A Lady Never Tells (Women of Daring)

by Lynn Winchester

  “What shall we do, Black? How shall we teach them a lesson?”

  He swallowed. For the first time since starting this scheme, he felt a moment of regret. He hadn’t wanted to involve Richard in his activities—hell, the man was as crisp and pure as they came.

  But…if it came down to it, he would choose his own interests over Richard. There was no other way to secure his future.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked, his gaze following Golden as his pacing slowed to a stop near a writhing huddle of naked bodies, men and women coupling, smoking, forgetting what it felt like to be in pain.

  The Golden Man peered down at them, a flash of something dark and heated brightening his eyes.

  “You are close to him… There must be something we can use against him. A family member we can use as a tool for our aims. Perhaps…that lovely, empty-headed cousin of his.”

  “Lady Elizabeth?” Again, regret reared up, slamming a fist into his chest. He pushed the ache aside. “What of her?”

  “If we cannot get Lord Richard to listen to reason through our usual means…we will use other means. You know what I want, Black…” He didn’t finish; he didn’t have to. He knew what the Golden Man wanted, and—damn him—he would get his way, even in this.

  But…he would do things his way. Always. To hell with the Cards.

  The haze he’d enjoyed before the Golden Man appeared had dissipated, but he reached down and grasped the ivory pipe, taking a long drag. The Golden Man disappeared behind a cloud of sweetly scented mist. And he didn’t care. He couldn’t. Not when the delicious forgetfulness and numbness of the haze seduced him thoroughly…telling him to ignore the growl of the gold man and follow the lilting call of his own path.

  So he would.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It had been sixteen hours since Richard had last seen Victoria…and that was sixteen hours too long. Thankfully, though, he’d been busy enough during the day to keep from thinking about her overmuch. But, at night, when the quiet dark caressed him, he couldn’t tear his thoughts from the memory of her mouth against his, her groaning, melting into him as if he were all the warmth she needed.

  It had been a revelation, one he wanted to repeat. And it wasn’t just the kiss that teased him, it was the memory of her laughter—rich, throaty, genuine, full of joy and excitement. It was the laughter of someone who was truly happy. It was a laugh that sank down into his soul and took hold. He would never forget that sound; it would haunt him for as long as he lived. And it, too, was something he wanted to repeat.

  After he’d received the unsigned note in the concise handwriting—even her writing had few frills—he knew there was one man he needed to see.

  Arriving at Lord Leavenson’s mansion, he was escorted into the study where Lord Gadstoke and another man, dressed entirely in brilliant green, were sitting around a table covered in maps and documents.

  “Welcome, Lord Richard,” Lord Gadstoke called, grabbing Richard’s hand and clapping his other on Richard’s shoulder. “Leavenson, this is Richard Downing. Downing, this is Miles Leigh, Lord Leavenson.” Richard shook the other man’s hand. It was limp, wet, cold.

  “Leavenson, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he began, taking the offered seat.

  Leavenson took hold of his half-empty glass of what looked like sherry and grinned over the rim at him. “I must say, I was surprised to hear of your involvement in our little operation.”

  Little?

  “Not as surprised as I was to stumble upon it,” he replied. “Needless to say, I have many questions.”

  Gadstoke took his seat and signaled for tea, which appeared before them as if by magic. Personally, he preferred a sweet, smooth Scotch, but he needed to have a clear head about him. So, he took the proffered tea and sipped it, allowed the warmth of it to fill the places inside him Victoria’s warmth had touched a mere sixteen hours ago. It was a poor substitute.

  “What would you like to know?” Leavenson sat back and steepled his fingers. “I will answer what I can, but you must understand that some of the information is…critical to the secrecy of our operation.”

  “What is the purpose of this operation?” Richard asked, determined to start at the beginning.

  Lord Gadstoke answered, “Shortly after arriving in China, I discovered special arts native to the country that could be useful to our foreign and domestic interests.”

  “Kung fu,” Richard supplied, remembering what Victoria had said about learning the fighting form.

  “Yes, that is one of the many skills,” he replied. “And, once Victoria was born, I noticed she would watch the house service in their dàochǎng—their training house. She would watch, she would practice, and she became incredibly good. When Honoria and Verity came along, so did the idea of training up my children to be equipped for service to their King. I wrote to his Majesty, and he thought it a grand plan, especially since there were murmurs of undocumented opium imports, even then.”

  “Undocumented opium imports? Please explain,” Richard said.

  Gadstoke rubbed the bridge of his nose before answering, “Illegal opium trade—importing and selling. It wasn’t until several noble houses were victimized that we realized they were connected. A housebreaker breaks into their homes, collects incriminating evidence against the family, then blackmails them.”

  “Victoria—”

  “Sneaked into the Earl of Banebridge’s study to check for information, but not for use in blackmail, but rather to establish if Banebridge is part of the opium plot.”

  “Aren’t you worried you’re putting your children in harm’s way?”

  Gadstoke’s dark eyebrows furrowed, giving him a troubled look. “Of course, but I have confidence that each one of my children is capable of doing what is expected of them. They are deadly—as you have seen with your own eyes.”

  And he had…that night Victoria had saved him from death with skills he had never seen before.

  “So, you’ve been investigating men like Algren, Banebridge, Benford?”

  Leavenson tapped his fingers against the side of his glass. “Yes. We’re searching for information.”

  “What information, and why these men? What proof can you offer that they are criminals?”

  Gadstoke sat forward. “There is a list, curated by Leavenson and his underworld and organization connections.”

  “Why these men?” What evidence did they have that the men they were targeting should be suspects at all? Did they work with seedy fellows along the docks? Did they partake in opium for themselves? Were they buying and selling previously guarded information?

  “I am not privy to that information,” Gadstoke admitted, his voice carrying the sharpness of displeasure. So, he didn’t like being left outside the Prince’s confidences.

  “What of you, Leavenson? Surely, as the liaison between the Darings and the Home Office, you are privy to the criminal acts these men are suspecting of committing?”

  Leavenson didn’t bat an eye; he stared at Richard as if he were a peculiar exhibit in a menagerie. A feeling of unease fluttered through his blood, but he met Leavenson’s gaze.

  “I helped the Prince compile the list, so yes, I am privy to the suspected criminal acts of these men,” he finally answered, his tone bored.

  “Do you have the list of names?” At Leavenson’s wary expression, Richard supplied, “So that I may see with whom I have the best connections.” It was a simple request; he hadn’t asked for Crown secrets, only the list of names of the men he was supposed to help topple.

  And that thought alone made his stomach sour.

  Leavenson remained in his seat for a moment, a crimson flush appearing and then disappearing on his cheeks, before clearing his throat and slowly rising to his feet. He looked down his rather long nose at Richard, his dark eyes cold, before turning to walk to the table where he’d been standing before. There was a satchel there, dark leather, with DIL emblazoned on the side. Leavenson unlatched the satchel and pull
ed out a sheaf of papers. He returned to his seat before reaching across the distance to hand Richard the stack.

  “There you will find the list of names, information about their residences, and their ties to the Crown.”

  “But not documentation on their criminal acts?” Richard asked, his annoyance rising. This man was secretive—subtly so—and didn’t seem willing to share. But why? Wasn’t his duty as liaison to offer the Darings all they needed?

  “No,” Leavenson replied. “That documentation is not included.” A hard smile formed on his face, and his gaze probed Richard’s. There was a smugness about him, as though he were enjoying the hold he had on something so vital.

  It was almost as if the man were doing it for no other reason than because he could.

  Stiffening his shoulders, he looked through the first page, then the second, and by the time he reached the third, his blood was boiling with unspoken anger. The fourth page made him growl.

  “You cannot be serious. My own brother is on this list!” Richard bellowed, jumping to his feet to toss the documents on the seat behind him. “This is utter rubbish. My brother has only ever been loyal to the Crown, and the other men on that list…” He sucked in a breath to meter his heart rate. “They are longtime friends, men of honor, with Crown ties going back to Charlemagne. To think that these men would ever sully themselves with committing crime is beyond disgusting.”

  “Now, now, Downing,” Gadstoke stood, raising his hands placatingly. “There is no obvious evidence that these men are criminals, which is why we need to investigate each one individually.”

  “Then how did they get on the list at all? Who witnessed the acts that made them persona non grata?”

  Leavenson’s expression remained as it was: his smile hard, his eyes cold. But there was something in his gaze, deeper than the chill, that gave Richard pause.

  “Lord Richard, you are allowing your passions to color your judgment. These men may be friends of yours, have incomparable lineage, but every man—no matter how blue his blood—is capable of unspeakable things.”

  And what of you? he wanted to ask, even as the man’s gaze scoured his face.

  Richard nearly spat the sickness from his throat. “Would it not be better to ask them outright, to give them the opportunity to prove their own innocence—to defend their honor? My own brother—”

  “Cannot know of this,” Leavenson broke in, his voice as icy as his gaze. “When we agreed to allow you access to our operation and the people in it, Lord Gadstoke assured me that you would be trustworthy.” His glare landed on Gadstoke, who visibly shrank. “I would hate to think I cannot trust either of you…”

  A slithering sort of frost slid over Richard’s skin and into his blood. Simply at his daughter’s word, Lord Gadstoke had placed his trust in Richard. And if, for some reason, Leavenson believed that trust unwarranted…

  Lord Gadstoke began blabbering, his face as red as the ruby pin in his cravat. “Now, see here, Leavenson. I have never been accused of such—such—”

  As if sensing his prey’s vulnerability, Leavenson rose from his seat and straightened his coat, nonchalant and apparently unscathed by the daggers tossed from Richard’s eyes.

  “Then we have an understanding,” Leavenson drawled, flicking unseen lint from his sleeve. “Gadstoke, make sure you share the newest bit of intrigue with our dear Richard. Wouldn’t do for him to feel as though we are keeping secrets from him.”

  Richard didn’t miss the sneer on his lips as he turned and left the study, a cloak of black tension settling over them.

  He took a deep breath, willing his heart to return to his chest from where it had risen into his throat. And Gadstoke was faring no better; his face had gone from ruby to ghostly white in a blink, and he felt a sudden camaraderie with the man. They’d both survived whatever it was Leavenson had just unleashed.

  Friend or foe? It was a question he hadn’t thought to ask—ever.

  “Lord Richard, I must heartily apologize for Leavenson’s abject disregard of your character—and for implying that you cannot be trusted—that I cannot be trusted.” Gadstoke blustered again, clearly still ruffled from Leavenson’s cold carelessness.

  He offered Gadstoke a nod. “I do not blame you for another man’s actions, Lord Gadstoke. And, though I despise it with my whole being, I will keep your confidences, even though my own brother is a target of this madcap witch hunt.”

  Gadstoke seemed to ponder that. “Yes, I do see how this seems like an inquisition, but I do promise you, we will not bring any man to trial unless there is valid and unarguable evidence of their crimes.”

  While Leavenson’s words had done naught but lower Richard’s esteem of him, Lord Gadstoke’s words gave him a modicum of relief. Gadstoke was himself a man of honor, and as long as he and his family—Victoria—stood between the men on that list and hanging, he would put his trust in them.

  “So, what is this newest intrigue I am supposed to know?” It was better to focus on progress, on getting his brother’s name off that list with expediency.

  Gadstoke cleared his throat. “Oh, yes.” He hurried to his desk, where he retrieved a playing card, handing it to Richard.

  It was a Jack of Spades with the word “sinner” written across it in bold letters. He studied it, his mind scratching at something he couldn’t quite unbury. What was it about the word that had him so unsettled? Hell, he’d been unsettled since he’d set foot in the room.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  “It was left behind after the theft at Lady Manderby’s townhouse.”

  “I heard of that—dreadful business. But what has that to do with the list of names?” he inquired, pointing to the stack of papers still spread over his seat.

  “We believe someone else has that list and is using it to rob the homes before we can—er—find our own way in.”

  “Did something similar happen at Banebridge’s?” Thoughts bombarded him, slowly queuing into a legible line. “Was Lady Victoria too late to get the information she was seeking there?”

  Nodding, Gadstoke pinched his lips before answering. “There was nothing of import to be found, but there was something she overheard that was of some interest. It seems Banebridge is being blackmailed.”

  “What?” Richard felt the blood within him turn to sludge. Treason, thievery, blackmail—what sort of trouble was Victoria getting herself into?

  “Apparently, whoever has our list is targeting those men and using information they have to fill their pockets—it’s all rotten business. At first, we thought they were just coincidences, but when this card appeared, then another three just like it, we realized it was more than just flaunting their wrongs. They have a plot, and they are working against us.”

  Reeling, Richard leaned against Leavenson’s desk. “You mean to tell me that not only does someone have the list—with my brother’s name on it—but they are using that list to blackmail these men into bankrolling their…opium organization?”

  “Exactly.”

  Rage fired to life within him; the very idea of being disloyal to his brother was like a hot iron in his chest. It burned ever hotter when he realized what danger his brother and his brother’s family were in.

  “And what of the man who tried to kill me? I know Lady Victoria sent him to you—what information were you able to get from him?”

  Returning to the room at just that moment, Leavenson stiffened, his lips drawing back into a line that would snap if pulled tighter. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Richard cursed silently. “What do you mean? He refused to speak to you, or he didn’t know anything worth pursuing?”

  Leavenson poured himself two fingers of brandy. He took a sip from his glass. His nonchalance drove Richard’s patience to the edge.

  “By the time I arrived to interrogate him, he was dead,” Leavenson replied, his tone flat.

  Dead? How was that possible?

  He had been alive when Victoria’s accomplice had c
arted him away. Whatever had caused his demise had to have occurred between the time he left the alley and when he arrived at Leavenson’s. Or even after he’d been secured in Leavenson’s home.

  “No one thought his death suspicious? One doesn’t just die in custody without foul means.”

  “Agreed,” Lord Gadstoke said. “Of course there will be an investigation into the matter.”

  Richard sighed. “We must discover who would wish me dead and why,” he insisted, the tension in his shoulders and spine making his muscles ache.

  “And we will,” Leavenson drawled. “In the meantime, here is the information about Algren. I’ve been informed that you will be unofficial partners with the Darings.”

  Leavenson seemed to have a wealth of information at his fingertips, and Richard couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible. How far did Leavenson’s influence reach?

  Pulling another stack of documents from his satchel, he laid them before Richard.

  “According to several of his kitchen maids, there is a hidden room off the larder. He is seen entering in the early evening, but no one has seen him exit. Which leads one to believe he spends enough time in there to depart once the kitchen staff have gone to bed.”

  “Does anyone know what the room contains?” Richard asked, his mind spinning with ever more questions.

  “Not yet. That is why we’ve assigned the Darings to attend the party and discover that very thing. I’ve heard you will be escorting Lady Victoria.”

  Nodding, Richard added, “And acting in whatever capacity she needs to complete the operation.”

  He’d witnessed her skills with blade and her bare hands; he knew she could defend herself if the need arose, but why did she have to? Why couldn’t he be her defender? Her protector. The need to be with her, to care for her, to touch her, to know she was safe, and happy, and laughing…

  No matter what, he would protect Victoria—even if she didn’t believe she needed it.