by Zoë Archer
She pursed her lips. “If either Harriet or Lazarus took the initiative and declared themselves, and was rejected … I don’t think either wants to risk that pain. So they just taunt each other and amuse the dickens out of the rest of us.”
Jack was silent for a while, but then said, “If they want each other, then to hell with the rules and to hell with getting hurt.”
She felt her brows rise. “Do you really believe that?”
He shrugged. “Life’s got a habit of slipping through your fingers, slippery as an eel, and leaving you with nothing. Maybe if we’re offered a chance at something good, we should grab it while we can.”
Unsure how to respond, she sipped at her champagne. Was he referring just to Harriet and Lazarus, or something more?
Damn it, I can’t think about that now.
“Still no sign of Gilling,” she said quietly.
“If he scuttles around the edge of the upper crust,” Jack answered, “he’ll be here. We can wait him out.”
They continued to stroll leisurely at the perimeter of the ball, watching the highest echelons of British society in the rituals of their arcane culture.
“That woman,” she murmured, “over by the punchbowl. The one in the diamonds and green satin. She’s paid off a blackmailer three times so no one finds out about the son she had before she was married.”
“Bloke standing next to the third window,” Jack said. “With the belly and bushy sideburns, looking snobbish.”
“Sir Denholm Braunton.” A baronet, she recalled, known for his particular hatred of policy intending to help the poor.
“He pays a whore twenty pounds to whip him. Or he did five years ago,” Jack added. “Maybe now the price has gone up to thirty pounds.”
She smiled darkly over the rim of her glass. “Secrets. Everyone here has them. From the blushing debutante to the venerated patriarch.” There were sexual peccadilloes, financial misdeeds, addictions, thefts.
He snorted. “Wouldn’t know it just to look at ’em. They swan around as if gold comes out their noses when they sneeze.”
They both stopped and faced the dance floor, where couples decorously spun.
“When I used to solicit donations with my parents,” she said, watching the dancers, “I’d suspected that there was another face to Society. Then I joined Nemesis, and I learned that Society has many faces. None of them real.”
“But people like us,” Jack said, “we know the truth. Who they really are.”
“They aren’t all bad,” she noted. “Only fallible. Like any human.”
“Fallible?”
“Capable of making mistakes.”
His expression darkened. “Aye. God knows I’ve made plenty of those.”
The opening strains of a waltz drifted out across the ballroom. Couples took their places upon the floor. Once, waltzing had been considered scandalous, something only for fast women and men of questionable morals, but now spotless debutantes clasped the hands and shoulders of irreproachable young bachelors as approving parents looked on. The waltz began, and the couples started their turns across the floor.
The sight, Eva had to admit to herself, was a pretty one, a whirl of pale silk and dark evening clothes. Dancing was part of an aristocrat’s education, and everyone moved with precision through the ballroom like an intricate mechanical device. Ladies both young and not so young beamed up at the faces of their partners, while the men were afforded the opportunity not only to put their hands upon a woman’s back, but to converse with her with a small degree of privacy. The perfect medium for courtship or flirtation.
As the couples spun by, Jack said, “The dancing we did in Bethnal Green was a bit more rowdy.”
“I can teach you later.” The moment the words left her mouth, she realized that she’d actually enjoy showing Jack how to waltz. “You’re probably a natural.” And he would be, too. Though he was large, he moved with uncommon agility.
“If it means I get to look down the front of your dress,” he said, “then I’m for it.”
“Poetry, Jack.” She affected a sigh. “Pure poetry.”
His mouth formed a hard line. “Don’t know how to say pretty, fawning words,” he said gruffly. “All I know is that I like looking at you.”
Heat fanned across her cheeks. Such simple words, given in a surly tone, yet they moved her, far more than she would have expected.
As she struggled to think of some response, a middle-aged man with a sash adorned with medals and considerable white eyebrows approached them. He looked faintly puzzled at their appearance, as well he should. He was the host of the ball.
“Lord Chalton,” Eva said, sinking into a curtsy, then offering the baron her hand. “Such an honor to receive your invitation.”
He took it and bowed, though he still looked baffled. “The honor’s mine, er…”
Eva laughed as though he were making a joke, then her laugh trickled away as if realizing that he wasn’t joking. “Mrs. Worthington,” she supplied. “Eloise Worthington. From Alnwick. Lawrence Worthington’s widow. He used to speak so fondly of you and your days together at Cambridge, winning blades together in the college boat club. Surely you haven’t forgotten!”
For a moment, the baron said nothing, but Eva smiled at him pleasantly, utterly assured that her late husband and Chalton had spent many an hour rowing on the Cam.
“Mrs. Worthington, of course.” Chalton nodded. “Delighted you could attend.” He glanced nervously at Jack.
“I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous of me to bring along a friend,” she said, smiling. “Lord Chalton, this is Mr. John Dutton from Sydney. You’ve heard of Dutton Cattle Company, naturally.”
Jack, impassive, stuck out his hand.
“Naturally,” Chalton echoed. He shook Jack’s hand weakly, and it was like watching a terrier shake hands with a wolf. “Ah, I see that Lady Addington could use more champagne. If you’ll excuse me…”
“Your reputation for hospitality is not exaggerated,” Eva trilled. “But, if I may, before you go…”
Chalton, who had been sidling away, stopped, though he looked pained to do so. “Yes?”
“I understand that John Gilling is here tonight. My brother-in-law’s cousin is a great friend of Mr. Gilling, and I’d like to pass along Stamford’s good wishes.”
“You’ll find him in the card room,” Chalton answered, then, with a quick bow, hastened away.
It would look gauche to hurry across the ballroom immediately after their host had moved on, so Eva stood calmly fanning herself and smiling serenely at the room. From the corner of her eye, she caught Jack staring at her.
“What?”
“A damn neat trick you just played there, Mrs. Worthington.” Admiration was clear in his voice and eyes. “I knew you were sly, but I didn’t know how sly.”
Oddly, it was one of the best compliments she’d ever received. But she couldn’t revel in his praise, not while they still had a job to do.
Eva steadied her nerves. They had scaled partway up the mountain, but were far from the summit. Every step brought them closer to their goal. It also meant they had farther to fall.
“We passed the card room on the way to the ballroom,” she said.
Jack held out his arm, and she took it, enjoying the feel of iron-hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric. “Time to hunt down our prey.”
CHAPTER TEN
The card room at a Society ball seemed an incongruous place for a criminal. Overstuffed men sat in overstuffed chairs, crowded around tables as they played genteel games of whist. Some silver-haired dowagers were scattered here and there like antique pearls, content with their cards and sherry. Decades had passed since those women had taken their turns upon the dance floor, and yet nothing truly had changed save for the stiffening of their joints. Greater comfort and amusement could be found here, among women their own age and men who had no interest in flirtation.
For all its gentility, nearly everyone within the card room held a s
ecret. Most were innocuous. Others … unlawful.
From the doorway, Eva and Jack scanned the chamber.
“Table by the bookshelf,” he said in a low voice. “The bloke with the gingery hair and scrawny hands. That’s Gilling.”
The man in question appeared as inoffensive as the room in which he played cards. The two other middle-aged men at his table were equally unexceptional.
“Seems a likely partner for a scheme to defraud the government,” she said. “He’d do whatever Rockley wanted.” A collaborator with strong ideas and opinions would prove more difficult to manage.
“We don’t know if he’s the link we want,” Jack noted. “One sure way to find out, though.” He took a step into the room, but Eva stayed him.
“Let me bring Gilling out,” she said. “We can’t have this play out before a roomful of witnesses, and if he recognizes you and bolts, the plan’s shot to hell.”
Though he looked unhappy with having to wait a few moments longer, Jack gave a nod. He pointed to a shadowed corridor leading off the main hallway. “Get him over there. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She didn’t like the ominous sound of that. “This scene has been scripted, Jack,” she warned. “Don’t decide to change the performance in the middle of the play.”
His expression darkened. “Still thinking of me as Nemesis’s puppet.”
“I only want this mission to succeed.”
“Then goddamn trust me.” He stalked off.
Eva took a moment to collect herself. Had she spoken out of turn? Did Jack merit her confidence? He’d already proven some degree of trustworthiness, and an exceptional intelligence. Yet she kept holding fast to her mistrust. It made their roles more easily defined. Simpler.
The question she needed to answer now was whether or not Gilling was the man they could use to ruin Rockley.
She glided into the card room, offering whoever looked her way a bland smile. A few men glanced up at her, their gazes lingering, but she politely ignored them as she pretended to idly watch the games in play. She meandered around the chamber, taking her time. Finally reaching the table where Gilling sat, she feigned observing the game.
“I hope I’m not disrupting, gentlemen,” she said. “But I’d grown weary of dancing and thought to amuse myself with other pursuits.”
Gilling looked up from his hand and gave her a quick perusal. Liking what he saw, he said hastily, “No disruption at all, madam. We could deal you in, if you like.”
Marco had taught Eva how to cheat at dozens of card games, including whist. If she so desired, she could strip these men of every coin they carried, perhaps even take their signet rings and pocket watches. All the while they’d have no idea she swindled them. A clever rogue, that Marco. But then, the British government had trained him to be.
“I’ve no head for cards,” Eva said. “But I have every respect for those of you who do have that talent. Clearly,” she added, smiling, “you have an abundance of talent.”
Gilling’s pale cheeks flushed and he mumbled his thanks.
“Oh, do continue your game,” Eva urged as the other men became restive.
After glancing at her again, Gilling resumed playing. Eva made appreciative murmurs whenever he won a trick and exclaimed in dismay when he didn’t. Gilling preened beneath her attentions.
When all the tricks were played, and Gilling emerged the winner, Eva clapped then fanned herself.
“I never would have believed whist could be so exhilarating,” she trilled. “I find myself dreadfully overheated. Some fresh air would benefit me.” She gave Gilling a meaningful glance.
“There is a balcony,” he said, standing. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you?”
“You are kindness itself.” She took his offered arm.
A few men muttered, “Lucky dog,” and shot Gilling envious, incredulous looks. Apparently, bold widows did not usually make appearances in card rooms.
Together, she and Gilling left the chamber, his steps hurried.
“There’s a shortcut,” she said, pointing her fan toward the darkened corridor.
Needing no further urging, he led her into the passage. The hallway must be used mainly by servants, for the doors were narrow and the walls sparsely adorned. The sounds of the ball faded, the shadows thickened. There was no sign of Jack.
Gilling stopped and looked around, frowning. “Perhaps we ought to find another way. This seems wrong.”
A door opened behind them. They turned to see Jack stepping out of a chamber, blocking their path back to the ballroom. His brutal smile was calculated to frighten, and, judging by the stunned look on Gilling’s face, it was a success. Even knowing Jack as she did, Eva herself felt a shiver of fear.
“It’s very right, Gilling,” Jack said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
* * *
Like a bloody coward, Gilling immediately broke away from Eva and stepped backward. The sod actually put her between him and Jack, as if taking shelter behind her.
“You know who I am,” Jack said.
“J … Jack Dalton. You’re supposed to be in prison.” Gilling’s voice turned high and thin.
“Decided I’d had enough of bread and rock breaking.” Jack flexed his hand. “Rather break Rockley instead.”
Gilling stared at Jack’s arms, his shoulders. “I warn you,” Gilling piped, “if you attempt any violence I’ll—”
“That ain’t what I’m here to do. And I never attempt violence.” Jack’s mean grin widened.
Gilling swallowed hard. He shot an accusing glance at Eva. “You led me here! To him!”
“This is far more interesting than a game of whist,” she answered, and Jack loved the cold deliberateness in her voice. She seemed to hold many different women within herself, and yet all of them were her. He could explore her for a lifetime and never fully know all of her.
“What do you want?” Gilling demanded again.
“Same thing everyone these days wants.” Jack rubbed his fingers together. “The means to make myself comfortable.”
“A bottle of gin should see to that,” snapped Gilling, then looked terrified by his brief display of cheek.
“But it isn’t very lasting, is it, Mr. Gilling?” Eva asked. “What we’re proposing is a good deal more permanent.”
“Your money for my silence,” Jack said. He took a step toward Gilling, and the man sidled backward.
“Blackmail?” Gilling’s eyebrows rose. “There’s nothing you can hold over me. Certainly not someone of your class,” he added.
“Folks of my class know all sorts of valuable things,” Jack said. “Like the fact that you and Rockley skimmed your contract with the government. Took home a fine profit for yourselves while soldiers fired shoddy cartridges.”
“Utter nonsense!” Gilling countered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Your left eye twitches when you lie,” Eva said pleasantly. “Just a little. I saw it whilst you were playing cards. Not much of a bluffer.”
“I’m not lying!”
Jack crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Gilling. The same look he’d give his opponents when they stood at opposite sides of the boxing ring. A match could be won before a single punch had been thrown.
Gilling turned even paler. “See here,” he gulped, “even if your allegations were true—which they aren’t—I haven’t any money to give. You’d be better served blackmailing someone else, someone with property and wealth.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Jack said. “What you’re going to do is help me get money out of Rockley.”
If Jack had a pen, he could’ve written on Gilling’s now paper-white face. The man’s mouth opened and closed.
“Just go to him yourself,” Gilling stammered.
“Too dangerous,” Eva said.
“Rockley and me,” Jack explained affably, “we’ve got what you’d call a history. You know that. I couldn’t get anywhere near him. Bu
t you can. You’ll be my middleman.”
“But how am I to get you any money from him?”
Jack said, “That’s your worry.”
“And if you don’t do as instructed,” Eva continued, “your involvement with the government contract will be brought to the attention of very interested parties. I imagine it wouldn’t be difficult to have you arrested on charges of treason.”
Looking hunted, Gilling tugged at the collar of his shirt. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“We’ve got written proof, Gilling,” Jack said. “The records you kept. They’re ours now.”
“Oh, God,” Gilling croaked. “I … I must go. I have to think.”
He stumbled past Jack and Eva, heading back toward the main hallway. Jack didn’t try to stop him, easy as the task would’ve been. Yet as Gilling lurched down the corridor, staggering around other guests, Jack and Eva followed wordlessly at a distance through the house. Gilling hurried down the front steps and into the street.
If Gilling arrived in a carriage, he didn’t wait for it to be brought around. Instead, he waved down a hansom and flung himself into it. He shouted instructions at the driver. The cab drove on.
With Eva right behind him, Jack ran for their hired carriage parked in the nearby mews.
“Don’t lose that hansom,” he called up to the cabman.
As soon as he and Eva were in the growler, it took off in pursuit. The cab raced through the streets, rocking from side to side. Jack braced his legs against the seat in front of him, and Eva held tight to the strap beside her. Neither of them spoke. He liked that she kept her silence while they were on the chase. No useless gabbing for the sake of hearing her own voice or making dull comments about obvious things. She had the calm, focused look of a hunter. A hunter in gold-colored silk, with yellow flowers in her hair.
Looking out the window, he noted the neighborhood. “St. John’s Wood,” he said aloud.
“Wonder what’s here,” she murmured.
He had a pretty strong suspicion what that might be, but he’d wait until they’d reached their destination before saying anything. He didn’t want to look like a fool. Not in front of her.
