Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 141
Luke huffed and scowled but gave him the money.
“You’re in luck,” Foy said. “It’s two weeks from yesterday. They’re having it Wednesday night, June eighteenth.”
“Where?”
“Buckinghamshire. Find your way to a little village in the Chiltern Hills by the name of Fergus Wood. When you get there, you’ll inquire at The Goat’s Head Inn and give the password Fortuna.”
“Fortuna?” Luke echoed. Well, that was appropriate for a gambling tournament.
“Once you give them the password, you’ll be given more detailed instructions on where exactly to go within the local area. The fair starts at nightfall and goes until dawn. That’s all I know. But watch yourself if you go. This thing attracts a nasty crowd.”
Luke thanked him with another handshake, then went back outside, rejoining Gower.
Once they had cleared the dodgy environs of Seven Dials, Luke told Gower what he’d learned and showed him the card.
It was troubling information, but at least the next move was clear.
“Looks like we’re going to Carnevale,” he told the Yorkshireman.
If they got there and found Joel being forced to play against his will, they’d confront whoever had him and rescue the poor beggar. Get him out of there, nice and easy. It might get bloody, but Luke liked a clean, uncomplicated plan.
Until then, he’d continue exploring other routes in case the Carnevale track amounted to nothing.
One way or the other, with any luck, he’d have Joel back to his Buttercup in no time.
Somehow, that thought gave him little joy.
Luke smiled anyway, eager to see her again at their rendezvous tonight in the gazebo. Silversmoke could get away with things that Lucas wouldn’t dare, after all, and he had plans for her.
Until tonight, my lady.
* * *
That night, sure enough, Portia attended the ball at the Grand Albion with her parents, just as they did every Thursday evening in the Season.
They arrived at eight o’clock, as usual, when the evening sun had turned the western sky to a blaze of pink. Then they waited in the queue on the red-carpeted stairs leading up from the grand marble foyer to the ballroom.
When it was their turn to be announced by the Assembly Rooms’ master of ceremonies, they stepped into the ballroom, peeked around at the crowd, and promptly went their separate ways.
They had never really been a close-knit family.
Papa ambled off to join his friends in the refreshment room, sampling biscuits and cucumber sandwiches. Mama, arrayed in diamonds, sailed over to join her haughty coterie in swigging champagne.
Portia located her usual group of friends and told them all how beautiful they looked. It was true—and each of their husbands seemed to know it.
Azrael was kind enough to fetch Portia a goblet of punch without even a nudge from Serena. It was most endearing how the quiet, pale-haired duke had taken it upon himself to look after his wife’s best friend almost like a brother. Which was lovely of him, since her own brother was halfway around the world, doing God knew what.
Portia was still trying not to think too much about whether Hunter would make it back to England in time for her wedding. So be it. She knew he’d at least try.
The evening passed in the usual way. Trinny chatted about the baby, while Gable was drawn off by his father, the stately Lord Sefton, to talk politics again with some of the graybeards. He was clearly being groomed for positions of importance in the future.
As the night proceeded, Portia got around to dancing with her charming friend, Lord Sidney, one of the most beautiful men in all London, to be sure.
He was elusive as a husband, though, a committed bachelor and consummate flirt. The suave, golden-haired heir to a marquisate very much enjoyed his single state—for now.
No doubt it would be a different story, however, when he inherited his father’s title. Though he seemed on the surface to be naught but an idle ton buck with perfect hair and a brilliant white smile, Portia had often been on the receiving end of Sidney’s solid common sense and genuine compassion.
He had been extremely kind to her when Joel had first gone missing, smoothly redirecting awkward questions from others away from her, shielding her from too much attention, noticing when her emotions grew wobbly and whisking her away to take a moment’s privacy to collect herself.
The most interesting thing about Sidney, though, was how he always seemed to know the latest gossip.
“I heard Fountainhurst has resurfaced,” he remarked as they promenaded down the aisle between the two standing rows of dancers awaiting their turn. “You must be so pleased.”
When he looked askance at her, Portia could not miss the glimmer of amusement in his cobalt eyes.
She chuckled with uneasy humor, suddenly feeling guilty for those occasions now and then when she had made irreverent remarks to her friends about her eccentric fiancé.
“He means well,” she said.
Sidney tut-tutted her. “He ignored you for months, cherie—when you needed him most, I daresay. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“Oh, nothing escapes your notice, I am well aware,” she replied.
He winked at her, conceding this.
“But don’t worry,” Portia said. “There is hope for us yet. His Grace feels we ought to start spending more time together, and I’ve agreed to work with him.”
“Gracious lady.”
Portia snorted at his wry tone as they turned and joined the row of dancers walking, hands joined, in the opposite direction. “He is taking me on a picnic on Monday. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Adorable,” Sidney drawled. “Will there be insects involved?”
“I sincerely hope not.”
He laughed.
“Oh, be nice, Sid,” she chided with affection. “He hasn’t had it easy, you know—unlike some people.”
“You are brutal!” he exclaimed.
Portia laughed.
“But for your sake, my dear, very well,” he said with a teasing glance. “I shall withhold judgment on the quiz, at least until I hear from you how it went, this picnic.”
“You always seem to find out, anyway.”
“True. It’s astonishing, the things people tell me.”
“Well, everybody trusts you.”
“That’s my evil plan,” he murmured, looking askance at her.
Portia laughed, but given all she had to hide lately, she changed the subject. Telling Serena about Silversmoke was one thing. Telling Sidney: never.
She dreaded to wonder what a protective male friend like him would do.
“Enough about me and Fountainhurst. What about you, sir?”
The rake gave her a curious frown as the figures of the dance sent them to stand in opposite rows, facing each other. “What about me?”
Portia arched a brow at him. “When are we going to find you a wife, eh?”
He scowled at her from beneath his golden forelock, then whisked off with a cheerful “Adieu, ma petite. So sorry, I must go,” as their lines began to move in opposite directions.
She could hear him laughing as he danced away.
“Rogue!” she said over her shoulder as the dance separated them.
Sidney blew her a cheeky kiss farewell.
Portia scoffed, still smiling, but by the time the country dance ended, she glanced at the clock and her eyes widened.
Time had flown in his company. It was now mere minutes till eleven. I need to get out of here!
Suddenly breathless with excitement, Portia slyly retrieved her reticule, finished the last swallow of punch in her goblet to bolster her courage, then slid a furtive glance toward a side door leading off the ballroom.
She began moving toward it in perfect nonchalance—but then disaster nearly struck.
Felicity’s handsome elder brother, Major Peter Carvel (dubbed “Danger Man” by Trinny), was making his way toward her as the next dance was called.
Portia saw his dashing red uniform coat amid the crowd, saw him searching her out with those shrewd, flinty eyes.
He lifted his square chin and scanned the throng, absently running a hand through his light brown hair.
At that moment, Major Carvel spotted her, and though he didn’t smile—the stern military veteran wasn’t much of a smiler—he raised his hand to flag her attention as the next dance was called.
Portia blanched.
She hated to flee him—Peter Carvel was a most intriguing fellow, not to mention a war hero. The last thing she wanted was to seem disrespectful.
Rather than reject him, and certainly not daring to explain why she had to go, Portia ducked down behind a cluster of ladies, feeling just a wee bit ridiculous.
What choice did she have? Danger Man had hunted deadly wild animals in India after leaving the army; he would easily find one mere blonde if she did not get herself out of here at once.
She refused to miss her meeting with Silversmoke.
If she was late, the highwayman might not wait for her. They were both taking serious risks here, meeting like this. She had to go.
Slipping away through the crowd before Peter could spot her, she left the rugged major furrowing his brow and looking around in confusion, as though wondering where she’d disappeared to.
In the next moment, Portia sneaked out the side door, looked around wildly for the best route, then darted down an unobtrusive staircase used by the hotel staff.
The next thing she knew, she was fleeing out of the lavish hotel, feeling rather gleeful. Hitching up the hem of her ball gown, she bolted across the street as discreetly as possible.
The liveried footmen stationed at the grand front entrance took notice of her, and no doubt wondered what on earth she was about, but Portia did not look back.
Instead, she raced alongside the black wrought-iron fence that girded the park, heart pounding in horror and hilarity at her own daring.
At last, she came to one of the gates in the tall, spiked fence. She fumbled to get her family’s key out of her reticule—the park gates were locked after dark, but residents of Moonlight Square could visit if they liked.
For a fleeting instant, she worried that Silversmoke might not be able to get in. But on second thought, she doubted locked entrances would pose much problem to the likes of him. The man was a hardened outlaw, after all.
Yet even knowing that, her heart pounded with triumph to have escaped all the elegance behind her as she ran to meet the roughest, toughest, most electrifying man she had ever encountered.
As an afterthought, she hoped he did not decide to rob her of the jewels she had worn to impress him. But she laughed at the prospect. He could have them.
He could have nearly anything from her…
The thought of being with him again nearly made her forget that the whole purpose of this meeting was to discuss Joel.
All that mattered was this moment. She did not care to ponder it; all she knew was that she had never felt this way before.
He was so full of passion and feeling. So alive…
The little white gazebo came into view ahead, ethereal in the moonlight. Breathless and eager, Portia ran down the graveled path toward it.
Her heart leaped when she spotted a dark, broad-shouldered silhouette waiting for her there in the shadows.
CHAPTER 11
A Test of Loyalty
Waiting in the gazebo for their rendezvous, Luke had once more donned his black half mask, skipped a couple of shaves, and transformed back into Silversmoke.
He leaned against a white post in the whimsical garden folly, listening to the wind soughing through the trees, and watching the play of starlight and shadows dapple the park’s pleasant acreage.
He’d been a few minutes early, admittedly eager to see his lovely bride again, but he was not at all eager to tell her what he’d learned. That part of his task tonight was bound to be difficult.
Gaining access to the park after nightfall had been easy, however, since, well, he lived here and had a blasted key.
Thanks to his conversation with her in the church as Lucas, he had known where she’d be tonight and what she would be doing. After the resourcefulness she’d shown in finding her way to him at The Blind Badger, Luke figured it should be relatively simple for her to slip away from the ballroom for a short while.
Sure enough, a few minutes after eleven, he heard light, running footfalls pattering over the gravel.
Then the girl herself came into view, holding her skirts up prettily as she hurried toward him. Long tendrils of her upswept hair had escaped the coif in her haste and bounced around her shoulders.
He stared, charmed, a smile playing over his lips. God, she was a dream in motion.
Her pale gown must’ve been made of watered silk, the way it shimmered in the moonlight. It had a modest V-neck and short puff sleeves.
Her flaxen hair shone in the dark with the brightness of moonbeams, and since her ball gown skimmed her ankles for ease in dancing, he caught a glimpse of pale kid slippers as she flitted up the stairs.
Invading the gazebo with nimble delicacy, she came to stand, panting, right in front of him.
“I’m here!”
Luke’s mind had gone quite blank, faced with her loveliness. I really get to marry this fairy princess? She was as magical as starlight.
“I hope I’m not late.” She ventured closer with dainty ballerina steps.
He blinked, shaking off his daze.
“No, you’re right on time,” he answered gruffly.
“Oh, good. I’m afraid I can’t stay long.” She cast a nervous glance around. “You said you have news?” She could not seem to hold back her enthusiasm. “I did not expect to hear from you so soon! Oh, Silversmoke! I knew contacting you would be the right thing to do. Gracious, it’s been a year, and Bow Street made no progress whatsoever! For you, it’s been, what, just a couple of days and already you’ve found something?”
He gave her a cautious smile as he took a step closer. “I don’t know how happy you’ll be about it once you hear what I have to say, my lady.”
She froze, her eyes widening.
“Perhaps you should sit down,” he added gently.
She didn’t move, but he saw her brace herself. Her shoulders stiffened and her chin came up a notch. “Is he—dead?”
“No. Not that I’ve confirmed,” Luke said in a somber tone. “But I managed to find a witness who says he saw Joel abducted from outside that gambling hell in Covent Garden.”
“Oh my God.”
Luke put out a hand to steady her, but she had already drifted out of reach, going over to alight on the bench that ran the perimeter of the gazebo.
He stood before her, watching in concern as she stared at the floor planks for a moment, then she lifted her gaze to his. “Abducted? Then that could mean he really is alive somewhere…”
“It could.” Luke sat down beside her, holding her in a somber gaze. He decided on the spot that there was no reason to tell her about the Carnevale. It would only frighten her, and he didn’t know for sure yet. “That is why I needed to speak to you again. I have a few questions.”
“Yes? Anything.” She turned to him in distress.
“The witness I spoke to—”
“Who was it?” she interrupted.
“A fellow gambler at the gaming house. It’s best if I don’t share his name and risk endangering you, but he’s one of the regulars there. Anyway, he told me he saw a large bald man toss Joel into a plain black carriage and drive off. That doesn’t leave me much to go on, so I wanted to ask if you can think of any particular people around Joel who might’ve fit that description. Especially enemies.”
She furrowed her brow, searching her memory. “A big bald man?”
“Anyone like that who might stand out in your mind?”
“No one,” she murmured, clearly upset to hear this.
Luke chose his words with care, torn between the desire to shield her from unpleasantness and his commitment to be honest with her.
At least in this.
She shook her head. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t think of anyone who matches that description. I could try asking his friends—”
“Don’t,” Luke ordered. “It’s too dangerous. If these enemies of his are capable of kidnapping a future earl, God knows what else they might do. We need to move carefully. If you start going around asking questions, it could get back to them.” He nodded with reassurance. “You leave this to me.”
She gazed at him and, slowly, the dread receded from her eyes.
“What is it?” he murmured.
She laid her hand atop his, much to his shock. “You really are helping me, aren’t you?”
“I said I would.”
“Yes, but…”
“You weren’t sure.” It saddened him that she seemed so used to people failing her.
She lifted her hand away, but gave him a wan smile. “Oh, Silversmoke, I feel as if you’re the only person who has truly listened to me about all of this since it happened. I’m more grateful than you know.”
“You’re welcome.” He sat back on the bench with a tender half-smile.
She still looked distressed, though, and her unhappiness plucked at his heart.
“Try not to worry, my lady. I’ll keep working on it. I’ve got a few promising leads. That reminds me. The witness also spoke of a red flower Joel was frequently seen wearing on his boutonniere when he gambled. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Oh, I wasn’t usually with him when he gambled, and he didn’t talk about it with me much, since he knew I didn’t like it.” She shrugged. “He often wore a flower in his boutonniere, though.” She cast him a rueful smile. “He was always a bit of a dandy.”
Luke smiled back, but he was puzzled, trying to make sense of her attraction to this rakehell.
She must’ve noticed the wheels turning in his brain. “What is it?” she murmured as she rested her arm along the railing.
Luke paused, not wishing to overstep his bounds. “You won’t like it.”
“What? Please, speak freely. It’s the best way, and I can take it, whatever it is.”
Debating with himself, Luke rose to his feet, took a step away across a creaking floorboard, then turned to face her with a shrug. “What is it about this chap that so entranced you?”
“You’re in luck,” Foy said. “It’s two weeks from yesterday. They’re having it Wednesday night, June eighteenth.”
“Where?”
“Buckinghamshire. Find your way to a little village in the Chiltern Hills by the name of Fergus Wood. When you get there, you’ll inquire at The Goat’s Head Inn and give the password Fortuna.”
“Fortuna?” Luke echoed. Well, that was appropriate for a gambling tournament.
“Once you give them the password, you’ll be given more detailed instructions on where exactly to go within the local area. The fair starts at nightfall and goes until dawn. That’s all I know. But watch yourself if you go. This thing attracts a nasty crowd.”
Luke thanked him with another handshake, then went back outside, rejoining Gower.
Once they had cleared the dodgy environs of Seven Dials, Luke told Gower what he’d learned and showed him the card.
It was troubling information, but at least the next move was clear.
“Looks like we’re going to Carnevale,” he told the Yorkshireman.
If they got there and found Joel being forced to play against his will, they’d confront whoever had him and rescue the poor beggar. Get him out of there, nice and easy. It might get bloody, but Luke liked a clean, uncomplicated plan.
Until then, he’d continue exploring other routes in case the Carnevale track amounted to nothing.
One way or the other, with any luck, he’d have Joel back to his Buttercup in no time.
Somehow, that thought gave him little joy.
Luke smiled anyway, eager to see her again at their rendezvous tonight in the gazebo. Silversmoke could get away with things that Lucas wouldn’t dare, after all, and he had plans for her.
Until tonight, my lady.
* * *
That night, sure enough, Portia attended the ball at the Grand Albion with her parents, just as they did every Thursday evening in the Season.
They arrived at eight o’clock, as usual, when the evening sun had turned the western sky to a blaze of pink. Then they waited in the queue on the red-carpeted stairs leading up from the grand marble foyer to the ballroom.
When it was their turn to be announced by the Assembly Rooms’ master of ceremonies, they stepped into the ballroom, peeked around at the crowd, and promptly went their separate ways.
They had never really been a close-knit family.
Papa ambled off to join his friends in the refreshment room, sampling biscuits and cucumber sandwiches. Mama, arrayed in diamonds, sailed over to join her haughty coterie in swigging champagne.
Portia located her usual group of friends and told them all how beautiful they looked. It was true—and each of their husbands seemed to know it.
Azrael was kind enough to fetch Portia a goblet of punch without even a nudge from Serena. It was most endearing how the quiet, pale-haired duke had taken it upon himself to look after his wife’s best friend almost like a brother. Which was lovely of him, since her own brother was halfway around the world, doing God knew what.
Portia was still trying not to think too much about whether Hunter would make it back to England in time for her wedding. So be it. She knew he’d at least try.
The evening passed in the usual way. Trinny chatted about the baby, while Gable was drawn off by his father, the stately Lord Sefton, to talk politics again with some of the graybeards. He was clearly being groomed for positions of importance in the future.
As the night proceeded, Portia got around to dancing with her charming friend, Lord Sidney, one of the most beautiful men in all London, to be sure.
He was elusive as a husband, though, a committed bachelor and consummate flirt. The suave, golden-haired heir to a marquisate very much enjoyed his single state—for now.
No doubt it would be a different story, however, when he inherited his father’s title. Though he seemed on the surface to be naught but an idle ton buck with perfect hair and a brilliant white smile, Portia had often been on the receiving end of Sidney’s solid common sense and genuine compassion.
He had been extremely kind to her when Joel had first gone missing, smoothly redirecting awkward questions from others away from her, shielding her from too much attention, noticing when her emotions grew wobbly and whisking her away to take a moment’s privacy to collect herself.
The most interesting thing about Sidney, though, was how he always seemed to know the latest gossip.
“I heard Fountainhurst has resurfaced,” he remarked as they promenaded down the aisle between the two standing rows of dancers awaiting their turn. “You must be so pleased.”
When he looked askance at her, Portia could not miss the glimmer of amusement in his cobalt eyes.
She chuckled with uneasy humor, suddenly feeling guilty for those occasions now and then when she had made irreverent remarks to her friends about her eccentric fiancé.
“He means well,” she said.
Sidney tut-tutted her. “He ignored you for months, cherie—when you needed him most, I daresay. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“Oh, nothing escapes your notice, I am well aware,” she replied.
He winked at her, conceding this.
“But don’t worry,” Portia said. “There is hope for us yet. His Grace feels we ought to start spending more time together, and I’ve agreed to work with him.”
“Gracious lady.”
Portia snorted at his wry tone as they turned and joined the row of dancers walking, hands joined, in the opposite direction. “He is taking me on a picnic on Monday. Isn’t that sweet?”
“Adorable,” Sidney drawled. “Will there be insects involved?”
“I sincerely hope not.”
He laughed.
“Oh, be nice, Sid,” she chided with affection. “He hasn’t had it easy, you know—unlike some people.”
“You are brutal!” he exclaimed.
Portia laughed.
“But for your sake, my dear, very well,” he said with a teasing glance. “I shall withhold judgment on the quiz, at least until I hear from you how it went, this picnic.”
“You always seem to find out, anyway.”
“True. It’s astonishing, the things people tell me.”
“Well, everybody trusts you.”
“That’s my evil plan,” he murmured, looking askance at her.
Portia laughed, but given all she had to hide lately, she changed the subject. Telling Serena about Silversmoke was one thing. Telling Sidney: never.
She dreaded to wonder what a protective male friend like him would do.
“Enough about me and Fountainhurst. What about you, sir?”
The rake gave her a curious frown as the figures of the dance sent them to stand in opposite rows, facing each other. “What about me?”
Portia arched a brow at him. “When are we going to find you a wife, eh?”
He scowled at her from beneath his golden forelock, then whisked off with a cheerful “Adieu, ma petite. So sorry, I must go,” as their lines began to move in opposite directions.
She could hear him laughing as he danced away.
“Rogue!” she said over her shoulder as the dance separated them.
Sidney blew her a cheeky kiss farewell.
Portia scoffed, still smiling, but by the time the country dance ended, she glanced at the clock and her eyes widened.
Time had flown in his company. It was now mere minutes till eleven. I need to get out of here!
Suddenly breathless with excitement, Portia slyly retrieved her reticule, finished the last swallow of punch in her goblet to bolster her courage, then slid a furtive glance toward a side door leading off the ballroom.
She began moving toward it in perfect nonchalance—but then disaster nearly struck.
Felicity’s handsome elder brother, Major Peter Carvel (dubbed “Danger Man” by Trinny), was making his way toward her as the next dance was called.
Portia saw his dashing red uniform coat amid the crowd, saw him searching her out with those shrewd, flinty eyes.
He lifted his square chin and scanned the throng, absently running a hand through his light brown hair.
At that moment, Major Carvel spotted her, and though he didn’t smile—the stern military veteran wasn’t much of a smiler—he raised his hand to flag her attention as the next dance was called.
Portia blanched.
She hated to flee him—Peter Carvel was a most intriguing fellow, not to mention a war hero. The last thing she wanted was to seem disrespectful.
Rather than reject him, and certainly not daring to explain why she had to go, Portia ducked down behind a cluster of ladies, feeling just a wee bit ridiculous.
What choice did she have? Danger Man had hunted deadly wild animals in India after leaving the army; he would easily find one mere blonde if she did not get herself out of here at once.
She refused to miss her meeting with Silversmoke.
If she was late, the highwayman might not wait for her. They were both taking serious risks here, meeting like this. She had to go.
Slipping away through the crowd before Peter could spot her, she left the rugged major furrowing his brow and looking around in confusion, as though wondering where she’d disappeared to.
In the next moment, Portia sneaked out the side door, looked around wildly for the best route, then darted down an unobtrusive staircase used by the hotel staff.
The next thing she knew, she was fleeing out of the lavish hotel, feeling rather gleeful. Hitching up the hem of her ball gown, she bolted across the street as discreetly as possible.
The liveried footmen stationed at the grand front entrance took notice of her, and no doubt wondered what on earth she was about, but Portia did not look back.
Instead, she raced alongside the black wrought-iron fence that girded the park, heart pounding in horror and hilarity at her own daring.
At last, she came to one of the gates in the tall, spiked fence. She fumbled to get her family’s key out of her reticule—the park gates were locked after dark, but residents of Moonlight Square could visit if they liked.
For a fleeting instant, she worried that Silversmoke might not be able to get in. But on second thought, she doubted locked entrances would pose much problem to the likes of him. The man was a hardened outlaw, after all.
Yet even knowing that, her heart pounded with triumph to have escaped all the elegance behind her as she ran to meet the roughest, toughest, most electrifying man she had ever encountered.
As an afterthought, she hoped he did not decide to rob her of the jewels she had worn to impress him. But she laughed at the prospect. He could have them.
He could have nearly anything from her…
The thought of being with him again nearly made her forget that the whole purpose of this meeting was to discuss Joel.
All that mattered was this moment. She did not care to ponder it; all she knew was that she had never felt this way before.
He was so full of passion and feeling. So alive…
The little white gazebo came into view ahead, ethereal in the moonlight. Breathless and eager, Portia ran down the graveled path toward it.
Her heart leaped when she spotted a dark, broad-shouldered silhouette waiting for her there in the shadows.
CHAPTER 11
A Test of Loyalty
Waiting in the gazebo for their rendezvous, Luke had once more donned his black half mask, skipped a couple of shaves, and transformed back into Silversmoke.
He leaned against a white post in the whimsical garden folly, listening to the wind soughing through the trees, and watching the play of starlight and shadows dapple the park’s pleasant acreage.
He’d been a few minutes early, admittedly eager to see his lovely bride again, but he was not at all eager to tell her what he’d learned. That part of his task tonight was bound to be difficult.
Gaining access to the park after nightfall had been easy, however, since, well, he lived here and had a blasted key.
Thanks to his conversation with her in the church as Lucas, he had known where she’d be tonight and what she would be doing. After the resourcefulness she’d shown in finding her way to him at The Blind Badger, Luke figured it should be relatively simple for her to slip away from the ballroom for a short while.
Sure enough, a few minutes after eleven, he heard light, running footfalls pattering over the gravel.
Then the girl herself came into view, holding her skirts up prettily as she hurried toward him. Long tendrils of her upswept hair had escaped the coif in her haste and bounced around her shoulders.
He stared, charmed, a smile playing over his lips. God, she was a dream in motion.
Her pale gown must’ve been made of watered silk, the way it shimmered in the moonlight. It had a modest V-neck and short puff sleeves.
Her flaxen hair shone in the dark with the brightness of moonbeams, and since her ball gown skimmed her ankles for ease in dancing, he caught a glimpse of pale kid slippers as she flitted up the stairs.
Invading the gazebo with nimble delicacy, she came to stand, panting, right in front of him.
“I’m here!”
Luke’s mind had gone quite blank, faced with her loveliness. I really get to marry this fairy princess? She was as magical as starlight.
“I hope I’m not late.” She ventured closer with dainty ballerina steps.
He blinked, shaking off his daze.
“No, you’re right on time,” he answered gruffly.
“Oh, good. I’m afraid I can’t stay long.” She cast a nervous glance around. “You said you have news?” She could not seem to hold back her enthusiasm. “I did not expect to hear from you so soon! Oh, Silversmoke! I knew contacting you would be the right thing to do. Gracious, it’s been a year, and Bow Street made no progress whatsoever! For you, it’s been, what, just a couple of days and already you’ve found something?”
He gave her a cautious smile as he took a step closer. “I don’t know how happy you’ll be about it once you hear what I have to say, my lady.”
She froze, her eyes widening.
“Perhaps you should sit down,” he added gently.
She didn’t move, but he saw her brace herself. Her shoulders stiffened and her chin came up a notch. “Is he—dead?”
“No. Not that I’ve confirmed,” Luke said in a somber tone. “But I managed to find a witness who says he saw Joel abducted from outside that gambling hell in Covent Garden.”
“Oh my God.”
Luke put out a hand to steady her, but she had already drifted out of reach, going over to alight on the bench that ran the perimeter of the gazebo.
He stood before her, watching in concern as she stared at the floor planks for a moment, then she lifted her gaze to his. “Abducted? Then that could mean he really is alive somewhere…”
“It could.” Luke sat down beside her, holding her in a somber gaze. He decided on the spot that there was no reason to tell her about the Carnevale. It would only frighten her, and he didn’t know for sure yet. “That is why I needed to speak to you again. I have a few questions.”
“Yes? Anything.” She turned to him in distress.
“The witness I spoke to—”
“Who was it?” she interrupted.
“A fellow gambler at the gaming house. It’s best if I don’t share his name and risk endangering you, but he’s one of the regulars there. Anyway, he told me he saw a large bald man toss Joel into a plain black carriage and drive off. That doesn’t leave me much to go on, so I wanted to ask if you can think of any particular people around Joel who might’ve fit that description. Especially enemies.”
She furrowed her brow, searching her memory. “A big bald man?”
“Anyone like that who might stand out in your mind?”
“No one,” she murmured, clearly upset to hear this.
Luke chose his words with care, torn between the desire to shield her from unpleasantness and his commitment to be honest with her.
At least in this.
She shook her head. “I-I’m sorry, I can’t think of anyone who matches that description. I could try asking his friends—”
“Don’t,” Luke ordered. “It’s too dangerous. If these enemies of his are capable of kidnapping a future earl, God knows what else they might do. We need to move carefully. If you start going around asking questions, it could get back to them.” He nodded with reassurance. “You leave this to me.”
She gazed at him and, slowly, the dread receded from her eyes.
“What is it?” he murmured.
She laid her hand atop his, much to his shock. “You really are helping me, aren’t you?”
“I said I would.”
“Yes, but…”
“You weren’t sure.” It saddened him that she seemed so used to people failing her.
She lifted her hand away, but gave him a wan smile. “Oh, Silversmoke, I feel as if you’re the only person who has truly listened to me about all of this since it happened. I’m more grateful than you know.”
“You’re welcome.” He sat back on the bench with a tender half-smile.
She still looked distressed, though, and her unhappiness plucked at his heart.
“Try not to worry, my lady. I’ll keep working on it. I’ve got a few promising leads. That reminds me. The witness also spoke of a red flower Joel was frequently seen wearing on his boutonniere when he gambled. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Oh, I wasn’t usually with him when he gambled, and he didn’t talk about it with me much, since he knew I didn’t like it.” She shrugged. “He often wore a flower in his boutonniere, though.” She cast him a rueful smile. “He was always a bit of a dandy.”
Luke smiled back, but he was puzzled, trying to make sense of her attraction to this rakehell.
She must’ve noticed the wheels turning in his brain. “What is it?” she murmured as she rested her arm along the railing.
Luke paused, not wishing to overstep his bounds. “You won’t like it.”
“What? Please, speak freely. It’s the best way, and I can take it, whatever it is.”
Debating with himself, Luke rose to his feet, took a step away across a creaking floorboard, then turned to face her with a shrug. “What is it about this chap that so entranced you?”
