The heavy scent of musk roses wafted to him with the rustle of fabric. A soft swell pressed against his right arm and he looked down. The dark-eyed beauty who’d been with Morgan earlier had taken his arm and was pressing herself against him provocatively. She smiled up at him and batted her lashes.
“What’s a handsome man like you doing here all alone?” she asked.
He’d almost forgotten about this part of English society. The shadowy demimonde—women who sold themselves for a lifetime or a single night. Beautiful women who had more to offer than the common street prostitute. Kept women. Professional mistresses. And this one was lovely, indeed, as dark and sultry as Grace, but lacking Grace’s obvious depth, subtlety and refinement. Ah, but this one was offering herself to him. He grinned. What was he doing here alone? “Habit?”
“A nasty habit that should be broken,” she purred.
He laughed. “And you’re the one to help me?” He traced the line of her jaw with his finger. “Aye. You just might be, at that.”
Her eyes half closed in a contrived bedroom look. “I could become your new habit.”
“What’s your name?”
“Elvina. But you may call me Ellie.”
Adam swallowed hard. Ellie—but not the Ellie he wanted. He’d be willing to wager the name was a lie anyway. Women like Elvina did not give their real names unless they were under someone’s protection. “Well, Ellie, as luck would have it, I’m here with a woman tonight.”
“I don’t see her,” Elvina whispered. She pressed her breasts against his arm again as an enticement.
The low scoop of her neckline gaped a little with the move and afforded him a glimpse of her generous unbound breasts. Lush rosy tips were puckered with anticipation and Adam realized she was a woman ideally suited to her job. He didn’t answer, nor did he point Grace out.
The girl shrugged. “I don’t have to be a habit, Adam. I can be once, if you want, or sometimes.”
He hadn’t told her his name. This was getting interesting. “Now and then?” he asked.
“Here and now, if you like.”
He laughed again. “Here and now might cause a bit of a sensation, Ellie.”
“There’s a room upstairs.”
He lifted Elvina’s chin with his finger and looked into her ancient eyes. She could only be twenty and two or so, about Dianthe’s age, but the life she led was beginning to tell in the faint lines around her mouth and eyes. And, oh, the dull emptiness of those eyes! Though older in years, Grace was infinitely younger than this little package. “You tempt me, Ellie.” He stalled, trying to think of an easy way to discover who had set her onto him. He really didn’t want to use the hard way, but he would if pressed.
“Then come upstairs with me,” she said. She wet her lips and parted them in an invitation. “I’ll do anything.”
Adam’s blood surged and he groaned. Anything? That was challenging. Tempting. Intriguing. Unquestionably the best offer he’d had in years. Had it been Grace making that offer….
She moved in front of him, facing him and shielding her actions from the room. Before he realized what she was about, she slid her hand between his legs and cupped his genitals. He hadn’t thought much could shock him, but he’d been wrong.
She scratched one fingernail beneath the weight of his scrotum and applied pressure to the base of his cock with her thumb. Her eyes were heavy-lidded again, and she expelled a soft sigh. “You’re more than a handful, Adam. You’d measure up against the best. If you want it here and now, I can make that happen, and no one the wiser. Any way you want it. Wherever, whenever.”
“Tempting, Ellie,” he said. “But not a good idea. I think you should let loose of me before someone sees you.”
“You cannot tell me you are not enjoying this,” she accused with a knowing smile. “I can feel it. You do not want me to let loose.”
To his shame, he didn’t. Men, he thought with disdain, were such simple creatures, such easy prey for a savvy woman who was unafraid to use her sexuality. He glanced toward Grace’s table and saw her lean toward Morgan and say something behind her fan that caused Morgan to laugh. A moment later she closed the fan with a snap and glanced around the room, as if searching for someone. When their eyes met, she smiled, and for a moment he lost himself, thinking it was Grace’s hand…
Elvina emitted a soft moan. “There. See. You want it. You need it. Come upstairs and let me ease you.”
“Let go, Elvina,” he said in a low voice as everything suddenly came into focus. Morgan, the cagey bastard, had seen an opportunity to make his move! “Go back to Lord Geoffrey and tell him it didn’t work. Grace will be going home with me.”
In the unforgiving light of early afternoon, Grace stepped from her coach onto the pavement in front of the jewelry shop. Rundell and Bridges, she had been told, were discreet but well-known jewelers who had kept estates afloat by purchasing a family’s jewelry at a fair enough price to pay gambling debts. She had contrived to lose heavily at piquet last night and, though Lord Geoffrey had offered to forgive her debt because she was a novice to the game, she had refused. She wanted him to be confident that she would always pay her debts or she would not be able to gull him into cheating her.
But Mr. Renquist’s warning was clear in her mind. Morgan had hired someone to investigate her. And that investigator would know by now that her funds were frozen. It was imperative that she give the appearance of having access to great wealth and a willingness to risk it in order to gamble. Once Morgan knew the lengths to which she’d go to obtain funds for her gambling, he’d know he could “up” the stakes.
Gripping her little velvet-lined mahogany box, she lifted her chin proudly and walked into the elegant jewelry shop. At the sound of the shopkeeper’s bell over the door, a clerk came from a back room and stood behind a counter.
“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.
Grace put her box down and lifted the lid. The clerk’s eyes widened and he reached out before he could stop himself. “Yes?” he asked.
She glanced around, relieved to find they were quite alone. She’d been right to come early in the day. “I need to have these things cleaned and the mountings examined.”
A shadow flickered from the window and Grace glanced sideways to see if her hunch was correct. A man, there and then quickly gone, had paused to witness her opening the box. Better and better. She smiled to herself. Her plan was working perfectly.
The clerk selected her pearl and aquamarine necklace from the assortment and examined it under a jeweler’s loupe. “Exquisite,” he pronounced before returning it to the pile and lifting an elaborate diamond pendant that had been a wedding gift from Basil. “But the settings all seem to be adequate, Mrs…?”
“Forbush,” she supplied. The shadow was back, just at the edge of the window. She did not look in that direction or betray in any other way that she knew she was being observed.
“I am Mr. Thomas,” the jeweler said. “I will be happy to clean these pieces for you, Mrs. Forbush. Would you like to wait?”
“Oh, dear. I believe I have an appointment, and I am rather busy the next several days. Would you mind terribly if I left them here with you? Then you will have time to thoroughly check the mountings. You do have security, do you not?”
Mr. Thomas gave her a condescending smile. “But of course, Mrs. Forbush. We will be pleased to accommodate your request.”
“I shall be happy to pay you for your services now.”
“As we shall have your jewelry as security, Mrs. Forbush, payment is not necessary until you collect your items.”
“I insist. I have already included a ten pound note in the box.”
Mr. Thomas looked beneath the pile of jewelry and nodded. “Entirely too much, Mrs. Forbush.”
“I shall wait while you bring me the difference.”
Mr. Thomas disappeared into the back room with her box and reappeared a moment later with a receipt and several bank notes. She prayed it would
appear to any observer that she had just exchanged her jewelry for money. She reached out and claimed the notes before he could count them out and betray how little was in the stack, but she made a great show of folding the notes and stuffing them into her reticule.
As she turned to the door she noted that the shadow receded. She opened the door and called over her shoulder, “Thank you, Mr. Thomas. You’ve been very accommodating.”
The weekly meeting of the Wednesday League was in progress by the time Grace arrived home. She had left Dianthe instructions to start without her if she hadn’t returned. By the time she had shed her shawl and left her reticule on the table in the foyer, she was in time to hear Dianthe’s summation.
“So Grace went to the jeweler’s to make it appear as if she were pawning her jewelry. But we honestly don’t know what we are going to do for funds when our current supply runs out. Mr. Ogilby said the courts could take as long as a year to decide!”
Grace sat amid a quick spate of gasps and exclamations. She held up her hands to quite the ladies before she spoke. “It is not quite as grim as all that,” she said. “Our living expenses will be paid, but there will not be money for extras.”
“Like gambling,” Dianthe added.
“Ridiculous,” Lady Sarah said.
“Absurd,” Lady Annica agreed. “The courts should move faster than that. And why should anyone think your husband’s will is invalid? He was of sound mind when he made it.”
“Was he?” Grace asked. “I recall so little of those last days, but I have a recollection that he was somewhat muddled from the time we received the news of Mr. Hawthorne’s death. He…he went so soon after that he might well have been impaired.”
“Well, I think it is very mean-spirited of Mr. Hawthorne to contest the will after all this time,” Charity huffed.
“Mr. Hawthorne is not contesting the will. Rather, Mr. Ogilby is seeking clarification regarding intent over actual wordage. And really, it is of little consequence except as it impacts our investigation.”
“Yes,” Annica said. “Dianthe has brought us up to date with that. Do not worry over the money. Sarah and I shall be happy to contribute to your gambling fund.”
Grace sighed with relief that she would not have to ask for assistance. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat back in her chair. “Thank you. I shall try not to abuse your offer. I have thought that I could gamble with the jewelry I have held back, which will then have to be returned to me when Lord Geoffrey is exposed.”
“But what if he’s not exposed?” Dianthe asked. “What if he does not cheat, after all?”
Grace looked around the circle and smiled. “Then we have lost our money, and my jewelry, in a worthy cause.”
Sarah nodded. “The pursuit of justice has never come cheap, but it is a price we have always been willing to pay.”
“As long as that price is not your life,” Annica said quietly.
The death of Constance Bennington still weighed heavily on the group. Years ago, when Lady Annica had been investigating a white slavery ring, Constance had been killed for her part in the inquiry, and she served as a reminder of what carelessness in their pursuit could cost. Geoffrey Morgan had been linked to that investigation by his affection for Constance.
“And that brings us to the other point, Grace,” Sarah said, putting her teacup aside. “We heard about the incident outside the Two Sevens Monday night. You could have been killed.”
“Heavens, no,” she said. “Lord Geoffrey told me that foot-pads, ruffians and thugs lurk outside hells just waiting for the opportunity to relieve lucky gamblers of their winnings. I’m certain that’s all it was. After all, Lord Geoffrey thinks we are getting on swimmingly. And I cannot think of anyone else who would want to hurt me.”
“Dianthe told us about Lord Barrington,” Charity said. “I would not have believed it possible, but now I wonder if he could be angry enough to—”
“Of course not,” Grace laughed. “He was never that attached to me. I was convenient, as was he. And ’tis neither here nor there. Our…liaison is over, and that is all that need be said on the subject.”
Adam paced the small upstairs room at the Eagle Tavern. Carter was late, and he was never late. Something peculiar must be afoot. He glanced out the window and anxiety twisted his gut. The sun had set and within quarter of an hour it would be fully dark. Unless he hurried, he’d barely have time to clean up and change before Grace would be ready for another night in the gaming hells of London’s seedier side.
The door burst open and he spun to see Carter, his face pale, heading straight for the whiskey bottle on the table. “Thank God, you’re here,” Carter said, pouring himself a generous draught.
“You have news?”
His friend nearly choked on the whiskey. “You could say that.”
“Trouble?”
“If you call murder and mayhem trouble.”
Adam held his breath. Damn! He knew better than to let the would-be assassin go. “Who did the son of a bitch kill?” He poured himself a stiff glass of whiskey.
“No one. Eddy Clark was the victim.”
Double damn! “What happened?”
Carter refilled his glass and took it to his chair by the fireplace. “I was at the inn when he came back for his horse. Just like you said, he went to Seven Dials. He stood in a conspicuous spot and waited. At a quarter past eight, a short man in a dark coat approached him, but the foot traffic was quite heavy. I moved to the side to get a better look at the man, but when my line of sight cleared, the man in the dark coat was gone and Clark was on the ground. A passing woman screamed and people scattered every which way. I ran to him—suspected what had happened. Sure enough, he’d been stuck.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Didn’t have a chance. Clark was dead by the time I got to him.”
“Jugular?” Adam had seen men bleed out quickly from a slit throat, but rarely that fast. The assailant must have damn near severed Clark’s head.
“That’s the hell of it,” Carter breathed. “It was the femoral artery. His killer must have held his knife under his coat and then stuck Clark without him even seeing it coming. The blade had to have been a stiletto. It sliced cleanly through the worsted of his trousers and severed the artery dead on. Clark didn’t even have time to cry out before he lost consciousness from the blood loss. The killer just kept walking, and no one the wiser.”
“Good God,” Adam muttered.
“Professional.” Carter nodded. “It has all the hallmarks of someone who does this for a living. And has no conscience. Clark was doomed from the time he took the job to kill you. His employers never intended to let him live to brag about it.”
“His employers didn’t want to pay him?”
“I suspect it had nothing to do with money. I searched his pockets and he still had a wad of bank notes. I think they were eliminating the possibility of being traced. Dead men tell no tales, you know.”
“They?” Adam asked. “Why do you think it is more than the man in the dark coat? I’d give you odds that he was the man who shot at us in front of the Two Sevens.”
“Think, Hawthorne! Femoral artery, for Christ’s sake! When have you last seen that done?”
Adam shook his head. He had thought of that, but it didn’t make sense. “Political assassinations. Covert operations. It’s not a tactic a common footpad would know, let alone use.”
“Your man in the dark coat is a professional, Hawthorne. He didn’t come after you himself because you’d recognize him before he could get close enough to kill you. If he were a sharpshooter, you’d likely be dead by now.”
Adam couldn’t argue that. In fact, he was feeling damn lucky to be alive. While he’d been at Belmonde’s with Grace last night, Clark had been killed because Adam hadn’t been. “Does this have anything to do with why you were late tonight?” he asked.
“I’ll say it does.” Carter snorted. “I was the one found bent over Clark’s body. I’ve been
hauled before magistrates and threatened with having my hands slapped to hanging. Everyone and his uncle, including the commissioner, has questioned me. None of them liked hearing that I hadn’t the faintest notion who killed Clark or why. And they’re all dead certain I know more than I’m saying—especially when they found out I am a runner.”
“What did you say?”
“That it was coincidence. Wrong place, wrong time.” He tipped his chair onto its back legs and let out a deep sigh. “That I saw Clark drop and a man running away and went to help. That I was searching his pockets to see who he was, not to rob him. Thank God, I wasn’t carrying a stiletto or you’d be visiting me in Newgate. I sure as hell didn’t tell them I was doing a favor for a friend.”
“My thanks for that. Had I known this was going to be so dangerous, I wouldn’t have asked you to help.”
A slow grin spread over Carter’s face. “Why? I haven’t had so much fun in years.”
Adam laughed. “Nevertheless, you’re out. I won’t have your death on my conscience. I don’t even know what’s going on, or what I’ve done to become someone’s target. The only thing I can think of is that my search for the military attaché must have triggered something bigger.”
“Ah, about that, Hawthorne.” Carter brought his chair back to four legs, a serious look replacing his smile. “I’ve got that name.”
Adam felt everything within him stilling, growing deadly cold. “Who?”
“A man by the name of George Taylor. He’s a major, retired for the past two years.”
“Where is he?”
“Cheapside. Bassinghall Street, White Bear Inn. Seems he’s fallen on hard times. No rush. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The man’s a drunk. Spends most of his days deep in his cups.”
There was something appropriate about that, Adam mused. He’d feared he would find the man wealthy and retired in ease.
Carter passed him a folded piece of paper. “That’s the address. I’m going with you.”
The Missing Heir Page 13
