Marcus Wycliffe and Devlin joined their little group and Jamie only half listened to the conversation when one word caught his attention.
“Gibbons? Sorry, what did you say?”
“Artie Gibbons is dead,” Wycliffe repeated. “How?”
“Bullet,” Devlin said. “I wonder if he had any last words.”
Jamie nearly choked on his wine. Lilly had gone a long way in civilizing Devlin, but he was glad to see that Devlin still maintained his wry humor.
“And Dick?”
“As you might imagine,” Wycliffe said.
“I might imagine nearly anything where Dick Gibbons is concerned. Either devastated and grief stricken or furious.”
“Devastation would require some actual humanity.”
Then it would be hell to pay for anyone Dick suspected of the deed.
“After the botched attempt on Charlie, I suspect Dick will be going after every Hunter and anyone attached to them.”
“Only if Artie had something to do with the attempt on Charlie.”
Devlin snorted. “If? Do cockroaches scurry from the light? Aye. Whether Artie held the gun or just stood by Dick as he pulled the trigger, the attack on Charlie was engineered by a Gibbons. Dick will make that connection.”
Jamie glanced at Gina, who had wandered closer to the group, and he wondered how much she’d heard. Enough to widen her eyes, it seemed.
“I warned them that they did not want to cross a Hunter, but you know how they are…were,” Devlin continued. “So blasted sure they could do whatever they pleased without consequence. They got away with everything else they’ve ever done, so I believe we owe our thanks to whoever pulled that trigger.”
They all raised their glasses in a silent toast to one another and Jamie wondered which one of them had actually “pulled that trigger.” Lockwood and Wycliffe were more than capable of it, Drew had not come to Charlie’s side until this morning, and Devlin might have even considered it his duty. Hell, Jamie would have done it himself if he hadn’t been keeping watch by Charlie’s bedside.
He drank to Devlin’s toast and then reminded them, “Alas, the job is only half done.”
“Dick will be harder to kill.” Drew nodded. “He’ll be looking for it.”
They grew thoughtful for a moment and then Wycliffe changed the subject. “I hear there is to be a tableau at Marchant’s tonight.”
“I know some find them entertaining, but I find them deucedly dull,” Devlin said.
Lockwood placed his empty glass on a tray borne by a passing footman. “That would depend upon the subject being reenacted. A Waterloo battle scene might be amusing.”
“I believe tonight’s subject is great works of art.”
Devlin yawned and glanced toward his wife, across the room in conversation with guests. “I think I shall find something infinitely more amusing to entertain me.”
Drew laughed. “I will pass, Wycliffe, but perhaps Jamie could join you.”
Jamie had his own plans, and they didn’t include watching members of the ton dress up in costumes to replicate works of art on a stage. He had an idea of where he might find Henley’s mystery woman. “I have to pass. Perhaps another time?”
Wycliffe chortled. “Well, if I cannot lure anyone into sharing my misery, I believe I will drop by my office to see if there is any news, then go home and make an early night of it.”
Chapter Nineteen
The night had turned cold by the time Gina arrived home, escorted by Andrew and Bella instead of Jamie, who had made his apologies and then promised to come see her tomorrow afternoon. Or had he merely been trying to avoid her? Regretting his proposal?
She had waited an hour before donning her cloak and sneaking out the garden door to meet Ned. She’d overheard Lord Wycliffe’s announcement of a tableau at Marchant’s. A few discreet questions had revealed that this was Lord Marchant’s palatial home in Mayfair, and therefore not the same location as the erotic tableau where she’d met Christina Race. But, if Mr. Henley favored tableaus, perhaps he would be there. And if he was, she would summon the authorities at once.
Ned was waiting for her, barely perceptible in the shadows of a tree partway down the street. He emerged and came to her side. “Where to t’night, Miss Gina?”
“Do you know where Lord Marchant’s house is?”
“Aye, miss. Follow me, eh?”
As they rounded the corner, a dark form stepped in their way. “Oh, I do not think so,” he said.
She and Ned both squeaked in fright before they realized it was Jamie standing there, apparently waiting for her.
“Oh!” she gasped. “You frightened us to death!”
He looked them up and down. “A slight exaggeration. But do not think to divert me from the point, Eugenia, which is that you were not to investigate anything unless you were at my side.”
“And yet you were going out without me.”
Jamie pressed his lips together and pointed at Ned. “Hie back to your crib, boy. Miss O’Rourke will not need you further tonight, or any other night, for that matter.”
After a nod from Gina, Ned took off at a lope, but she knew he’d be there tomorrow night, too, if she needed him. The moment Ned was out of sight, she turned and faced Jamie.
“Where are we going, then?”
“You’re going home. I suspected you were up to something, so I came by here before going about my business. Home, Gina, where you will be safe and sound.”
She shook her head. “Together.”
He took her arm and turned her back home. “Where I am going, no decently raised woman would go.”
Decently raised? Insufferable. “Tell me.”
“I am going to a gaming hell. Thackery’s, to be precise. It is not the sort of place decent women go.”
“Since you will not answer my question, I do not know if I am decent or not. So shall we go without further delay?”
“Gina—”
“I can guess your arguments. My reputation. My good name. My safety. But those things mean nothing if I am already ruined. And nothing in view of the fact that I am leaving England after tomorrow. Who will remember me a fortnight hence? Who will care where I went or with whom? “
“No.”
“Why are you going, Jamie? For gambling? For a woman? Or on my business?”
“Henley is not just your business. He taints everything he touches, and he must be stopped.”
“Then do not worry over me. I am already tainted, am I not?” Oh, those words were bitter, but they finally hung in the air between them—his to refute or not.
He looked helpless, and she knew he could not counter her argument. Instead, he pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and draped it to shield her face. “The fewer people who recognize you, Gina, the better.”
His coach was waiting around the corner and he called an address to the driver and handed her in, settling himself beside her. “When we get there, Gina, try to say as little as possible. Do not speak to anyone I have not introduced you to, and keep your head down. Perhaps we will get out of this without damage.”
“What is our purpose there?”
“I am hoping we can discover who Henley’s mystery woman is.”
“At a gambling hell? “
“This one is a bit more democratic than the others. Courtesans, the demimonde and better cyprians frequent Thackery’s and mingle with the guests. More business than gambling is done above stairs. More to the point, when he was free to go about in society, Thackery’s was Henley’s favorite establishment. Any woman who kept his company would be familiar with the place.”
Cyprians? Did he mean prostitutes? “Is it squalid?”
Jamie laughed. “Very fashionable, actually, and clean. The food and drink are a bit more than passable. Only the customers are squalid.”
Gooseflesh rose on Gina’s arms. They would find the woman there, she was sure of it now. “And if we find her?”
“If so, I intend to persuade her to
tell us where to find him. At the very least, once we learn her identity, we can set a watch on her and she will eventually lead us to him.”
Eventually. Gina did not have eventually. She only had tomorrow. She looked up at him and slipped her hand into his to give it a little squeeze. “You…you will write to me and let me know when he is captured, will you not? “
He gave her an infinitely sad smile. “Immediately.”
She nodded her understanding and was silent for the remainder of the ride, though Jamie did not release her hand and she gathered strength from that. She wanted to feel his determination, his warmth, as long as possible.
When the coach pulled up to an indiscriminate building near St. James Street, he got out, lifted her down and adjusted her hood. “Remember, keep your head down. With luck, we shall get our answer soon and not be here long.”
Inside, she allowed a footman to take her cloak, realizing she’d be conspicuous and draw more attention with it on. Jamie smiled at her, evidently approving her choice.
He led her into a large central room, a gambling salon with many tables throughout. There were cards, wheels and dice, and men clustered about to watch the play. Raucous laughter, quiet curses and the even tones of the croupiers punctuated the low tones of a three piece orchestra playing quietly in one corner.
A set of wide stairs led upward to a mezzanine that surrounded the room where men and brightly dressed women strolled, looking down on the players below. A massive chandelier that glittered with a thousand crystals hung from a gilded ceiling. Gina was ashamed to say that she was fascinated with the place. It was unlike anywhere she’d ever been—part palace, part carnival.
Jamie purchased a stack of counters and gave her a few. “If they think you are about to play, they will not bother you or make you go upstairs.”
“What is upstairs?”
“A ladies’ salon and a few private rooms, for those who have had too much to drink, and others who…are seeking other diversions.”
She glanced upward again, looking more closely at the ladies. Some were beautiful and dressed expensively, others were a bit more worn looking, and not quite as well turned out. Cyprians. Women who sold their favors. Women she’d never thought to mingle with, but who were now more like her than not.
She glanced down at her own gown, nearly scandalous by the standards of the ton, but prim in this place. She had the sudden urge to tug her bodice a bit lower just to fit in.
“‘Lo there, Hunter. This your new mistress?”
She turned to look at the man who had just addressed Jamie. He was flushed and obviously in his cups. Jamie seemed annoyed, but he forced a smile and tucked Gina a bit tighter against his side. “She is, and I’ll thank you to keep your hands off her, Cavendish.”
“Just in from the country, I vow. Haven’t seen her before. Leave it to you to find the freshest meat, eh?”
She almost laughed when Jamie’s jaw tightened.
“What’s your name, poppet?”
She opened her mouth but Jamie interceded. “Mary.”
“Mary? I vow ‘twould be Merry if you came with me, girl. And I vow I’d make merry, as well.” The man laughed with hardy enjoyment of his own joke.
Jamie didn’t bother with a reply and led her toward the staircase instead. “Stay within sight of me should we get separated, Gina. I am going to talk to some of the regulars to see if Henley has been around at all, then ask who they last saw him with.”
How clever. “I shall converse with some of the ladies, too,” Gina said.
“Ladies?” He laughed as they began to climb. “I think you had better stay close to me, poppet.”
And before she could catch her breath, she was in a smaller salon than the one downstairs, with softer lighting and mirrors and murals the length and width of the room. Pastoral scenes or…or…oh! Horned satyrs and naked women cavorted across the countryside and appeared to be copulating in every possible manner! Chubby-cheeked Pan-like creatures spilled wine over couples, and Gina wondered at the symbolism of such a thing until she saw one figure licking the libation off another. Her cheeks burned and she knew she was giving her naïveté away.
Jamie pressed a wineglass into her hand. “Breathe, Gina, and take a drink. It will steady your nerves.”
Bringing Gina to Thackery’s was a monumental mistake, but he hadn’t been able to figure any way around it. He did not fool himself that he could have taken her home and she would have stayed there. Keeping his eye on her would be considerably better than letting her wander about London unprotected. He could only hope that she would go unrecognized, although, as she’d been quick to point out, she would be gone in another day.
At his side, Gina took a long drink of her wine and then smiled up at him. “I believe I am better now. Thank you.”
Ah, she’d suppressed that little lilt in her voice he loved so much and that betrayed her origins. Not that it would fool anyone, but any edge she could get would make her feel better. He wanted her confident, but not too confident.
He could not help but note that she was drawing attention from males and females alike—being sized up by her competition and being measured for pleasure by the buyers. He’d best make it clear immediately that she was spoken for, at least for this evening.
He lifted her chin with his forefinger and bent close, making his intent obvious. “Make this look good, Gina, or you will be fending off eager supplicants the rest of the evening.”
She raised on her tiptoes and fit her mouth to his. Not a tender offering but a deep and passionate kiss. No man would ever mistake her intentions, and no woman, either. In fact he, who knew it to be false, was having a difficult time reminding himself that the kiss was for the benefit of the salon, and not for him.
When she slowly withdrew, he whispered, “Well done, poppet.”
She chuckled at his jest and straightened his cravat just as an attentive mistress would have done. Lord! How could he leave her side long enough to ask his questions?
“Well met, Hunter. Why don’t you introduce me to your new lady love? “
He turned to find Henry Lector grinning ear to ear. “I am not ready to share, Henry.”
“Now, is that fair? Have you signed contracts? Is she a one-man woman? “
Gina blinked and he was afraid she’d give herself away, but when she merely tilted her head to one side and said, “One at a time, anyway,” he nearly guffawed.
Lector nodded and moved away, not entirely discouraged but willing to wait his turn. But there’d never be a turn. Jamie would see to that.
One thing was clear, Gina was a distraction to his purpose. Any conversation he would have with her by his side was bound to disintegrate to a flirtation if not an outright proposition. With reluctance, he released her hand.
“Will you be all right if I talk to some of these men alone, Gina? It should only take a few minutes.”
“I will sit quietly in that corner.” She nodded to a far corner where a bench sat in an alcove devised for tête-à-têtes.
“I shan’t be long.”
He watched Gina until she had taken a seat and began studying the murals with obvious interest. With a niggling feeling that he would regret leaving her alone, he joined a group of Thackery’s regulars, positioning himself so that he could keep an eye on her.
Edward Tully was the first to greet him. “Well met, Hunter. We were just talking about Charlie. Is it true?”
He nodded. “Just a scratch. He should be up and around by tomorrow.”
“Catch the bloke?” Albert Howland asked.
“One of them.”
“How many were there?”
“Two, we suspect. But I did not come to Thackery’s to discuss my brother. I’ve been looking for an old friend.”
Tully regarded him with a jaundiced eye. “Who would that be?”
“Cyril Henley.”
Eyebrows went up at that. “Friends, eh? I’d never have figured you two would have much in common,” Howland
said.
“We have some friends in common. People I’d like to locate, if possible.”
Tully drank from his glass before he spoke. “Haven’t seen him in a couple of months.”
“I did. Now, let me see. Where was that?” Howland frowned and stared at the ceiling as if he expected the answer to appear there. “Was it here, or at the Morris masquerade? Yes, the night Stan Metcalfe was killed. He did not stay long, though. Said he had some place to be.”
“Busy man,” Tully said noncommittally.
Jamie was reasonably certain Tully knew more than he was saying. “Quite. Has he not been around here with his mistress?”
“Ah, yes! That’s it. He was here a few nights ago. After the Morris masquerade. He and Misty. That’s what he calls her. Play on words, what?”
“How so?”
“Mystery. Misty. She always wears a domino, don’t y’know. We’ve speculated endlessly about her true identity. We gather she’s from the ton, or why the domino?”
“But you haven’t recognized her?”
Howland laughed. “We scarcely look above her neck since she wears her gowns so low. But I’d recognize those breasts anywhere.”
Tully chortled. “Sweetest little mole just at the top of her left nipple. We’ve taken bets, but no one has proven yet whether that mole is the result of nature or artifice. My money is on nature.”
“And mine is on artifice. There is not much natural about that saucy wench. All I can say for certain is that she is by nature a blonde.” Howland drank deeply and winked.
Blonde? Hell, he knew half a dozen blondes who’d known Henley. That was not much help. But Misty? Damn! There was something pricking the back of his mind. The description, vague though it was, sounded familiar.
Subtle questioning of a few more men confirmed Tully and Howland’s information. Misty, whoever she was, was a favorite of the men. She asked nothing of them but their attention and was generous with the views she provided to one and all, and generous in more ways to a few; she had been known to go to a room with other men if Henley was not available.
Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) Page 21
