by The Rogue
There was no way to be sure, of course, but Jane strongly suspected that Mr. Ethan Damont didn’t find it necessary to pad a single thing.
She let her gaze travel back up his form to his face—only to find him looking directly at her.
Oh, no! She jumped back from the window, but it was too late. He was crossing the street toward the shop, a curious smile on his face.
Jane quickly grabbed the first bonnet she saw and plunked it on her head. There was a mirror on the wall opposite the door. Jane pretended to be examining herself in the bonnet, but actually she was eyeing the door behind her in the reflection.
She saw a slice of yellow waistcoat through the glass door panel. Blast, he was coming in! She busied herself with the ribbons of the bonnet, tilting her face down to hide behind the brim.
She saw booted feet come to stand behind her in the mirror.
“Hello, Robert,” Mr. Damont said in his lazy way.
Jane cringed. She’d forgotten about Robert. Of course Mr. Damont would recognize the footman from the Maywell household. Robert always served the card room.
There was no help for it. Jane raised her head to see Mr. Damont smiling at her. She feigned surprise. “My goodness! Fancy meeting you here, sir!” She cringed inwardly at her own clumsy dissembling. Goodness, could she be more obvious?
Mr. Damont didn’t seem to think so. His gaze was full of repressed laughter, heightened by a decidedly wicked twinkle. Eek—he hadn’t caught her examining the cut of his trousers, had he?
“Good afternoon, Lady Jane,” he drawled. “Did you see something you like?”
Oh, no. He had noticed where she was looking! How dare he say such a thing—and with that naughty gleam in his eye!
She sputtered in panic. Then she realized he was gesturing about them at the contents of the millinery. He grinned down at her. “Are you quite well, my lady?”
Jane gaped at him. He’d known precisely what she’d been thinking. She could see it on his face. Oh, he was wicked!
Ethan couldn’t take it anymore. He leaned closer to whisper to her. “You are too easy, Lady Jane.”
Abruptly, she laughed. Rather, she snorted helplessly. Ethan smiled in satisfaction. Lady Jane Pennington was not quite the Society paragon that she liked to portray. Beneath that elegant exterior was a rather mischievous sense of humor.
He shook his finger at her. “You shouldn’t laugh. Don’t you know that proper ladies aren’t supposed to laugh at my sort of jokes?”
Jane turned away to hide her smile. He was quite correct. She spent a moment pretending to adjust the bonnet, until she’d composed herself once more.
Mr. Damont cleared his throat. “Well . . . that’s very . . . fetching.”
The extreme doubt in his voice made Jane look closely at the bonnet in the mirror for the first time.
It was awful, dripping stuffed silk grapes and layered leaves. She looked as if she were carrying a basket from the vineyard on her head. Then she saw the knowing look in Mr. Damont’s eyes in the mirror and stiffened. “No one ever did say you had any taste, sir.”
He nodded easily. “Too true. No one ever did.”
Jane removed the bonnet—really, she could not get the awful thing off fast enough to suit her—and placed it reverently on its stand. “I do love it so, but I’m afraid it’s too dear.” She smiled apologetically at Mr. Damont. “It was very nice to see you again, sir, but I really must be going.” She tried to step past him, but she found him directly in front of her once more.
“Ah . . . Lady Jane? If it would not be too far out of your way . . .” He hesitated, then looked away, his insouciant manner disappearing.
Jane stared at him. Was he actually nervous? “Yes?”
He took a breath and smiled diffidently. “Well, I . . . I only live a short way from here . . . and if you have nothing to do this afternoon—”
Jane drew back, horror creeping through her. “Mr. Damont, I realize that by seeking you out this way I have left you with a bad impression of my standards, but—”
“Oh! No!” He went wide-eyed and held both hands up before him. “No, that isn’t—I don’t—I only thought you might like to see my—”
“Oh!” Jane backed away toward the door. “I think I’ve heard enough!” She felt sick. Mr. Damont thought she was—Oh, she couldn’t bear it. She turned, nearly running from the shop. She heard Robert huffing behind her. That was too bad for him, for Jane was so embarrassed that she felt fully capable of running all the way back to Barkley Square.
Ethan stood in the milliner’s shop, rendered quite breathless from the swiftness of Lady Jane’s getaway. “To see my new pet kitten,” he finished lamely. Good God, the woman had sped away like a racehorse! “You’re really slipping, old man,” he muttered to himself. “It usually takes at least a quarter of an hour before you drive them away.”
But what was that she had said? “By seeking you out this way.” Lady Jane Pennington had been seeking him out? Whatever for?
Unless her uncle had set her onto his trail.
Lord Maywell would never involve an innocent girl in his machinations, would he? Then again, perhaps he would. Maywell had quite a ruthless air about him sometimes.
For the first time, it occurred to Ethan that Jane and her cousins might be in danger living in a traitor’s house, especially if Maywell was the ringleader the Liars thought him to be. The thought of Jane in peril was unacceptable. A fierce wave of protectiveness swept over Ethan.
It was an unaccustomed sensation, what with the hardening of his jaw and all. Rather dizzying, actually. Perhaps that’s why he found himself suddenly leaving the shop, his long, determined stride taking him directly to the one place he’d sworn never to set foot in again.
The stout doorman of the Liar’s Club greeted him dubiously. “May I help you, sir?”
Ethan glared at the younger fellow. “Tell Tremayne—I’m in.”
Collis was jubilant. “I knew you’d come round,” he crowed as he led Ethan up the stairs to the second floor of the club a few moments later. “You won’t regret it, mate. This is the grandest adventure of all—”
“I’m not here for adventure,” Ethan groused. “I’m here because Maywell is a lout for putting his family in danger.”
Collis raised a brow. “Oh? Doesn’t Maywell have a passel of daughters?” He grinned. “You gallant old sod! Ethan Damont, knight errant!”
Ethan scowled. “Shut it, Collis.”
Collis let out a great, false sigh. “That’s all I hear about this place, day and night. You’d think all these great minds could come up with something a bit more original.”
Lord Etheridge appeared at the top of the stairs. “Shut it, Collis.”
Collis shrugged. “See what I mean?”
Ethan disregarded his friend’s glee to glare at Lord Etheridge as he came level to him. “I’m here. I’ll do it, but not because you tried to force me. And I want my house out of hock.”
Dalton nodded, unsmiling. “Done.”
Ethan drew himself up. “What do I do first?”
Dalton gestured for Ethan to follow him down the hall. “First, we assess your skills. There might be a few lessons you’ll need to take.”
Ethan balked. “School? I don’t think so.”
Collis grinned. “That’s exactly how I felt.” He became more serious. “If truth be told, I’m glad I studied. It all came in handy at one point or another.” He clapped Ethan on the back. “Luckily, you’ll be taking lessons here and not at the school we have nearby. I’m not sure your fragile personality could stand up against being surpassed by fifteen-year-olds.”
Etheridge slid Collis a quelling glance. Ethan was surprised to see his friend settle immediately. Good God, Collis really was the good little Liar, wasn’t he?
“Mr. Damont is a special case,” Dalton reminded them both. “Our situation requires us to get someone into Maywell’s immediately. There will be very little training.”
They’d arr
ived at the end of the hall. Ethan expected them to step into one of the rooms to the right or left, but instead, Collis and his lordship faced the back wall. Etheridge pressed something, Ethan heard a click, and the wall slid aside.
“So that’s how you sneaked up on me in the dining room,” Ethan muttered.
Dalton smiled, almost. “I enjoyed that.”
I’ll wager you did, you mad bastard. Ethan was beginning to regret his decision. Lord Etheridge didn’t want him here, that was plain enough.
The next stretch of hallway was much like the first, only a bit more worn. Ethan saw rooms to either side, one of which contained large rolled papers stacked in cupboards to the ceiling. “Maps?”
Etheridge stopped. “We use them and make them, especially our scouts out on the front lines. You won’t be operating there, but it wouldn’t hurt to be able to read and follow the simpler ones.”
Ethan pursed his lips. “I think I can get by,” he said drily. “I did have the same formal education as Collis.” He folded his arms. “And it happens that I actually studied.”
Etheridge looked to Collis for confirmation. When Collis nodded, Dalton gestured for them to continue. “Moving along then.” They stopped at another doorway, where a pale young man in spectacles looked up from the work piled on his desk, blinking myopically at them. “This is Fisher. He’s our code master.”
Fisher blushed. “Only until Mr. Atwater returns from Portugal,” he said apologetically.
A red-haired young woman stood up from behind the file cupboard she’d been delving into. “Hello, my lord, Collis. Is this Mr. Damont?” She smiled at Ethan, who automatically grinned back. She was a pretty thing, with her short, brilliant curls and friendly grin.
Etheridge nodded. “Mrs. Cunnington, Mr. Damont,” he said. He turned to Ethan. “Phillipa’s husband, James, is my second, and the sabotage master, but you won’t be working with him.”
Phillipa smiled, but Ethan thought he saw a flicker of worry in her eyes. “He’s out on the front lines, blowing things up,” she explained, her voice cheerful despite her concern. “He and Papa won’t be back for weeks.”
“Damont won’t be using code, since his post is right here in town,” Etheridge continued. “But he’ll be bringing you anything he might find on location. You’re to give it top priority, Fisher.”
Fisher cast a despairing glance over his already piled desk, then raised his gaze to Etheridge’s. “Right, my lord. Top priority.”
They went on, but not before Ethan sent Mrs. Cunnington another grin. She was quite the stunner.
“Back off, Damont,” Etheridge said without turning around. “James is the jealous sort.”
Ethan was not discouraged. He’d had no idea that there were any lady Liars besides Rose. This could end up being rather delightful. They turned a corner and Ethan saw a slim, dark-haired lovely pinning a sheet of paper up on a large notice board in the hall. She turned and smiled as they approached. Now, there was a fine-looking woman! She reminded him of Rose, without the athleticism. Ethan straightened and prepared to turn on the charm.
“Hello, darling,” Etheridge practically cooed. “How are you feeling?”
The woman gazed up at Lord Etheridge in absolute adoration. “Better. Kurt made me soup and soda crisps.” She smiled ruefully. “I think I’m going to give up on breakfast altogether.”
Ethan deflated. Wife. Treasured and expectant wife at that. He disliked Etheridge more than ever, the lucky rotter.
“Clara, I’d like to introduce Mr. Ethan Damont, who will be joining us. Damont, Lady Etheridge. My Lady Etheridge,” he said pointedly.
Ethan slid Collis a look. “What have you been telling him about me?”
Collis shrugged. “The truth.”
Oh, hell. No wonder Etheridge was bristling like a hedgehog. Ethan smiled diffidently at Lady Etheridge. “My lady,” he greeted her quietly, infusing it with no charm whatsoever. “May I wish you improved health?”
Clara smiled back. “Why, thank you, Mr. Damont. What a polite young man.” She sent her husband one of those wifely aren’t-you-ashamed-of-yourself looks.
Etheridge’s lips twisted as he gazed at Ethan sourly. Ethan blinked innocently back.
Collis was peering at the notice board. “I say, Clara, you’ve captured him exactly.”
Ethan leaned forward. “Who?”
“Later,” Etheridge practically barked. “Clara, you should go rest in the attic. I’ll check in on you later.”
Lady Etheridge only looked indulgently at her husband and shook her head. “Mr. Damont is not going to importune me, Dalton. You’ve made yourself very clear.” She looked at Ethan. “Hasn’t he, Mr. Damont?”
Ethan nodded emphatically. “Yes, my lady. You are Lady Etheridge and I am not suicidal.”
She turned back to say, “There, you see?”
Etheridge only grunted. “Move on, Damont.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ethan retorted briskly. “Anything you say, my lord.”
Etheridge drew a breath and considered Ethan for a long moment. “I think we’ll start with Kurt.”
When Ethan followed Collis and his lordship down the back stair to the cellar, his first thought was that this place went on forever.
When he saw the scarred, shirtless giant crouching in a fighting stance in the center of a vast mat, Ethan’s second thought was that he ought to have been more polite to Lord Etheridge.
An hour later, Ethan was flat on his back on the mat, out of breath, out of ideas, and out of any will to go on living. Kurt stood over him. The giant grunted and held out one hand to pull Ethan up.
Lord Etheridge entered the room as Ethan made it to his feet.
“How did he do?”
Kurt folded massive arms over his enormous chest. “Not much of a boxer. ’E never laid a finger on me. Went down after one blow.”
“I see.” Etheridge looked disappointed but not surprised. If Ethan hadn’t been so breathless he might have been insulted.
Kurt grunted again. “Fast though. Took me an hour to land a hit.”
Etheridge looked stunned. “An hour?”
Kurt nodded. “ ’E could teach me a few things about dodgin’ blows.”
Ethan braced his hands on his knees, his chest heaving. “I’m a runner . . . not a fighter. All those irate . . . husbands.”
Etheridge turned to Collis, who was perched on a pile of equipment. Collis shrugged. “I wouldn’t have believed it either, but it’s true. He survived an hour against Kurt.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast in my life. He was a blur.”
Ethan could tell Etheridge was impressed, but his lordship only nodded. “On to Feebles, then.”
Collis jumped down and threw Ethan his shirt. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “This won’t hurt.”
Chapter Eleven
Feebles looked odd indoors, like a wild creature unsure of its surroundings. The little man’s eyes kept flickering to the door as if to make sure it was still open.
He and Ethan stood in a room that at first glance looked like a storeroom and at second glance like some medieval dungeon.
It was all locks, chains, safe boxes. There were even several grimy doors leaning against the walls, their keyholes shiny with use. And in the middle of the floor, being regarded with misty eyes of love and admiration by Mr. Feebles, stood a brand-new modern vault.
Ethan had managed the door locks after a bit of coaching and the padlocks were no match for the set of picks he was given. To tell the truth, he was enjoying himself immensely. There was something very satisfying about opening something that was meant to stay locked—about breaching something that was made to keep him out.
Now, however, it was time to tackle the vault. It was just the sort of thing rich men installed in their homes to hold valuables. Ethan regarded it uneasily. It was nearly as tall as Feebles himself and looked as impenetrable as solid stone. The entire thing seemed cast of iron. Even the hinges on the door were a
s thick as a fist.
“This be the new Valiant numerical-lock vault,” Feebles said reverently. “The same one Lord Maywell had delivered to Barkley Square yesterday mornin’ after he twigged that we’d been in his hidey-hole durin’ the ball. Ye can’t drill it, ye can’t smash it, ye can’t even move it without six men and a draft cart.”
“Right.” Ethan stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Can’t be opened—got it.”
Feebles tilted his head and smiled gently at the vault. “Oh, ye can be opened, can’t ye, my darlin’?” he cooed.
Ethan eyed the strange little man carefully. He’d always rather liked Feebles. Nevertheless, he took a surreptitious step away. “How?”
Feebles put a finger to his lips. “Shh. All you have to do is listen to her.”
“Right.” Ethan took another step. Kurt had been one thing—a giant with fists like hammers, but certainly fathomable. Feebles was just plain eerie. He looked as though he were going to kiss that big iron box.
Feebles was leaning closer and closer, stroking his hand down the door to the complicated-looking latch.
“Uh . . . Feebles?”
Ethan drew back as Feebles pressed one cheek adoringly to the iron door and caressed the lock as delicately as if he were toying with the tips of a woman’s breasts. This was getting a bit too strange for Ethan. He wondered whether Feebles was going to come after him next—
The door to the vault popped open.
Ethan blinked. “I say, Feebles, that was amazing! Do it again.”
After a few more demonstrations, Ethan had his own cheek pressed to the iron door and was twiddling the lock as enthusiastically as he’d ever tickled a bosom.
Feebles hovered. “Listen . . . listen . . .”
Ethan glanced up at him. “Do you mind?”
Feebles raised his hands apologetically, but kept bouncing on his toes around Ethan. Ethan ignored the little man, devoting as much attention to listening to the tiny clicks inside the lock as he ever had to interpreting the music of a woman’s ecstatic cries.
It took several tries, but finally Ethan heard the last tumbler click into place. “Come on, lover,” he whispered. He lifted the lever and the latch came loose. The door swung open in a heavy congratulatory wave.