Chapter 29

29

The cobblestone street glistened as Julian and Caroline approached the unassuming brick building. A small wooden sign creaked beside the entrance, identifying it as the offices of Talbot’s Property Management.

“You are not to use Grey’s information until I give the word,” he murmured.

Caroline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course. I’ll let you and your charming manner do all the talking.”

He did not look amused.

The bell above the door announced their arrival with a cheerful jingle that seemed out of place in the dreary office. Ledgers and documents perfumed the air with the tang of ink. The man seated behind the narrow desk glanced up from his scribbling.

“Good day. How might I be of service?”

Julian flashed a smile. He looked like a wolf baring its teeth – a man unaccustomed to feigning charm. “Mr Talbot, I presume? My man of business wrote to you yesterday to arrange this meeting. Alexander Heyward, at your service. And this is my wife, Mrs Heyward.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” The clerk cleared his throat. “I did receive word you had expressed interest in leasing property. My apologies for the cramped office. We’re in the process of expanding.”

Julian waved away the stammered explanation with careless aristocratic grace. “Think nothing of it. I’m certain you’ll soon have premises to rival the finest in the City.”

“You’re too kind, Mr Heyward. Now, how might I assist you today?”

“My wife and I only just arrived in London after some years abroad. We’re eager to make a few smart investments.” Julian flashed an easy conspiratorial smile. “I’m determined to avoid the follies many family fortunes are squandered on. Lavish country homes sitting empty eleven months of the year and so forth.” He gave a careless shrug. “I prefer pursuits with more lasting rewards. Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”

Caroline fluttered her lashes up at her husband and nodded.

Julian patted her hand indulgently before redirecting his attention to the clerk. “You come highly recommended for your discretion and shrewd eye. I understand you’ve placed several gentlemen in excellent business premises. I spoke to one recently—” He paused and glanced at Caroline. “Remind me of his name again, darling? Began with a K, if I recall correctly.”

“Mr Kellerman, dearest,” Caroline supplied sweetly.

“That was it. Kellerman. The offices on Threadneedle Street. But I noticed his establishment appears to have closed up. Did he have a partner I might speak with, sir?”

At the casual mention of that name – Kellerman – disquiet flickered over Talbot’s face. His reaction betrayed him before he could school his features.

“He did, but I’m afraid client confidentiality prevents me from divulging details of their holdings or arrangements,” Talbot hedged.

Tension coiled through Julian’s imposing frame. To an outsider, he appeared at leisure, but Caroline noted the restless tap of his fingers against the scarred wooden desk. Betraying his impatience. Julian was unaccustomed to being denied, especially with lives at stake.

“Naturally, discretion is expected.” Julian nodded. “However, I’m prepared to pay handsomely for your expertise and, shall we say, insights, regarding Mr Kellerman’s recent business. Combined with your good counsel on properties available for our ventures, I’m certain we’ll establish a mutually profitable rapport.”

When Talbot still hesitated, Julian added, “One hundred pounds. Provided you can share further details on one particular office location.” His tone remained conversational, as if they were enjoying a talk over port and cigars.

Before Talbot could stammer out another excuse, Caroline stepped forward. “Might I trouble you for a glass of water while you gentlemen talk business? All this dreary chatter is quite taxing for my poor mind.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Mr Talbot rose, all but tripping over his feet to escape the tension. “Right away, Mrs Heyward.”

As soon as the clerk had scurried from the room, Caroline rounded on Julian. “You’re terrifying him, and it’s getting us nowhere. We’ll need a new approach. For now, you’re just a gentleman without the backing of a dukedom behind the name.”

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Are you asking permission to take over?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ve memorised Richard’s entire dossier. Just watch.”

When Talbot returned and presented Caroline with a murky glass of water, she fixed him with her most imperious stare. The full force of her will bent solely on breaking the man.

“The details about the offices leased by Mr Kellerman,” she bit out sharply. “I want them now.”

The clerk recoiled as if she had struck him. “Madam, as I explained to your husband—”

“The discretion you’re so determined to uphold does not extend to concealing the movements of wanted men. Should anyone learn you let offices to a swindler bleeding aristocrats dry, I suspect it would be rather damaging for business.” Caroline arched a brow. “A rather grubby corner you’ve painted yourself into, Mr Talbot.”

Talbot took a hasty step back, wringing his hands. “I must ask you both to leave.”

Caroline bared her teeth in a ruthless smile. “Of course. But first, allow me to paint you a picture of what happens next if you withhold the information we require.” She paused for effect. “I will pay a visit to Mrs Talbot,” she continued silkily, “and share every sordid detail of your proclivities. The pretty young actress you fritter away your wife’s allowance on. The nights spent fumbling with prostitutes when you fail to come home. And should you need further motivation, I’ll remind you that your gambling debts would be ruinous without your clientele. Imagine what Mrs Talbot would say about a husband at risk of going to the debtors’ prison.”

She stepped nearer, backing Talbot up against his desk until he shrank from her. “If you keep that information, I’ll dig up far more shocking tales to share. I’m a woman of resources, and I don’t enjoy wasting my time.” Caroline rested her hands on either side of Talbot’s desk. A lioness closing in for the kill. “Now. Tell me about Kellerman’s business partner. Or by this afternoon tea, I’ll be taking Mrs Talbot into my confidence.” She held Talbot’s terrified stare, watching beads of perspiration slide down his pallid face as he sputtered wordlessly.

When Talbot finally found his voice, it trembled. “The offices on Threadneedle were leased by a Bartholomew Pritchard on behalf of Mr Kellerman.”

Triumph fired through Caroline’s veins.

“Pritchard,” Julian said. “Describe him to me.”

“Mid-forties, sturdy build. More like a dockworker than a gentleman, despite the fine clothes.” Talbot mopped his damp brow with a trembling hand. “Had a mean scar. Like he’s been in fights.”

“Where does he live?” Caroline asked sharply.

“I don’t know. But I hear he frequents the Brimstone in the East End.”

The Brimstone. She knew it well. Its owner funded several of her charitable causes.

“Please.” Talbot grasped the edge of his desk until his knuckles blanched. “Don’t tell my wife.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” she said, ice in every syllable. “We’re finished here.” Pausing in the doorway, she speared Talbot with one last glare. “Speak a word of this meeting to anyone, and I tell Mrs Talbot everything. Good day, sir.”

Outside, Julian helped Caroline into the nondescript carriage waiting at the curb. As soon as he had settled onto the seat beside her, he dragged her into his lap, claiming her mouth in a fierce kiss. “Watching you dismantle that fool was astonishing. Terrifying. And—” He groaned. “Christ, it was arousing,” he muttered.

Breathless, Caroline braced her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. The heat of his stare seared her, raw desire pulling taut between them.

Julian cradled her face between palms. “If you demanded I cut out my own heart right now, I’d place it in your hands without hesitation. To do with as you please.”

She turned her cheek into his palm, brushing her lips to his wrist. Feeling the wild staccato of his pulse.

When she found her voice, the confession fell raw and honest between them. “I already have your heart, don’t I?” she whispered. “I’m craving something else entirely.” Her nails raked through his dark hair, wringing a rough noise from Julian’s throat that vibrated against her chest.

“As soon as you’ve healed, I’m going to strip every stitch of clothing from your body.” His voice was gravel and smoke. “Tie your wrists and take you hard until you’ve spent yourself from pleasure. But don’t start something we can’t finish yet.”

Sighing, she said, “Is that your way of reminding me to focus on Bartholomew Pritchard?”

“Only for now.” He kissed her cheek. “He must have money to play those tables. Men only go to bet deep.”

Caroline idly traced her fingertips along his nape as she theorised aloud. “Perhaps he’s a swindler himself. An old mentor teaching his protégé the tricks of the trade, in exchange for a share of aristocratic spoils. It would be easy to overlook a few murders if he’s profiting handsomely. We’ll visit the Brimstone tomorrow night.”

“I won’t be able to go under an alias,” he pointed out. “All the aristocrats will know me.”

“Nicholas Thorne and Alexandra Grey are patrons of a few of my charities,” she said, referring to the club’s owner and his wife. “I’m familiar with their staff. I’ll disguise myself as a serving maid. Try to find out where Mr Pritchard lives. He might be harbouring Kellerman.”

“I don’t like putting you in danger.” Julian traced her lower lip with the edge of his thumb.

“I could say the same about you,” she replied.