Chapter 18

Eighteen

HART AND SUMMERS, SOLICITORS, LONDON - JUNE 14, 1816

WILLIAM

What I was doing was unethical in more ways than I could possibly count. I absolutely should not be digging through contracts and ledgers from clients on behalf of my… whatever she was. Not in the harsh light of day and certainly not in the middle of the night like a common criminal.

I laid abed for an hour, perhaps two, before I could take it no longer and snuck down to the office to have a hunt. No matter how many times I told myself I was only using the Rosehill ledgers for the research Xander requested, it was impossible to separate the tasks. Particularly in the silence of my candlelit office.

Thus far, all I'd gleaned was that Lady Davina had been causing expensive mischief since before she left the nursery and that Her Grace's modiste bill was large enough to fund a small principality. As a courtesy title, the Rycliffe documents, properties, and contracts were so wrapped up in the rest of the Rosehill estate that separating them was nearly impossible.

I managed to discern which Hasket man's abysmal handwriting belonged to Gabriel and made a list of those entries. I created a separate list for any dealings with anyone whose name or title began with a W, regardless of the handwriting. The effort was unlikely to be sufficient and my complete disinterest in the ton was serving me poorly in this venture.

It didn't help that I was seemingly permanently distracted by thoughts of Celine. Of her shining hair and sun-kissed skin. Of her eyes, kind with a lived-in sadness behind them. Of the spiced vanilla and floral scents that wrapped around her, drawing me in. Of her graceful form wrapped in silk more luxurious than any I'd touched. Of her seemingly endless patience with my foibles.

The feeling was a strange one, this stirring of attraction, interest, longing. Seemingly reciprocated for the first time in my life. Which was absurd. I had more than a decade of experience loving Adriane. But even at the end, she never loved me. Not really. She loved to toy with me. She loved to use me to attract Gabriel's attention. She loved that I came for her, saved her, cared for her. But it was never real love, desire, or yearning. Not for me.

Only now, years later, could I see the cracks. I suspected the experiences gleaned over a lifetime were to blame for my perpetual astonishment at Celine's easy affection. I could not reconcile this woman, with her friendly open demeanor, against Gabriel as I knew him.

She loved him though, that much was clear. That knowledge chaffed more than I would readily admit. Another woman that I— another woman I had tender feelings toward who loved that man. Jealous as I was, it was nowhere near enough to prevent me from seeking her out, courting her, and anything else she might deign to allow.

But I could ruminate on my burgeoning infatuation without wasting every candle in the place, so I gathered the documents into a haphazard pile. I doused the candles and bundled the paperwork in my arms, then locked the door behind me before making the trek upstairs to my apartment.

As usual, the lamplight from the open window was sufficient and I did not bother with a candle. I tossed the paperwork on my desk next to Celine's mask, the one I really ought to return the next time I saw her.

I collapsed on my bed, still in shirtsleeves and britches. And promptly fell asleep, my dreams filled with sweet laughter and eyes the color of the forest.

I startled awake at an irritating and incessant pounding at my door.

"Will!" Kit's voice was muffled through the thick wood. "Will! Open up!"

Rolling to my feet was more instinct than command because the fog of sleep still hung heavy.

I ripped the door open with an irritated, "What?" Only to be met with a frazzled partner, his dark hair disheveled and eyes wild.

"Thank the Lord. You're all right?"

"Of course, why would I not be?"

"You're usually downstairs by now, and when I got in and saw the place had been ransacked…"

"I didn't sleep well— Wait, what?"

"You better get dressed. I'll meet you downstairs."

"Ransacked?"

"Get dressed. Now. Come downstairs immediately after." He spun on his heel and went back down the stairs.

"Right." Something of Kit's urgency finally penetrated my thick skull and I tossed last night's clothing into a pile to be dealt with later. I struggled into fresh breeches and tugged on a clean shirt as I made my way down the steps, two at a time.

I turned the corner too quickly and nearly smacked into the door as it opened. I glared at Kit, who held it open for me, before I stepped around him. Finally his frantic banging and harried countenance made sense.

My office was… destroyed. Pages were tossed about, the cabinet knocked over and smashed open.

And it was only my office. Beside it, Kit's was untouched. The trunks we kept behind the clerks' desks, too, were unscathed.

There was no telling what they had taken, or if they had taken anything at all. I could barely comprehend the sight before me. My entire life's work… It was more battlefield than office.

"Will…" Kit began from behind me.

"I don't— I have no idea. It was fine after I left last night."

"Someone was looking for something, Will."

"I suppose we'll find out when we determine what's been taken."

Nothing was left to do but settle on the floor and begin stacking documents by account while Kit moved around me, picking up the scattered pieces of the broken cabinet.

The clerks began to arrive, one irritating clang of the bell after another. Each had his own astonished exclamation before Kit directed them to account for all of their files.

"What happened here?" Bates asked, bolder than the others. He peered into the office with interest.

"Break-in," Kit answered from behind him. "Will, can you take a quick look at the overall list of accounts to see if it's up to date?"

"Of course, anything." I scrambled off the floor with what was left of my dignity, ignoring the ache in my ribs from two days past.

"You can use my office. Sorting out this mess is going to call for a whole batch of those little cake things." He tossed a coat on and set off toward Hudson's.

"Do you want me to continue sorting, sir?" Bates asked, toeing my pile.

"No. I need to see it all if I have any hopes of finding what they took. If anything, I suppose."

I shut Kit's door behind me, taking his usual seat, and cracking open his ledger. He returned shortly and set a little cake thing on the corner of his desk.

"How are you getting on?"

"I think we're all accounted for."

"Good," he said, licking the excess frosting off his finger.

"Can you use a napkin?"

"And waste perfectly good frosting? I think not… I locked the door last night, Will. I know it."

"I know you did. I couldn't sleep. I came down to do a bit of work and all was well."

"What time was that?"

"Twelve thirty, perhaps one. But I locked it too. I'm certain of it. Why would someone break in?"

"Will, they didn't."

"What?"

"The door, it's not broken. They only broke your locked cabinet and desk. If you're certain you locked it…"

My stomach sank. Either a skilled lockpick worked on the door but smashed anything locked in my office, or more likely, they had a key to the front door.

One glance at Kit made it clear he had reached the same conclusion.

"Do you suppose we should call a constable?" I asked.

"And tell them what? Someone made a mess? They only consider cash, jewels, that sort of thing. They won't see the value in information. Not that Bow Street has ever found anything of value anyway. Or returned anything they did find."

"So, proceed as usual? Keep an eye for anything suspicious?"

"Seems to be the best plan. We could revoke everyone's keys, but I'd rather find out who did it."

I sighed and headed back to my disaster of an office. No sooner had I opened the door than I found Bates on his knees on the floor, sorting away.

"Bates, I asked you to leave the mess to me."

"Right, sorry, sir. I just wanted to be of service."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but back to your desk, if you please."

"Of course."

I settled back on the floor with a repressed groan. Bates had fussed with my piles, and I had to start them all over again. In an impressive display of control, I managed to refrain from commenting about it. It took hours to finish, and I wasn't entirely confident that everything was perfectly returned as it should be. But there was nothing missing that I could recall off hand.

I called Kit in to join me on the floor with a sigh.

"Can you grab my accounts ledger, it's in the bottom right drawer," I told him, digging my key out of my pocket and holding it to him.

"Don't need it," he muttered, reminding me of the smashed lock.

He spread the book out before him and grabbed the first half-sorted stack.

"Right, we've got paperwork for both the Ainsleys. The apartment, the club, and the bakery. Everything looks to be in order for the apartment." He muttered, mostly to himself, before making check marks or notes while I continued to sort.

"Is the Hasket paperwork missing?" Kit asked.

Everything stopped. Ice filled my veins.

There were still any number of possible explanations. But my blood had always been right on the battlefield. I wasn't about to question it now.

They knew.

I had no idea how, but they knew we were hunting them. Gabriel's killer knew.

Which meant…

"Celine!"