Night of the Scoundrel

by Kelly Bowen

  “I remember.”

  “I am here hoping that you might repay the favor in kind.”

  “You want information on a murder?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.”

  Elise’s dark brows rose fractionally over the wire rims of her spectacles. “How very unlike you.”

  King resumed his travels around the room, stopping in front of a set of towering bookcases. “If she hasn’t killed anyone yet, I suspect she might soon.”

  “She?”

  “She’s staying at the Four Cocks. Faint accent—French, I believe—black hair, an alarming aptitude with sharp, pointy weapons. Calls herself Adrestia.” He withdrew a volume from the shelves and read the title. Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, published anonymously. He opened it to a random page.

  “Clearly, you do not need me if you already know where she is. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I specialize in finding those who do not wish to be found. If it’s information you’re after, you’d do better to ask Ivory.”

  “The duchess is still somewhat displeased with me.”

  Elise crossed her arms over her chest. “With good reason. Not so long ago, you kidnapped her sister-in-law and—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, I didn’t kidnap her, I was trying to keep her safe.” The book snapped shut with a report like a pistol. King frowned at the noise. Emotion achieved nothing, and this was the second time today he’d had to remind himself of that. He slid the volume back into its place and moderated his tone. “The foolish girl had put herself in a situation where she could have done far worse than a few days of my hospitality. You’re not the only ones schooled in the art of deception. I was trying to make a point she wouldn’t soon forget.”

  “And what point was that?” Elise asked dubiously.

  “That one must take great care in whom one trusts. Trust the wrong person and you’ll pay for that mistake forever.” His words came out with more force than he’d intended.

  “I’ve wondered about that for a long time.” A new voice came from the door of the study.

  King pivoted to find Ivory Harcourt, Duchess of Alderidge and the founding member of Chegarre & Associates, standing in the doorway. She was watching him with dark eyes, and her expression, like her partner’s, betrayed nothing.

  “Duchess, you look beautiful as ever.”

  She ignored his compliment. “I need not remind you that your actions put me in a difficult position.”

  King lowered himself into one of the chairs by the hearth and crossed his booted foot over his knee. “Which you handled with the skill and ability I’ve always admired. Managing difficult positions is what you excel at, and as I expected, you did not disappoint.”

  “Hmm.” Ivory advanced into the study, tucking a stray chestnut curl behind her ear. “Why not tell me this before now?”

  King shrugged. “You never asked.”

  Ivory smiled faintly. “I suppose I didn’t.”

  “I assume you overheard our earlier conversation,” King said, returning to the matter at hand and gesturing in Elise’s direction.

  “Yes.” Ivory leaned back against the desk next to her partner.

  “Can you accommodate my request?” he pressed. He was aware of the time slipping by.

  “This will discharge our debt to you on the Hutton affair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.” Ivory pushed herself away from the desk and came to sit in the chair opposite him, rearranging her skirts casually.

  “I despise delay, Duchess.” King frowned. “You already know where the woman is staying—”

  “I too, despise delay,” Ivory replied coolly. “I also despise the idea of bloodshed on this very fine rug should my husband return home to find you still here. He has not yet forgiven you for the incident with his sister and still harbors piratical fancies that generally feature him keelhauling you or simply running you through. So in the interest of expediency and the preservation of my decor, you will listen and listen carefully.”

  King uncrossed his leg, his foot thumping softly on the very fine rug. “You already know who she is.”

  Ivory steepled her fingers and exchanged an indecipherable look with Elise. “I am familiar with her work, though she does not often cross the Channel. I cannot speak to why she is currently in London.”

  “What can you speak to?”

  The duchess once again met his eyes with her own. “To start, her name isn’t Adrestia.”

  Chapter 3

  Adeline Archambault had counted twelve.

  Twelve men around Helmsdale House’s perimeter, each armed with pistols and blades, and each making no effort to conceal that fact. They were all silhouetted in torchlight and easily visible from the tiny window of her hired carriage, which bumped and swayed toward the looming manor. There were more men, Adeline knew, men who guarded the house and the secrets within but had not been put on display to intimidate the arriving peers. Those men had been harder to count, but her vigilance and patience over the last three days had left her with an accurate tally of those guards as well.

  Not that the number of guards would matter in the end. Adeline was not a woman hired for her skills at observational arithmetic. She was engaged to make the sort of well-armed math that surrounded Helmsdale House and all its contents irrelevant.

  The owner of Helmsdale, however, was very relevant. Before his unexpected and unwelcome appearance at the mouth of that alley, Adeline had already observed the man called King at a distance a half dozen times in her covert surveillance of the manor. And while his men were never far, King himself was always alone. Outside of brief exchanges and orders to his men, Adeline had not once witnessed him in the company of a kept mistress, a favored acquaintance, or even a regular man of business.

  Which didn’t surprise her, given his supposed propensity for privacy and the rumors that surrounded him. Facts had been enormously difficult to come by, even through her usual tried-and-true methods involving significant coin. In Adeline’s experience, rumor was a poor substitute for fact, but there were always seeds of truth buried in speculation. She’d been told that men who deceived or betrayed him oft disappeared, never to be seen again. That he was ruthlessly capable of finding anything—or anyone—for a price. That he controlled more than half the Kentish coast and the illicit goods that funneled into London from there. That he had as many peers and politicians in his pocket as he did thieves and assassins. Conjecture, all of it, none of it proven.

  Yet Adeline had spent far too much time of late wondering which of the terrifying tales about the lord of London’s underworld contained those seeds of truth.

  Those tales should have unsettled her, especially given King’s appearance in that damn alley hours ago. She had made every effort to cloak her presence since she had set foot on English soil, but it had been impossible to discern from their exchange if King’s presence had merely been a coincidence or if he had beaten her at her own game and the hunter had become the hunted.

  This should have been unsettling, yet their conversation had left her feeling oddly…liberated. As though she had finally met a man who had seen her for exactly what she was and understood it. Though she wasn’t fool enough to underestimate him, or his displeasure should she be caught. For brief moments she had considered changing her plan, but she had discarded that idea almost immediately. It was far too late for that. This was merely the final chapter in a story that had been written long ago.

  “Halt!”

  The shout jarred her from her ruminations. Her hired carriage jolted and jerked to a stop in front of a guardhouse that looked more suited to a fortress than to a manor perched on the edge of London. Two of the hulking guards stepped into the flickering torchlight, snow starting to fall around them. One of them said something inaudible to her driver while the other opened the carriage door. A blast of frosty air and falling snowflakes swirled into the cramped space, sending icy fingers up her legs under the hem of her gown.

  “I
nvitation,” the guard grunted, his eyes sweeping the interior of the carriage before coming to rest on Adeline.

  She touched the simple half mask that had accompanied the invitation, ensuring it was still firmly in place. As Adeline handed over the expensively engraved missive, she let her cloak fall open to reveal the bodice of her gown, which was a breath away from indecent. This particular gown usually stalled unwanted questions from men like this in situations like this, and tonight was no different.

  The guard leered, glancing only briefly at the card, which looked more like an invitation to a coronation than an invitation to an auction. Adeline had considered a stealthier means of accessing the house but, in the end, had decided that this course of action offered the greatest chance of success. Though that was before King had appeared in that alley. And by then the first domino in her plan had already been tipped.

  And now the rest would fall as they might.

  * * *

  Save for the tall fences and gates, Helmsdale House might look like a bucolic country manor from the outside, but Adeline had been in palaces with less sumptuous interiors. As she entered the hall, a golden-haired boy approached and offered her a courtly bow. He was no more than ten, dressed in fine livery and possessing startlingly beautiful features. He whisked away her cloak with nary a word and vanished as another servant, this one a footman in the same livery, offered her a glass of champagne from a gleaming silver tray.

  A fire roared in the massive marble-encased hearth, chasing away the December chill and sending a red-orange glow dancing across the polished floor. What looked like ancient Greek sculpture flanked the fireplace, imposing as it was arresting. On a wide canvas mounted above the hearth, a beautiful woman clad in a torn tunic and armed with a bow was forever captured in a bloody battle with an enraged dragon. Yet the display of opulence in the hall paled in comparison to the cavernous ballroom that drew people in through tall, arched doors.

  Adeline took a sip of her champagne and allowed herself to be swept into the ballroom in a current of expensively dressed men and the occasional woman, each wearing a copy of the mask that she currently wore. The effect was more macabre than mysterious, but it effectively blurred the identity of each individual, which, she suspected, was the entire point when one was bidding on treasures whose provenance was murky at best.

  Adeline continued deeper into the ballroom. Above her head were vast chandeliers, their crystal drops glittering like clouds of diamonds. Somewhere in an unseen corner, a pianoforte was being played, the melody subtle and winding through a hundred hushed conversations. A deserted balcony running the length of the near wall overlooked a low dais that had been set up in the center of the ballroom, no doubt the stage upon which the auction would be conducted.

  And scattered throughout the space, lit by a thousand candles, rested the treasures everyone had come to bid upon.

  The jewels and smaller antiquities were housed in specially crafted glass cases on the far side, mostly obscured by the crowds that clustered around them. Nearer the entrance, larger sculptures were set up on heavy bases, and on wide easels, paintings that fairly dripped with age and history rested. Adeline wasn’t interested in the sculptures or paintings. What she had come for lay in one of those glass cases.

  She sipped her champagne and wandered along the near side of the ballroom, forcing herself not to rush. Closest to her loomed a marble statue of a curly-haired man rendered with exquisite detail, the figure leaning on a long staff, gazing down in what looked like contemplation. Hercules—Michelangelo was written on a tiny card at the base. A lot number was detailed beneath the title, identifying it as a treasure to be sold this evening to the individual with the deepest pockets. She had no idea where King would have acquired such a piece but such details would be immaterial to those here tonight.

  She continued beneath Hercules’s silent, unseeing gaze. Her own eyes scanned the ever-growing crowd, but there was no sign of King. She reached the far wall, the items mounted in the polished cases glowing and sparkling on their beds of white satin beneath the abundant light. Clusters of people dressed in lavish evening clothes and extravagant gowns bent over the cases. Muted exclamations of admiration and excitement reached her ears, though she could hear tones of unmistakable greed beneath each word. From a business perspective, Adeline had to admire King’s methods. There was nothing like the inevitable rivalries to drive up the value of what one was selling.

  Not that she was planning on bidding on anything.

  Adeline continued her stroll, casually examining each piece that lay beneath the glass surfaces. She passed a pearl the size of a sparrow’s egg, dangling from a chain of lesser pearls interspersed with tiny diamonds. In the next case, a tiara boasting a row of brilliant emeralds sparkled. Beyond that a constellation of rubies blazed where they were nestled in a gold brooch fit for royalty. Adeline continued until she reached the end of the row, each case holding something of extraordinary beauty and extraordinary value.

  But what she had come for was not there.

  Hiding a frown, she pulled the invitation from one of the pockets concealed in the layers of her skirts and examined the detailed list that had been printed on the back. The lot number was there, along with an abbreviated description, though as Adeline read, she realized that it was not the only thing missing from the ballroom. Two diamonds of almost incomprehensible size—and value—were also absent.

  “Dammit,” Adeline muttered under her breath, replacing her invitation. Frustration and annoyance pricked. She should have anticipated that prizes like these would not be left exposed to the hordes. They would be presented at the time that bidding would begin, for there would be few who could afford such a competition. What she needed to do now was determine where they were being held.

  Adeline pivoted and threaded her way back out toward the hall. A knot of men moved into her path, speaking in low tones and making notations in small notebooks. She skirted them, careful not to rush and draw attention to herself. The jewels would be out of sight but close. Somewhere they could be easily fetched and transported into the ballroom once the bidding started.

  Adeline entered the hall and stopped before the hearth, pretending to study the dragon and the maiden doing her best to vanquish it. Liveried servants continued to scurry and toil as more people arrived, disappearing and reappearing through doors at the front and rear of the hall.

  On the far side of the long hall, opposite the ballroom, past the activity and where the shadows set everything into gloom, a different door opened, and one of King’s armed men emerged. He had a hatchet-like face, a heavy brow shadowing a forbidding expression. He pulled the door closed smartly behind him and locked it, tucking the key into his coat pocket. Adeline kept her eyes on the painting as he strode toward her, heading purposefully in the direction of the ballroom. As he reached her, she stepped backward, stumbling into him. The guard cursed as he steadied her, champagne sloshing over the rim of her glass and onto his sleeve.

  Adeline let out a convincing gasp.

  “My apologies, my lady,” the guard said, his expression changing from forbidding to uncomfortable. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, no,” she breathed. “Merely embarrassed.”

  The guard’s discomfort turned to obvious, almost comical, relief. Clearly he had braced himself for a scathing tirade. “Can I get you something?” he asked, brushing at his damp sleeve.

  “No, I’m quite fine, thank you.” Adeline glanced around her, but no one was paying any attention. “I’ll just take a moment.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Quite.” She nodded. “Please, carry on.”

  The guard gave her a brief nod and hurried away. Adeline watched him disappear into the ballroom and turned on her heel. Without looking left or right, she crossed the hall, palming the key she had lifted from his pocket. She wasn’t sure how long she had before he realized that it was gone.

  She reached the door and unlocked it as though she had every right to b
e there. She could, for all she knew, be stealing into a linen closet, but it was worth the risk of investigating, for no one, in her experience, ever locked up the linens. She lifted the latch, pushing the door inward. No one shouted, no one hurried toward her. Adeline simply stepped through the door, pulling it quietly closed. And then blinked at her surroundings.

  It appeared to be a study of sorts and, as in the hall, a fire burned in a wide hearth, lending heat and a warm glow to the room. The light bounced off the spines of hundreds of books, neatly arranged on towering bookshelves that covered an entire wall. On the other walls, hung on a background of rich, red paper, was a collection of portraits and paintings that surpassed what was currently arrayed in the ballroom. A thick, expensive rug muffled her footsteps, and a massive mahogany desk dominated the center of the room.

  And on the gleaming surface of that desk rested three glass cases.

  Adeline went directly behind the desk, yanking her mask off and setting the key, her glass, and the mask aside. Her fingers worked the catch of the bulky locket at her throat as she gazed at the cases. Two of the cases before her held an unmounted diamond each, the one on the left a dazzling gray blue that remined Adeline of a stormy sea, the one on the right sparkling the pale yellow of early sunrise. Both were breathtaking, their worth staggering. Adeline ignored them and instead opened the case in the middle.

  The flawlessly cut sapphire gleamed, hues of inky midnight caught in a rich tapestry of cerulean. It had once been mounted in an intricate gold setting, a pool of striking color meant to adorn a graceful neck. The setting had since been pried away, leaving only the stone.

  Adeline deftly retrieved the sapphire, placed it into the deep hollow of her locket, and snapped the clasp closed. From her pocket she withdrew a second sapphire, a pretty facsimile made entirely of glass. She placed it in the case and lowered the cover, the hinges making a tiny squeak of protest. The paste jewel would fool no one forever, but she didn’t need forever. She needed only long enough.