Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 154
“Yes!” he said. Only, he didn’t.
“Very well, I’ll be blunt. If I am looking at you strangely, Your Grace, it’s because I cannot help but sense that there is something…deeply untruthful about you.”
“Oh really?” Luke said, his heart pounding.
Sidney gave a placid nod. “I am merely trying to decide if it’s malicious or benign.”
Luke clenched his jaw. Bloody hell. He saw that he was trapped.
Dammit, he had long since realized this was bound to happen sometime, that someone would eventually catch on to his ruse. And so he had prepared a range of denials and excuses with which to misdirect or allay others’ suspicions.
But now that the dreaded moment had arrived, Luke realized that lying to a canny bastard like Sidney probably wouldn’t work.
Moreover, if he took him into his confidence, the man could potentially be a valuable ally.
“So which is it?” Sidney prompted with a blunt stare. “Malicious or benign?”
Luke studied him for a moment longer through narrowed eyes. “Very well. I’ll tell you. But if you repeat this to anyone, I will kill you,” he said, sounding most un-Lucas-like.
Sidney’s eyes widened as he realized Luke wasn’t jesting. “Oh really?” With an uneasy scoff, the viscount sat up straight, his expression sobering. “Well, you can try.”
“I will succeed. Trust me,” Luke said.
“Aha. So, malicious, then.”
“No. Just a great deal more serious than I suspect you’re used to.” With that, he cast off his Lucas façade altogether.
Sidney set his drink down and studied him shrewdly. “Very well. You have my attention. Consider me sworn to secrecy, Your Grace.”
Luke nodded in approval, took a drink of ale, then gave Sidney a hard look and set his tankard down. “Ever heard of Silversmoke?”
Sidney furrowed his brow. “What, that do-gooder highwayman up in Hampstead Heath? What about him?”
Luke stared at him.
Quick-witted as he was, it took Sidney a moment to catch Luke’s meaning. Then his jaw dropped. “Oh my God. You?”
Luke nodded slowly.
Sidney gaped at him, speechless.
Luke hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
“No.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The viscount leaned forward in his seat, incredulous. “The Silversmoke?” he whispered.
“In the flesh,” Luke murmured, fighting a grin.
“No, you’re not!” Sidney fairly shouted, on the verge of hilarity.
His outburst attracted still more disapproving scowls from the graybeards.
“Keep your voice down!” Luke muttered, glancing over his shoulder at them. “I am. I swear it. Have been for years.” He began laughing quietly as Sidney shook his head in disbelief.
For, of course, it really was absurd. But such was his life.
Elbow on the table, Sidney rested his cheek on his fingertips, gazed at Luke in astonishment for another heartbeat, then jumped off the stool and took a few steps toward the billiard table, striving to absorb the news.
After putting things together for a second, he spun around and stared at him. “So that’s why you never come to Town!”
Luke nodded. “Too busy.”
He marched back to him, amazed. “And the whole bumbling, eccentric routine?”
“Cover,” Luke replied.
“I knew it! I knew there was something… But— Jove’s balls, man!” Sidney let out a raucous laugh and suddenly punched him in the arm. “That’s the maddest thing I ever heard!”
“Ow.”
“Why in the hell would you take up a sword as a—”
“Shh! Because somebody murdered my parents when I was seventeen,” Luke said in a low voice.
“Oh…right.” Sidney hesitated. “Sorry. I forgot about that.”
Luke waved off his apology. “That’s how it all began. I swore revenge, and then, after a while, righting wrongs just became, I dunno…a habit. Like a hobby.”
“A hobby!” Sidney echoed, shaking his head. He plumped back down into his stool and laughed. “And to think, I took up drawing.”
“Drawing’s a fine hobby,” Luke mumbled with another wary glance over his shoulder to make sure that none of the graybeards were listening. They’d probably call the constable on him if they knew who was sitting in their club right now.
Sidney’s humor had faded at the mention of Luke’s parents. “I truly am sorry for your loss, Fountainhurst. It’s nightmarish, what happened to them. I’ve heard the story.”
Luke nodded his thanks.
“I can certainly see how an experience like that would make one feel compelled to do something about all the evil in the world. God knows there’s never any shortage of it. But it’s still mad, you know.”
Luke sighed. “Yes, I know.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Silversmoke!”
“You cannot tell a soul,” Luke warned. “I move among a rough class of men in that capacity, and believe me, I’ve made enemies.”
“I’d imagine so.” Sidney gazed at the ceiling, then looked at Luke. “All those stories in the papers. Are they true?”
“For the most part.”
“Huh. What can I say but bravo, Your Grace.” Sidney began applauding slowly, grinning from ear to ear. “Well played. You missed your calling. Truly. You should’ve trod the planks at Drury Lane. You’d outshine Mr. Kean.”
Luke smirked.
“Hold on—does Portia know?”
“No! And I don’t want her finding out.”
“Why not?”
“Sidney.”
The viscount lifted his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell her. It’s hardly my place. But she is a clever woman, neither blind nor stupid.”
“Believe me, I know.” Luke hesitated, uneasy to recall the way she’d stared at him last night, when Mr. Lynch had asked him to take off his spectacles. His fear of her catching on was the reason that Silversmoke had not sought another meeting with her.
Thank goodness they had only been together twice, both times under cover of darkness.
“I’m not actually sure yet how I’m going to handle the whole highwayman business once we’re wed,” Luke murmured. “I’ll probably just quit the whole business.”
“Seems a shame to give up such a fine hobby.”
Luke snorted.
“Well… Now I’m finally starting to see the whole picture.” Sidney leaned back in his chair. “It’s not just the Duke of Fountainhurst trying to figure out what happened to Joel. Silversmoke is on the hunt.”
Luke nodded.
“Very well. So how can I help?”
Luke gave him a grateful glance. “If you’d speak to your friend Marta, like you said, that would be helpful.”
“Done. What else?”
Luke frowned at him. “Are you sure you really want to get involved in this? It could get messy.”
“For Portia? Of course. And besides, honestly, my God, I have nothing meaningful to do. You must let me help, Fountainhurst.”
“Very well. Given that you seem to know everyone in the ton, it might also be of use if you could do some discreet asking around about Axewood.”
“Oh, this I can do,” Sidney said, eagerly leaning closer. “What sort of information are you after?”
“I dunno… I want to gain a sense of what he’s really like from those who know him well. His character. Personal history and so forth. Whatever you can dig up.”
“Very well, I understand.” With a sly grin, Sidney sat back in his chair. “You’ve got yourself a spy in Society, Your Grace. How soon do you need the answers?”
“As soon as possible, I should think. Certainly within sixteen days,” Luke added wryly.
Sidney laughed. “I’ll be in touch the moment I hear anything.” Then he raised his glass in a toast. “To the future Duchess of Fountainhurst.”
“Hear, hear. I’ll drink to that.” Luke clinked glasses with him. “To my bride.”
“What’s she doing today, anyway?”
“Actually, I don’t know. But I think I’ll go and see her after this.”
The viscount laughed at him in worldly amusement. “Stupid, bloody love.”
“Aye,” Luke said, but regretted it not a bit.
* * *
Portia, meanwhile, was standing on a footstool in her chamber, staring at her reflection in the cheval glass.
“Oh, Mrs. Bell,” she said in awe, “you have truly outdone yourself.”
“I am glad you are pleased, my lady.” The famous dressmaker inspected her work on her client’s slim figure.
Mama leaned against one of Portia’s bedposts nearby, gazing at her in her wedding gown in teary-eyed silence.
The poor marchioness had barely just recovered from her crying bout this morning over her son; now she was choked up again over her youngest daughter.
“I can’t believe my baby is getting married.”
Mrs. Bell smiled at her. “There will be grandchildren to occupy you soon, Lady Liddicoat, God willing.”
“Yes.” Mama nodded. In truth, though, the glamorous lady was never too fond of being reminded of that, as young as she looked, she was indeed of a grandmother’s age.
Portia smiled fondly at her in the reflection, then ran her hands down over herself, smoothing the cream lace she had chosen as part of the pastoral fantasy theme of her wedding.
It truly was perfect.
The slim-fitting gown had a scoop neck and short sleeves with a dainty ruffle above her elbows. A short train hung down from the footstool behind her.
Nothing too showy—it had to go with the wildflowers and simple ribbon garlands that would be hanging everywhere in the church—but elegant enough for a woman about to become a duchess.
This really is happening, Portia thought in wonder.
At last, after all the delays and the distance that had existed between them, her marriage to the Duke of Fountainhurst was beginning to feel real.
“Do you want to try the veil now, my lady?”
Portia smiled at Mrs. Bell and nodded eagerly.
As Mrs. Bell helped Portia put it on—the veil was also made of lace, and trimmed with narrow blue ribbon—a discreet knock sounded on the chamber door.
The maid standing by to assist went over to answer it, then Portia heard Stevens’ voice.
“Is Lady Portia at home?” the butler asked. “His Grace of Fountainhurst is in the entrance hall.”
“Ack!” Portia said, though she was delighted to hear that he had come to call.
“Oh God, don’t let him see her!” Mama pushed away from the bedpost. “It’s dreadful bad luck!”
“Relax, Mama, Lucas can’t see me all the way from the entrance hall. But I’ll bet he could hear me—Stevens, open the door wider. Don’t worry, I’m decent.”
“May I look, ma’am?” the butler asked Mama.
“Let him see,” Portia said. After all, Stevens had known Portia and her siblings since they were little. She could still remember the excitement among all the servants when she had been arrayed for her debut in that ridiculous court dress that all debutantes were required to wear to make their curtsies to the Queen, complete with panniers and a giant white feather on her head.
This was much more reasonable, and altogether pretty, she decided.
Smiling, Mama gestured to the butler to have a peek. The maid pushed the door open wider, and Stevens poked his graying head in.
Portia turned around, and when the butler saw her, he beamed.
“Ah—!” He seemed speechless for a heartbeat. “Magnificent, my lady. Shall I tell His Grace so?”
“If you like. But maybe…” Suddenly, Portia raised her voice to an indecorous but happy shout: “Lucas?”
“My lady?” he called back in a curious tone, his deep voice resounding up the staircase from the entrance hall. “Is that you?”
“Don’t come up!” she warned. “I just wanted to say hullo! I can’t see you right now. I’m trying on my wedding gown!”
“Oh!” he exclaimed.
“She looks radiant!” Mama chimed in, amused to join the shouted conversation.
“I’m sure she does!” Lucas yelled back. “Shall I come back tomorrow, then?”
“Please do!” Portia could feel the blush warming her cheeks, especially with so many witnesses to their jolly exchange.
“Very well. I can’t wait to see you!” he called.
“Likewise, Your Grace,” she replied, laughing. “Now, go away before we get bad luck!”
She heard him laugh. “If I must.”
Stevens chuckled, already on his way. “I will show him out.”
Mrs. Bell smiled coyly at Portia. “Looks like someone’s in love.”
Indeed. Portia looked at her reflection again in her wedding dress, and when she thought of her soon-to-be husband, she couldn’t stop smiling.
CHAPTER 18
Friday Night Answers
Half Moon Street was far too fine for the likes of rough-and-tumble Silversmoke, but that night, after full darkness descended, Luke and Gower arrived on the doorstep of Joel’s bachelor lodgings.
He knew the address, thanks to Joel’s love letter to Portia. That was twice today the thing had come in handy.
While Sidney went to talk to Marta at that exclusive brothel, Wanderlust, Luke meant to interview Joel’s servants.
Still unsure whether to believe Dog or Axewood, he hoped the missing gambler’s staff might know something about Dog’s “big bald man.” If not, perhaps they could verify the uncle’s claim about Joel falling in love with his mistress.
His valet, in particular, seemed the perfect person to ask about Clayton’s dalliances with other women.
Gentlemen did tend to confide in their valets about such matters, much as gentlewomen entrusted their secrets to their lady’s maids.
Leaving the horses tied up in the pitch-black alleyway next to the missing dandy’s fashionable townhouse—a stuccoed affair two window bays wide—Luke knocked firmly on the door.
Gower stood silent beside him. His visits to the other gambling hells so far had yielded no results.
As they waited for someone to answer, Luke chuckled over his brief visit to Portia’s house today. Their shouted conversation had been amusing, but he couldn’t wait to be with her again.
God’s truth, it was getting harder and harder to lie to her. He thought of the Janus statue he had seen on Axewood’s desk this morning, and brushed off a twinge of conscience.
“Where the hell is everybody?” Gower muttered.
They exchanged an impatient glance, then Luke rapped again, harder this time.
“Coming!” a male voice called from inside. They heard heavy footfalls approaching, then the door creaked open, and the clean-shaved face of a husky young footman peered out over the candle in his hand.
He glanced suspiciously from Luke to Gower and back again. “Can I ’elp you gentl’men?”
“I’m here on behalf of Lady Portia Tennesley. I trust you know who I am,” Luke said in a dark tone.
The footman’s eyes grew round. “Mr. Silversmoke?” he whispered. His awestruck gaze traveled over Luke—dressed all in black, heavily armed, the upper part of his face hidden by his half mask.
“In the flesh.” Luke hooked a thumb at Gower. “This is my associate. Mind if we come in and ask a few questions?”
“Of course!” The door swung open wider, and the strapping lad beckoned them in. “By all means, come in, sirs, please. You are most welcome. Lady Portia said you might want to come and talk to us. Cassius! Mrs. Berry! Come quick!” he hollered.
Luke stepped warily over the threshold into Joel’s townhouse; Gower followed.
It gave Luke a very odd feeling to be visiting the home of the man who might well have married his fiancée—who might yet steal her away from him, if Axewood was lying.
The thought sat like a stone in Luke’s stomach.
“I’m Denny,” the footman said. He quickly shut the door behind them, then hurried over to the pier table, where he turned up the lamp.
As the dim light rose to full brightness, Luke looked around at the small but elegant entrance hall. Gower remained silent, on his guard, thumbs hooked into his gun belt.
“I’m happy to help any way I can, Mr. Silversmoke,” Denny said earnestly.
Before Luke could answer, two other servants came running in answer to the lad’s call of a moment ago.
A plump, aproned woman rushed out from the probable direction of the kitchens, and a slim, tidy man came springing down the stairs.
“What’s the matter, Denny?” the latter asked.
“Has our master come back?” the woman cried.
Their faces promptly fell when they saw two rough-looking strangers standing there instead of their beloved Mr. Clayton.
Gower’s smirk grew even more sardonic at their disappointment.
“It’s Silversmoke, Mrs. Berry,” Denny said in wonder, gesturing at him. “He wants to ask us questions!”
“Silversmoke! Bless me, is it really you?” Mrs. Berry seemed torn between amazement and a twinge of worry as to whether she ought to hide the silver.
“Never fear, ma’am, I’m here to help.” Luke gave her one of his most dashing highwayman smiles, and she lit up.
The tidy little man had paused cautiously on the stairs, meanwhile, but now continued walking down. His eyes were shrewder than the others, his expression warier.
“Well, of course, we’re glad to help, dears,” Mrs. Berry said, apparently won over. “Would ye like to sit down? Don’t just stand there! Make yourselves comfortable. Can I get you fellows anythin’ to drink? Perhaps a bite to eat?”
Poor woman, it seemed she had not had anyone to mother-hen in over a year.
“That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but we’d better stick to business,” Luke said in amusement.
“Aw. Well, all right, then. But if you need anything a’tall, dears, you only have to ask. I’m Mrs. Berry, this is Cassius, Mr. Clayton’s valet, and we’re ever so grateful you’re helpin’ Lady Portia find our master.”
She beckoned him down to her, lowering her voice as Luke bent toward her ear.
