No, he’d come to learn through Danielle how unquestionably loyal the women associated with Nightingale were. They would never put one another in danger. After all, Elise had kept her work secret from Danielle, and she had most likely gone to her grave because of it.
He glanced with a frown between the two men. “But Miss Williams has nothing to do with brothels and had no idea Elise was running her own network. So why come after Danielle Williams, and why now, after two years?”
“He’s not,” Merritt answered, his eyes grim. “He’s coming after you.”
Marcus froze. Only his heart moved, with a fierce pounding reminiscent of every time he’d charged into battle. “No. Danielle was attacked in the alley long before we knew of Hartsham’s involvement in—”
“After you’d returned from the continent and began to pursue answers about your sister’s death. After you waltzed with her at the party and then called on her at her home.” Merritt shook his head. “If Hartsham suspected that Miss Williams had any information about the murder, he would have attempted to kill her to keep you from discovering the truth.”
Pearce set down the empty glass. “And shot at you last night at Vauxhall after you’d learned what Lady Hartsham had told her. You’re being watched, very closely, and whoever is doing it is keeping track of what you know and when you learn it.”
“That’s probably why your town house was broken into,” Merritt added. “He wanted to discover how much you knew and to go through Elise’s possessions in case anything incriminating had been left behind.”
“And why Porter was killed four months ago,” Pearce finished. “Right when you returned to London.”
A sickening knot formed in Marcus’s gut that he was the one responsible for putting Danielle’s life at risk, that his family had been threatened because of him. Claudia—dear God, Pippa—
Christ. His blood turned to ice. In seeking justice for Elise, he’d endangered all of them. If anything happened to them because of him, he would never forgive himself.
“So we’re back to the original question, then.” Pearce strode forward to join the other two men. “What could Hartsham gain from it?” Standing in a triangle, they faced each other the way they’d done countless times before to discuss strategy before every battle. “Murder is an awfully excessive step to take just to keep rumors of debauchery from coming to light, even extreme ones.”
“Unless it wasn’t the debauchery he wanted to hide but the blackmail itself,” Merritt deduced. “We’ve assumed that Hartsham was being blackmailed—or had done things worthy of blackmail—and wanted to keep her silent. But what if we’re wrong?”
Pearce pondered, “If he’s not being blackmailed—”
“Then he’s likely the one who’s doing the blackmailing,” Marcus finished.
With that, all the pieces fell into place, and the three men stared at one another, their expressions bleak from the enormity of what they’d just determined.
After several long moments, Merritt broke the silence. “We’re going to need evidence. Someone inside the brothel has to be giving Hartsham information about the men who come into the place so he knows which prostitutes to question.”
“Or because he personally invited them to partake,” Marcus said grimly. “The way he did with me. After all, who better to have on your list to be blackmailed than a new duke and former general?”
“It’s not the name that matters, not when half the men in Parliament are publicly keeping mistresses and the other half regularly visit the stews,” Merritt reminded them. “It’s what’s done with the women. And if Elise had spirited away some of the prostitutes who were providing the information he was using to create his blackmail list, then—”
“Then he would have murdered her to keep her from interfering, to keep his witnesses where he could control them.” Pearce pinned him with a hard look. “And be on the hunt to kill you now because he’s still keeping that list. When you refused his offer to arrange a prostitute, you quashed his chance to manipulate you. That’s when he tried to kill you.”
Marcus muttered, “He’ll keep trying until he’s stopped.”
“So we stop him,” Merritt assured him.
“Well then.” Marcus grabbed up his jacket from the back of the settee and yanked it on. “It’s time we begin.”
* * *
Marcus clenched a cheroot between his teeth. “Hartsham.”
As he strode up to the earl in the billiards room of White’s, the man froze, his glass of port raised halfway to his mouth. His eyes flared wide in surprise.
Good. Always best to keep the enemy off guard. Although what Marcus had planned for this enemy wasn’t an attack. It was a full-out massacre.
“There you are.” Marcus slapped him good-naturedly—if a bit too hard—on the back and jostled the dark liquid in his glass. “I’ve been hunting you.”
Despite how his face turned pale, Hartsham gave a stilted laugh at Marcus’s purposeful slip of the tongue. “Hunting for me, you mean, I hope.” He continued the slow lift of the glass to his lips. His drink hand visibly shook, while his other hand clenched around the billiard cue. “Call in the pack of hounds and the beaters, then. You’ve found me.”
In the perfect place, too, surrounded by witnesses whose presence would prevent Marcus from murdering the bastard right there. “Wanted to give you my apologies for last night, for leaving the gardens so quickly without any goodbyes.” He smiled tightly around the cigar. “And my gratitude for hosting the supper in my honor.” That was the God’s truth. If not for last night, he would never have known who to blame for Elise’s murder. “It was good of you to introduce me to all those gentlemen. Knowing them will make working in Parliament much easier.”
“That was the point.” Hartsham relaxed only slightly but gestured for the other men at the table to continue the game without him. “You’ll find that success in Westminster is all about making connections.”
“Which is why I regret the way the evening ended.” Marcus flicked the ash from his cigar onto the floor and ignored the scowl of the club manager. The man should be grateful that he was smoking. If his hand wasn’t holding the cigar, it would have been around the earl’s throat, and it wouldn’t be ashes he’d be spilling on the floor but blood. “I was hoping to have one last word with everyone before we all departed.” He paused and pointed his cigar at Hartsham. “Including you.”
The man nervously took another sip of port. “Oh?”
“Yes, until Miss Williams ruined my plans.” Marcus bit back a frustrated curse. “Daft woman became all hysterical when the fireworks went off. Thought people were shooting off guns.” His mouth twisted in irritation. “Can you imagine—being stupid enough to confuse fireworks with gunfire?”
God help him if Danielle ever discovered the lies he was telling about her. The woman would flay him alive.
“I tried to explain to her that the sounds are completely different. For Christ’s sake, I’ve been shot at enough times to know the difference. But did she trust the word of a general? Absolutely not.” He laughed at Danielle’s expense. “Damnably flighty chit wouldn’t listen to a word of reason. Insisted that I take her home, crying and carrying on as if the devil himself had appeared right there on the Grand Alley. What choice did I have except to escort her out? I didn’t want her to make a scene right there in your supper box. Her father would have blamed me for the embarrassment, and I certainly don’t need the diplomatic corps as enemies. You understand.”
“Of course.” Hartsham smiled coldly.
“After I delivered her home, I came back, but everyone was already gone and the gardens were closing down.” Marcus shook his head. “Damn female hysterics… She cried all the way to her front door.” He screwed up his face in distaste. “Not at all how I wanted to spend my evening.” In actuality, Danielle had been in his arms. Exactly how he’d wanted to spe
nd it. “So my apologies to you and your guests.”
Hartsham’s shoulders eased down, and he set the cue aside. “None necessary. I know how weak and simpering women can be.”
Marcus said nothing. The bastard knew very little about women, or he’d have realized long before now that Danielle Williams was one of the strongest, most resilient people he’d ever met, in a skirt or trousers.
“Lady Hartsham and I will host a dinner for you soon in our home.” The offer was polite but distant. Marcus knew he hadn’t yet won over the man’s confidence. “You can make up for lost conversation time with my friends then.”
And give the earl an opportunity to put another target on his back? Hell no.
But Marcus smiled at the glowing tip of his cigar as he watched a tendril of smoke curl into the air. “Actually, there is something you can do for me. Something…a bit delicate.”
“Oh?” That pricked the earl’s interest.
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation from last evening.” He purposefully turned his back to the room, indicating that he wanted their conversation to remain private. “I want to take you up on your offer.”
“I’m pleased. I can always use another like-minded ally in Parliament, especially with the regent behaving like a tyrant who—”
“No.” Marcus eyed him carefully over the cigar as he took a puff. “I meant the other offer.” He lowered his voice. “About making arrangements for me.”
Hartsham stiffened, his gaze narrowing on Marcus critically for a beat. Then he smiled brightly. “After Miss Williams’s hysterics, I don’t blame you for wanting an evening with a woman who knows how to behave around a man.”
The earl had no idea of the irony behind that comment. Or how much Marcus wanted to pulp him for it. “You understand me perfectly.” He smiled slyly as he toyed with the cigar in his fingers. “You said less tame pursuits. Did you truly mean it?”
“Of course.” Hartsham took a sip of port. “If we wanted boring, we’d stay home and bed our wives.”
Pretending to be unconvinced, Marcus shook his head. “If what you’re suggesting is that I venture to a brothel, you’re mistaken. I’m too well-known now, too recognizable. I wouldn’t feel at all free to do the things I’d truly enjoy doing, knowing that someone might be watching through a peephole or listening at the door.” He lifted a brow and glanced around to make certain no one was eavesdropping even now. “It’s one thing to tie a naked woman to a bedpost and whip her when you’re a soldier in Spain or France. It’s altogether different when you’re a duke in London.”
Despite the bile that rose in his throat at having to say that, Marcus kept his face carefully even and watched closely for Hartsham’s reaction. He wasn’t disappointed when the earl slapped him on the back.
“No need to worry.” Hartsham grinned. “Arrangements can be made to bring the girl right to your bedroom.” When Marcus couldn’t keep his expression from hardening at that idea, Hartsham added hastily, “Or to wherever you’d like.”
“No girl. I want a woman. Someone very much experienced and not at all hesitant to carry out whatever I suggest, understand?” Someone who might have participated in blackmailing other peers and high-ranking officials. “And no pox-ridden wench in worsted wool either. I’ve come up in the world. I want a creature who’s at home in silk and lace, educated, well-spoken…” A woman other gentlemen would have requested. “Not a common moll but a true courtesan.”
Hartsham’s eyes gleamed, reminding Marcus of a crocodile that was watching his prey draw nearer the water’s edge. “Where should I have this special woman delivered?”
Marcus thought a moment. “The Earl of Sandhurst’s town house on St James’s Square. Pearce still owes me for his last promotion.” He flicked more ash onto the floor and smiled, apparently delighted at the idea of doing anything he pleased, wherever he pleased. Even something debauched in his best friend’s town house. Good God, if English peers truly behaved like this with one another, he was ready to run back to France. “I’m sure he won’t mind giving the place up to me for the night.”
“Women can be sent to entertain him as well, if he’s interested.”
He feigned sudden suspicion. “How are you gaining access to all these women, exactly?”
“I have connections in Covent Garden, at a little place called Venus’s Folly.”
“With whom?”
“The right men.” Hartsham finished off his port in one swallow, set the empty glass aside on a nearby table, and picked up his cue to return to the game. “England’s changed since you’ve been gone, in all kinds of new and interesting ways.” He arched a brow in subtle warning. “When it comes to these kinds of arrangements, Duke, it’s best not to ask too many questions.”
No…all the way to the gallows. “Then contact me when arrangements have been made. And, Hartsham, I expect absolute silence and confidentiality about this.”
“Of course.” Hartsham smiled. “You have my word as a gentleman.”
Worthless. Marcus tossed what was left of the cigar into the fireplace and turned on his heel. He stalked through the club and straight out the door, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Outside, his carriage waited in front of the club. Aware of the view from the bay window for those men watching from the dining room, he kept his face inscrutable as the tiger opened the door for him and he stepped up into the dark compartment.
“Go!” he ordered the driver.
He closed the door and sat back against the squabs, staring out the window at the dark city as the carriage lurched to a start and rolled down St James’s Street. He felt filthy and wanted nothing more than a hot bath to wash Hartsham away.
“It’s done, then?”
Marcus swung his gaze to Clayton Elliott sitting on the opposite bench. “He’s going to contact me when final arrangements have been made. He’s working with the women at Venus’s Folly. We were right about that.”
And about the blackmail. Hartsham had snatched up the opportunity to compromise Marcus far too quickly otherwise.
“You think he believes you about Vauxhall?”
“I think he doesn’t care as long as he has the chance to blackmail me and bring me under his control.” He turned back toward the window and muttered, “A live duke under his power and doing his bidding is better than a dead one in the churchyard.”
And one who still had no undisputable proof that Hartsham had murdered his sister.
“And Scepter?” Clayton asked.
“He didn’t mention it, but I couldn’t press for answers as hard as I would have liked.” Not without giving everything away. He had to make the man trust him enough to deliver the woman. “We have to assume that he’s involved with Scepter. We just don’t know why or how.”
Even Clayton hadn’t been able to turn up much more information about them except that they were a ruthless organization haunting London’s underworld. Like an octopus, their tentacles stretched into all kinds of illegal activity, including brothels, but their criminal activity had been unlike any the Home Office had ever seen. As if they weren’t concerned with money but in stretching their net as far as possible and not at all fearing the authorities.
Marcus was beginning to think that John Porter’s warning to Elise to avoid Scepter was simply that—a warning to steer clear.
It was Hartsham who’d murdered her to cover up the lists he was keeping. And the man who would pay dearly for it.
“Once the woman is delivered,” Clayton assured him, “then we find out what she knows and follow her back to Hartsham. At that point, we’ll have enough proof of wrongdoing that my men can search his properties for evidence of blackmail.”
Marcus nodded. They would catch him in the act of extortion, and the last links to Elise’s murder would fall into place. If the names on Hartsham’s client list were the ones they both believe
d them to be, then the majority of peers in the Lords would find him guilty just to keep their own secrets from being revealed.
He would watch the bastard swing by his neck if it was the last thing he did.
“And Miss Williams?”
“She’ll be told later,” Marcus assured him. “Once it’s all done.” Once she was out of danger.
“If you do this without her,” Clayton warned, like Pearce and Merritt knowing all that had happened since his return to London—almost all, “she’ll be furious at you.”
“Then she’ll be furious.” He turned back toward the window and muttered, “But she’ll also be alive.”
And he’d finally have justice for his sister.
One way or another.
Twenty-One
Balancing her cup and saucer in one hand, Dani smiled at the ladies gathered inside Lady Balfour’s yellow drawing room the next afternoon and made her way toward the side buffet table where plates of biscuits, sandwiches, and cakes had been set out. She placed a biscuit on the edge of her saucer, right next to the other two she’d already taken when admonished by Lady Balfour that she wasn’t eating enough.
Enough? She hadn’t eaten at all. Heavens! How could she possibly think of food when all she could think about was Marcus?
He made her happy, certainly, more than she’d ever thought possible. When she was with him, she felt free to laugh and be herself in a way she’d never been able to do in the company of any other man. And being in his arms…oh, simply divine!
But all that happiness he brought her couldn’t prevent the niggling doubt that whispered a warning from the back of her mind that all this was merely temporary. That once Hartsham was arrested and Elise’s ghost could rest in peace, Marcus would no longer need her. That there would be no reason to spend time together, and whatever affections he held for her would undoubtedly fade.
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