Chapter 5

1817, Almack's Assembly Rooms, London

V ictor Sutherland Cambridge, second son of the Duke and Duchess of Bolton, stood alone on the private terrace at Almack's. Desperately needing space to think and breathe without the cloying scent of desperation and despair, he sought refuge in a section of the building very few knew about. He needed solace from the turmoil swirling in his head. Though he had danced attendance on a handful of women, he knew they had his older brother Lucas in their sights. After all, Lucas was the heir to the dukedom and currently Marquess of Winchester. Victor knew he would not be missed. He loved his family, but there was no way he would go along with his mother's harebrained scheme to marry them off by the end of the season.

Victor stood quietly in the shadows, watching the night sky in peace, knowing no one ever came to this side of the building. The only way in was via a secret entrance through the cellar. He pondered the identity of Agent X. Not only had the culprit stolen the La Peregrina Pearl right out from under his nose, but he was also no closer to finding a connection with the dead bodies. In the past three months, there had been four more robberies from wealthy members of the ton and another four bodies. Victor dragged his fingers through his hair and cursed inwardly. The thief would pull off a daring heist then go to ground, vanishing completely, only to strike again the following month. Victor's analytical brain kept nagging at him that he was missing a connection somehow, overlooking something vital. As a spy for the Foreign Office, his job was to be abreast of everything, but lately, he felt redundant and useless.

He stilled when he heard someone muttering and cursing. If he was not mistaken, it was a female voice. Victor stepped back further into the shadows among the creeping vines and listened as he heard what sounded like someone heaving and panting for air on the other side of the balustrade.

"Of course, you had to wear the most ridiculous gown, you stupid woman!" said the feminine voice. Soon a pair of very dainty gloved hands appeared on the railing ledge, followed by the top of a well-coiffured head. What struck him was a slipper-clad foot connected to a shapely leg wearing thigh-high stockings and garter appearing over the railing. Moments later a woman in a ballgown hauled herself onto the terrace, trying but failing to do it demurely. As she hoisted her body over, she toppled onto his side of the railing, her chemise and petticoat barely managed to conceal her naked skin. Victor was treated to a risqué flash of nudity before she managed to cover herself.

Something stirred inside him. Something he had never felt before. Interest, intrigue and—shock of all shocks—he felt his body stir as well, at least his lower half that seemed to have been dormant for ages. Victor shook his head. Surely this was purely because he had not sought relief with any woman since that fateful night with Lydia. He was experiencing for him, the longest dry spell in history. He reasoned that was why he was now lusting after the stranger before him who, it seemed, was now talking to herself in the dark.

"Serves you right if you break your neck in the fall!" she muttered to herself.

Victor frowned at the sight of the woman, very well attired yet somewhat flustered from the climb. He immediately rose to his full height, his back stiffening. Surely the woman was not trying to trap him somehow. If so, he was ready to make a hasty exit, appalled at the lengths desperate women would go to secure a match with an eligible gentleman. He hated Almack's and the London season for this very reason.

His suspicions were soon laid to rest because he realized she had not seen him. Instead, he was treated to her cursing to herself while straightening her clothing and hair. When she stood at full height, she would only come up to his chin; she was sturdy with an exceptional bustline and rounded hips. She looked vaguely familiar. He wondered who she was, but he could not see her fully given the darkness and the half-moon.

Still, the woman reminded him of a sensual garden nymph. Currently, she was fishing for something inside the front of her gown. Her movements gave him an unimpeded view of her somewhat abundant curves and cleavage. Victor immediately felt something shift within him. She was beautiful in an understated way, but not demure as she continued talking to herself. "Lud! This is by far the worst idea you have ever had. Maude was right—you have very little bloody sense between your ears."

Victor grinned despite himself and wondered who Maude was. Soon he felt uncomfortable watching her. Perhaps he should alert her to his presence. He was about to when she lifted up the skirt of her dress, revealing a very shapely thigh and pulled out a tiny, short-pistol fastened to her garter. Victor stilled and watched as she refastened it to her other thigh, lowered the gown, and straightened it.

What was a woman of the ton doing with a pistol? Unless she was a thief or someone up to nefarious deeds. The instinct to protect the Crown surged within him, and Victor was about to move forward and demand she explain herself when the terrace doors burst open. He stood back, well hidden in the shadows.

"Bree! Thank the Lord. I was beginning to wonder where you were," Caitlin Drummond said. "What took you so long?"

Victor knew who Caitlin was, seeing as his eldest brother, Lucas, was half in love with the woman—though Lucas had not realized it yet. Victor watched the exchange and relaxed, knowing Caitlin Drummond did not seem like one to associate with ruffians, so he quietly listened in.

"What took me so long? Caity, I had to scale a garden wall to get here. The door in the cellar was locked," the woman replied.

"Really? I'm so sorry, Briana. I gave strict instructions to the footmen that it is to be left open."

Victor stilled, realizing he had locked it after entering. Then he was intrigued because now he had her identity. Now he remembered why she looked so familiar. She was a wallflower debutante and often in Caitlin's company. So, her name was Briana. He had seen her at routs but never really noticed her... until now. Still, he wondered why the women were on the private terrace.

Briana asked, "What is so important I had to risk life and limb to get here? You're fortunate I did not shoot myself in the buttocks with my short pistol."

"Why are you still carrying that thing? 'Tis dangerous," Caitlin replied.

"How else can I scare off over-eager suitors?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you could learn to hide more effectively. I can show you many intriguing spots in virtually every building in London."

"I prefer to shoot first and ask questions later," Briana replied.

Despite himself, Victor found himself grinning. He had never paid much attention to Caitlin's unassuming friend before, or female conversation for that matter, but from the brief observation thus far, he found Briana somewhat amusing—and precious little amused him these days.

"I overheard the coven of witches talking about you," Caitlin said.

"Let me guess, Camille Fenton is enacting her vengeance?"

"Yes, she and Penelope Swinbourne specifically. That is why I wanted to meet in the back hall, but you took so bloody long I came in search of you. Whatever they have planned will not be pleasant, and it’s best we bide the time away from the throng for a moment."

"Or we can waltz straight into that ballroom and shoot her peacock-feather headpiece with my short pistol," Briana replied.

Caitlin giggled and said, "I doubt the bullet would penetrate her wig."

Briana threw her head back and burst out laughing, clutching her belly before quickly covering her mouth to stifle the sound.

Victor couldn't help but find Briana's laugh attractive. Damn, everything about the woman he was finding attractive. He shook his head at the thought.

Briana finally controlled herself then said, "Alas, I do not think I can stay much longer. I snuck away when my chaperone, Maude, fell asleep, but she'll soon rouse. I'll need to get back to wallflower row, or she'll become even more cantankerous than usual."

"Oh, such a pity. I cannot return to the ballroom as my stepmother is trying to foist another ancient lordling upon me."

"Then stay, and I shall return the way I came."

"Surely not. You are not climbing back down that way, are you?" Caitlin asked with consternation.

Victor stiffened and clenched his fists. Climbing up was not so bad, but going down could be slippery at best. He stood ready to intervene if the headstrong chit was foolish enough to attempt it. He was about to give away his hiding spot to prevent such a calamity when the terrace door opened. This time it was a footman.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Walsh. A gentleman asked that I convey this note to you." He held out an envelope on a silver platter to Briana.

Caitlin and Briana both stilled in surprise—how could anyone know she was there?

Briana replied, "Thank you." She took the note. The footman nodded then left the way he came.

"Good grief, who could be sending you a note up here? No one knew you were coming here, did they?" Caitlin asked.

"No. I slipped away."

"Well, open it. It may be from a secret admirer who has been watching you from afar. Oh, how romantic, Bree!"

Victor noticed Briana pale slightly in the moonlight before she gave Caitlin a half-hearted smile. She opened the note, read it, and her expression gave away nothing.

"So, who is it from?" Caitlin asked.

"It's nothing at all. Apparently, my coachman saw me slip away and he wanted to notify me that the carriage has moved further afield."

Victor knew right down to his bones: Briana was lying for some reason. He would bet the note held something far more important than a coachman's message. He raised his brow and frowned, now a little more intrigued.

"Well, seeing as it's no secret you are here now, we might as well take the stairs."

"Good suggestion indeed," Briana replied, and the two women ventured indoors, and left the terrace.

Victor waited a few more moments to ensure they were both gone, then he stepped out of the shadows. He decided to peer over the railing, and his heart almost lodged in his throat realizing it was quite a feat for her to make it up the wall in that gown. He shook his head at her brazenness.

Victor was about to make his way back inside when he saw the crumpled-up note on the floor. Briana must have dropped it. Victor picked it up and read it. Then he clenched his jaw. The note read, "2 a.m – The usual place. Come alone and do not be late!"

A thousand thoughts went through his mind at once. Why was she arranging an assignation with a gentleman? And where would a young lady go to alone at 2 a.m? Suddenly, like a sleeping dragon awakened from slumber and rumbling as the earth shook, Victor was alert and intrigued. He loved a good puzzle, and this Briana chit was puzzling indeed.