by Amanda Quick
Joshua consigned Euston and his own past to hell and went up the steps of the club. An elderly porter materialized out of the front hall to block his path.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Joshua took the envelope containing one of the old calling cards from his pocket and handed it to the porter. “I have a message for Lord Allenby. Please give this to him immediately and tell him that I will wait in my carriage.”
The porter eyed the envelope with suspicion but he accepted it.
“I will give him your message, sir.”
The porter’s tone of voice implied that he did not expect that there would be a response. He disappeared back into the club and closed the door very firmly.
Joshua limped back to the carriage and climbed the steps into the cab. He sat down and massaged his leg while he waited. Not much longer now, he promised himself. There will be brandy soon.
The wonderful thing about the gentlemen’s clubs of London was that time stood still inside the walls of the establishments. Change came at an excruciatingly slow pace, if ever. Joshua had always found the predictability and dependability of the members’ habits extremely useful. Allenby, for example, took pride in always possessing the latest gossip. And when it came to passing that gossip along, he was extraordinarily reliable.
Allenby, a portly man of some seventy years, appeared on the front step of the club. He spotted the carriage on the far side of the street and started toward it.
“Won’t you join me, sir?” Joshua said from the shadows of the unlit cab.
“I say, it is you, isn’t it? Smith’s Messenger.” Allenby clambered up into the vehicle and sat down. “I recognize your voice. Heard you were dead. I suspected someone might be playing a trick.”
“Thank you for making time to see me,” Joshua said.
“Of course, of course. Old times and all that. I will always be in your debt, sir, for what you did for my son a few years ago. Glad to see you are, indeed, still alive. What can I do for you?”
“As it happens, I would like to request a small favor from you.”
“Absolutely, absolutely,” Allenby said.
Joshua settled deeper into the corner of the cab. “I have recently learned some disturbing news concerning the character of a gentleman named Euston.”
“Euston? Euston?” Allenby squinted. “The young man they say is angling after the Pennington heiress?”
“Yes,” Joshua said. “Euston is not quite what he seems, unfortunately. His finances are in ruins and he invented his social connections.”
“Hah. Fortune hunter, eh?”
“I’m afraid so. You are acquainted with the young lady’s father. Thought you might want to put a word in his ear.”
“Certainly, certainly,” Allenby said. “Known Pennington for years. We were at Oxford together. Least I can do is let him know there’s a fortune hunter after his girl.”
“Thank you.”
“Will that be all?” Allenby asked.
“Yes. I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
“Of course, of course.” Allenby paused and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t presume to inquire why you haven’t been around this past year but the porter mentioned a cane.”
“I use a walking stick these days,” Joshua said.
“Accident, eh?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Well, then, may I say that I am delighted to know that you survived,” Allenby said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll be off then. Pennington will no doubt be dropping into the club later tonight. I’ll make sure he gets the information about Euston.”
Allenby lumbered out of the cab and made his way across the street.
And that was that, Joshua thought. By morning Euston would be persona non grata in all of the wealthy homes of London. Gossip traveled faster than a flooded river through the gentlemen’s clubs of London.
Six
Half an hour later Joshua climbed the front steps of his small town house. He had purchased the residence several years earlier when he had become the Lion’s Messenger. His requirements at the time had been simple. He had needed privacy. A modest address in a quiet street where the neighbors minded their own business had suited him perfectly. None of the respectable people around him had any notion that the occupant of Number Five carried out clandestine investigations for the Crown. As far as they were concerned he was a single man of modest means surviving on the income he received as a clerk employed by a shipping company.
The town house had been closed for the past year but the always reliable Chadwick had done a remarkable job of making arrangements for the hurried move back to London.
Joshua let himself into the dimly lit front hall. He removed his hat and sent it sailing across the small space toward the polished console table. He allowed himself to take some satisfaction when the hat landed precisely where he had intended. His bad leg made it impossible for him to move at anything faster than a halting walk and many of the fluid martial arts maneuvers that had once upon a time been second nature to him were impossible now.
But, damnation, when it came to his hat his aim was as good as ever.
“Impressive, Gage,” he said to the man in the mirror. “The next time you get into a hat duel you will most certainly trounce your opponent.”
The man with the badly scarred face and the soulless eyes gazed back at him.
He made a note to instruct Chadwick to remove the looking glass in the morning.
He propped the cane against the console long enough to strip off his gloves and peel away his coat. Chadwick would know that he was home. Chadwick knew everything that went on inside his domain. But he also knew that unless he was summoned there was no need to leave his bed.
Joshua set the gloves on the table, gripped the cane and went down the hall to his study. He did not bother to turn up the lamp. His night vision had always been excellent. The moonlight slanting through the windows was sufficient to allow him to see what he was doing.
He unknotted his tie, opened the collar of his shirt and crossed the room to the brandy table.
He splashed brandy into a glass and sank cautiously down onto one of the leather wingback chairs. He stretched out his left leg. It was throbbing more than usual. He was going to pay a price for hauling the unconscious Euston up into the carriage.
But the cost, however high, was worth it, he reflected. He had found the elusive Beatrice.
Seven
Beatrice opened the door of the pleasant little town house shortly before dawn. George, who worked for Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh as a coachman and general errand-runner, waited in the street with the small, aging carriage until she was safely inside the front hall. She paused on the threshold.
“Thank you, George,” she said. “Sorry to bring you out at this hour of the night.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss Lockwood.” George tipped his hat. “Not that long until sunup. By the time I get home the household will be stirring and there will be coffee and breakfast.”
He slapped the reins lightly against the horse’s rump. The vehicle rolled off down the street.
Beatrice closed the door and shot the bolt on the lock. The house was very quiet. Mrs. Rambley, the housekeeper, was still abed in her private quarters near the kitchen. Clarissa Slate would also be asleep.
The wall sconces had been turned down for the night but they gave enough light to illuminate the stairs. Beatrice made her way up to the bedroom floor and went along the hall.
The door of one of the bedrooms opened. Clarissa appeared, a candle in one hand. By day she affected a severe appearance. She wore her dark hair pinned into a prim knot and used spectacles to veil her serious amber eyes. Her gowns were always so dark and so strictly tailored that most people assumed she was in perpetual mourning. But tonight, clad in
a white cotton nightgown, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, she looked very different—far more innocent and vulnerable.
Of course, appearances were always deceptive when it came to the lady investigators who worked for Flint & Marsh, Beatrice reminded herself. They all had their own secrets.
“I heard George’s carriage in the street,” Clarissa said. “Why are you coming home at such an hour? Did something go wrong in the Pennington case? Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Beatrice assured her. “The case concluded quite suddenly at the Trent ball tonight. Richard Euston made his move. He attempted to abduct Miss Pennington with the intention of compromising her so that she would be forced to marry him.”
“He did not succeed, I trust?”
“No, but the situation became complicated and makes for a long story. I promise I will tell you everything in the morning.”
Clarissa smiled. “Not much longer, in that case. It is nearly dawn. Try to get some sleep.”
“I doubt if I will be able to do that. You know how it is after a case concludes. There is always that edgy sensation.”
“I understand,” Clarissa said gently. “Perhaps a hot bath and a dose of brandy would help.”
Beatrice smiled. “I stopped by the office before I came home. Mrs. Flint and Mrs. Marsh have already plied me with brandy. Go back to your bed. I promise I will tell you every detail in the morning.”
“Very well.” Clarissa made to close the door. “It’s good to have you home safe and sound. I had an uneasy feeling all evening. I was starting to become worried and was about to send a message around to Flint and Marsh to see if all was well. But then the sensation faded.”
“Your intuition was not off,” Beatrice said. “For a time there was some danger involved for Miss Daphne, but in the end all was well. Unfortunately, there is another rather heavy boot yet to drop.”
Clarissa’s dark brows rose. “A boot?”
“His name is Joshua Gage.”
Eight
Mr. Gage is here?” Beatrice looked up from the morning papers, a shivery thrill of excitement and dread spiking through her. “Are you quite certain, Mrs. Rambley?”
The housekeeper was a formidable woman of some forty years. She was constructed along the lines of a sturdy Greek statue. She made no secret that she was offended by the implication that she might have gotten the identity of the caller wrong.
“That was the name the gentleman gave me.” Mrs. Rambley drew herself up and peered down her imposing nose. “He said that you are expecting him.”
“Not at ten o’clock in the morning,” Beatrice said, exasperated.
She and Mrs. Rambley were alone in the house. Clarissa had left an hour earlier to receive the details of her new assignment for Flint & Marsh.
Mrs. Rambley’s irritation changed abruptly into anxiety. Beatrice immediately felt guilty. It was not the housekeeper’s fault that Joshua Gage had chosen to arrive at this hour. Mrs. Rambley was still adjusting to her unconventional employers and their unconventional careers. She was worried now that she had made a serious mistake by allowing a gentleman caller into the small household.
“I will tell Mr. Gage that you are not at home,” she said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He does look quite dangerous. There’s a fearful scar on his face and I would not want to know how he came by that limp. I’m sure the story would chill one’s blood.” She started to turn away.
“Don’t bother, Mrs. Rambley. I don’t think there’s much point suggesting that he leave. From what little I have seen of him, Mr. Gage is not easy to get rid of. Please show him into the parlor. And I do apologize for snapping at you.”
“No need,” Mrs. Rambley said gruffly. “It is certainly a bit early in the day to be receiving visitors.”
“Especially male visitors,” Beatrice said. “No need to be shy about it, Mrs. Rambley. I know what you are thinking and I agree with you. This is not proper. The real question here is, what in heaven’s name can Gage be thinking?”
Mrs. Rambley’s face tightened in concern. “Are you worried that he might be a problem, ma’am? Do you think he might attempt to impose himself on you in some way? I can send for a constable.”
“It would certainly be interesting to see how Gage might deal with a constable, but we will forgo the experiment. And yes, I anticipate that Mr. Gage will prove to be a problem, but I’m quite certain he is not a danger to my person.”
“If you’re sure, ma’am.”
Beatrice thought about what she had seen in Gage’s footsteps last night. There was good reason to be cautious around him. But she could not summon up any great fear of the man. Anticipation, yes, and curiosity, too. Both emotions made sense. But she could not explain the inexplicable thrill that came from knowing that he was right here, in her home, waiting for her.
“Quite certain,” she said.
“Very well, then.”
Mrs. Rambley left the doorway and went back down the hall.
Beatrice rose and moved to the door. She listened as Mrs. Rambley showed Joshua into the parlor. The sound of his voice, low and intensely masculine, stirred her senses, just as it had last night. So much for thinking that things would be different in the daylight.
Mrs. Rambley hurried back to the breakfast room. “I’ll bring in a tea tray, ma’am.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Beatrice began.
But Mrs. Rambley was already rushing off toward the kitchen.
Beatrice took a deep, steadying breath, drew herself up, straightened her shoulders and went along the hall to the parlor. She deliberately tried to make as little noise as possible in what she knew would no doubt be a futile attempt to catch Joshua off-guard. She wore a plain housedress. There was no street-sweeper ruffle at the bottom to rustle and swish against the floor. The soft leather soles of her slippers muffled her light footsteps.
She paused in the doorway and heightened her senses, opening them to glance at the floor. Dark energy burned in Joshua’s footsteps but she saw nothing that made her alter her first impressions of him. This was a man of ice and fire; a man capable of great passions but also of ironclad control.
If a woman were so unfortunate as to find herself trapped in hell, this was surely the man she would want to come for her.
He stood at the window, both hands locked around the hilt of his cane. He had his back to her and gave no indication that he had heard her. She smiled to herself. He knew she was there.
He was well dressed, she thought, but in a quiet, unobtrusive manner. His coat and trousers were of the darkest possible shade of charcoal gray. She suspected that he frequently wore somber colors. They certainly suited him.
“Good morning, Mr. Gage,” she said, keeping her tone polite but cool. “I wasn’t expecting you for breakfast.”
He turned politely toward her as though only now becoming aware of her presence. For the first time she got a close view of his hard, scarred face in the light of day. His raptor eyes were a fascinating mix of green and gold. The flicker of amusement that came and went in the depths told her that he had known precisely where she was at every step of the way when she had made the journey from the morning room to the parlor. She also knew that he was aware that she had tried to keep her approach silent.
Good grief, she thought, we are playing some sort of cat-and-mouse game with each other. It is as if we find each other a challenge.
Joshua had never so much as touched her. The closest they had come to a physical connection had been last night in the garden when he had given her his card. Yet there was an unsettling intimacy between them, at least there was on her side, she thought. The sensation stirred things deep inside her and caused her pulse to beat a little faster. All morning she had been trying to convince herself that the sensations she had experienced last night had been generated by the danger and excitemen
t of events. This morning she was no longer so certain. There was something else between them, she thought. Something inexplicable. Something mysterious.
“My apologies for interrupting your breakfast, Miss Lockwood,” Joshua said. His tone was as coolly polite as hers. “I’m an early riser myself. I sometimes forget that others sleep late, especially after what must have been a very long night for you.”
From out of nowhere one of Roland Fleming’s rules came back to her. Do not take the stage unless you are prepared to take control of it and the audience.
“I am accustomed to long nights,” she said. She walked into the room. “In my profession, they tend to occur frequently.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“One of the many questions that kept me awake after I finally did go to bed concerned the fate of Mr. Richard Euston.”
“Euston will no longer be a problem for Miss Pennington.”
“He might be if his body is fished out of the river this morning. Everyone knows that he was spending a great deal of time in Miss Pennington’s company. It would be unfortunate if word got around that his suit was rejected and that he took his own life in despair. Some might be led to believe that Miss Daphne is a callous and cruel young lady.”
Joshua looked at her for a long, considering moment. She got the impression that he was not accustomed to having his decisions and actions questioned.
“I stopped by Euston’s lodgings on my way here,” he said eventually. “His landlord informed me that Euston had packed his things and departed for the Continent.”
“Fascinating. And how very convenient for all concerned.”
“I’m a great believer in convenient answers,” Joshua said.
She smiled and sank down onto the sofa. “Nevertheless, I would very much like to know what induced Mr. Euston to leave the country on such short notice?”
“Does it matter?”