14. November, 1826

14

NOVEMBER, 1826

NO. 3 GROSVENOR STREET, MAYFAIR

N ovember, 1826

No.3 Grosvenor Street

Mayfair, London

The minute Hamish handed his hat and cane to Young Rutherford at the front door of No. 3 Grosvenor Street, Saida poked her head out of her little parlor and motioned for him to join her.

When he tentatively approached the door, she pulled him inside and shut the door behind him. "Where have you been all afternoon?" She stood on her tip-toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I, um…I had some business to attend to."

"What kind of business?"

"Um…papers, that's it. I had to sign some papers to turn over my practice to young Dr. Goodenough." Hamish bit his tongue in frustration. He was terrible at dissembling, and he feared Saida would sense immediately something was amiss.

She gave him a knowing smile, and returned to a pile of sewing she'd been working on in front of a cheery coal fire. Pieces of bright blue silk lay everywhere, and she wielded a needle and thread as if she were going to attack someone with implements of war.

He squatted down to her level where she'd returned to her perch on an oversized pillow she'd been sitting on whilst sewing. "What are you making?"

"Oh, nothing special. I thought I might save the earl some money and make a few things on my own."

Hamish was fairly certain that was a lie, but who was he to judge? He had his own secrets to hide. Earlier, that day, before he'd been summoned to the meeting with Captain El, he'd been ready to bare his soul to Saida about how he felt about her, to ask her if she could come to love him too.

He knew they could build a life together back in Inverness once they survived the madness with the blackmailer that now seemed as if it would never end.

Just when he'd been about to work up his courage to tell her what was in his heart, her blasted cockatoo must have sensed he was in the room.

"Oh, Hamish," the bird sing-songed, mimicking Saida's voice. Saida rose from her cushion and walked over to the cage which still had a muslin covering hiding the raucous creature within.

"Why, Aji? Why must you taunt poor Hamish?" Suddenly the huge bird changed tactics. "Here, Kitty, here, Kitty," he burbled in an exact imitation of Lily's voice. No wonder her fellow mistress's poor pet kitten was terrified of the cockatoo. She shook her head and took off his covering in spite of his naughty tricks.

Hamish could have sworn the bird gave him a mocking look, but that was surely impossible. He had to get hold of himself before Framlingwood's havey-cavey household got the best of him.

Col had no more than left Captain El's drawing room and was walking down the hallway toward the front entrance of the ducal mansion when he heard a loud whisper as he passed the library. He started out of his train of thought and backed up. Perseus Whitcombe, Duke of Chelmsford, was frantically beckoning him into the library.

Now what?

"Your Grace?"

"Get in here, Col. I need your help."

Percy looked in both directions outside the entrance before shutting the door as quietly as possible and returning to Col's side.

"Have a seat." He pointed to a comfortable, overstuffed chair by the fireplace and joined Col there after pouring each of them a tot of brandy.

"I heard about the Cyprians' Ball. You have to take me with you."

Col's eyes widened. "Why, Your Grace?"

"My wife is going to be there. I can't let her go alone. Haven't you ever heard the horrible stories about the Marquess of Wynchmas?"

"Wait…who?"

"The Marquess of Wynchmas. He's capable of some of the worst perversions ever perpetrated at one of these events.

"What does he have to do with the Cyprians' Ball?"

"He's the one who rents the Argyll Rooms and sells the tickets for these lewd events. I can't let Eleanor go there alone."

"But, she's going to be surrounded by nearly an army of guards. She'll be fine. And then there's the other thing."

"What other thing?" His Grace demanded.

Col gulped. "Well…she's Captain El, queen of the smugglers, you know…Your Grace."

Percy lifted his chin and gave him a stubborn look. "That's pure rubbish, and you know it. She needs her husband at her side."

Just then El swung open the library door and gave her husband a murderous look. "Why don't you invite Prinny while you're at it?" she shouted.

The duke faced her nearly nose-to-nose and shouted right back, "He's already got an invitation."

"You don't know that," she accused.

He sniffed. "I have friends in high places."

Col wanted to throw himself on the floor and throw a loud tantrum like his daughter sometimes did. What had he ever done to deserve getting involved with this attics-to-let family?

"Col—with me." The duchess gave an angry snap of her fingers and headed toward the hallway.

When Col shot the duke an apologetic look over his shoulder, the man merely gave him his usual raised eyebrow look followed by a wicked smile.

Col's ear nearly ached from the bruising conversation he'd had with the duchess when he was finally headed through the door held open by their butler who helpfully held out his hat and cane.

He set off on foot toward his rooms on Great Queen Street near Covent Garden and had gone no more than two or streets away when he became aware of being followed. He side-stepped into an alley and carefully surveyed the street behind him.

Balls and goose feathers— . This case was now officially the worst he'd ever been paid to investigate. An impressive black coach with touches of gold paint sat patiently in the street behind him, waiting for him to reappear. Intricate gilded designs would make the elegant coach an easy target in the neighborhood where he was headed.

The worst part, however, was the coat of arms on the door, the coat of arms of the Duke of Chelmsford, who was waving a white glove and beckoning to Col to join him. He hesitated, but then realized he couldn't escape the great looby if he tried. He stepped into the street and climbed up into the massive coach with Percy.