Chapter Four

C HAPTER F OUR

Lady Long-Nose grew into a young woman. She learned to dance and to paint. To play the harpsichord, the lute, and the violin. She spoke nine languages, two of them quite extinct. She rode as if she were a centaur, sang like a lark, read—and moreover understood—the most labyrinthian philosophies, and wrote sublime poetry.

Yet all anyone talked about was her long nose.…

—From Lady Long-Nose

Julian shouted, “Get down.” And at the same time, he pushed Lady Elspeth to the floor.

Lucretia dropped, pulling Messalina and Ann down with her, the three of them sprawled in yards of lavender, yellow, and pale-pink skirts.

Julian rolled over onto Lady Elspeth, shielding her with his body. The shot had been very close. It must’ve flown inches from her head. He found he was shaking. This was his fault. The bullet had no doubt been meant for him. He’d put them all in danger by simply being present. Damn it. He’d thought it safe to accompany them inside a cathedral.

Whoever was shooting was very bold.

“Are you all right?” Lady Elspeth’s whisper came from beneath him. He could feel the brush of her breath against his cheek, the warmth of her arms clasped in his hands. The scent of wild roses enveloped him.

He ignored her, scrutinizing the Lady Chapel. No one else was in it, but they were trapped at the far end, the only way out the steps back into the nave.

“You’re trembling,” Lady Elspeth said.

He glanced down at her. “It’ll stop soon.”

Her sky-blue eyes were wide in a face gone pale. “It was very close to you.”

The shot had been much closer to her than to him. Almost as if it had been meant for her. No, that couldn’t be right.

“Julian,” Messalina called.

“Hush.” His gaze flicked to his sisters. “Stay still. Just a minute more.”

He could hear Hawthorne’s bullyboys in the abbey, shouting to one another.

“But—” Messalina protested.

“Do as I say!” Julian didn’t know where the assassin was, or if he still had a clear shot, or even who, exactly, he was aiming for in their party.

Footsteps were approaching at a run, and he tensed, crouched over Lady Elspeth, ready to attack or push her to safety if it was the assassin. A round little man appeared, huffing as he climbed the stairs to the chapel. “I say, you mustn’t bring guns into the abbey. Have you lost your wits?”

Julian met the man’s gaze. He was dressed simply, as if he was a sexton, and seemed more irritated over what the shot might’ve done to the abbey than to the people in it. Still. “Do you have the shooter?”

“What?” The little man paused, his face red as he panted. “I beg your pardon, but the shot came from within the Lady Chapel.”

“No, it didn’t.” Julian finally rose, helping Lady Elspeth to stand as he did. “It came from without.”

“I don’t understand.” The man looked behind him and faced Julian again. “But there was no one else in the abbey.”

“I assure you I wasn’t the one with the gun,” Julian said without heat.

“Missus!” The biggest of Hawthorne’s men had arrived, his eyes wild. Thankfully, he also held a pistol. “Are you ’urt?”

“No, we’re all quite fine.” Messalina tugged Lucretia closer.

“Oh, thank Gawd for that,” the big man said, bracing his empty hand on his knee to breathe heavily. “The guv would’ve ’ad me balls otherwise, sure enough.”

“My hand,” Ann said quietly. “I think a chip from the monument hit me.”

“Oh, Your Grace,” Messalina exclaimed. She took the other woman’s hand, pressing a handkerchief to the small bit of blood.

“Have you found the shooter?” Julian interrupted impatiently, directing his question to Hawthorne’s man.

The big man straightened. “Not yet, though me boys are searching the abbey. Do you know where the shot came from?”

Julian shook his head, angry with himself for his inattention.

“We were all examining this monument.” Lady Elspeth gestured to the marble sculptures. “Perhaps there was someone—”

But the sexton gave a cry as his gaze went to the memorial. “His Grace’s nose!” He rushed past them to examine the broken statue, muttering to himself.

“We need to get the ladies to safety,” Julian said, taking Lady Elspeth’s arm.

“Righto!” The big man turned and placed two fingers between his lips, giving a shrill whistle. “Oi! Red, get ’ere quick-like.” He turned back to Julian. “Red’ll ’elp you get the missus and the other ladies to the carriage. I’ll stay with the rest of the boys and keep looking.”

A scrawny red-haired man skidded to a stop at the bottom of the steps, nodding as the big man gave him orders.

“Thank you, Reggie,” Messalina said quietly, and the big man flashed her a gap-toothed smile before jogging back to the nave.

Julian paused as he saw a scrap of white on the top step.

“What is that?” Lady Elspeth asked as he bent to pick up the bit of paper.

Julian straightened, examining it, and then sniffed. Gunpowder. Faint but lingering.

“Well?” Lady Elspeth asked in an impatient tone.

He glanced up. All four ladies were waiting with expectant faces.

Julian shook his head, pocketing the scrap. “Nothing. Merely a bit of paper.”

Lucretia scowled at him suspiciously, but Messalina led her sister and Ann around Julian and Lady Elspeth, murmuring as she did, “Perhaps it was an accident.”

Lucretia snorted. “Are you saying someone brought a primed pistol into the abbey and accidentally fired it?”

Messalina humphed. “Are you saying that someone brought in a pistol, loaded it, and then deliberately shot off the duke’s marble nose?”

“Were we shot at?” Ann asked, curiously impassive.

“No, dear, I don’t think so,” Messalina said. “It seems more likely to me that…”

His sisters walked ahead, Red stalking in front of them, alertly guarding.

Lady Elspeth took Julian’s elbow as they followed. “What was that paper really?”

“Wadding.” He shut his mouth. Why the hell had he told her?

But it was too late. Her clever mind was already spinning.

“You mean for a pistol.” Her brows were furrowed in thought. “Wadding to pack a pistol when loading it. That means…” She halted, pulling him to a stop, and glanced back to the Lady Chapel steps. “The shooter stood there. He would’ve seen us in the chapel.” Her gaze met his, her blue eyes solemn. “This was no accident.”

He sighed, nudging her into motion. The last thing he needed was Lady Elspeth becoming curious. “No. It wasn’t.”

She was silent as they passed Saint Paul’s Chapel and John the Baptist’s, and Julian almost sighed in relief, hoping she had moved on from thinking about the shot.

“Who wants to murder you?” Lady Elspeth asked suddenly, proving him wrong.

He made sure not to look at her and said curtly, “I can’t think of anyone.”

“Can’t you?” She hummed to herself. “That seems very unlikely. You must have enemies. Your uncle, for instance.”

“If I do, it’s none of your concern,” he replied. She couldn’t intrude into his feud with Augustus. If she drew his uncle’s attention…

The mere thought made his blood crystallize with fear. And her next words gave him no comfort.

“Just because it’s not my concern doesn’t mean I won’t find out.” Lady Elspeth smiled up at him angelically.

He blinked at that look, the shining certainty in her face. He had to make her stop.

He felt a pain burst from behind his left eye as he tried to repress his worry for her. His lust for her. He had to control himself.

“No,” he clipped out coldly as he lengthened his stride. “You will not. I don’t need some…” He raked his eyes over her plump little body, so sweet and unattainable. “Some featherbrained girl barely out of the schoolroom”—her eyes had widened in what looked like shock, shock and hurt, but he could not reverse course now. “Stop following me about like a puppy. You are ridiculous.”

They had made the north entrance. Finally.

Lady Elspeth pulled away from him.

His head throbbed in pain.

She took a step outside into the dripping rain and then turned and looked at him.

He’d expected tears, recriminations, something, and he’d braced, telling himself that his cruel words were only for her safety.

But she only looked at him. Drops clumped her eyelashes and ran down her cheeks, but they were from the rain, not her tears. “I’m not featherbrained, and I haven’t seen a schoolroom for quite some time. Don’t think you can drive me away with cruel words. I’m not a girl.”

She turned to walk unhurriedly to the waiting carriage. The other three women were already climbing inside.

Lady Elspeth entered the carriage, and then closed the door. Leaving him standing in the rain, alone.

Which was exactly what he’d wanted.

Julian walked into Otto’s coffeehouse late that afternoon, having left Lucretia, Messalina, and Lady Elspeth safely at Hawthorne’s house.

He glanced about. Even this near to evening, the room was crowded. Men sat at tables and booths, smoking long clay pipes while bent in discussion. Some wore periwigs, some were in curled and powdered wigs, and some—a few—wore their own hair. Otto’s was known as an egalitarian coffeehouse where the customers were interested in trading in stock.

It wasn’t Julian’s regular coffeehouse.

He procured his tankard of coffee at the counter and made his way through the tables. The man he wanted sat alone at a table near the smoky fireplace.

Julian nodded as he took a chair opposite him.

The other man looked up. “Greycourt.”

“Archway.”

Francis Archway was a man of middling years, his face deeply lined, his brown-and-gray hair falling to his shoulders. The table before him was littered with newssheets and a half-filled tankard. “May I be of service?”

“I hope you might,” Julian said carefully.

“Money?” Archway was quite wealthy, despite his ordinary attire. It was rumored that he’d begun life as the son of a fisherman somewhere in Cornwall, but if he had, he hadn’t retained his Cornish accent.

Still, Julian could believe that Archway had traded and bargained his way into riches. The man was quiet but perceptive.

“Thank you, but no.” Julian took a sip of his bitter coffee. “It’s more in the way of a favor.”

Archway merely looked at him.

Julian examined the room, making sure no one had drifted close to the table, before saying, “My uncle.”

The other man said flatly, “Your uncle is a very powerful man.”

“Yes. Few men are stalwart enough to cross him.”

Archway narrowed his eyes. “You make such a man sound like a knight rather than a fool.”

“Perhaps.” Julian took another mouthful of coffee. “Perhaps I’m in search of a foolish knight.”

“Why?”

Julian looked up into the other man’s eyes. “Because Lucretia, my younger sister, needs help.”

Archway frowned, the lines above his nose deepening until he looked a caricature of himself. “I thought she was in the schoolroom.”

“No.” Julian shook his head. “She’s three and twenty, and she’s in danger.”

“From your uncle.”

“Yes.”

Archway spread his hands. “I do not see how I can help you. Windemere is an aristocrat. I work in much less lofty spheres.”

“And that is why you may help me.” Julian leaned forward. “I need her gone from London. To the Continent or further. It’s vital.”

“Then why do you not take her yourself?”

“Because I have reason to believe that he’s put a price on my head.”

“He’s mad,” Archway murmured. “Quite mad.”

“Yes. Mad enough to search me out wherever I might go.” Julian watched Archway as he said quietly, “I’m a danger to my family already. Lucretia has a much better chance of disappearing without me. I need someone Windemere would never suspect to take her.”

“I sympathize with your plight, Greycourt,” Archway said, and he even sounded as if he might mean it. “I have two daughters nearly the age of your sister. I would shudder to think of them in Windemere’s power.”

“Then you’ll help me?” Julian asked with little hope.

“No.” Archway shook his head. “If you need funds, I can lend you money, but I have a family of my own. I cannot risk coming to the attention of the Duke of Windemere.”

Julian nodded. These were the same reasons that two other men had given for turning him down. Archway had been the last on his small list of men who were bold and discreet and could be trusted with his sister.

There wasn’t anyone else in London whom he knew.

Their only hope now lay with Hawthorne. Julian had informed his brother-in-law of the problem after he’d returned with the ladies from Bond Street yesterday. He didn’t particularly like Hawthorne, but the man had connections Julian did not.

Hopefully, Hawthorne’s inquiries would prove more fruitful.

Julian drank the last of his coffee and stood. “You’ll not tell anyone of this discussion.”

“Of course not,” Archway assured him. “You have my word.”

Julian nodded and donned his tricorne.

Outside Otto’s, the sky was darkening as the daylight people hurried home—shop owners, hawkers who sold out of wheelbarrows and dogcarts, clerks, butcher’s boys, and many more. They were replaced as in the changing of a guard by linkboys, young bucks in search of entertainment, footpads, watchmen, prostitutes, and those who huddled around bonfires to keep warm.

Julian passed shuttered shops as he walked toward the White Horse Inn, his thoughts on how to help Lucretia. It wasn’t until he’d been strolling ten minutes or so that he noticed the man trailing behind him. How long had the follower been there? He was far enough behind that Julian hadn’t seen him until the street was near empty.

Well, why not?

Julian stopped and turned, drawing his pistol from his coat pocket. The follower—the man in the bottle-green waistcoat from Bond Street—took another couple of strides before he realized that his quarry had halted.

“Stop or I shoot,” Julian said just loudly enough to reach the man.

For a second the man stood still.

Then he charged.

Julian exhaled and aimed the pistol with a steady hand even as the man bore down on him. He had only one chance.

His shot echoed around the buildings.

Bottle-Green Waistcoat collapsed.

Julian was on him before the smoke had dissipated. He’d aimed well, a shot to the shoulder, probably breaking the bone. The man was whining horribly between gritted teeth, the whites of his eyes reflecting what light there was in the shadowed alley as he clutched the wound.

“What do you want?” Julian asked. “Who sent you? Was it the Duke of Windemere?”

The man pressed his lips together. Julian ground the butt of his gun into the wound. The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before closing, his hand going limp. Julian waited a moment and then checked the man’s breath.

Bottle-Green Waistcoat had fainted.

Julian scoffed and stood. He didn’t really need the assassin’s answer.

He already knew who wanted him dead.

When Elspeth slipped out the Whispers House kitchen door that night to burgle the Windemere Library, it had nothing at all to do with Mr. Greycourt and his unkind words to her at the abbey yesterday. Her mission in London was to find Maighread’s diary. In order to dismiss Windemere House’s library as a hiding place, she needed to finish her search of it.

Mr. Greycourt didn’t come into her decision at all.

Well, maybe he did a little.

It was well past one o’clock in the morning, and the shadows were deep in the back of Whispers House. Thankfully so because Mr. Hawthorne’s men stood guard over the house, which was rather a bother. She crept quietly to an overgrown boxwood, crouching next to it as she surveyed the back garden.

The thing was, Mr. Hawthorne’s men were guarding to keep nefarious persons out of the house. She was gambling on their being less inclined to keep one woman in .

She waited, barely breathing, until she heard drunken singing, which signaled her paid distraction. He was a one-armed soldier she’d found not far from Whispers, begging by the street earlier that evening. The man had been quite happy to aid her once she’d shown him her purse.

And from the shouting, it sounded as if her accomplice had successfully drawn the attention of the guards.

She needed only a moment.

Elspeth raced through the garden and to the door that led into the mews. There appeared to be only one guard in the mews, fortunately looking toward the shouting. She pulled her shawl over her head and walked the other way.

It wasn’t until she’d reached the end of the mews that she let out her breath. Windemere House was to the east. Not a short walk, but quite easy for a woman raised in the Scottish hills.

Elspeth set out with determination.

She’d never taken orders well—as a girl or as a woman. Perhaps to others she might seem docile because she often did exactly what was asked of her—why not, if it caused her no problem?—but Elspeth also had a mind of her own with very definite opinions. Just because someone told her to do something didn’t mean she would .

Up ahead, male voices were raised in a terribly off-key song. As she looked, three soldiers staggered around the corner, led by a small linkboy with a lantern.

Elspeth ducked into a narrow alley just to be careful. As the men neared, she backed away from the entrance to the alley and, in doing so, nearly tripped on something soft under her foot.

She turned, startled, and found a dog lying behind her. It was too dark to see what the dog looked like, but she saw when the animal raised its head.

“Shh,” she whispered to the dog. “Just a moment more, and I’ll leave.” She remembered suddenly the sweet biscuits she’d hidden in her pocket to savor later. Elspeth fished one out and offered it to the dog.

The animal very gently took the treat from her hand.

“What a good boy,” she whispered, although the dog might well be a good girl.

She peered out of the alley and saw that the soldiers were nowhere in sight. Hastily she continued her journey. Elspeth turned at the next street and wondered if she should’ve brought a lantern. But it would’ve been hard to sneak out of the house with one.

She was passing near a house with a lamp hung by the door when she heard footsteps behind her. Well… not footsteps .

More like paws trotting behind her.

She halted and turned.

The dog—some sort of hound but with short, stubby legs—stopped and looked up at her. Its eyes were incredibly sad, and she could see now that he was male.

“Are you following me?” Elspeth asked him.

The dog sat down.

Elspeth glanced around, but she’d reached a part of the street that was quite deserted. No owner in sight. She shook her head and studied the dog for another moment before setting off again. No doubt the dog would tire of, well, dogging her steps and find his own way home.

The dog got up and trotted alongside her, quite seriously, as if he’d decided she needed a companion to steal into Windemere House.

Elspeth ignored him—as best she could—and concentrated on remembering the way.

A man stepped out of the shadows right in front of her. “Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”

Elspeth sighed and fished in her pocket. The dog growled as she drew her pistol. “That’s none of your concern.”

By the time she’d ended the sentence, the man had disappeared again. She nodded, pleased with herself, before pocketing the pistol again.

Then Elspeth peered at the dog. “That was rather nice of you.”

His tail wagged once.

She hardened her heart. Now was not the time to become enamored of a stray dog.

It was another half hour or so before she came within sight of Windemere House. The street was wider here, the houses large and well kept, and there were lanterns hanging by every door.

Well, every front door.

Elspeth made her way around the back and into the mews. It was quiet here, the horses and stablemen asleep. Only a cat raced across her path, disappearing into the shadows again.

She glanced down at the dog.

The dog looked back at her.

“Aren’t you meant to chase cats?” she whispered.

He cocked his head but gave no other reply.

Elspeth ventured on until she found the Windemere gate, where she had a short moment of worry before discovering it was unlocked. Cautiously she opened it, creeping into the garden.

The dog followed.

Elspeth stole to the back of the house and looked up. Windemere House was very large, with window after window in back. She frowned and counted.

Then counted again.

A mistake would be catastrophic.

When she was certain she had the right window, Elspeth finally looked at the house itself. The brickwork was smooth, but there were two iron trellises, one almost directly under the window she wanted.

Elspeth put her foot on the bottom horizontal bar on the trellis, testing it. The iron held firm.

She glanced back at the dog and whispered, “No barking.”

The dog sat down and opened his mouth to let his tongue loll out.

Elspeth supposed that was the best answer she’d get. Climbing up the trellis was slow because she had to carefully test each rung, but it wasn’t particularly hard. Breaking the window, however, made her heart race. She froze for a second after the glass tinkled into the room, waiting for someone to call an alarm.

The house was silent.

She pocketed her pistol again—she’d used the butt to hit the glass—and carefully laid her shawl over the sill.

Then she climbed in.

Elspeth couldn’t help but grin. She’d successfully broken into the Duke of Windemere’s house! Really, she was quite proud of herself.

Searching for Maighread’s diary was another matter altogether. The library was dark, almost black, the only light coming from the broken window.

Luckily, she’d searched the main level of the library last time, before she’d been caught by Mr. Greycourt. But that still left the upper balcony, which meant several hundred books—maybe a thousand? She’d never been good at maths.

Elspeth found a candelabra that she’d noticed before sitting on a table. She lit it with a flint and steel from her pocket. Then she carefully climbed up the ladder with the candelabra and began methodically searching. Each book she removed from its shelf and quickly paged through. Some books didn’t even need that—the atlas was quite obviously an atlas and besides, far too large for a diary.

She worked for hours, until the room began to lighten with the sunrise. Her face and hands were grimy with dust, and she’d found nothing. But she couldn’t linger longer. The servants would wake and eventually arrive at this part of the house to light the fire. She had to leave.

Elspeth climbed back out the window and down the trellis and found to her surprise that the dog was still at the bottom, in the same spot she’d left him in. He yawned and stretched as she stepped onto the gravel path.

Voices came from the basement kitchens, and she caught her breath. It was later than she’d thought—the servants were up already.

She didn’t let herself panic. Elspeth walked swiftly to the back gate. But she was only halfway there when she heard a shout behind her. “You! Why are you lurking there?”

Elspeth grabbed her skirts and ran as fast as she could. There were raised voices behind her, but she didn’t dare look. She scrambled through the gate and kept running down the mews and into another street. Finally she had to stop to catch her breath.

Beside her the dog was panting happily.

She eyed him as she caught her breath. “I think you enjoyed that.”

Elspeth threw her shawl over her head and turned to begin the long walk back to Whispers House.

But a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, halting her. She looked up into Mr. Greycourt’s stormy gray eyes as he growled, “What in hell are you doing?”