Lady Be Good Page 16

  “They’ll close that down. The czar is sending a proxy to bid—his people will insist on the closure, for security.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Yes.” Since the appearance of the damned candelabrum, he had been in steady communication with the Russian embassy. Obolensky seemed skeptical that Bolkhov yet lived; the possibility indicated a failure of intelligence among his own men, spies throughout London who kept tabs on Russians.

  Still, he had agreed to investigate. Capturing Bolkhov would be a great boon to his career. The general had absconded from his post, taking half his troops with him. Mutinies were not the kind of insult the Russian government forgot or forgave.

  “A risky ploy,” said Ashmore soberly. “If they catch him first, we’ll never know it.”

  “That won’t happen.” To remain forever uncertain of Bolkhov’s fate would be tantamount to a curse designed to drive Christian mad.

  “Look. Here comes Catherine Everleigh.” Ashmore handed him the field glass.

  Catherine’s traveling cloak billowed as she swept down the front steps. At her heels hurried Lilah, looking harried and cross. He could make a good guess about what had put that expression on her face.

  “Something amuse you?”

  Christian realized he’d begun to smile. “That woman has a natural gift for unpleasantness.”

  “Is that your spy trailing her?”

  He nodded.

  “Brilliant strategy,” Ashmore said, “employing hostesses for an auction house. My wife is considering the same for her perfumeries. Says she could cut the product in half and sell twice as much, as long as the salesgirls were pretty.”

  For some reason, the remark rubbed him wrong. “She’s got a brain,” he said. “Lilah, I mean.”

  “Oh? I’m sorry to hear it.”

  Christian snorted. “I’d imagine your wife would object to that remark.” Blindfolded and drunk, Mina Granville could have outwitted a chess master. Her company spanned the Atlantic, supplying perfumes and lotions to every debutante from Philadelphia to Warsaw.

  Ashmore cut him an odd look. “So she would. But we’re not speaking of wives.”

  Christian checked the impulse to argue. “You’re right,” he said. A stupid woman would have served him better.

  But her company would not have been nearly so satisfying. Without Lilah at Buckley Hall, he’d have lost his mind by now.

  She was not merely a distraction. It had begun to trouble him deeply that he had involved her in this game. She deserved better. She deserved . . . a tower. Some profoundly safe place, where she could watch from the window, well above the messy fray, and want for nothing.

  Ashmore was still watching him. “Time must drag in the country,” he drawled. “It occurs to me to wonder—however are you keeping yourself occupied?”

  Christian snorted. He would need to be deaf to miss the ribbing note in the other man’s words. “I take regular walks.”

  “Not alone, I hope?”

  “Indeed. Marvelous for the constitution.”

  “Mm. Do you know what else profits a man’s constitution? Or shall I spare your bachelor sensibilities?”

  “Stuff it.” He ignored Ashmore’s delighted smile and turned his glass toward Catherine Everleigh. There was his proper concern, damn it.

  Catherine was turning a tight circle on the pavement, evidently searching for a carriage that should have been waiting. She drew her hands out of her muff, jabbing the air for emphasis as she spoke up to the footmen.

  The men rushed down the steps to her. One bowed low; the other bounded down the street, hunting between parked vehicles.

  “Coachman gone missing,” Ashmore observed.

  “God help him.” Christian handed back the field glasses. “I should follow.”

  “Who? They’re splitting up.”

  Christian wheeled back. Catherine was stalking down the pavement toward the footman, who had located coach and driver. Lilah, meanwhile, had turned on her heel in the opposite direction.

  He swore. “She’s meant to follow Catherine. She knows this. All times, I said.”

  Ashmore shoved the glasses back into the case. “You go with Catherine. I’ll follow the other one.”

  “Lilah.” He caught Ashmore’s look. “That’s her name.”

  Ashmore cocked a brow. “I’ll remember that. Are you certain you have your lovely Lilah managed? For she appears to be hailing a cab.”

  Christian resisted a black urge to laugh. Managed was not how he would describe it. He shoved aside the memory of how she sounded when she moaned, instead thinking of a more recent moment.

  She was very good with a knife. For a clerk’s daughter, she was too good, and too calm under pressure, by far. And for a thief . . . she chose to steal objects of no use to her whatsoever. For her ordinary master, she said.

  Christ. He cursed through lips that had gone numb. Could he have been such a fool?

  “You follow Catherine,” he bit out. “I’ll make sure I haven’t pulled an adder into the nest.”

  Neddie’s tavern was windowless, the air thick with smoke, most of it wafting from her uncle’s cigar. Lilah waved it away. “Can’t you put that out? Since when did you favor tobacco?”

  “Gentleman’s habit.” He sucked the tip into a fire-bright glow. “Getting soft,” he added when she coughed. “Must be that country air rotting your lungs. Where did you say you’ve been?”

  She hadn’t told him. A good thing, too. Otherwise he might have written her at Buckley Hall. As it was, she’d nearly choked when Susie Snow had handed over his letter this morning. “You can’t write to me,” she told him now. “It’s too risky.”

  Nick’s silver eyes narrowed as he tapped his cigar, casting ash onto the floor. The ground was already thick with discarded shells, sticky with spilled beer. “Fear I’ll sully your postbox?”

  She sighed. With other people, Nick plainly traded on his fearsome reputation. But with her, he got prickly about it. “I don’t lodge alone,” she said. “The other girl I share my room with—she also works at Everleigh’s, and she’s the greatest gossip alive. It’s a wonder she didn’t steam open the envelope.”

  Certainly Susie had been glad to speculate. A gentleman admirer? she had cooed. You’ve been busy in the country! You must tell us all about it.

  Fortunately, the other girls had been more interested in what Lilah could tell them about Lord Palmer. She had come up with some ridiculous story about the fine figure he cut on horseback. Miss Everleigh’s appearance had spared her the need to embroider further. She’d never been so grateful to be summoned for a scolding—this time, for forgetting her new position.

  If you wish to return to hostessing, you need only say the word, Miss Everleigh had snapped, before dismissing her for the afternoon to see to her own business before they reunited at Paddington Station.

  “All I’m saying,” Lilah told Nick, “is that until this business is done, you can’t write to me at all.”

  Her uncle shrugged. “She wouldn’t have found any interest in that note, unless she knows how to crack code—in which case, send her my way. I’ve got a project or two I could use a hand with.”

  Good Lord. She could just imagine what he’d do with Susie. Like a cat handed a limping mouse, he’d grow bored and shred her in five seconds. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve blended in at Everleigh’s. I do nothing to draw notice; otherwise I’d never have made it so far. I don’t want anyone getting curious about me.”

  Old Neddie came over with a pint and a basket of fried oysters. Nick thanked him with a fat coin, far too generous; he owned this place, after all, and could have eaten for free. But it was his strategy to keep his old friends thickly buttered.

  He rolled his cigar in his fingers, studying her. “You’ve got a lot of fear in you, Lily. I don’t remember you being so timid.”

  By old habit, the words stung. She reminded herself that she wasn’t a part of this world anymore. In her new life, timid
ity wasn’t a weakness. It was ladylike. “I’ve got something to lose now. But I shouldn’t have to tell you that.” He was a fine hypocrite, making her feel guilty about turning her back on her kin, when he was trading on threats to manipulate her. “You’re counting on me wanting to keep my position. Otherwise your threats wouldn’t work, and you’d have no hope of getting back those letters.”

  “I’ve made no threats today,” he said. “But I thank you for the reminder. You got the letters with you?”

  She’d been dreading this question since she’d deciphered his demand for a meeting. “Not yet. But soon.”

  He made no reply. He didn’t need to. His silence, and the slight cruel smile that curved his full lips, spoke the threat for him.

  “You always stood by your word before,” she said. “Has that changed? The last week of June, you said.”

  He sighed, then lifted one finger to signal the barman. “You’ll wet your lips before you go.”

  “Why do you need the letters, anyway? None of those men is rich enough to be worth your time. They’re mere vestrymen, not a fat cat among them.”

  He glanced back at her, his dark face thoughtful. “Why would you need to know?”

  When she’d worked for him, she’d been too young to share fully in his confidences. But he’d trusted her. He’d sometimes even asked her advice. She felt the loss of that now, a funny little pang. It wasn’t only she who’d turned her back here. “Never mind,” she said.

  Neddie brought over a mug, slammed it down in front of her, and then stalked off in his usual cheerful way. “You drink it,” she told Nick. “Miss—I can’t go back to work with liquor on my breath.”

  “Miss Everleigh wouldn’t like it?” Nick purred.

  She caught her breath. There was no way he could know she was working for Miss Everleigh, unless . . .

  Cold purled down her spine. “You’ve a spy,” she said. “At the auction house?”

  He offered her a gentle smile. “Apart from my dear niece? Why, what a suspicious man it would make me, if I thought you weren’t sufficient.” He picked up the mug, forced it into her hand. “We’ll toast your successes,” he said. “My Lily’s moved up in the world. Assistant to the pretty owner.” He lifted his own drink. “Sláinte.”

  She barely tasted the ale. “Why? Why would you care what happens at Everleigh’s?”

  “You’re there,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

  She didn’t believe for a moment that he worried for her. Not as a habit. Had he been so inclined, he never would have trained her into a thief, and set her on her first job at thirteen years of age. “You’ve no cause to fear for me.”

  “No?” He eyed her. “Crossing swords with viscounts, and cozening pretty rich girls . . . you’ve set yourself up for a mighty grand fall, I think.”

  “But you’d be glad to see me fall,” she said softly. He’d said it often enough. “My comeuppance. You’ve been waiting for it, haven’t you?”

  He sighed. “I’d be glad to see you back where you belong, Lily. So much talent going to waste, while you lick those swells’ boots.” He paused. “Of course, you’ve not been licking boots recently. What kept you away these last few weeks?”

  She knew him too well to miss the silken note in his voice. This was the voice he used when interrogating a man, before he turned to force. “You can’t . . . you can’t doubt me?”

  He ran his finger around the rim of his tankard, considering. “Tell me where you’ve been, and I’ll think on my answer.”

  God above. She’d had nightmares about this moment. She didn’t know everything about his business, but she still knew enough. That he’d let her make her own way was something of a miracle—but then, she was his niece. Blood must mean something!

  Blood did mean something. “I knew you thought me low. But to betray you? Why, you must think me some new form of dirt.”

  “Calm yourself.” He took a long sip. “I never accused you.”

  “Oh? What did you mean to say, then? Speaking to me as though I’m a—” She could not think of an insult low enough. “A McGowan—”

  “Here now,” he said curtly. “Lots of money flows through those auction rooms. Would have caught my interest, with or without you. But when you disappear from town without so much as a word, I’m bound to wonder where you went.”

  “Well, stop wondering.” She realized she had a stranglehold on her mug, and set it down with a thump. “I was at Lord Palmer’s estate.” No point in lying, when the truth would serve her better. “The man who caught me—he’s the one who got me the position with Miss Everleigh. I’m helping her ready his estate for auction.”

  Nick’s expression didn’t alter a whit. “Curious of him,” he said. “Inviting a known thief under his roof.”

  “And into his bed, if he has his way.”

  Her uncle’s face darkened. “That’s how you’re getting back those notes?”

  She felt a spiteful pleasure in his reaction. This was what he had driven her to. His own niece. “Maybe so.”

  His jaw flexed. He loosed a harsh breath, then growled, “Are you willing?”

  She wouldn’t push her revenge further. If Nick thought Palmer meant to force her, he’d go after him, rank be damned. Nick would probably enjoy it the more, for the fact that Palmer was a lord.

  But the truth was hard to speak, even so. “Yes,” she muttered. “God help me. I’m too willing.”

  He grimaced. “Ah.” He bolted the rest of his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, then. That’s a different brand of foolishness.”

  “Idiocy,” she whispered. “I know it.”

  He looked at her narrowly. “You watch out for yourself, Lily. These toffs aren’t like us. Don’t see us as people. He’ll use and discard you without losing a night of sleep.”

  “I know it.” She was on her feet, though she didn’t remember how. Relief had brought wings with it; she could see in Nick’s face that he was no longer doubting her. Instead he felt . . . pity.

  He stood to walk her out. “You know the way of it, I hope.” He cleared his throat. “To avoid complications, I mean.”

  His gruffness made her turn red. Good heavens. He was asking if she knew how to avoid pregnancy. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  At the door he paused, one palm pressed flat against the wood. “I mean it,” he said. “I can arrange for you to speak with someone. Peg Mulry would help.”

  Peg Mulry had used to watch her when she was small. Now Peg made her living at a high-class brothel. “Please don’t,” she said in a strangled voice, and shoved open the door.

  The sudden bright sunlight made Nick squint. “No use in prettiness,” he said curtly. “If it’s a career you want, a child would be the end of it.”

  “I know that.” She edged into the open lane. “But thanks so much, Uncle, it’s very kind of you to think of me.”

  He laughed at her. “Kind, is it? And now you’re fixing to run away, hands clapped to your ears. Is that how these nobs like their women? Empty-brained dolts?” He fluttered his lashes. “What’s a cock, m’lord? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “You’re awful!” She turned to stalk toward the high road, catching only at the last instant the way his face hardened.

  Too late for warning. A hand closed around her elbow. “What in God’s name,” Palmer bit out, “are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  For a single terrible moment, she felt certain that Nick would force a confrontation. His gaze pointed murderously at Palmer’s grip on her arm. “Lord Palmer!” she said loudly. “What a pleasant surprise!”

  Nick’s gaze lifted to hers. Turn away, she begged him silently. Just go.

  He went back into the tavern, slamming the door.

  “Friend of yours?” Palmer asked.

  She tried to pull free, but his grip was like iron. God save her! The streets here were full of eyes. The last thing she needed was a savior coming to intercede on her behalf, a
nd calling her by a name Palmer would not recognize.

  She laid her hand atop his, leaning into him in a welcoming manner. “Were you following me?” she asked with a smile.

  His lion’s eyes narrowed on her. “Obviously.”

  “Then you’ll drive me to Paddington Station?”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. He glanced back toward the pub. “Perhaps I should introduce myself first.”

  No. Neddie’s was Nick’s home turf. No matter the cause, he would not cede an inch of ground in that place. If Palmer went inside and confronted him, matters would turn ugly in an instant.

  “Please,” she said. But he looked mutinous. Changing tactics, she spoke to him as a soldier, quickly. “You’d need men at your back to go into that place. And there’s no call for it, anyway. I can explain.”

  After a moment, his posture loosened the slightest degree. “I’m sure you can. Whether you can be truthful is my concern.” But he turned her toward the high road.

  At their next step, a piercing cry split the air. A little boy bounced to his feet from a nearby stoop. “It’s Kit!” he cried. “You’re Kit, aren’t you! Look, it’s Kit!”

  A ball came bouncing out from an alley. Lilah braced herself. That alley was where the urchins liked to hide from Nick, who would force them to school if he caught them.

  Sure enough, in the next moment, a band of children swarmed into the road, surrounding them. “Good God,” Palmer muttered, for they were at the center of a scrum, surrounded by small tugging hands and babbling demands for handshakes, autographs, a spare coin—

  This last request occasioned a shocked pause, followed by a flurry of high-pitched accusations. Somebody delivered a knock to the offender’s shoulder that sent him sprawling into the dirt. “Don’t ask him for money,” yelled a little girl. “You dolt, it’s our Kit! He’s a hero!”

  “No hitting,” Palmer boomed. The edict cast a spell of silence over the little crowd; a dozen grubby faces turned upward, amazed that their hero would talk to them.

  Lilah tried to ease away. Palmer’s grip tightened on her elbow. “Not an inch,” he said softly to her. Then, clearing his throat, he looked over the ragtag crew. “I will be glad to shake your hands. But first you will line up like proper soldiers.”