“I know many ladies who would give everything they own to have eyes as attractive as yours.” She paused, then added, “Unless you’re in a bad mood, which I understand is fairly frequently, then they lose their lustre.”
Compliments usually failed to penetrate his steely composure. He was not a man who needed praise to feel worthy. Far too many people spouted drivel in order to win favour. But Daphne Chambers was not one of them. When she gave praise, she meant it.
“Then I shall try my best to convey a positive disposition when in your company.”
“Perhaps if you lost the beard, I might be granted the opportunity of seeing you smile,” she replied with a hint of amusement.
Daniel stroked his facial hair. “Does it not make me look more distinguished?”
“If distinguished means looking ten years older, and like a man who’s slept in a bush for the past year, then yes.” Avoiding his gaze, she glanced at the downstairs window. “With the price of candles, you’d think the occupants would avoid closing the drapes during the day.”
“What the eye doesn’t see the lips can’t tell,” he said. “Privacy is a priority when dabbling in unlawful pursuits.”
“Yet you presume the occupants will allow you entry.”
Daniel stepped up to the door, raised the brass knocker and let it fall. “Mr Cutter knows he can rely upon my discretion.”
“Mr Cutter?”
“The custodian. One of his patrons blackmailed him, and he hired me to fix the problem.” Cutter was more like a mother to the gentlemen who sought the freedom to dress and act how they pleased. “Periodically, he pays me to wander the house and search the rooms as a deterrent to those who might have similar ideas. I usually send Bostock.”
Before another word was spoken, Cutter opened the spy hatch, which to anyone passing looked like any other wooden panel, and with a narrow gaze scrutinised them from head to toe. It took but a few seconds for his suspicious expression to brighten into an inviting smile.
“Mr Thorpe! What an honour it is to have you call upon us.” Cutter’s chubby cheeks glowed and his tone brimmed with admiration. Daniel found it somewhat unnerving though he would never admit so to Mrs Chambers. “Let me open the door for you at once, sir.”
The rattling of keys accompanied the clunk of a lock or two. Cutter hid behind the door, his flamboyant hand gesture beckoning them into the hall. As soon as they crossed the threshold, he slammed the door shut with the urgency of a man seeking sanctuary from a pack of bloodthirsty wolves.
“Goodness me.” Cutter patted his brow with the lace-trimmed handkerchief and sucked in a deep breath. “Blasted street urchins will be the death of me. Lord knows how they sneak in here. We found one hiding under the bed in Catherine Parr’s room. The blighter was stealing from the guests when they were otherwise engaged.”
“Catherine Parr?” Mrs Chambers said.
“All the bedchambers are named after the wives of Henry VIII,” Daniel informed.
Daphne Chambers raised an amused brow. “Then I assume there are not many who want to stay in Jane Seymour’s room. The poor lady is said to have died in her bed.”
Cutter turned his attention to Mrs Chambers, his wide eyes settling on the generous bosom ensconced in green silk. A sight Daniel found equally hard to ignore. “Ah, my initial assessment was correct. I need hear but one word to confirm a person’s gender.”
Mrs Chambers frowned.
“Many ladies knock Mr Cutter’s door,” Daniel said, “though their clothing does not always convey their sex.”
Mrs Chambers gasped as recognition dawned. “You thought I was a man?”
“One can never be sure.” The custodian fiddled nervously with the ruffles on his shirt. “Patrons spend months perfecting the grace of the feminine form. Even so, a lady’s soft melodic tones are harder to master.”
“Well, I do not know whether to be flattered or offended.” Mrs Chambers ran her fingers over her lips and patted the ebony hair below the rim of her bonnet.
“Oh, you must be flattered, my dear.” Cutter took to waving his handkerchief around again. “It takes layers of powder to create such a clear complexion. Now, follow me through to the drawing room where we may speak in private.”
As Daniel gestured for Mrs Chambers to follow Mr Cutter along the gloomy hallway, he bowed his head and whispered, “Don’t look so glum. There is nothing masculine about you. Every part of you oozes feminine appeal.”
She looked up at him, a little startled. “Are your kind words merely a means to appease my injured pride?”
Daniel cursed inwardly for giving a voice to his thoughts. “No, purely to convey what is apparent to most virile men.”
“And you count yourself a member of this group?”
“Have I not just said so?”