Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Lavinia noted it the very moment Yates reemerged from the side door. She paid for her pudding, smiled her thanks at the same waiter who had served them their dinner, and proclaimed that her father was coming.

She’d gained the street within a minute, but Yates was disappearing around the far corner of the Empire House, not coming back toward her. For a second, she paused, debated. Then she rushed after him.

Sticking to the deepest shadows she could find, she knew very well she wasn’t moving as quickly in her corset and stylish pumps as he would be. Even so, she nearly gasped when she ducked into the alleyway he’d taken and saw that he was scaling the wall, his shoes on the ground, along with his stockings, so that bare toes and fingers could find purchase in seams and mortar that certainly shouldn’t have allowed it. He’d already reached a window on the first floor by the time she made her way to his shoes, and she craned her neck up in time to see a slender arm slip through a window bar. A leg followed, with a skirt pulled up over the knee. And then a torso and head appeared.

From down here, in the night, Lavinia couldn’t tell any thing more about the escapee, other than that she was so much smaller than Yates, as she climbed onto his back, that she could have been a child. Perhaps it was the perspective? Lavinia held her breath as he traveled back down as quickly as he’d gone up, a million prayers of gratitude tripping over one another in her mind.

He was on the ground a moment later, depositing his new friend on the pavement. Lavinia frowned, even as a surge of love for him hit her so hard she had to put a hand to the warm bricks to steady herself. It was a child. A little girl who looked Lavinia straight in the eye as if not at all surprised to see her. “’ello.”

Cockney, though she looked as though she could have come straight from Calcutta. Lavinia smiled. “I suspect you aren’t Samira,” she said, careful to keep her voice to a bare whisper.

The girl grinned. “Lucy.” Then it faded into a frown. “Samira’s still in there. Some bloke’s on his way up.”

Yates put a brotherly hand to the top of the girl’s head and used it to propel her forward. He’d somehow managed to get stockings and shoes back on in the half second she hadn’t been looking—ample practice, she supposed. “Let’s get away from here before we give Vinny the briefing, shall we?”

Lavinia’s stomach was still clenching over that some bloke’s on his way up and everything it implied, and her head was still a bit light from seeing Yates quite literally snatch a child from the teeth of hell. But she fell into step, not commenting as he let Lucy lead the way through a maze of streets and alleyways Lavinia never had and never would have dared to venture down on her own. They were presumably still in Soho or had crossed into Mayfair, but the buildings and streets that looked so welcoming in the daylight felt far different now.

Now she knew that too many of the men who claimed these houses and businesses as their own also frequented establishments like the one they’d rescued a child from—and she had to think the very presence of Lucy on Yates’s back meant that their suspicions had proven true.

After ten minutes of walking, she finally dared to snatch a look up at Yates and ask, “She was there?”

He nodded, jaw clenched.

“And it was ... as we thought?”

“Worse. If that’s possible.” He slowed Lucy with a hand on her shoulder when she made to go right at an intersection. Grosvenor Square, home to both Fairfax and Hemming Houses, was to the left. “Hold up a minute, Lucy. We both live this way.”

Lucy stopped, turned to face them, and something in her face went dark. “Rich gent.” She spat it like a curse.

Yates lifted his brows. He might as well have said, Challenge accepted . “Am not.”

“You are if you live down there.”

“No—my family was, hence the house on Grosvenor. I assure you, I’m very much not.”

Was it the relief of home being so close that made Lavinia want to grin? Heaven knew nothing had really gone right enough to warrant it otherwise.

Except that this child, at least, was no longer in that wretched house.

“He isn’t,” Lavinia said. “His grandfather would roll over in his grave to see him now. He’s mucking his own stalls and cooking his own food and was practically raised by traveling gypsies.”

The girl’s lips curled. “He’s a lord. That’s what Matilda called him.”

Matilda , it seemed, was as much a curse word as rich gent .

Lavinia nodded. “True enough. They haven’t yet found a way to strip a man of his title when his bank account reaches zero. Though give them time enough...”

Surely Lucy’s grin meant that nothing truly horrible had happened to her back there. She had to believe it was so. “And you? That necklace would fetch ten pounds, I bet, if I were to hock it.”

Without even pausing to remember which one she had on—or wonder how much it had cost whichever ancestor had commissioned it—she took it off and held it out to the girl. “You had better drive a harder bargain than that, or I’ll be insulted. I daresay it’s worth at least a hundred.”

Lucy’s brows winged up. “Ladies don’t give up their jewels. No more than pawn brokers give retail price.”

“Who said I’m a lady? I’m the daughter of a murderous traitor.”

Lucy eyed her as if that were the most outlandish story ever to be spoken in Mayfair—fair point—but she also took the necklace from her hand. And looked back to Yates. “Oi—you mean to bring them down, you’re gonna need help. You’ll wanna hire Barclay for that.”

“Will I now?”

She nodded easily, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re gonna need dirt on them. The kind written down. Yeah? Paper trails?”

Yates lifted his brows.

“Barclay can find them for you. Help them escape their files, let’s say. He reads real good, does Barclay. And my sisters, they can get anything from a gent, and no one even notices they were there.”

Lavinia didn’t know how to classify the glance Yates sent to her. Part amusement, part amazement, part wonder. He tilted his head when he looked back to the girl. “How old are you, Lucy?”

She shrugged. “Twelve or so, we think.”

Lavinia would have guessed younger—she was so small, slight. Although to look in her eyes, she might have guessed a hundred instead.

Yates narrowed his eyes. “You think?”

“Parents died in a fire in our building—Barclay and Willa and Rosie took me in. I was a baby, so they had to guess about the age.” It didn’t seem to bother her. “Why? How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” He didn’t seem to find the question odd. “And this adoptive brother of yours doesn’t mind sending his twelve-year-old sister into strange parts of the city to pick pockets?”

Lucy’s chin came up. “Ain’t strange. We know all of London. And we ain’t gonna steal from our own lot—they’re no better off’n we are.”

On a different day, Lavinia might have let her eyes slide shut, dismayed at hearing one so young talking brazenly about theft. After everything else she’d learned today? Picking a few pockets sounded next door to virtue.

Yates reached to unfasten that wretched pin from his tie. “Do you know Rabbit and Percy and Coal?” He slid the thing back into his pocket.

Lucy looked surprised for the first time since she climbed out of that window. “’Course. Do you ?”

Yates grinned. “They’re my couriers.”

Now the girl’s eyes went thoughtful. And, if she weren’t mistaken, respectful. “Can’t be. You—that can’t be right. You? ”

Yates tipped his invisible hat and gave a mock bow. “Mr. A of the Imposters. At your service, my lady.”

Lucy grinned so wide she looked like a normal child. “Oh, Barclay’s definitely going to want to meet you.”

“And I him. I think I will, in fact, need his help.” He nodded toward Grosvenor. “Tell him to find me in my study. If he can manage it, he has the job.”

With a giggle that sounded far too young and innocent for the conversation, Lucy darted off. Within a few seconds, she’d vanished into the shadows.

Lavinia sucked in a breath. “You really think it’s wise to hire a thief?”

“Wise? Hardly. Morally sound? Certainly not. But I want to learn who this family of hers is—and frankly, I don’t know who among ‘honest folk’ I can trust right now. I saw the police commissioner inside that place, and he certainly wasn’t making arrests.”

Lavinia sighed, not quite able to wrap her mind around everything that had happened in this long day. The morning with the magazine. The excitement of that discovery. The realization that she was, in fact, in love with Yates. That torturous train ride, her first surveillance, and then Lucy. “What are my chances of getting you to share what you learned in there?”

Yates turned to the left and started walking. “Details? Nil. But the gist is that it was as we feared, and Samira is there.”

“Why wouldn’t she come with you then?”

His sigh was knotted with frustration. “First, because she thought her presence would protect Alethia.”

“How?”

He was quiet so long, his jaw was clenched so tight, she thought he wouldn’t answer. When he did, she almost wished he hadn’t. “She said that had always been the arrangement. Her, to spare Alethia. Before.”

Before. Before? Their only real before was in India, but that ...

Lavinia tucked her hand through his arm because she needed it there. He’d forgive it, given the circumstances. “Who ... who would have been both there and here?”

Another beat of silence. “Exactly. I think I convinced Samira that she is in fact not protecting Alethia now—I told her that she’d been attacked. But then ‘his lordship’ was on his way up and I had to leave. She said she expects he’ll have moved her by tomorrow, insists he’s using her as a pawn to exert control over Alethia.”

“So then we follow. See where he takes her.” His breath of laughter made her frown. “How is that funny?”

“It isn’t,” he said, still chuckling wryly. “It’s just that I was so frustrated by the situation I hadn’t even been able to think of that rather obvious solution. All I could think was to hope she was wrong and go back for her tomorrow. I think I was too blinded by my determination to bring that whole place down to think logically about Samira herself.”

Well. Good to know she was a valuable member of the team, even if that was all he’d ever want her to be.

Fairfax House loomed ahead of them, the lights in the windows showing that Sir Merritt was at home. Part of her wanted to continue to Hemming House, collapse into bed despite the early hour, see if sleep would erase a few of the day’s emotions.

She nodded toward the lights. “I imagine Sir Merritt will be a help with our planning. He seems to have a way with strategy.”

“Quick at codes too. Handy chap to have around.” He jogged up to the front door, tested the knob, and let himself in, holding the door wide for her.

Only once she’d followed him into the drawing room did she realize that though she’d been in this house countless times, never had she been here without Marigold. That, in fact, she oughtn’t to be here with Yates if Sir Merritt weren’t at home...

He was. But not alone. Lord Xavier Hastings was there, too, laughing about something or another as they walked into the room.

Lavinia halted when his eyes flicked to her. She didn’t know Xavier well, but she knew him well enough to recognize the questions that sprang into his eyes when he spotted her walking into a house filled only with men. Having entered with Yates. When she was supposed to be in the country.

“Yates. Lavinia.” Sir Merritt rose, a few questions in his own eyes as well. “I didn’t know we ought to expect you.”

Yates waved a hand her way and then dropped to a chair, looking as exhausted as he had every reason to feel, and yet which she suspected was put on. “Vin had some charity thing. She convinced me to bring her.”

It explained their presence in London. Up to her then, she supposed, to come up with something to explain her walking into his house without a chaperone. “Don’t get comfortable, Yates. As soon as I see if I left my book in the guest room, you still need to walk me home.”

He grunted and leaned his head back against the sofa, eyes closing. “If I fall asleep, Merritt can walk you. I’m ready to be done with this hopping back and forth.”

Perhaps he meant it to be a hint to Xavier, that he ought to leave so Yates could retire. If he left before Lavinia came back down, then they could get down to business.

Lord X didn’t take the hint. When Lavinia came back into the room, a slender tome of poetry in hand that she had, in fact, left behind, Xavier was in the middle of a new story, and Yates’s glare didn’t bring it to a close.

Merritt cast an inscrutable look at her and then Yates. “I’ll walk you, my lady. Give me a few minutes.”

This was not how the evening was supposed to go. How were they supposed to plot and plan now? They could wait until morning, but then Sir Merritt would be expected at the office—or, more likely, Yates would miraculously wake up once Xavier finally left, and he and Merritt would do the planning without her. Funny how much like a theft that felt. But what could she do? She nodded and meandered toward the door to wait for him.

Her father wouldn’t be expecting her either. Would he even be home, or did he have some engagement tonight? Did he know those men they’d seen walking into the Empire House? Of course he did—he knew everyone in Lords, at least in passing. But did he know what they were? What they did? The mockery they made of charity?

Did he laugh with them? Drink with them? Did he have a golden tie pin?

She squeezed her eyes shut against the question because she knew it was unfair. Papa had never looked at anyone but her mother. He had his faults, as everyone did, but his faith and fidelity had always been true. That was why Mother’s betrayal had cut so deep. That was why her loss had hollowed him out so completely. That was why he dragged himself through every day and collapsed every evening.

He would be at home. He was always at home.

“All right.” Sir Merritt was at her side, his smile saying he knew something was amiss. “Ready then?”

“Sorry to leave you with this lout, Vin.” Yates trudged lazily their way, rubbing at his face. Once he reached them, he murmured softly, “If this Barclay chap finds me, his crew can help tomorrow. I’ll let you know if we need you to call via the front—regardless, perhaps you could introduce yourself to Alethia’s mother tomorrow?”

His words had been quiet, but Xavier leapt to his feet in the drawing room, alerting like a bloodhound. “Did you say something about Lady Alethia?”

Yates muttered something in Romani. Merritt closed his eyes and sighed. Lavinia sent her gaze heavenward.

Predictable. Even while it was completely understandable—and knowing from Alethia that he’d been paying her a bit of attention—she ought to have known that her new friend was being humble. That Xavier was more than his usual amount of interested.

He reached their group a second later, eyes alight. “Now look. I’m a good sport, aren’t I? I pretend I don’t know that Merritt’s in military intelligence. I’ve asked no questions about the countless things you and your sister do that make no sense, Fairfax—and I didn’t even say hello when Gemma ran smack into me with a tray of canapés at that garden party in the spring, dressed as a maid, which I know well she isn’t. I’ve never breathed a word about the fact that you run your estate with only the help of a handful of retired circus performers, nor considered refusing your every request for a guest pass or an introduction.” He spread his arms wide. “Not that I’m counting debts, but I think you owe me.”

This time Yates was the one to sigh and Merritt the one to roll his eyes. “X—”

“I am not asking for state secrets or a look at anyone’s room of mysterious files that I walked directly past at the wedding without so much as a peep inside.” Now his hands moved up into the surrender position. “Truly. But if you know where Lady Alethia has disappeared to, I’d consider the knowledge a fair trade for my limitless circumspection and discretion.”

Yates’s imitation of drowsiness had given way to a clear foul temper. “Knowledge—fine. She’s in Northumberland with my sister. But that is not an invitation,” he added quickly, given that Xavier had already opened his mouth with obvious intention, eyes flaming bright.

Xavier faced Yates head-on, the flames sending out sparks. “I thought I had an open invitation.”

“To visit Merritt and my sister and me, yes. To visit her? Absolutely not.”

“What’s the matter, Fairfax? Can’t handle a bit of honest competition?”

Merritt edged between them, facing his friend. “It isn’t about—or not only about,” he amended, glancing over his shoulder at Yates, “any interest he has in her. She’s in danger, Xavier.”

That made him pause, suck in a breath, search his friend’s eyes. “What sort?”

“The sort we can’t talk about.”

She could hardly blame him for the huff of breath. She knew only too well how frustrating it could be claiming as one’s best friend someone who had so many secrets. Being always kept in the dark. Wondering what they were doing when they vanished and reappeared with no explanation.

In a different world, they could have bonded over that, she and X. In this one, he seemed to have forgotten she still stood there. As had Yates. And Merritt.

She waited another minute, listening to the tennis match of demands and rebuttals before she reached for the door. Her opening it didn’t break through the haze of Alethia-induced ardor, nor did her slipping outside. As she closed it behind her, she could still hear Xavier shouting, “Why not let her be the judge?”

She didn’t want to go home. If she showed up at Hemming House at night without an escort, Papa would be furious. But she also had no desire to stand there while Yates defended his right to woo Alethia without interference from the known charmer who was Xavier.

So she walked down the steps, onto the pavement, and then looked at the sprawling, magnificent square that claimed the crème de la crème of society as its residents. Golden lights glowed from only about half the windows. No doubt the rest of the families were either out at some event or they’d fled the heat for country estates.

She knew which house was the Barremores’. She’d strolled by it plenty of times, a few of which she’d even seen Alethia and her mother going out, and they’d exchanged distant nods and empty smiles.

Her feet pulled her that way now because lights were glowing from the ground-floor rooms of the Barremore residence, and she heard the front door closing. No one moved outside, though, which must mean someone had gone in—logical. An auto puttered away from the curb, no doubt heading toward the carriage house. She paused, debated a moment. Passing by the house, then, was required to get to her own.

And there was no one paying her a bit of attention. Other than that automobile turning the corner, the street was quiet. She passed by the main walkway to the front door ... but she turned into the one that would wrap around to the side and back entrances. With a bit of luck . . . yes. The windows were open, inviting in any breeze they could find. Light spilled out. And voices.

After a sweep of her gaze to be sure no servants were lurking about, she tiptoed to the side of the house and crouched in the shadows under the window, shrouded by bushes. She didn’t honestly expect to hear anything useful—she just wanted to hear their voices. The people who should have protected Alethia.

“Nothing , ” she had said. “They did absolutely nothing.”

A woman’s voice was the one talking, saying something about how she thought she’d go shopping tomorrow, pick up a few things before they left London for the Season. The response was also feminine, though not so cultured. A paid companion, she would think. But then footsteps sounded, and a throat cleared.

“Your brother, my lady.”

More steps, and the rustling of fabric too. “Good evening, Reuben. Oh, but Barremore is out, if you’re hoping to speak with him.”

“I’ve run into him already this evening, and he invited me back here for drinks. He’ll be but a moment behind me.”

“Ah. Are you waiting for him, or shall I pour you one now?”

“Sit. I’ll help myself.”

Lavinia tried to remember what Alethia’s family looked like, but she couldn’t recall. Well, her mother she’d have recognized, but her father and uncle? No doubt they’d been at the same gatherings, but no one had ever pointed them out to her, and no introductions had been made. The lady returned to her conversation with her companion about fabrics and feathers. Another auto rumbled up at the front.

Lavinia made herself comfortable on the ground behind the manicured shrubbery, knowing that no one would think to look for eavesdroppers under their windows in Grosvenor Square. And as long as she remained still, she’d draw no attention.

A few minutes later, more footsteps sounded, and another male voice offered a bored greeting. “Reuben. Jane.”

“Good evening, dear. How was the club?” The lady didn’t sound as though she actually cared.

And her husband didn’t actually answer. “Have you seen the new show at the Savoy yet, Reu?”

“Oh, was it any good?” Lady Barremore. “Alethia wants to go.”

Ice clinked against glass. “It wasn’t bad, though I’m not certain Alethia would find it to her tastes.” A moment’s pause. “Has she retired already?”

“She’s not here.” Lord Barremore. “We came home to an empty house.”

“What’s this? Is everything all right?”

The lady laughed. “Oh, perfectly fine. She ran into a friend from finishing school and accepted an invitation to travel with her for a while.”

Lavinia frowned. Did Lady Barremore honestly think Marigold was a friend from school ... or was she lying?

“Interesting,” Reuben said in a tone that implied it was anything but. “Where did they go? Someplace cooler than London, I hope.”

“Where did I say they went, dearest? Somewhere that started with a B , I think—and you know Alethia. The warmer it is, the happier she is.”

Somewhere that started with a B ? Either the lady had a horrible memory and no care for her daughter’s location, or she was definitely lying.

A possibility that became even more compelling when her husband grunted. “You didn’t.”

“Pardon?”

“You didn’t say where she’d gone. Someone asked at the club—she’s been missed, you know—and I had to say something about a tour of the south and that I didn’t know the stops, to avoid looking the idiot.”

“So sorry if my absent-mindedness embarrassed you, darling. Though her latest letter assures us she’s having a marvelous holiday,” she said, voice even. Then, “Who was asking? That handsome young Byron, perhaps? Or Lord Xavier? I am sorry she didn’t remain long enough for him to join us for dinner. Oh—did you hear the Duke of Stafford’s grandson has finally returned from the Continent? Our Alethia would make a lovely duchess. We ought to see if we can arrange—”

“He returned with some Grimaldi hanger-on he means to pawn off as Lord Whitby’s long-lost daughter,” her brother said. “He obviously intends to position her there so he can marry her.”

“Whitby?” The lady sounded genuinely confused this time. “Who’s Whitby?”

“Recluse from Yorkshire. Earl, I believe. I caught a glimpse of the Stafford heir and the chit boarding the train—pretty thing. Can hardly blame him for the subterfuge.” Another clink of ice. “If Whitby falls for it, you’ll want to be sure to marry your girl off before she debuts. An heiress with that face, lost for years, found by a duke’s heir? She’s going to be the toast of Town.”

The lady squeaked a protest. “She can’t be any lovelier than Alethia.”

“I am the first to sing my niece’s praises. But her novelty will only last so long, sister.”

“Whitby,” Barremore said, his tone thoughtful. “Does he come to Lords? I really don’t recall him.”

Talk turned to gossip from the Sessions, and Lavinia crept away from the window. She didn’t need to know who Whitby was, or the rest. She’d learned what she hadn’t known she was looking to learn, information that both settled and weighed on her heart.

Lady Jane Barremore didn’t trust the men in her life with her daughter’s whereabouts. She knew something was amiss—and she’d lied to them about it.

Which meant the men didn’t know where she was now. Alethia was still safe, tucked away at the Tower.

Lavinia put her foot to the pavement with a lighter heart—and then would have screamed when a figure emerged from the shadows, had he not simultaneously clamped a massive hand over her mouth and hissed, “Shh! Just me.”

Although just wasn’t the word she’d likely ever think about Yates again. She pried his fingers away and glared at him in the streetlight. “Are you trying to scare the life out of me?”

“I’m trying to make certain you’re not lying dead in a gutter. Your light wasn’t lit at Hemming House, and you weren’t in with your father. I wasn’t about to knock on the door and ask him if you’d made it home safely and thereby admit I let you wander the streets of London alone after dark.”

Papa would certainly not be happy about that, but they had more pressing concerns. “She knows—Alethia’s mother. She knows something , anyway. She’s lying to her husband and brother about where Alethia is. Said she’s off in the south somewhere with a school friend.”

Yates sucked in a breath. Turned toward his house. And grabbed her by the hand. “First, I’m promoting you. Second, come on. Xavier finally stormed off in a huff, and we have planning to do.”