Chapter Six

C hapter S ix

S trange creature, did she not realize that they'd just passed a gang of thieves two moments ago?

She thought he liked this part of London and had favorite things?

As though he had a mind for enjoying anything in his life.

His life was satisfying. It was rewarding and made him proud. He never felt more alive than when he was on the hunt and in pursuit of his quarry. He worked hard, every minute of every day, and it invigorated him. He was damned good at what he did, but he hardly took a leisurely moment to himself to think about what he enjoyed or what aspects of his life were his favorites.

Sleep was his favorite thing at the moment because it was what he most wished for, but that wasn't exactly going to be appropriate conversation for them.

His favorite thing about this part of London? The part where he didn't get shot, shanked, or stolen from. The part where he could go about his tasks unencumbered by a complete innocent. The part where every hour of every day was his own to deal with as he saw fit. The part where he didn't have to bother with politeness every five minutes.

He loved being away from Society and the like. Hadn't missed it for a moment, apart from the lack of quality time with his sister. He'd never enjoyed balls or parties or the theatre, and he had certainly never enjoyed the rigamarole that was courtship. It was a relief to be written off as a wastrel and suspected to be somewhere in Austria or wherever the rumors claimed him to be.

Until his uncle died and he became the viscount in truth, he wouldn't have to do anything but what he was engaged in now. When he did come to inherit, that would be another story, but hopefully the Shopkeepers would not force him into retirement. He'd heard horror stories about good operatives being taken out of the field because of obligations to the peerage and such.

Hunter could not have cared less about his impending peerage. He didn't even know much about it, other than the name and the county of the country seat. There was probably some horrific marriage clause and some duty to try for an heir, which hadn't worked out well for his uncle, and Hunter had no interest in marriage or children, so if that could be avoided…

He could always see if his sister's son could inherit. Once she had one, anyway.

He didn't think Hal was with child at the moment, but he hadn't spoken with her in some time. It wasn't the sort of thing one put in a letter, so he'd had no word of it.

"What's that?"

He shook himself from his thoughts and frowned at the man with his wagon up ahead. "That is a hawker, and he is trying to sell things that have been pawned or stolen. The streets will be crawling with them in a few hours, but he is perhaps more ambitious than the rest."

The man saw Hunter and tapped his nose, which was exactly what he had been afraid of. This information, whatever it was, wouldn't come cheap and would likely be weak, but he was a trifle restricted at the moment.

"And it seems I need to talk to him," Hunter said on an irritated exhale. "Pretend to be interested in something in the cart. Anything. Don't leave the cart, do you understand me?"

Lucy gave him a sharp look. "Yes… why?"

Hunter only shook his head once. "Later." He gave her a warning look and stepped closer to the cart. "What do you have for me, Gus?"

"Scrawny ginger spotted down St. Giles way with a couple of frogs," the burly man said as he rifled through a basket of tarnished jewelry. "Real interested in empty buildings and storage."

Hunter's ears began to burn, but in truth, it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. He knew that the man he wanted was somewhere in his seedy network, and he knew the man was interested in buildings. Why and how and where hadn't become evident yet, but it likely had something to do with the shipment that had come in a few weeks ago, which would probably be followed by more.

People and weapons. That's what the Faction was sending into England at the moment, almost as though an invasion was planned. But none of the information coming across the Channel from their operatives spoke of any specific events or occasions in the near future. And they were deep in the ranks of the Faction, in some cases, so they would know.

And yet…

"Anything specific about the buildings or the frogs?" Hunter asked, picking up a tankard and glancing at Lucy to make sure she was still close. "Or a more precise location?"

Gus scratched at the scruff on his jowls, looking up at the sky in speculation. "Nope. But I did hear that he bets a good game."

Ah-ha, now that was interesting. Not that it would necessarily assist him in his investigation, as the gaming establishments in St. Giles and the surrounding areas were more numerous than the brothels or orphans, but it was a direction, which he always appreciated.

"All right," Hunter muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some coins. "Here's for your troubles."

Gus frowned at it. "Ah, Trick…"

Hunter held up a silencing finger. "If it pans out according to your word, I'll bring you more. Especially if you find your memory able to narrow things down."

The eager light that entered the man's eye had nothing to do with honor or country and everything to do with greed and opportunity. "I shall see what my ears can pick up, Trick. You can count on me." He lifted the filthy cap on his head in a sort of bow.

Hunter nodded and started around the cart, taking Lucy by the arm and walking away with her. "I can count on him, all right. Count on him to give me just enough to be useful and not enough to be acted upon."

"Then why talk to him at all?" Lucy whispered.

"Because I need to maintain contacts everywhere." Hunter shrugged easily and nudged her across the street so they might turn the corner and move uptown. "You never know when one of them will actually say something that helps."

Lucy made no move to shake her arm free of his hold as she looked up at him. "Help with what? What is it you do?"

Hunter exhaled a short laugh. "That is a much longer conversation. Suffice it to say, I work in information. Investigation, if you like, for this party and that. It's not clear cut, and it is not particularly honorable most of the time, but there it is."

"Do people die working for you? Or with you?"

"Not lately."

If he shocked her with that statement, she gave no indication of it. In fact, she only dipped her chin in a nod.

Hunter watched her out of the corner of his eye, curious about this pretty stranger who taught future spies without knowing it and could talk of death without paling, yet flushed at the use of a mild expletive on her part and saw herself as a tree blossom.

"Were you talking about my father?" she asked in a small voice. "With him, I mean."

"No," he said in a rush, hoping she hadn't heard their conversation. It would take a great deal of explaining to make any sense of it if she had, and he would have to keep track of whatever story he told her. "I have several people looking for your father and seeking out information. They will find me when they have something."

She nodded again, and this time, gently pulled her arm from his hold. "I don't understand why I was taken to the wrong place. You examined that entire street, did you not? To see if he lived there?"

"I did," Hunter assured her. "None of the homes were his, and none of the inhabitants had heard of him."

Lucy bit down on her full bottom lip, which made her appear very young and childlike as her brow creased with it. "We used to live on Leadenhall Street, if it would help to know that."

It wouldn't, but Hunter wasn't about to tell her such things. "I'll see if my finer contacts can suss out any information from former neighbors of yours."

"I doubt they'd know," Lucy admitted on a sigh. "Father hated being in Cheapside. It is a wonder he agreed to cut costs at all. I had hoped it meant he was finally gaining some sense about the situation, but I can only think it was by force. But if he was still being social before he left Cheapside, it is possible that Mrs. Kirby might know. She was very considerate of us."

She trailed off, looking, ironically, in the correct direction for Mayfair with a whimsical, almost lost expression.

"Lucy?" Hunter prodded hesitantly, nudging her side.

She shook her head, dark tresses bouncing wildly. "Sorry, just remembering. You won't have any idea who Mrs. Kirby is, but her niece Emmeline used to teach at Miss Masters's as well. She's a countess now, of all things."

That detail meant he knew exactly who she was talking about, though he could never admit it. Not that he knew Mrs. Kirby, but he knew her niece, who was indeed a countess, but also an operative known as Ears. She was just as talented in the lower levels of London as Hunter, though in different ways. He'd heard about her for years, never knowing she was a woman, but one of these days, he really hoped to work with her.

And Briar, if they could ever really team up.

"I will see what I can do with this new information," Hunter told her, biting the inside of his cheek at the falsehood. "Don't distress yourself; we will find him."

Lucy seemed to laugh without actually doing more than sigh. "I might find myself more distressed when we do find him, Trick. I have no idea where he is or how he is living, no idea if anything I have been told in his letters is true. I have no idea if we even have any money at all. I haven't known a moment's peace since my mother passed, when it comes to my father and my home. It would be a relief to marry and no longer be under his control, but then I would be under someone else's control, and if my father has a hand in the match, it will likely be someone in his pocket. Or my father would be in theirs. So my teaching is my freedom for now. My peace of mind. My sanity. What should be considered falling from my station is the most reassuring thing I have in my life. What does that say about my personal state of affairs, hmm?"

He had no idea how to respond to that, but it hurt something inside of him to hear it. Something in the center of his chest that connected to the base of his spine. What a morose prospect she had for her life, even if all was well with her father and this had all been some error of fate.

Not quite the delicate life of a short-lived tree blossom, was it?

"Sorry," Lucy muttered, folding her arms and looking away. "I broke a few rules. Rambling, for one. And I said your name. Probably means we'll be attacked momentarily, right?"

He hadn't even thought of the rules, as it happened. He was far too busy growing fascinated by her commentary, rambling though it might have been.

He cleared his throat and made a point of looking around them. "Well, perhaps not imminently, but I shall keep my eye out. One never knows from which direction danger may spring."

His attempt to make her laugh failed, unless he counted the quirk of her top lip as a sign of amusement.

"What should I call you, then?" Lucy asked. "I hardly think you'll appreciate my picking random names throughout the day, if I cannot address you by the only name I know…"

"Call me Hunter," he said before he could stop himself, every single fiber of his body shrieking in outrage when he did so. Half of the toes on his left foot were instantly tingling, and his stomach resided somewhere behind his throat.

What in all of the devil's circles of hell had he done that for?

Ironically, this did make Lucy smile, and a wry arching of one brow was turned in his direction. "Another code name? You are an interesting character, are you not, Hunter?"

His throat dried at hearing his name from her lips, and it had nothing to do with her beauty or loveliness, nor the way her voice roughened as she said it.

Nobody called him Hunter. Even his sister called him Hunt or Idiot or Trouble more often than not.

But he, in a moment of sheer insanity, had given this young woman his real name. She could think it was another code or occupation or the like, but it was his name. The most intimate secret he had.

And he'd just blurted that out without thinking.

What sort of operative was he? All of these years and he made an idiotic move like this.

Time to retire. That was all there was to it. No other explanation was possible. No excuses.

"I try to be interesting," he managed to say, attempting an offhand manner of speaking to try and calm himself without looking like he had just betrayed himself like an amateur. "Whether or not I succeed is surely fodder for others to discuss."

"Which is another way of saying you are but you're too polite to say so." Lucy laughed through her nose alone, her lips twisting in a bemused smile. "Perhaps you are a gentleman in wolf's clothing after all."

Hunter shook his head. "If you think I'm the wolf around here, Lucy, you really do lead a sheltered life. But I will spare you nightmares and keep things at that."

"Villains exist in every dimension of life, high and low, Hunter. I am not about to dissolve into tears because the monsters here are scarier than the ones I know." She shrugged and rubbed her hands together, inhaling deeply. "London smells so different here."

"Do you want me to tell you why that is?" he offered playfully. "I would be happy to tell you exactly what you are smelling, if you're that curious."

Her head fell back on a throaty laugh that made the back of his right knee itch. "No, thank you. I only mean that it's different from last night, and even from leaving your lodgings this morning. It's just a little different, but it is."

"You're making a note of how London smells in various places?" he asked dubiously. "Are you part bloodhound?"

She slapped his arm with surprising sharpness. "No! Do you mean to tell me you never notice these things?"

He shook his head without shame. "I am so accustomed to life down here in the slums that things like smell no longer register as part of the experience. I can tell you when suppertime is coming based on how the smells change, but I couldn't tell you much more than that unless I really focus on it. But by the same token, I couldn't tell you what Whitehall smells like, or Mayfair, it has been so long since I've ventured in that direction."

"Mayfair smells like flowers and perfume," Lucy told him without reservation. "And money."

Hunter snorted, biting the inside of his lip. "Seems appropriate."

"Cheapside smells like ambition, rain, and horses," she went on. "Bloomsbury smells of paper, tobacco, and bread."

"My word," he said, truthfully impressed. "You are part bloodhound."

Lucy rolled her eyes, her smile turning rueful. "When your father does not like to hear you speak but insists on dragging you about for this venture or that, you find other ways to occupy yourself. I seemed to focus on how certain places smelled, and it is one of those memories that never really leaves."

The more he heard about the life Lucy led away from here, the less Hunter seemed to like it. But this was not the time to grow sentimental or attached, and there were all sorts of families in England who behaved all sorts of ways that weren't villainous, even if they were distasteful.

"And what does it smell like at Miss Masters's?" Hunter pressed, choosing to redirect the conversation back to fragrances rather than grow more invested in her relationship with her father.

"Have you ever been?" Lucy inquired with a suddenly eager light in her dark eyes. Before he could reply, she shook her head firmly. "Of course you haven't. Why would you have? It is a finishing school for young ladies in Kent. Have you even been out of London in your entire life?"

Hunter paused a step, folding his arms. "Why do you sound so dismissive of me?"

She seemed surprised by the question. "What cause would you have to leave London?"

Oh, if she only knew just how far he had been and the causes that had taken him there…

"I've been to Kent," he informed her with as dismissive a sniff as he could permit given their surroundings. "Not to that school, but still. It was very green and very pretty."

"I apologize," Lucy replied with a surrendering gesture. "I am happy you know just how pretty Kent is."

He tilted his head just a touch. "Well, part of it, anyway. I certainly don't recollect how it smelled."

"Green."

He found himself chuckling without any effort at all. "That is nonsense. How can a color have a fragrance?"

"It simply does!" Lucy insisted, her tone almost childlike, but so filled with certainty and enthusiasm that there would be no arguing with her. "The air is something like grass and the sea and wildflowers and moss, as well as pine and firewood and mint. And if you are at the seaside, there is also salt and jasmine. I don't know how all of that means green, but that is what Kent smells like."

There was something strangely poetic about her description, and he suddenly wanted to go out to the Convent just to see if he could catch all of those scents on the air. He knew he wouldn't get them all, but if he could capture one or two, he might feel more enlightened than he presently did.

What had he smelled in London these last few years? Horse dung and soot and damp fabric, the tang of dirt at almost every turn, the occasional whiff of tobacco or opium depending on where he was, and his own sweat, most of the time. Nothing pleasant or memorable in any of it, and certainly nothing profound or poetic.

But he did feel that all of his senses became more attuned and enhanced when he was on a particularly dangerous mission, especially when he was closest to the end or to the danger itself. He had sworn that he could smell the sweat of another person in such moments, could tell just how alight someone's cigar was, could have written out the menu of the last meal had in a certain room… But he'd also seen more, heard more, felt more against his skin, even tasted more on the air. It was not just smells that he recognized then.

Never in his daily life did he think on these things, though. Ought he to have done? Or was this a distinctly feminine fascination?

"Hunter?"

He shook himself, looking down at her in confusion, wondering when he had drifted away from the conversation and so wholly into his own thoughts.

Lucy's eyes were wide and questioning. "Do you know them? They seem to have some interest in you."

He glanced up the road, where five men stood at a corner, not quite huddled, but certainly clustered together. And as he expected, they were looking at him.

It would have been nice if they had done so surreptitiously, but they had never been particularly subtle in his work with them in the past.

"Yes, I know them," Hunter admitted on a sigh. "You'll be safe so long as I am with you. They work for me. Or with me."

"Which is it?" Lucy whispered, her voice wavering on a fear that was already etched all over her face. "For or with?"

He twisted his mouth rather wryly as they headed for them. "Depends on the day, really. So let's find out which it is today."