1
BELGRAVE SQUARE, LONDON, AUGUST 1847
Hannah Simmons held the ledger in her hand, fingers tingling with excitement at being so close to identifying the killer.
Secrets never revealed themselves easily, but Hannah would discover the evidence she needed. Her record was impeccable. Tonight would be no different, and none of the powdered toffs below would be any the wiser. Except the guilty party, of course.
Shadows danced and wavered, taunting Hannah as she squinted at the meticulously perfect script. More light would be much appreciated but she dared not risk a second candle.
Claws of desperation scraped along her nerves, tightening her muscles. She had been gone too long. She might be an inconsequential speck of brown muslin tossed amongst the glittering lords and ladies of the beau monde, but someone was bound to notice if she didn’t return soon.
While adept at lying, inventing a viable reason for being nose-deep in Lord Geoffrey Bradford, the Earl of Sussex’s financial records would be a challenge, even for Hannah. But she refused to leave empty-handed.
Even in the dim light, Hannah could make out intricate carvings in the mahogany bookshelves of cherubs chasing each other. An odd choice for such a sombre room, but Lord Bradford was known for his eccentricities.
His horrific moustache, for one. Enough to make any young miss shudder.
As if she had time for such delicate behaviour. She snorted. A lady’s companion cresting the dark side of four and twenty was made of sterner stuff. Especially one with her particular training and skillset.
Best crack on with the task at hand.
She could say with certainty the Earl of Sussex was a fastidious bookkeeper, but a killer? She couldn’t answer the question. Yet. Her mission demanded she find evidence before reaching a conclusion and exacting justice.
The clock ticked ominously in the corner. The longer she rifled through his desk, the greater risk of discovery.
So quit faffing about.
She turned another page. Her heartbeat quickened at the name written in neat, even print.
I found her!
Before she could copy down the information, the study door creaked open.
Quick as a whip, Hannah pinched the candle wick, extinguishing the flame. She ducked behind the desk, holding her breath. With any luck, it was just a nosy footman or a scandalous liaison.
The brightness in the hallway briefly highlighted a man’s silhouette before he shut the door with a deafening click, plunging the room back into darkness.
Blazing hellfire!
Hannah didn’t have time for interruptions. But the mystery man piqued her curiosity. A footman would carry a candle to light the way. Perhaps one of the gentlemen below was meeting a lady, or one of the servants was thieving from Lord Bradford. Regardless, Hannah couldn’t wait around to find out. Nor could she pop out from behind the desk and create any kind of plausible excuse for her presence in the study.
Time to make a quiet exit.
A consummate professional, Hannah did not get caught. Ever. And this dunderhead, whomever he was, wasn’t changing that. Quietly gathering up her skirts, she found the blade tied high on her thigh, just above the ribbon holding her hose in place. She slipped the knife free, taking comfort in the familiar heft. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need the blade, but it never hurt to be prepared.
Rising from her crouched position, she paused. He couldn’t see much in the dark room, and the brown material of her simple dress kept Hannah hidden in the shadows. While she preferred to fight, in this instance, flight was a cleaner exit strategy.
Bay windows were spaced evenly along the outer wall of the study. She could sneak behind one of the curtains shrouding the windows. They were on the second floor, but she could shimmy out if there was a ledge. It wouldn’t be the first window she used for escape, nor the last.
A floorboard creaked to her left. Hannah moved to the right. Her leather boots, far too comfortable for fashion, slid silently over the thick rug as she inched closer to the wall. Reaching out her hand to avoid colliding into the cherub-carved bookcase, Hannah’s fingers followed the grooves in the wood leading her to freedom.
The stranger paused in his movements. She held her breath.
Damnation!
Had he heard her? Impossible. Hannah moved like a ghost. Her training ensured that.
Her fingers met the soft, velvet curtain.
