Chapter Thirteen

A man stepped from the shadowed alley next to the Blue Angel. He drew in a long inhale from his thin cheroot as he walked into the sunshine and contemplated the tall, imposing form of the Duke of Hartwick. He watched the duke walk away down the pavement before heading in the opposite direction. It took about twenty minutes to reach the Mayfair mansion. When he entered the man’s study unannounced, an older gentleman startled from where he sat in his leather upholstered chair.

“Dear God, Seaton, why must you always appear from thin air? How do you even get past the staff anyway?” the gentleman muttered.

He shrugged. “It’s why I get paid so well.”

“Drink?” the man gestured to the side table where a decanter of brandy sat with a pair of crystal glasses.

He shook his head. He never drank alcohol. Instead, he took a seat in the chair opposite to the gentleman. “He came to see my place today. He and a fine lady. They were interested in the symbol etched in the stone above the door. The Knot of Isis, they called it.”

“Hmmm, I wonder why.” The older man’s gaze lowered to his lap.

Seaton’s gaze flitted over to the wall where the very same symbol carved in cherry hung beside the fireplace. “He has been visiting the others. Lavensham and Rawlings so far.”

“Do you think he found the journal somewhere among his father’s things?” The gentleman’s brow furrowed.

“I honestly think he doesn’t know much of anything. He would be plotting his revenge, not running around asking questions still. Just my opinion.”

The gentleman nodded. “Well, do your job and keep him safe. There is no telling what the others will do when they feel backed into a corner.”

He nodded and left the way he’d come in, melting easily into the well-dressed patrons walking around Bedford Square.