by Cara Elliott
“I see.” Her eyes had certainly been opened to a whole new facet of Hadley.
“Well, I had best be on my way.” Jack inclined a polite bow. “Good day, Lady Sheffield.”
“Where are you going?”
“For a ride,” replied Lucas.
Jack leaned against the adjoining stall. Hearing a shrill whinny, he peered inside. “What is that?”
“That is a pony.”
“Let me rephrase the question. What is that pony doing in your stable?”
“Eating hay.” He cocked an ear. “And making a pile of shite.”
“You’re an arse. You know that, don’t you?” grumbled his friend.
“What has you in such a sour mood?” Gathering the reins of his stallion in one hand, Lucas tightened the saddle’s girth.
Jack didn’t miss the wince. Ignoring the question, he countered with one of his own. “Should you be riding today?”
“Probably not. But when have you ever known me to do the sensible thing?”
“At least you are not trying to prance through the park on half a horse,” retorted Jack. “What prank are you planning for the poor beast?”
“If you must know, the pony is for Peregrine.”
“Lucas—” began his friend.
“Hell, the lad is lonely, Jack. What’s the harm in taking him out to the park for a few basic lessons in horsemanship?”
“Harm?” echoed Jack. “I would say that the risk is very great indeed. I have been making a few inquiries, and it sounds to me as if the incident yesterday was no accident.”
Lucas checked his stirrups. “I’m not so bacon-brained as to think that it was merely coincidence that a strange stallion burst from out of the blue and tried to trample Lady Sheffield’s son.” His hand tightened on the leather. “I’ve done a little asking around myself. Were you aware that Arthur Battersham is heir to the Sheffield title and lands if anything should happen to the boy?”
Jack swore under his breath. “Did you get a look at the rider’s face?”
“No, he had a broad-brimmed hat and a muffler wrapped around his face. But my questions also uncovered information on where one may hire that sort of ruffian.” Repressing a grunt, Lucas swung himself into the saddle. “Make my apologies to Gentleman Jackson. I won’t be joining you for the weekly sparring session this afternoon.”
“Wait.” Jack signaled for the stable boy to bring out the chestnut hunter. “I’m coming with you.”
“It’s not your concern,” replied Lucas gruffly. “You warned me about Sheffield’s family, so consider your duty done.”
“Bloody hell, as if I’d stroll off and leave a friend in the lurch.”
“Damn it, I can fend for myself.”
“Nonetheless, I am not letting you go on alone.”
Lucas muttered several rude words but held his mount in check as the stableboy saddled another horse.
“Where are we headed?” asked Jack.
Lucas patted his pocket, checking that the scribbled directions were there. “Several livery stables in Southwark. My informant has heard some whispers in the stews about a band of thugs for hire.”
“By the by, Battersham paid a call on your betrothed this morning. Judging from the look on her face as he left, I assume it was not to offer his felicitations for a long and happy marriage.”
A jerk on the reins drew a whinnied protest from his stallion. Hooves thudded against the cobbles, kicking up a cloud of dust. “How the devil do you know that?” demanded Lucas.
“Because I stopped by myself”—Jack held up his hand to cut off the curses—“to return an earbob that Lady Sheffield dropped in my curricle.”
Somewhat mollified, Lucas muttered a few soothing words to his horse before replying. “You could have given it to me.”
“I thought you would be laid up for the day—with one of your usual cyprians to minister to your physical comfort.”
“You are one to talk,” retorted Lucas.
“I am not the one engaged to be married,” pointed out his friend. “So my habits are irrelevant. And besides, I was curious.” He fingered his watch fobs. “You did not mention that Lady Sheffield is interested in classical art.”
“She is interested in a great many subjects. Her intellectual abilities are most impressive.”
“Well, she can’t be all that smart,” drawled Jack.
Lucas scowled. “Now see here, Jack—”
“She agreed to an engagement with you.”
He waited for his friend to mount, then urged his stallion into the narrow alleyway leading to the street.
“It’s a little complex,” muttered Lucas as they turned the corner.
“Well, keep it simple,” countered Jack. “You are, after all, Mad, Bad Had-ley. A fellow not given to thinking too deeply about things.”
Lucas swore under his breath.
“I’m just trying to make you think twice before you get involved in something you’ll regret.”
The observation touched a sore spot. “Damn it, Jack,” replied Lucas. “People do change.”
The low snort did not come from one of the horses. “True, for right now I hardly recognize my fellow rakehell reveler. Indeed, if I wished to be snide, I might imply that the widow slipped some potent potion into your medicine.”
Lucas felt his jaw harden.
“But I won’t,” continued Jack quickly. “I shall merely ask if the transformation is a permanent one?”
Lucas wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “Look, it’s a long story.”
Jack slanted him a sidelong look. “It’s a long ride.”
Ciara dabbed a drop of lavender oil to her temples and breathed in deeply. Mingled with the piney tang of the steam wafting up from the simmering cauldron, the floral fragrance helped her knotted nerves to unwind.
“Ciao, cara!” The lilt of Italian floated in from the corridor.
Ciara pushed a damp curl behind her ear. Was her head in such a fog that she had forgotten an appointment with Alessandra? Her friend did not make a habit of dropping in without warning.
“I have something very interesting to show you,” announced Alessandra as she sailed through the door without knocking. “But first, you must tell me—has Lord Lucifer a rival for your affections? I just saw the Prince of Darkness leaving your door.”
“Oh, you must mean Hadley’s friend, Lord James Pierson.” Ciara went back to measuring the bath oil into a set of glass bottles. “Though from what I understand, his friends do call him Black Jack.”
“Whatever his name, Hadley’s amico is a handsome devil. But he looked as if someone had stuck a red-hot pitchfork up his arse. I swear, there was smoke coming out of his ears.” Alessandra sniffed at the cloud of steam. “Bella, bella,” she murmured, rubbing at her neck. “I should like to soak for hours in a tub perfumed with—” She stopped short. “Good God, you look pale as a ghost!”
“I may soon be one,” she said with an attempt at humor. “If my late husband’s family has any say in the matter.”
Alessandra clasped her hand. “Is that man—Black Jack—part of their cabal?” she demanded. “Did he come here to torment you on their behalf?”
Ciara shook her head. “Lord James’s only quarrel with me is that he doesn’t approve of Hadley’s involvement in my affairs. He’s afraid that his friend may suffer from getting too close to me. I can’t say I blame him.” Sighing, she went on to recount what had happened in the park.
“Santa cielo,” muttered Alessandra. “This is bad.”
“And likely to get worse.” Ciara tugged off her apron. “Alessa, although you speak little about your life in Italy, I have a feeling that you are acquainted with certain circles of… radicals. Do you know anyone who could help me… disappear?”
Her friend looked away, hiding her expression in the scrim of steam. “Oh, tesora, I counsel you to think very long and hard before taking such an extreme step. To be a fugitive, always looking over your shoulder, is not a life that
I would wish on anyone.”
“I know, I know. But I am desperate.”
“To run now will give truth to the rumors that you committed murder.” The mist had formed droplets of water on the tips of her lashes. Alessandra blinked and one fell away, etching a path down her ashen cheek. “Before you take that fatal step, I would advise you to be very sure that you have no other alternative.”
Ciara reached out and touched her friend’s hand. Their fingers curled together. “Oh, Alessa,” she began.
Alessandra pulled free, her rings flashing with fire as she gestured for silence. “So let us put our heads together and decide on the best course of action.”
Sensing that her friend would not talk about her own travails, Ciara gave a tiny nod.
“Has anything else happened to alarm you?”
“Sir Arthur was here this morning. The threats from Sheffield’s family are growing worse. And I have been thinking…” Ciara’s voice caught in her throat for an instant. “Is—is it possible that Perry’s mishap was no accident?” she said, forcing out the terrible words. “When you look at it dispassionately, it is only logical that they seek to get rid of him. Why go through all the trouble of raising Perry, when his demise means that the family lands and title go to Battersham, whose loyalties are not a question?”
Alessandra’s eyes flooded with compassion.
“Besides, they would kill two birds with one stone,” went on Ciara. “If anything happened to Perry, it would cast more suspicions on me. The hue and cry for my neck would have me on the gibbet at Newgate in no time.”
“Let us not panic,” counseled Alessandra. She thought for a moment. “Have you mentioned your fears to Hadley?”
“Lord, no!” Ciara hoped the quivering of her lips was not too obvious. “The man was nearly killed yesterday on account of us. Risking life and limb was not part of our bargain. I can’t in good conscience drag him any deeper into my travails. It is my responsibility to figure out a solution to this problem.”
“And we will, cara,” assured Alessandra. “The Circle may be somewhat smaller right now, but the three of us are clever enough to outwit the Sheffields.”
Ciara felt her insides unclench. “Oh, what would I do without such stalwart friends?” she murmured, wiping a sleeve across her eyes.
“No tears.” Her friend wagged a bejeweled finger. “Men like that bullying oaf Battersham think that women are capable of naught but hysterics. It will be a great pleasure to prove him wrong, si?”
“Si.” She smiled through a sniff. “You are right, of course. We shall beat them at their own game.”
“That’s the spirit.” Alessandra gave her a quick hug. “For the moment, you must put on a brave face and go on in society as if you haven’t a care in the world. Perception is part of the battle—let the ton see you smile and make merry and they will assume you have nothing to hide.”
“Hmmm.” She blinked. “Hadley said something similar the night of our first appearance in public.”
“Ah, so he has both beauty and brains,” quipped her friend.
Ciara wasn’t quite sure how to reply. Hadley played the careless rakehell well, but she, too, was starting to believe that there was a great deal more to him than a sinful smile.
“Bene.” Linking arms, Alessandra led her to the door. “Now, let’s go to the library. As I said, I have something very intriguing to show you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lucas uttered a grim oath as he slipped out of the dank stable. “Let’s be gone. This place stinks of shite,” he muttered.
“Filth begets filth,” agreed Jack, untying his reins from the rusting railing. “It’s a nasty business the fellow runs, but the sad truth is, the government gives many of our ex-soldiers little choice but to turn to a life of crime to survive. At least we’ve a lead to follow.”
He grunted. “I’ve no doubt it will take us to Battersham’s doorstep. I swear, I will beat the bastard to a bloody pulp.”
“You won’t be able to protect your lady if you are swinging from a gibbet,” warned his friend. “We’ll need to gather proof of Battersham’s perfidy.”
Lucas swore again.
“Look, why not leave this to me? I’ll enlist Haddan and Woodbridge to help. Between the three of us, we have enough connections with former military men to call in a few favors.”
Lucas urged his horse to a quicker pace through the twisting alley. “Well, if you are serious about helping…”
“Of course I will help,” interrupted Jack. “And so will Nicholas and Devlin. We are friends, Lucas. No more need be said.”
Friendship. Jack made it sound so simple.
“It looks like you will have your hands full looking after the lady,” added Jack dryly. “Why is it I hadn’t heard what a stunner she is?”
“She’s been careful to keep her charms under wraps,” he replied. “Her experiences with men haven’t been overly good.”
Jack slanted a sidelong look. Lucas felt it linger a little longer than he would have liked.
“Don’t say it,” he muttered, feeling a stab of guilt for his thoughts of the previous night. “My reputation may not be lily white, but I’ve no intention of being a blackguard with Lady Sheffield.”
That would, of course, depend on what shade of meaning was given to the word.
His friend seemed to be reading his mind. “I trust you will act honorably. The lady has enough trouble.”
“I thought you didn’t approve of her,” said Lucas a little snidely. “Why the sudden concern?”
“I didn’t approve of you involving yourself in her affairs,” corrected Jack. “And I still don’t, despite your explanation.” Lucas had told his friend about Henry’s manuscript and the bargain of mutual aid with Lady Sheffield. “As to the lady herself, I admit that my preconceived notions about her were wrong. However, there are too many things that can…”
“Blow up in my face?” suggested Lucas.
“Both of you are playing with fire.” Jack frowned. “This sham courtship could reflect badly on Lady Sheffield and leave your reputation in complete tatters.”
“It was awfully frayed to begin with,” quipped Lucas.
“That’s my point—you are hanging on to your position in respectable Society by only a thread. It would be a pity to cut all connections with the Polite World.”
“Respectability and manners are a crashing bore,” snapped Lucas. Even to his own ears, the retort had a hollow ring.
“You sound like a schoolboy, Lucas.”
“Since when have you turned so staid?” he retorted.
Jack didn’t deign to answer the gibe. “All I am saying is, be careful.” He guided his horse around a lumbering dray cart. “Any chance you are actually going to marry the widow?”
Lucas jerked on the reins. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“What do you think?” he snapped.
“Given your erratic behavior of late, it’s impossible to guess what you’ll do next.”
Ciara studied the sequence of letters one more time. “Why, I believe you are right,” she mused. “Whatever inspired you to make such a guess?”
“Something you said earlier got me to thinking.” Opening an old leatherbound book, Alessandra pointed out several passages. “See here, the chronicler speaks of a colony of Egyptian traders based in India. So it seemed logical to look to the dialect of ancient Cairo for a clue to the code.”
Ciara read over the text. “I would never have thought of that,” she said admiringly.
“Only because cryptography is not your usual field of study.”
“You are being far too modest.” She carefully refolded the sheets of papers with her friend’s transcription. “That leaves just one last section of the manuscript to figure out.”
“The most important section,” pointed out her friend. “I will keep working on it.”
“Yes, we still have work to do, but deciphering this mention of Penicil
lium notatum is a critical discovery.” Excitement edged into her voice. “I am sure it is key to the manuscript’s secret.”
“Isn’t Penicillium notatum a form of… mold?” asked Alessandra.
“Yes.”
Her friend made a face. “It’s hard to imagine how mold can be of medicinal benefit.”
“Which makes the last section of code even more intriguing,” replied Ciara. “May I take your notes to show Sir Henry? He will be very excited to see what progress we have made.”
“Of course.” Alessandra slanted a look at the clock on the mantel. “Forgive me for rushing off, but I promised Isabella to take her to the Tower menagerie. She wishes to make some sketches of the lion.”
Ciara smiled. “She is showing quite an aptitude for art. The pictures she did of the monkey were quite wonderful.”
“She enjoys it, so I am doing all I can to encourage her interest,” replied her friend. “I’ve just hired a Swiss drawing master, who comes very highly recommended. The only trouble is, he is said to be a trifle temperamental. How he will do with a child remains to be seen. The first lesson is tomorrow.”
“Isabella is not easily intimidated,” assured Ciara.
“That is true.” Alessandra rose and pecked a kiss to her cheek. “Chin up, cara, and don’t lose heart. We shall fight fire with fire.”
She nodded, trying to dispel the lingering fear of Sheffield’s family.
After seeing her friend to the door, Ciara returned to the library, intent on spending the next few hours studying the manuscript. But her mind kept wandering between the past and the present. The ancient code was not the only thing proving perversely difficult to decipher…
Giving up on trying to puzzle out her emotions, she gathered her papers and rang for her carriage. Given her current mental state, perhaps two heads would prove better than one in reviewing Alessandra’s discovery.
Sir Henry’s butler greeted her arrival with a solemn nod. “Please follow me, madam,” he intoned. “The baronet has informed me that he is always at home when his fellow scholars pay a call.”
