Free When You're Desired by Tamara Lejeune

repressively. “ You shouldn’t ask, either,” she added as Eliza opened her mouth again.
    â€œSorry, Miss St. Lys.”
    Celia shrugged. “Where do you live, Miss Eliza?” she asked. “We’ll take you home.”
    â€œOh, you can just set me down anywhere,” Eliza said cheerfully. “I got plenty of money now.” She jangled her coins in her hands happily.
    â€œIt’s nearly three in the morning, child,” Celia protested. “Set you down anywhere? I don’t think so. Why, with all that money, you might end up in the Thames with your throat cut,” she added, only half in jest. “And then your friend would blame me for your untimely demise.”
    Eliza stared at her. “My what?”
    â€œYour friend Lord Simon,” Celia said. “Tall? Black hair? Green eyes?”
    â€œOh, was that his name?”
    Celia shook her head. “He didn’t even tell you his name ? How rude!”
    â€œI didn’t even know ’e was a lord.”
    â€œHe’s the younger son of a duke.”
    Eliza was impressed. “Blimey!”
    â€œHow is it you happened to meet him?” asked Celia. “Is it a regular thing, or what?”
    â€œIf you don’t mind her asking,” Fitzclarence said dryly.
    â€œForgive me, my dear, but you are not exactly the sort of female I would have thought he preferred,” said Celia. “Not that you don’t deserve him, of course—I am sure that you do—but Lord Simon is the sort of man who thinks very well of himself. Just to give you an idea, his last mistress was Miss Selina Rogers of Covent Garden. You’ve heard of her, I suppose? That last play of hers was utter trash, I’m sorry to say, but she made her entrance by hot air balloon, so that’s something, I suppose.”
    Eliza stared at her wide-eyed. “Mistress!” she said faintly. “Blimey! I ain’t ’is mistress.”
    â€œNo, I didn’t think you were.”
    â€œI only just met ’im tonight—hafter the ply.”
    â€œThe ply?” Celia repeated, puzzled. “Oh, the play . What play?”
    â€œYour ply, Miss St. Lys.”
    â€œ My play?” Celia was astonished. “Do you mean to tell me that Lord Simon dragged you all the way from Drury Lane to St. James’s Street? Why on earth would he do that?”
    â€œAnd then he forgot to ‘pie’ her,” Fitzclarence put in.
    Eliza looked at them in confusion. “Well, ’e was looking for you, wasn’t ’e?”
    â€œYou mean looking for him?” said Celia, meaning Fitzclarence.
    â€œYou mean looking for her?” said Fitzclarence, meaning Celia.
    â€œI mean looking for you, Miss St. Lys.”
    â€œLooking for me?” said Celia, taken aback. “Lord Simon was looking for me? Should I be flattered or terrified?” She forced out a shaky laugh.
    â€œTerrif ied,” Fitzclarence said ominously. “Most definitely. People have been known to disappear when Lord Simon looks for them. A visit from Lord Simon is rather like a visit from the Angel of Death.”
    Eliza gasped.
    â€œOh, he doesn’t kill people,” Fitzclarence assured her. “He merely frightens them to death.”
    â€œDon’t exaggerate,” Celia said crossly. “Did he say why he was looking for me?” she asked Eliza.
    â€œNo, Miss St. Lys. You’re not angry with me, are you?” Eliza asked anxiously, as Celia sat chewing at her bottom lip. “’E said ’e’d give me ’alf a crown if I told ’im where you’d gone. That’s a lot of money.”
    Again she shook the coins in her hands. She seemed to like the sound they made.
    â€œWhy should I be angry with you, child?” Celia said absently. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” Impulsively she opened her reticule and gave the girl her handkerchief. “Here; tie up your money