“Of course, Miss Hunt.”
“Good work, Amelia,” Sydney said. “Uncovering damaging information from our potential clients’ backgrounds is time-consuming, but so necessary. Thank you for your vigilance.”
Although Sydney was never miserly with her praise, Amelia’s cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Miss Hunt. I cannot take full credit, though. Mick helped.”
Leave it to Amelia to avert attention away from herself. “I will be sure to thank him as well.”
With her father’s assistance, Sydney had established the Hunt Agency in an effort to improve deplorable working conditions for servants across the city. Many worked from before sunrise to nearly midnight every day, with no time—or only a half day—off during the week. And if that wasn’t difficult enough, the female servants found themselves consistently under attack from not only the masters of the house, but the male servants as well.
Drawing from her father’s keen business sense, Sydney had managed to build a good reputation with her service clients and her hiring clients, a reputation and level of success she protected with her mother’s tenacity.
“When am I—or shall I say, the featherbrained benefactress Mrs. Henshaw—scheduled to resume touring Abbingale Home?” Sydney asked.
“Friday morning.”
“Good,” Sydney said. “We saw so little of the facility on Wednesday and nothing of the boys before the matron was called away.”
“Forgive me, Miss Hunt,” Amelia said. “But I’m still unclear as to how visiting the boys’ home will help us locate the baron.”
“My contact with the Nexus believes there might be a connection between Abbingale Home and Lord Latymer, and I tend to agree, though I’m not sure how as of yet.” Latymer had once been the Under Superintendent of the Alien Office until his too-friendly relationship with the French was uncovered. Now he was a hunted man, with no country, no friends, and soon, nowhere to hide.
A little over two years ago, Sydney had begun sharing intelligence with a Nexus agent. In that time, she had managed to identify a few more of the secret organization’s members. She admired every single one of them, for very different reasons. Ethan deBeau’s image wavered before her eyes. Regret clamped around her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She forced the past away and focused her attention on finding the elusive baron.
“Since we have no one familiar with the inner workings of Abbingale Home, I thought it best to root about myself,” Sydney said. “I’m hoping that I’ll see or hear something that will lead us to Lord Latymer.”
“Miss Hunt, I—”
“I know, Amelia,” Sydney said in a low voice. Even though she had given her assistant leave to use her Christian name years ago, Amelia refused to do so, claiming she could never be so informal with her employer. Sydney suspected her persistence had more to do with maintaining an emotional shield against those around her. “Our involvement in this situation has gone beyond what is comfortable. The more we help the Nexus, the closer we come to their enemies. However, if a child is involved—”
One of Amelia’s rare smiles appeared, interrupting her.
“What is it?”
“Would there were more people like you,” Amelia said, with a sincerity that made Sydney’s chest tighten.
“Like me?” Sydney released an embarrassed chuckle. “Willful? Too obliging? Impetuous? Those are my dear mother’s favorites.”
Amelia raised a brow, as if challenging the woman’s assessment. “Resolute, kindhearted, courageous, intelligent, resourceful, selfless.”
Sydney squeezed her assistant’s hand. “I shall have to invite you to my family’s next get-together so you can defend my honor.” In truth, Sydney’s mother was quite supportive of her efforts at the Hunt Agency. Sydney cringed to think of what drastic measures her protective mother would take if she ever learned of Sydney’s clandestine activities.
Amelia’s lips twitched. “I look forward to the opportunity.”
A knock sounded at the study door. “Come in,” Sydney called.
Mac O’Donnell entered, closing the door behind him. “A gentleman’s here to see you.” He kept his voice low, and his gaze, always serious, could have sliced through steel.
Sensing unwanted news looming at her doorstep, Sydney released the stiffness from her spine and settled back into her chair. Relaxing her muscles always helped her assess a situation more clearly. “Who has come, Mac?”
“Viscount Danforth.”
A wave of dread burned over every inch of her flesh, then a second wave, frigid and slow, crept along in its wake.
Amelia sucked in a sharp breath.
Mac’s gaze flicked to her assistant before swinging back to Sydney. “Should I get rid of him?”
“Did his lordship provide a reason for his visit?”
“He’s in need of a butler,” Mac said. “His current one is on the verge of retirement.”
Sydney sent her assistant a glance. “See what you can find out.”
“Yes, Miss Hunt.”
Amelia gathered her materials and skirted around Mac’s large form; he followed her progress out of the corner of his eye.
“Where is he now?” Sydney asked.
“In the drawing room.”
“Very well.” For what seemed the hundredth time, she tucked a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. “Let us adjourn to my study below.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes,” she said. “I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s best to determine what his lordship is about.”
“What if he recognizes you?”
On unsteady legs, Sydney rose and strode around her desk, laying a hand on her bodyguard’s arm. “That’s a very good question, Mac. Let’s see what we can find out.”
Keeping her pace even, she led the way to the first floor. At the end of the stairs, Mac continued down a flight and Sydney veered right to a smaller study she used to meet with clients, or potential clients. Unlike her private study upstairs, everything was in order in this room, tidy and clean. Nothing sat around that could reveal the full extent of the Hunt Agency’s activities. Activities that some might construe as unscrupulous.
Too many people relied on her agency, and she could not afford to make even the tiniest mistake, or many would lose their livelihoods, including her. For those reasons and more, Sydney conducted her day-to-day operations out of a bedchamber-turned-study up on the second floor. The only staff she allowed in her haven were Amelia, Mac, and Mick. When dust balls threatened to overcome the chamber, she would take a break from her paperwork and tackle the cleaning herself.
Sydney pulled papers from the upper drawer of her desk and placed them on the top, scattering them the slightest bit. Then she retrieved some ledgers and laid them on the opposite side. The last item she extracted was a tiny silver bell; this she set in the middle of the desk, just above the ink blotter.
Opening one of the ledgers, she dipped a pen into the inkwell and waited. Before long, she heard her housekeeper’s familiar rapid approach followed by the more solid thunk of a gentleman’s step. She began writing.
Her housekeeper rapped twice on the door before entering. “Miss Hunt, Lord Danforth to see you.”
“Thank you, Wells.”
She took her time replacing her pen in its holder before plastering a welcoming smile on her face. Sydney rose to greet one of the few people in all of London who could ruin everything she’d worked for. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Miss Hunt,” he said, with an abbreviated bow, “thank you for seeing me.”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and Sydney’s breath caught. Never before had she seen such a riveting shade of blue swirled with an equally captivating green. Sound narrowed to a pulse beat. Thump. Thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump. With bruises, scrapes, and swollen flesh marring his handsome features, he had been compel
ling. Without them, he was mesmerizing.
She braced her fingertips on the top of her desk, struggling to regain her composure. But she could not stop making comparisons to the last time she saw him, sprawled on a narrow cot in an abandoned building.
Today, broad shoulders tapered down to solid hips. Fawn-colored breeches strained against the musculature of his thighs, and his midnight blue superfine coat set off his wavy sable locks to godlike splendor.
Many a lady had sold her soul for one night in his bed. He made them feel like heavenly goddesses, unearthly creatures made for his love, and the most important woman in his life… at that moment in time. Or so she’d been told. The fingers that were only moments ago supporting her unsteady legs curled into a fist.
Even though she understood the reasons motivating his actions, he still represented everything she despised in a man. Gentlemen such as he walked the upper echelons of society, with money and power at their disposal, and laws at their mercy. They discarded women like they discarded a spent cheroot, while honorable men like Mac and Mick scraped by, day after day.
Sydney would make sure she did not become one of Ethan deBeau’s golden deities.
“Of course.” She slipped a stray curl behind her ear before indicating the lone chair in front of her desk. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
Instead of complying, his lordship cocked his head at a curious angle and his mesmerizing blue-green eyes studied her face.
The very last thing she wanted him to do. She lowered her chin a bit while she took her seat, hoping to break his concentration on her face. Once she was settled, she waved her hand toward his chair again. “My lord?”
“Forgive me,” he said, taking his seat. “You reminded me of someone.”
Sydney forced back a burst of anxiety. “You are not the first to think so,” she improvised. “I seem to have one of those faces.”
He said nothing, though he continued to scrutinize her features with maddening thoroughness.
Releasing a long, slow breath, she settled back in her chair. “Now then, how may I help you?”
The intensity hardening his expression dissipated, and something altogether more dangerous took its place. Something predatory. “As I mentioned to your housekeeper,” he said. “I’m in need of a butler.”
“What is your time frame?”
“Tanner is retiring at the end of the month.”
“Why so little notice?” she asked. “That barely gives you a fortnight to react.”
Glancing down at his coat sleeve, he brushed his fingers over it twice as if removing an annoying speck of dirt. “According to Tanner, his heart can’t take the constant strain.”
“Oh, that is unfortunate,” she said. “I take it you’d like Tanner’s replacement to be in his prime?”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “As long as he knows his duties, I have no care for his age.”
“But what of the strain?”
He stared at her curiously, then the area around his eyes crinkled. “The strain Tanner referred to was not in reference to his onerous duties.”
When he did not bother to explain further, she asked, “If not his duties, then what?”
“Me.”
“You?”
“Yes,” he said as if the notion of torturing his butler brought him great enjoyment. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about for the new butler.”
“I see.” Though she didn’t. She experienced a wave of empathy for his lordship’s old retainer. “So, age is not a concern, but you want Tanner’s replacement to be an experienced butler. Do I have that correct?”
“You do, indeed.”
“What about hair color?” she asked. “Do you wish it to match the other servants?”
He barked out a laugh. When she did not join in, he said, “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
“Some of my clients have very exacting criteria when it comes to their servants.”
“Even if the manservants are powdering their hair or wearing wigs?”
“Even so.”
Shaking his head, he said, “I will save you the trouble of fulfilling a particular hue, Miss Hunt.”
“As you wish.” She glanced down at her list. “With or without a family?”
“Without.”
“How tall?”
A heavy-lidded smile replaced his consternation, and he slouched back in his chair in the same manner she did when under pressure. “My height or a few inches less,” he said. “I prefer to be the tallest man in my castle.”
Ah, the charming rogue fully emerges. She understood why the ladies fell under his spell. No gentleman should be equipped with so much disarming weaponry. Even Ares, the mythical god of war, would not hold a lady’s attention long if Lord Danforth strolled into the same room, wearing his gorgeous smile.
Much to Sydney’s consternation, she was not immune to the raw power pulsing beneath his fine clothes and devil-may-care manner. He fairly reeked of the boudoir, so potent was his sensuality. An image of his sun-kissed flesh writhing amidst white silken sheets captivated her mind’s eye. With every rustle of his legs, the sheet shifted to reveal another glorious inch of his well-toned bottom.
Sydney’s insides clenched violently, jerking her back to the flesh-and-blood viscount, who stared at her with a knowing smile. She halted her body’s mad spiral into the chasm of desire with a ruthlessness that surprised even her. She hated that I’ve-got-you-now curve of a gentleman’s lips. Hated it with a dedication that guided her efforts at the Hunt Agency every day.
“Indeed,” she said. “Your requirements are not complicated, my lord, but I don’t believe the Hunt Agency can help you in so short a time.”
That wiped the seductive smile off his face. He straightened. “I have it on good authority that your agency has built its reputation on finding good matches under difficult circumstances.”
“Whose good authority would that be?”
His eyes narrowed. “A number of acquaintances have conveyed as much to me.”
Why was he resistant to sharing the name of his referrals? If she knew who he was conferring with about her agency, she could use the connection to find out if his request was a legitimate one or not. “Have you no one among your staff whom you could promote?”
“No. I keep a modest number of servants, and my only footman is not suitable for the position.”
“That is too bad,” she mused. “Promoting from within your own household reduces the amount of learning a new servant must undertake.”
“True,” he said. “However, I’m looking forward to introducing a new perspective. Bring someone in who can look at the running of my household with an objective eye. One thing I cannot abide in my staff is complacency.”
An interesting observation from a bachelor with a modest number of servants.
“Won’t you reconsider, Miss Hunt?” he asked. “I have every faith that you will find an appropriate replacement butler in time.”
Could his lordship’s visit simply be a coincidence? Every instinct told her no, but outside his initial reaction to seeing her, she had detected no ulterior motive. Perhaps the old saying about keeping one’s enemy close at hand might be excellent counsel in this situation. Though she did not precisely view him as an enemy. Not yet, at least. If his suppressed knowledge of her identity ever surfaced and he threatened her business and all that entailed, he would become not only her enemy, but her mortal enemy.
Making her decision, she said, “Give me a day or two to review whom we have available, my lord. Tomorrow, I will tour your residence and interview your butler, so that I might better understand the scope of your needs.”
His eyes widened. “You wish to visit my home?”
“If that is convenient for you, of course.”
Although he made a gallant attempt, the vis
count could not completely mask the caged look in his eyes. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” she said. “I prefer not to tarry long over a new assignment.”
“Good to know, but I don’t understand why you feel the need to visit my home. Did I not give you enough information to conduct your search?”
No servant placed through the Hunt Agency ever went to a new situation without either Sydney or Amelia visiting the household first. Much could be derived by a few well-placed questions to the other servants and viewing the living conditions of the home. Amelia’s ability to detect malevolence beneath a pleasant mask was one of the many reasons why she was so valuable to Sydney. Sydney would never forgive herself if she inadvertently sent one of her people into a bad situation like the hell her mother had endured. But her wealthy clients did not need to know that she was interviewing them as much as they were interviewing their new servant.
“Of course you did, my lord,” she said, with practiced finesse. “I simply like to get a firsthand feel of my clients’ needs before placement. The last thing I want to do is send you an incompatible butler if a thirty-minute visit could have prevented such a waste of everyone’s time.”
“You have put a great deal of thought into this process.”
“It is my livelihood, sir,” she said. “Word of mouth has proven to be my best advertisement. If I become too complacent, my clients will become dissatisfied. Dissatisfied customers are the death of any vocation.”
“A valuable motto.”
“The credit must go to my father,” she said. “He taught me everything I know about business matters.”
“Then you were lucky in your mother’s choice of husband.”
Indeed, she was. However, luck was but one component in her good fortune. “I have much for which to be thankful.”
The viscount’s charming smile slowly reemerged, softening the square angles of his face and making him intolerably handsome. Lethal, even. “As much as I would like to accommodate your in-person observation, I’m afraid tomorrow’s not possible. Another appointment, you understand.”
A Lady's Secret Weapon Page 3
