Twenty-one
Ethan located Helsford at their club on St. James Street.
As he meandered his way through Brooks’s, he searched the exclusive gentlemen’s club for his friend’s familiar queue of long, dark hair. Leave it to Helsford to retain the old ways when men all around him were favoring a shorter, more elegant cut.
He still hadn’t decided how he would broach the subject of Sydney’s connection to Helsford without it looking like she had betrayed a confidence. In the dark alleyway, she had used her partnership with Helsford as a means of keeping everyone calm. She couldn’t have known Ethan would identify her minutes later. After his aborted seduction in her sitting room this morning and her astounding revelation, he hadn’t had the heart to press her on the subject of why she had kept her alternate identity from him.
Though, with a cooler mind, it didn’t take him long to guess at her reasoning. She had no way of knowing how he would react to the news of a woman aiding the Nexus. Would he reveal her secret? Force her to stop? Tell her father? Kill her for knowing too much? Set about destroying her business? He suspected her reticence had something to do with the latter.
The Hunt Agency was everything to her. She had gained independence through her business and provided a much-needed safe haven for her service clients. If she lost the agency, she would not be the only one affected. Something in her past drove her efforts. Drove her to help those who had been wronged by wealthy, narcissistic men.
Ethan’s stride slowed. Could that be what happened to her mother all those years ago? Something awful must have occurred for Sydney not to carry her natural father’s surname. Then he recalled the reason behind her family’s attendance at the Marchioness of Shevington’s dinner party. Sydney’s mother had been a childhood friend of the marchioness’s, a woman born of humble beginnings.
Had Mrs. Pratt been in service? The connection—all the connections—made perfect sense. Sydney’s damning words returned.
Men who care for nothing but their own comforts and desires. Men who abuse their staff and then abandon them to a miserable fate. In sum, the aristocracy, my lord, of which you are a member.
How had her mother been wronged? He focused his attention on Sydney’s one comment—Men who abuse their staff and then abandon them to a miserable fate. Ethan’s growing elation of piecing together Sydney’s past deflated as the answer became all too clear.
As with so many domestic female servants, Mrs. Pratt must have been the victim of her employer’s lust. Hadn’t Sydney referred to herself as a bastard spinster during their first meeting? Uncovering her mother’s awful secret answered another one of his questions. He now had an idea of what Sydney had survived during the first years of her life. Poverty, ridicule, hopelessness, and a host of other conditions too terrible to contemplate.
No wonder she felt compelled to help others. She remembered. Remembered what it was like to have nothing. Nothing until an act of kindness from one caring individual changed everything. In Sydney and her mother’s case, the act of kindness arrived in the form of Jonathan Pratt.
“Danforth, why are you standing in the middle of the room, looking equal parts murderous and miserable?”
Ethan glanced around Brooks’s drawing room to find it empty except for Helsford, who peered at him above the morning paper. “I was contemplating what I’m going to do to our missing baron when we find him.”
“And the misery?”
“Somerton probably won’t allow it.”
“Ahh, that would explain it. Were you looking for me or someone else?”
Ethan sagged into an adjacent chair, picking up the yellow-and-white-veined marble paperweight. “You.”
Helsford folded the paper and tossed it on a table before leveling his black, unfathomable eyes on him.
“What can you tell me about your informant?”
If anything, Helsford’s face became even more inscrutable.
“An interesting question. Especially since we make it a rule not to discuss our informants.”
“Yes, in most circumstances. I agree it is best not to reveal the details about them. Once we break an informant’s confidence, their trust is lost to us forever.”
“I predict that you’re going to ask me to make an exception.”
Ethan nodded. “For the one who knows you as a cryptographer.”
“You have met, then.”
“The individual I met mentioned a casual business arrangement, so I could only guess as to what that meant.”
“A rather one-sided arrangement, I’m afraid. Specter occasionally solicited news about Somerton, but that’s been the extent of our sharing.”
“Somerton? You did not find that odd?”
“Of course I did. However, the questions ventured no deeper than inquiring about his health.”
Ethan tucked that bit of information away. “Specter, you say?”
“It’s the name I use to summon him,” Helsford said. “I write Specter on a piece of paper and place it in any one of a dozen locations throughout the city. A few hours later would find us standing in a dark alcove, one of his choosing.”
“Can you give me the barest of descriptions?”
“Tall, raspy yet menacing voice, hooded cloak.”
Lifting his brow, Ethan asked, “Have you never seen Specter?”
One corner of his friend’s mouth quirked up. “No.”
“How do you know it’s a him, then?”
Helsford thought about it for a second. “I suppose I don’t, though I was never given a reason to suspect he was a she.”
“Nor she a he.”
His friend released a wry smile. “True. What do you know?”
This time, it was Ethan’s turn to hesitate.
“Danforth, I’ve given you details about my most valuable spy.” Helsford’s tone was laced with a subtle warning. “I expect the favor to be returned.”
For the first time in days, Ethan allowed himself to view his friend as something other than an adversary for the Chief of the Nexus position. Helsford had the same strength of will and implacable resolve as Somerton. He did not allow his temper, nor his emotions, to guide his decision or actions. The only difference he could see between the two agents was Helsford had a line he would not cross and, as far as Ethan could determine, Somerton had none. Is that what it took to be an effective chief? The ability to command anything—for the greater good? If so, few he knew could live up to Somerton’s standard, but Helsford came closer to the ideal than Ethan.
“You will make a good chief,” Ethan said, surprising himself.
Helsford blinked, uncomprehending. “Are you privy to information I am not?”
Ethan frowned. “Somerton has not asked you to assume the chief’s position yet?”
“No, why would he?”
“Because you are his chosen replacement.” Ethan said the words with care, even though Helsford’s reaction indicated that Somerton had not approached his friend yet about the position. Why was Somerton waiting? The sooner Somerton appointed a replacement, the faster everyone would settle in to the new routine.
“He told you this?” Helsford asked.
“Yes, last Thursday.”
“So long ago,” Helsford mused. “Is that why you’ve been in such a foul mood?”
“You make me sound petulant.”
“Or very disappointed.”
“I had waited a long time for the opportunity.” Ethan heard the defeated tone in his voice. “And then it was gone. My reaction to the news had nothing to do with you.”
“News that never materialized.” His friend’s voice held a new intensity. “I wonder why?”
Ethan waved off the question. “He’s waiting for the right time. Latymer still eludes us, and this issue with Abbingale complicates everything.”
“Why discuss my appointme
nt with you? Do not take offense, but I would think it would be more appropriate to discuss the issue of my appointment with Superintendent Reeves.”
He knew Helsford was right and that his irritation over the comment was unreasonable. But rational thought did not stop him from biting back. “Once he received my blessing, he was going to speak with the head of the Alien Office next.”
“Dammit, Danforth. Did Somerton know how badly you wanted the chief’s position?”
“How could he not? I’ve spent the last decade proving to him that I could step into the position.”
“But did you tell him?”
“Of course not. How would I have gone about informing him of my interest? Say, Chief, when you’re ready to move on, I’d like your position.”
Helsford’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say to him when he asked for your blessing?”
Ethan glanced away, not wanting to relive the painful memory. “I told him you would not disappoint him.”
“You told him—” Helsford leaned forward in his seat, propping his forearms on his knees. “Did you not think to challenge him on his decision? Did you not try to fight for what you wanted?”
Angry now, Ethan said, “At the expense of my friend? No. Never.”
“And that’s why you’ll never be chief.”
The verbal blow struck with a vehemence that knocked Ethan off-balance. “What did you say?”
“He was testing you, Danforth.”
Ethan blinked, fighting back the strange layer of fog that had settled on his mind. “Testing me?”
“To see how badly you wanted the position.”
“What about you?”
“Somerton knows where I stand on the subject. After his promotion, I made it clear that I had no desire to lead the Nexus.”
“So, it was all a damned lie? How he preferred Cora, but she was too damaged, so he picked you. Though he thought you might be too distracted by your concern for my sister. That’s why he wanted to discuss your appointment with me. I knew you best, he said. Did I think you’d be a liability to the Nexus? he asked.” Ethan shot to his feet and threw the paperweight as hard as he could against the far wall. The heavy marble sank deep. “Who the hell does the bastard think he is to meddle with our minds in this way?”
Rising, Helsford said, “Someone who knows what it takes to lead the Nexus and retain a modicum of his humanity. You have too much heart, my friend. Be glad you escaped.”
Ethan barely heard Helsford’s words. His mind was stuck in a web of humiliation and despair. What would he do now? Knowing the extent of Somerton’s duplicity changed everything. He wished he could purge the last quarter hour from existence, for he could no longer blame Somerton for losing the position. That honor belonged to him, and him alone.
“I must go.” Ethan swung around and made for the exit.
Helsford said, “I haven’t forgotten about Specter. You owe me details.”
“Tomorrow.” It was the only answer he could manage. He needed to clear his head, escape the painful reminders. What he wouldn’t give to sink inside a willing body right now. A woman who didn’t mind it rough and without pleasantries. An image surfaced, with Sydney beneath him, her legs splayed wide and her body rocking with each of his powerful thrusts.
If only she were ready for such an invasion. He wouldn’t stop there, though. Once their bodies had recovered, he would love her again. The next time slow and purposeful. He would make her come first with his mouth and then with his cock, but not until she begged for release.
“Danforth.” A new, familiar voice intruded. “I’m glad to have caught up with you.”
Halting mid-stride, Ethan peered into hard, crystalline eyes. Eyes he’d hoped not to see for a long while.
“Somerton.”
Twenty-two
Leaning against a large oak tree trunk, William Townsend watched the woman with the shocking red hair make her way along the park’s footpath. He checked his timepiece—precisely half past eleven. Punctual, habitual, and female, a perfect combination.
He followed her progress as she made her way toward his location. The redhead was not an attractive woman, nor was she difficult to look upon. No, Margaret Finley was average in every way—features, intelligence, height, bosom. Every way except her feet, he amended. Her feet were small and attached to the prettiest ankles he’d ever seen. And William had seen quite a few.
When she drew close enough for him to see her eyes, he was pleased to note the glint of excitement reflected in their depths. “Fine morning to you, Margaret.”
She halted at the sound of his voice and her gaze searched the area. The moment she located him by the tree, her lips curled into a sunny smile of welcome. “Will, you came.”
For some time, he’d understood the impact his countenance had on women, especially females who were not accustomed to focused male attention. He found their vulnerability rather pathetic, though he had used it often to his advantage. As he would now.
“Of course I did, love.” He straightened but did not leave the shelter of the tree. Instead, he motioned for her to come to him, infusing as much desire as he could into his dark gaze.
An unflattering shade of crimson blossomed along her throat and into her spotted cheeks. As many would in her situation, she glanced left and right in a pitiful show of modesty. Satisfied no one would witness her clandestine meeting, she plodded across the length of lawn until she stopped beside him, breathless.
He skimmed the back of his knuckle down the length of her cheek. Soft and smooth. Like Lydia’s. “You’re looking quite fetching today, Margaret.”
“Thank you.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Not as fetching as you, Will. I swear you’d be the handsomest gentleman in Hyde Park, wearing nothing but a potato sack.”
Stepping closer, he said, “Perhaps we might test a portion of your theory later.”
“Let’s go, nurse,” a small, petulant voice demanded.
Margaret’s shy smile dimmed, and she turned to the toddler sitting in a sturdy wooden carriage. With his chubby fingers clutched around the rim, he made emphatic go-motions with his upper body.
“Now, Master Henry, you must be patient,” Margaret-the-nurse said. “We’ll be off in a moment.”
“Want to see ducks.” His go-motions rocked the carriage forward an inch or two.
Margaret sent William an apologetic smile. “He’s in a demanding mood today.”
“Another Great Tyrant in the making,” William said, referencing the toddler’s illustrious grandfather’s sobriquet.
“Pardon?” Margaret’s confusion clearly stated her awareness of political affairs.
William smiled. “Nothing, my dear. Shall I show you a shortcut to the Serpentine?”
A look of uncertainty crossed her spotted face. “Will you show me the way back to this footpath? I’m so easily lost in this big park and all its various walks and paths.”
“Of course. We will take the footpath behind us, which will bisect the main carriage route and lead us straight to the Serpentine.”
Her dull blue gaze tried to follow his verbal directions, though she appeared to lose track at the word bisect.
“Nurse, I want ducks.”
Margaret glanced between the demanding toddler and William.
“Trust me.” William smoothed a strand of flaming hair behind her ear. “I won’t lose you.”
“Then I would love to see your shortcut, sir.” She grasped the carriage handle and began to pull it across the bumpy lawn with some difficulty.
William ignored her struggle until other pedestrians came into view. He peered down at her in feigned surprise. “Allow me, my dear. Master Henry’s carriage must be quite burdensome to draw across such uneven ground.”
“Oh, no, sir,” she said in horror. “It is only a little ways more.”
“I insist.” William gave her no more opportunity to argue. He towed the toddler over the lawn and down the footpath, while maintaining a constant chatter with the nurse. Once they crossed the main carriage route, the woodlands thickened, providing a natural shield.
Even though the blood in his veins pumped more wildly, William kept his gait even and his voice calm. His gaze was another matter. With systematic precision, he scanned his surroundings for anything out of the ordinary and for familiar faces.
Soon, he would have the means to satisfy LaRouche’s newest ultimatum. Regret shot through his chest. He found his current course distasteful, but no more than any of the other directives LaRouche had given him in recent weeks. This would be the last time he bent to the Frenchman’s demands. He had already booked passage for two to America. In twenty-four hours, England would be nothing more than a speck of dirt at his back.
They came to the intersection where their footpath crossed one of the main routes. Outside of a couple carriages, a stray rider, and a small group of uniformed children, the wider gravel walk was fairly deserted at this time of day. Such would not be the case this afternoon. Once the fashionable hour approached, the children would disappear and this part of Hyde Park would teem with gleaming carriages and elegant riders.
“Ready?” William asked the nurse, who nodded in return. “We’ll cross after this carriage passes.”
But they had idled too long for the toddler. “I want ducks!” the future Viscount Melville screamed at the top of his lungs.
Heads swiveled toward them. William jerked his chin downward to protect his features from curious onlookers. Furious, he threw his leather coin purse in the child’s lap to shut him up.
“Oh, Will,” Margaret cried, making the situation worse. “Your purse.” She bent to retrieve it.
He grabbed her arm, halting her interference. “Leave it. The sound will keep the child entertained until we reach the du—waterfowl.”
She peered up at him with wary eyes. “You’re hurting me.”
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