“Yes,” she murmured.
Blake kissed her tenderly and released her. “I’ll see you at dinner, Taylor.”
Taylor bit back her retort to his dismissal. Summoning the composure that had helped her hide so much in her heart these past weeks, she gave him another nod and took her leave. As she closed the office door, the reality struck her. Robert was missing, perhaps in grave danger even now. Blake would leave the safety of The Hideaway and attempt to find him, putting himself in peril.
She couldn’t bear it were anything to happen to him. He was a far better man than he believed. His work wasn’t an idle gentleman’s diversion for entertainment or profit. And she’d see to it herself that his life, his work and his heart were safe.
Chapter 21
A putrid stench permeated the waterfront; the combined smells of decayed fish, brackish water and neglect stung Blake’s nostrils as he made his way down the dark narrow street. Nearly a week had passed since he’d left The Hideaway, and with each passing hour his prospects seemed as dismal as this place. Taylor had been reserved when she told him goodbye, her chin tilted upward in a show of stoicism he knew she hadn’t felt. Jason would keep her safe. All in Homerton knew of her status, and Blake hoped no further intrusion by her cousin could be expected during his absence.
Trevor Shelby. Again, Blake thought about the fop sitting in Robert’s rightful place. The man wanted Taylor, that was obvious. Blake could almost forgive the man’s designs, given his wife’s beauty and appeal. Almost. But the bastard made it impossible for her to live in the very house in which she had been born. The vicar, Gaines, had deemed Trevor angry, but perhaps that was the man’s frustration showing.
What was his game? Little was known of him in that part of Sussex, save for the appearance of a wealthy country gentleman he showed to all in Arundel. Taylor wouldn’t speak to Blake of her cousin, and he wouldn’t broach a subject that brought her distress. Robert had gone missing—Blake wouldn’t think of his friend and brother-in-law as deceased, for no body was found to attest to that fact. After he found Robert he would deal with Trevor Shelby, and make him pay for what he did to Taylor.
Blake turned his attention to the task at hand. Tonight he sought out Reggie Platt, to jog the ‘gentleman’s’ memory. Reggie had been “out of Town” all week, and Blake was not going to let him slip away again. One of Blake’s informants on the streets told him Reggie had indeed been part of the ring of thieves. Blake could wring his thick neck. Reggie had denied any direct involvement, the last time he’d spoken to him. Of course he would lie. Reggie lied about everything. He should have pushed him harder before. He should have stayed in London when he was here last. That day he returned the kidnapped girl to her mother. Perhaps if he’d stayed he would have gotten the truth out of Reggie. But Taylor had been at The Hideaway without his protection, and he’d been anxious to get back to her. He had been in love with her even then. He knew that now. Hell, almost from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her standing on his doorstep.
He was thankful that Jason was watching over her. It gave him peace of mind as he searched for Robert. He turned his thoughts back to that bastard Reggie. Did Reggie know the leader? Reggie wasn’t someone Blake would ever put his trust in, but maybe the leader of the ring had held him in higher esteem.
Blake hadn’t found the blighter anywhere about Town at his usual haunts, passing himself off as a gentleman on Bond Street, marking his ‘customers’ to get the most of his dubious goods. But tonight Blake found Reggie at the Maid’s Skirt.
The fat man spotted Blake the moment he entered the inn, but couldn’t move fast enough to evade Blake’s notice. Blake approached the table in the corner with intent.
“I’ve been seeking you all week, Reggie,” he said.
Sir Reggie shrugged and drained his tankard of ale. “Been about on business, Thompson.” A smile wreathed his face but Blake could smell fear on him, among other things he wouldn’t give thought to. “You know full well how, um . . . taxing me occupation can be.”
Blake waved that away. “I’m seeking information. I have reason to believe a certain person’s demise was erroneously reported.”
Sir Reggie’s greasy gaze slid away from Blake. “Aye. So you said last time you interrupted my amusements.”
Blake leaned closer until his face was mere inches from Reggie’s. “Robert Shelby is not dead.”
Sir Reggie’s jowls jiggled as his mouth moved soundlessly. “He tol’ me . . . I heard your friend be dead, Thompson.”
“No,” Blake stated with conviction he hoped for rather than possessed. “Robert is alive and you know something of his disappearance.”
“I don’t know nothin’!”
The expression on the man’s face gave Blake pause. Fear swam in his dark eyes. What the devil was he about? He bore watching. Perhaps he should give Reggie enough space to freely visit his contacts.
“What of Martin, then? How does that man figure in this matter?”
Reggie gulped but still said nothing. Was Reggie being watched? Was that why he was reluctant to talk? If he revealed more to Blake, would it mean his own neck? Perhaps whoever was in charge of the ring was keeping a close eye on Reggie, and thwarting Blake’s investigation. Rather than press Reggie further in plain view of possible spies at the Maid’s Skirt, Blake decided to pull back and take another tack.
“We won’t discuss this here and now, Reggie.” Blake stood and stretched to his full height. “Don’t leave Town.”
With that he took his leave of both Sir Reggie and the Maid’s Skirt. It wouldn’t be difficult to have the fat man followed. Any street boy would gladly earn a bit of money for the task. Blake had made use of them before.
Pressing Reggie now, however, wouldn’t satisfy Blake’s true objective. The man knew more about Robert’s disappearance than he was letting on. And the terror in his eyes told Blake that more than money had kept him silent all these weeks.
“What the devil happened to Robert?” he muttered.
He gladly left the waterfront to Sir Reggie and his ilk, his footsteps clomping dully on the filth-covered cobblestones. As he glanced toward the river, a shiver tripped up his spine. Robert had been here. On that fog-shrouded evening nearly two months ago. But where was he now? He thought of Taylor, his stubborn beautiful wife, and took in a breath. He sought Robert Shelby to satisfy more than justice, more than to restore his best friend to his rightful place. He needed to find him for Taylor.
Imagining joy in her blue-gray eyes when he happily gave her the good news of Robert’s safety, he took solace in that possible conclusion. He wouldn’t focus on the negative. Not tonight.
Blake climbed into the waiting hack, bound for the pleasant, but lonely guest chamber in Jason’s townhouse that had been his home for the past week.
* * *
Taylor read the note again, finding little more of import than when last she read it less than an hour earlier. The other notes, more vague than this one, hadn’t told her half of what this one did. They didn’t frighten her as much, either.
A glance into the dining room told her Jason would at last cease his constant watch; Polly slowly passed his table, the curve of her lips telling Taylor that soon they’d take their play abovestairs. The maid’s amiable country gentleman wasn’t at the public house tonight, though if he were he’d undoubtedly allow the girl’s generosity with her favors. How strange. Taylor wanted Blake and only Blake, and took solace in the fact that he’d never take another woman to bed now that they were bound to each other.
It had been more than a week since Blake had left, and she’d heard nothing from him. Jason assured her time and again that Blake was a gifted investigator, that his missions all had desirable conclusions. Neither of them mentioned Robert, however. It was there in Jason’s eyes, and Taylor knew that concern and distress was mirrored in hers. She thought of what she knew of Blake’s work, particularly the poor woman he saved from that horrid beast of a husband that had beaten her
, and knew he was strong in both body and conviction. Would it be enough?
The crumpled note in her hand beckoned once more. She was so grateful she’d decided to open the letter herself and not wait for Blake to return. It had been a risk, of course. It could have been from a former lover of his, for all the familiarity in the note.
The words, in a lady’s elaborate hand, told of danger to her brother. That surely meant that Robert was alive! She wouldn’t ponder the reason for the lady addressing her husband in so familiar a manner. Dearest Blake, the missive offered in salutation. Who, pray, was this woman to Blake? A former lover, no doubt. Taylor pushed aside any irritation that particular notion caused and focused on the woman’s words penned between that affectionate greeting and scrolled signature reading Monique. A friend of yours is in danger, the note read. Shelby is at the center of it, and you should take care.
Taylor had to seek out this Monique and learn what, if anything, she knew of Robert. Surely Jason would know of her, of her address. Blake’s life was in danger as well, if the woman’s words could be believed. Taylor couldn’t stand idly by while the fates of the two men most important to her hung on the whim of some unknown person’s discretion. She wouldn’t think about Monique’s possible connection to Blake. Not now.
Jason’s amusements would have to wait. Taylor crossed the dining room and sat across from him. She passed him the note and waited as he read it.
“Monique,” he said.
“Who is Monique, Jason?” Taylor asked.
Was that a flush on Jason’s cheeks?
“She runs a . . . house in Town, Taylor. Pleasure for money.”
She gasped and Jason shook his head.
“Blake never frequented the place,” he said. “He met her while following up on a case for me.”
Taylor nodded with relief. “Do you know where she lives?”
Jason shifted in his chair. “Yes.”
Taylor stood. “Take me there.”
“What? Taylor, you can’t mean to—”
“Blake and Robert are in trouble, Jason. We have no choice but to find out what this Monique knows of it. If you don’t take me there, I’ll find another way.”
His dark brows drew together. “Good Lord, you’re as stubborn as your husband,” he grumbled. “Look, I promised him I would watch over you. You’re my sister now too, you know.”
That caused her throat to tighten. “I know.”
“I also know you’re hell-bent on going, with me or without me.”
“True.”
“All right. Go pack and I’ll call for my carriage. At least if you’re with me I can keep you out of trouble.”
She didn’t argue that point, certain he would change his mind at any moment. Packing a few belongings took little time, and she soon stood with Jason in the gathering darkness outside the pub awaiting the carriage that would take her to London. And to Blake.
* * *
Blake stood in the shadows outside Sir Reggie’s comfortable townhouse. The boy he’d paid for information had gladly come to Blake at Jason’s house to report on the fat man’s whereabouts. Finding Reggie home at this late hour had been interesting, but knowing the reprobate for what he was, Blake assumed his evening’s amusements took place well after midnight.
Far from the environs desired by the ton, Reggie’s house still afforded a convenient place for wealthy patrons to select from the man’s desirable goods. The manner in which those goods were procured was well known to Blake. During that last mission with Robert there had been little question about it. Reggie wasn’t the mind behind the schemes, however. The Bow Street Runners had wanted no part of Blake and Robert’s information, leading to the discovery of corruption rampant through the ranks of those men paid to protect the citizens of London. Had they protected Robert that long-ago night? No. Even Blake hadn’t been able to sway Robert from going to that clandestine meeting in the guise of an eager customer. A meeting from which he’d never returned.
Blake shook off the memories and focused on the nondescript door to Reggie’s house. It opened and the portly gentleman exited, a decided spring in his step. A fine, if shabby, carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house and Reggie hoisted himself into the vehicle. Blake ducked back into the shadows and boarded the carriage parked just around the corner. Instructing the driver to follow at a discreet distance, Blake peered out the window as the trail led to a very interesting part of Town.
The little neighborhood boasted comfortable houses offering hidden pleasures. Monique’s was one such establishment. Blake’s carriage stopped well behind Reggie’s and he watched as the fat man fairly skipped up the steps to Monique’s door. Blake couldn’t hear the maid’s words as she greeted the gentleman, but the smile and nod told him that Reggie was a frequent and expected visitor. For the sake of his stomach, he wouldn’t think about the man’s trysts with either the seasoned harlot or one of her girls, but focused on the import of this connection. What the devil could it be? Was Monique somehow tied up in this whole matter? She seemed shrewd, but her focus was arranging pleasures for men who preferred to hide such liaisons either from the ton or a wife. Blake leaned back in his seat and waited for Reggie’s exit.
Some time later, Reggie removed himself from the premises and climbed into his carriage. The vehicle rolled away from the curb and Blake waited a few moments before he moved to exit his own. As he stepped out onto the walk he caught a glimpse of a tall man stepping up to Monique’s door. He was poorly illuminated by the streetlamp but he saw the man was accompanied by a petite woman wrapped in a dark cloak. Before he could register so much as the color of her hair, they were admitted to the townhouse and gone from his view.
He settled back to wait for their business to be concluded, eager to speak with Monique and find out just what the hell she’d meant with her cryptic note and how Reggie was involved.
* * *
Taylor and Jason’s first destination was the very comfortable house of the mysterious Monique. The lamp-lit street held many similar houses, their cozy facades intimating the illicit activities that went on within with their tiny windows and deep-set doorways. More than one fine carriage sat parked up and down the thoroughfare, the drivers no doubt awaiting their masters’ commands.
“Come, Taylor,” Jason urged.
Taylor took a breath and climbed the few steps to the door. The panel was painted a sumptuous creamy peach, blending well with the white brick façade even in the light thrown by the lamps.
How bloody charming.
Jason lifted the ornate brass knocker and rapped on the pretty door. A maid swiftly answered, her thin face showing surprise to find them standing on the step. But it seemed she recognized Jason well enough.
“Hello, Marie,” Jason said. “We’re here to see Monique. Lord Thompson and Taylor Thompson.”
“I’ll announce you to me mistress.”
With that, the maid hurried up the stairs. Taylor took the opportunity to glance about the garishly-furnished house. Everywhere her gaze touched, silks and velvets and satins greeted her. Bright shades of reds and pinks and peaches filled the tiny parlor, in textures as rich and opulent as the colors. Pillows filled a lilac chaise, and with little imagination Taylor could imagine the as-yet-unknown Monique reclining on it.
“Jason,” a smooth feminine voice called. “Miss Thompson.”
Taylor turned toward the dark-haired, brashly underdressed woman descending the stairs.
“Lady Thompson,” Jason said in correction.
One of Monique’s artfully-shaped brows raised a fraction. Her dressing gown, a shocking confection of pink and black filmy lace, rustled as she stopped before them. She ran her eyes over Jason before facing Taylor.
“To what do I owe this visit?” She smiled.
“We’re here to discuss this,” Jason stated. He held out the folded missive. “What’s the meaning of this, Monique?”
Monique chewed her rouged lips before turning toward the maid. “Marie, p
lease bring tea into the back parlor.”
The maid looked surprised by the request. Then she bobbed an awkward curtsey and hurried from the foyer.
Monique once more smiled at them. “Please, come into the parlor and sit down, Jason. Lady Thompson.”
The back parlor, as Monique called it, was a small, intimate space. No doubt she entertained her select paramours here, away from prying eyes in the more public areas of the townhouse.
Taylor perched on the edge of a gold brocade settee and watched as Monique settled herself in a froth of lace on the chaise opposite.
“You can’t be a blood relation,” she said. “You lack the dark looks and height of a Thompson.”
Taylor wouldn’t ponder that declaration.
“But I didn’t know Jason had a wife,” the woman added.
“Taylor isn’t my wife, Monique,” Jason said.
“I’m married to Blake,” Taylor said.
“Thompson’s brother? Yes.” Monique sighed and her dark eyes sparkled. “He returned my maid’s daughter to her a few weeks ago. His exploits are spoken of in Town. Oh seldom, I assure you, but with much admiration.”
Taylor thought of that abusive man who’d barreled into The Hideaway demanding the return of his rescued wife, and recognized there was much more to Blake’s work than he ever intimated. “Blake is in London, Miss . . .”
“Call me Monique, please.”
Well-bred manners urged Taylor to yield to the woman’s request. “Monique. Blake is searching for my brother.”
Monique toyed with the thick ruffles at the low bodice of her dressing gown. “Do I know of this brother?”
Taylor sorely hoped not.
“No,” Jason said. “His name is Robert Shelby.”
The woman’s kohled eyes widened with alarm. “Shelby!”
“What is it?” Taylor leaned closer to her. “What do you know of my brother?”
Monique shook her dark head. “Little, save for his connection to Trevor Shelby.” Her scarlet lips curled with distaste. “And that gentleman is no gentleman.”
A Hero and A Gentleman Page 20
