Added to these were the countess’s words about how there was more to Elliott than one might think. Along with her own questions and observations, what conclusion could she draw?
None that she could see.
Though frustrated with the lack of answers, she refused to search further. Elliott’s activities were none of her business. She returned the note to the book and tucked the other one into the crack in which it had been wedged. The messages only added to the mystery of the earl and who he truly was.
His reputation as a rogue surely had merit based on facts. Why else would he travel so often, if not to enjoy gambling and women in distant cities? Yet she knew he enjoyed spending time with his grandmother. She couldn’t deny the times he’d spoken with her and the genuine connection she’d felt with him.
Elliott was a puzzle. Each time she thought she understood him he did something unexpected. The curious notes only added to her confusion.
She made her selection and returned the rest of the books to the shelves. Reading no longer sounded appealing but pondering Elliott’s conduct would serve no purpose either.
After spending a restless hour in her room, she went to look in on the countess. Light shone under her door, so Sophia opened it slowly, not wanted to wake her with a knock if she was sleeping.
To her surprise, the bed was empty. When she opened the door farther, her surprise turned to horror. The countess lay crumpled on the floor, unmoving.
Elliott braced himself as he entered the brothel on Church Street late that evening. It didn’t matter that this was a more refined establishment, catering only to lords and diplomats of a certain status. It was still a brothel.
In his younger days, he might’ve enjoyed the amenities offered but the more he visited these the less tempted he was. This evening was no exception.
He had lingered in the lower rooms of brothels often enough to realize few of the women were pleased to be there. He knew Prime Minister Gladstone made a habit of walking the streets at night to convince prostitutes to find a new way of life.
Elliott wondered if something more could be done to help. While these women were perhaps more fortunate than their counterparts who worked on the streets, they were still prostitutes. He would mention it to Gladstone when next they met.
As he waited for the madam, concerns over his grandmother tugged at him, along with the memory of the expression on Sophia’s face as she’d bid him good evening. He often felt torn when his duties took him away, but tonight was far worse.
His previous meetings had raised additional concerns, hence his visit to the brothel. Several sources pointed here. The madam had been recruited to assist in collecting intelligence three years ago and had proven helpful, especially with the diplomats who visited her establishment. Men often bragged of their activities after a drink or two in mixed company, despite the delicacy of said activities.
The décor was exactly as one might imagine, red velvet drapes, gold and crystal chandeliers, and touches of dark mahogany. Ostentatious was all Elliott could think as he waited in the drawing room.
The woman who escorted him into the room had poured him a drink, but he refrained from drinking. Remembering Codwell’s words, he avoided pouring it into the plant and dumped a good share into a vase of flowers instead.
With luck, the madam would be forthcoming with information, and he could share it with his contacts and return home within the hour. He shook his head. Since when had he become an optimist? It would take at least two hours before he was done with all this.
Guilt flooded him. The matters he’d uncovered could not be dismissed lightly. Innocent lives were involved, yet all he could think of was how long it would take before he could go home.
Perhaps he was no longer the best person for this position. Spying was a dirty business. Few of his peers were willing to admit it was needed let alone participate. The government was loath to fund intelligence work. At some point, more formal action needed to be taken, starting with the Queen.
For now, Her Majesty preferred to think of those in the Intelligence Office as loyal men who happened to come across the information they collected rather than actively gathering it. ‘Spying’ was a term to be avoided. Thankfully Gladstone understood the situation and found a way to pay those working in the office as well as reimburse them for the information they had to buy, else Elliott’s coffers would’ve been seriously reduced by now.
Before he could consider the matter of his future further, the door opened.
“What a delight, my lord.” Josephine Blakely sank into a graceful curtsy, a suggestive smile curving her lips.
An attractive woman in her fifties, she’d inherited the brothel from her aunt. Ambitious, well connected, and intelligent, she’d taken the modest operation and moved up her clientele’s standards.
Her efforts had paid off in spades from what little Elliott knew. She now received additional funds for catering to foreign diplomats who frequented her establishment, not to mention the money she received from the British government for any intelligence her girls gathered.
“I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”
“To what do we owe the honor of this visit? You so rarely grace us with your presence.”
“I’m hoping you can assist us with a situation.” He raised a brow, wondering if he needed to clarify further.
“Of course.” She glanced at his empty glass. “Perhaps we could share a drink upstairs in my personal drawing room so we might visit. In private.” The emphasis she placed on the words made Elliott smile.
Her methods of “visiting” were known far and wide. Her skills in the boudoir were unmatched, if one listened to the gossip. “I’m afraid I must keep my visit brief, but I would appreciate a few moments of your time.”
She bit her bottom lip while her gaze swept over him. She appeared disappointed with his answer. No amount of sultry looks from her would change it, but he took care not to offend her. She could change sides as easily as a tree swayed in the wind.
“Come along then.” She reached for his hand, surprising him. “We must keep up appearances.”
He nodded, allowing her to guide him through the foyer. A few other men he recognized mingled with their chosen ladies for the night. One nodded as they passed, while others pretended not to see him.
No wonder his reputation as a scoundrel continued to spread. Moments like this added to it. With a resigned sigh, he escorted Josephine up the stairs to her suite. She unlocked the knob with a key tied to her wrist.
Releasing a melodic laugh, she pulled him through the door and locked it behind her. Her expression sobered as she released him. Apparently, that had been for show. “Now, shall we have that drink?”
“Allow me.” He made his way to the polished table that held crystal decanters of various shapes, eyeing the liquids to determine which she might prefer. Sherry seemed too mild for a woman such as she. “Brandy?”
She smiled, as though pleased he’d guessed. “Perfect.”
He poured them both a short one, hating to waste the woman’s liquor since he had no intention of drinking it.
“Now then.” She settled onto a settee before the fire and patted the tufted cushion beside her. “What may I help you with, my lord?”
Though he knew her to be a trustworthy source, that didn’t mean he could come straight out and ask. People rarely said what they meant and often times, they interpreted things differently than someone else who heard the same information.
“I’ve heard disturbing rumors and am interested in learning if you have heard them as well.”
She raised a brow as she took another sip, watching him over the rim of her glass. “You already know I’m happy to help our government.”
Unless another entity offered her more.
But he kept the thought to himself. She was in business and he respected that, as long as it didn’t interfere with his mission. This cat and mouse game was a challenge—getting the other party to talk
without revealing too much of what he knew was never easy or straightforward.
“Your assistance is appreciated. I thank you on behalf of Her Majesty.” It never hurt to name drop and remind her of whom they served.
The woman’s eyes widened at the mention of the Queen. “My pleasure.”
Elliott gave her a charming smile. He’d learned from the start that flattery and flirting were a requirement in these situations. “Rumors have surfaced that certain Russian factions intend to send a brash message to the Queen.”
“The Russians are always so...passionate. I believe they often mistake the British reserve for indifference.” She set her glass on a side table and trailed her fingers along his arm. “But that couldn’t be further from the truth, could it?”
“Has the Russian diplomat who frequents your establishment mentioned anything?” He did his best to ignore the hand moving slowly along his chest.
“He was here a few days ago. He mentioned that many activists would like to see Britain slow their empire building and concentrate on the problems within their own borders rather than continuously expanding.”
It took far longer than he’d hoped but Josephine at last revealed that she expected the Russian to visit again on the morrow. Now that she understood where to lead the conversation, she might have more luck in gathering details.
When it became clear she knew nothing else, at least nothing she was willing to share, he eased into his goodbye.
“I do wish you would stay for a time now that we have concluded business.” She looked at him from under her lashes, sliding her hand along his shoulders. “Though I see only a few clients myself these days, I would make an exception for you.”
“I’m afraid I must respectfully decline.”
Her lower lip protruded in a pout. “Are you certain? We could spend an enjoyable few hours together.”
No doubt her skills in the boudoir surpassed the majority of his previous companions, but he wasn’t tempted. Thoughts of Sophia and worry over his grandmother held all his attention.
“It would certainly be a memorable evening but duty calls.”
“Duty? Or a woman?” She studied him as she asked.
Sophia’s image immediately filled his mind.
“Ah. I see the answer. A woman has caught your eye.” As he shook his head, she placed her hand along his cheek to still him. “No need to hide your interest. Pretending it doesn’t exist doesn’t make it go away.”
Was that what he’d been doing? Masking his attraction to Sophia with his attempts to chase her away? He’d excused his behavior by telling himself he was trying to convince her to leave. Somewhere along the way, that had no longer become true.
“Is this a surprise to you?” She smiled, as though delighted she’d helped him.
“Perhaps.” That was as much as he was willing to admit.
Josephine had obviously become adept at reading others. In truth, that was how she made her living—anticipating men’s needs and wants before they admitted them.
And Josephine was very good at her business.
“May I offer you some advice, my lord?” At his reluctant nod, she added, “Do not wait. Life is short and so often unexpected events occur.” A shadow passed over her features, leaving him to wonder what had happened in her past. “Grab any chance of happiness with both hands and do not let go. Not even for Her Majesty.”
To his surprise, her words echoed in his mind as he rode home in a hansom cab. Was that what was at stake with Sophia? Happiness? Something in his chest twisted at the thought.
The word had become foreign in his life. He couldn’t deny the feeling that washed through him each time he came upon Sophia, as if his heart leapt at the sight of her. He’d thought it simple anticipation of their battle of wills.
How ironic that a conversation with a brothel madam had caused such a deep revelation in his life.
Yet the question remained—-what should he do about it?
Chapter Seven
Sophia remained at the countess’s bedside, waiting for the doctor, her stomach knotted with worry. Hours had passed—the clock in the hall had struck midnight—but the elderly woman had yet to regain consciousness, and the doctor had not yet arrived.
Sophia had no idea what to do. She feared the countess’s illness had not only worsened, but that she’d injured herself when she fell. Her odd position on the floor suggested she might’ve twisted her hip or leg, and a red bump marked her hairline. Sophia surmised she’d hit her head on the small bench at the foot of her bed.
Codwell and two of the footmen had gently returned her to the bed, but still she hadn’t woken. Sophia berated herself for leaving the countess’s side. She should’ve insisted on remaining in the room while she rested.
How she wished Elliott would return. Codwell had sent for the doctor and was kind enough to offer reassuring comments to Sophia, but she wanted Elliott.
The idea of losing the countess when she’d grown to care so much for her was devastating. The older woman filled a void in Sophia’s life she hadn’t realized existed until these past few weeks. The countess was like the grandmother she’d never known. They shared a love of books, of knowledge, of life.
The countess made Sophia feel like an intelligent, clever individual. No lectures, no heartbreak, only a joy for life. There was no drama as there had been at home with her mother, father and aunt. Not that she didn’t love and miss her family. This was just...different.
She shifted as the door opened, disappointed to see it was only Codwell once again.
Elliott, where are you?
Her silent question went unanswered. Of all nights that he stayed out late... What was she thinking? He stayed out late nearly every night.
“The doctor should arrive any moment. No doubt she’ll be most displeased with us for sending for him.” Codwell stood near the end of the bed, his watchful gaze on the countess.
“We shall tell her she left us no choice.” Sophia was aware her words lacked conviction, but until she knew the countess would make a full recovery, worry held her tight in its grasp. “I should have remained with her, in case she needed something.”
“Nonsense, Miss Markham. The countess has a strong will and does not take kindly to anyone opposing her.”
Sophia appreciated his attempt to make her feel better, even if it failed.
A footman opened the door. “Doctor Brown has arrived.”
Sophia rose from her chair by the bed as a grey-haired man with spectacles and carrying a black leather satchel entered.
He glanced briefly at her before looking at Codwell. “It must be serious if she requested me to visit.”
“She is unaware of the request as of yet,” Codwell advised. “Miss Markham, her new companion, found the countess unconscious on the floor a short time ago.”
The doctor nodded at her then stepped closer to the bed, setting his case on Sophia’s vacant chair. “Fell? That’s not like her.”
“She’s been feeling poorly for the past two days,” Sophia added. “A bit of a cough and quite weary.”
As the doctor examined her, Sophia and Codwell eased back to allow some privacy.
Before the doctor finished, Elliott strode into the room. “What happened?” His accusing glare landed squarely on Sophia.
Guilt flooded her as she stepped forward to explain. “She fell—”
Before she could offer anything further, he brushed past her to his grandmother.
“My lord.” The doctor bowed to Elliott then continued his examination, easing aside the countess’s hair for a closer look at the bump. “I understand she’s been under the weather of late.”
“She insisted it wasn’t anything a few days’ rest wouldn’t cure.”
“Stubborn,” Doctor Brown muttered. “There’s a bit of a congestion in her lungs. We’ll need to keep a close eye on that.”
Sophia debated stepping out of the room, wondering if now that Elliott was here she should leave. But she could
n’t bear to until she knew the countess was going to be all right.
“I’ll leave something for her cough in case she needs it.” He looked at Sophia. “Can you describe her position when you found her?”
Sophia closed her eyes for a moment as the shock of that moment filled her before advising how the countess had been lying.
The doctor gently lifted each of her feet, bed covers and all, checking to make certain everything moved properly. “I don’t believe she’s broken anything, but we won’t know for certain until she wakes.”
“Why hasn’t she?” Sophia asked, unable to keep from wringing her hands.
“Difficult to say.” The doctor shook his head. “Might be from striking her head.”
Elliott winced at his words.
“Or her illness may be worse. Perhaps a combination of the two. She has a fever, but it isn’t high enough to be of grave concern. Can someone sit with her? I would like to return when she wakes and do a more thorough examination, though it might not be until the morrow. She might sleep through the rest of the night.”
Elliott escorted the doctor from the room, Codwell behind them.
Sophia settled into her chair beside the countess, determined to remain there until she woke. While she felt better now that the doctor had seen her, her worry wouldn’t ease until the countess opened her eyes.
Within a few minutes, Elliott returned. Sophia braced herself for a reprimand, but he had eyes only for his grandmother.
His hair was disheveled, a sign he’d run his hand through it. “How long?”
“I’m sorry?”
“How long was she on the floor?”
“I don’t know.” Sophia’s stomach clenched. That very question had circled her thoughts more times than she could count. “As long as an hour. We were visiting and her restlessness seemed to have eased at last when she spoke of your grandfather. Then she asked me to leave her so she might rest. I don’t know why she would’ve risen from the bed after I left.”
Her Majesty’s Scoundrels Page 44