confession, her suspicions slowly transforming into a shared understanding.
“What do you want to know?”
“A number of young girls were taken from St. Petersburg and brought to London. I intend to find them and take them home.”
The brown eyes flashed in outrage. “If someone told you that they was here, then you’ve been taken for a fool. Nothing but good English girls here and none of them being held against their will.”
Dimitri held up his hand in a gesture of peace. “Be at ease, Mrs. Pickford, I do not suspect you of dabbling in the slave trade, but you are a woman of the world.”
Her ruffled feathers soothed, the older woman allowed a faint smile to curve her lips.
“I suppose that’s a fancy name for it.”
“You, better than anyone, would hear rumors of those gentlemen who possess a taste for children.”
Her smile faded. “Such gentlemen prefer to keep their tastes a secret.”
“And yet these things have a way of becoming known to those in the business.”
“If your mother truly was one of us then you should know that those who don’t learn to keep their mouth shut find themselves floating in the Thames.” Her lips tightened. “The Bow Street magistrate can claim to have made the streets of London safe, but a nobleman can do whatever he pleases with us lesser folk.”
Dimitri sympathized with her concern. Hell, he better than anyone knew what happened to whores who spoke out of turn.
“I have promised that no one will ever know we have spoken,” he gently reminded her. “You have my word.”
With a shiver she paced toward the sideboard, pouring herself a whiskey that she downed in one swallow.
“It’s too dangerous.”
Regretting the necessity of pressing the older woman, Dimitri crossed the room to turn her to face him.
“Mrs. Pickford, it is obvious you are very protective of the girls in your care.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on the foolish chits. They haven’t the sense that God gave a goose.”