The door swung shut just as they reached it. Dalton’s fingers closed around the brass handle, shoving it open once more. Cold night air met them. The door led to a narrow service alley, lit only by a distant gas lamp where the alley joined the street beyond. The widow’s gray cloak was already a fleeting shape in the gloom, her hurried steps uneven yet driven by sheer desperation. They broke into a jog, skirts and coats flaring behind them. Even from here, Alice could see the swell beneath the fabric of her cloak.Pregnant—and heavily so, by the look of it.
Another figure was giving chase ahead of them—a stocky man in a dark jacket. One of the club’s guards, by his livery. But even his longer stride failed to close the gap as the widow darted toward a waiting hackney at the mouth of the alley.
Nathaniel swore under his breath. “How in God’s name is she moving so fast?”
“Desperation,” Alice said tersely. She felt it like a punch to her ribs—this woman was terrified, and terror lent wings.
She almost hurled herself inside the carriage, slamming the door. They ran faster, but were too late.The hackney’s driver flicked the reins sharply, and the carriage clattered away into the fog.
Dalton halted, letting out a sharp curse, and turned back to them, his voice low but clipped with frustration. “I’ll follow her.You two—back inside. Find the Russians and keep an eye on them. They can’t be allowed to intercept her.”
Alice nodded sharply, already swallowing her disappointment. “Understood.”
Nathaniel gave a terse inclination of his head, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat on the disappearing hackney before he turned back toward the door.
As Dalton vanished into the night, hailing another hackney to give pursuit, they turned back to the club. Only to find the stocky figure of the guard, scowling at them suspiciously.
“What is your business with that woman? Why were you chasing her?” he asked, planting himself in front of the door, blocking their passage.
Putting a hand on Nathaniel’s arm to avoid confrontation, she donned her most earnest expression.
“We mean her no harm. In fact, we are her friends.”
“Didn’t look like that to me. Looks like she was running from the lot of you.”
To her surprised approval, Alice realized two things at once. One, this club had great security, and while hedonism and debauchery were encouraged, it seemed the guards posted at every entrance and throughout the various rooms of the house were there to ensure the safety of all. And second, this guard would not allow them back inside unless they convinced him they meant the woman no harm.
“I assure you that is not so. We merely wished to protect her.” Alice dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “You see, her husband was inside, and she didn’t want him to spot her, so she ran. We chased her to lend our help, offer to take her home, but she didn’t see us. Our friend there followed her to make sure she gets home safely.”
The guard still didn’t look convinced, but he hesitated.
“See here,” Nathaniel intervened in haughty aristocratic tones. “While I commend you for your zeal, we have done nothing wrong, and now we wish to return to our own revels.”
From behind the mask, Nathaniel impaled the guard with a frosty look, and the man reluctantly stepped aside and allowed them in.
Inside, the warmth and decadent noise of the Black Swan swallowed them whole as the door clicked shut behind them. This time, it didn’t take long to spot their targets. They stuck out for their hurried steps and frantic search. The younger man from the embassy was stalking through the main salon, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. His companion, an older man with a hawk-like nose and the controlled gait of military training, flanked him. Both radiated purpose, their heads bent together as they spoke in low, rapid Russian.
Nathaniel leaned close, his voice a whisper against her ear. “They saw her.”
“Yes. But they lost her. They are still looking for her inside the club, which means they didn’t see the way she went.”
Keeping their distance, they shadowed the Russians for over an hour as they moved from room to room—first the gaming salon, then a series of private chambers where laughter and muffled moans mingled with the faint music and the clink of crystal. The Russians’ frustration was evident in the tightness of their movements, the way the younger man’s gloved hand curled into a fist at his side.
At last, the pair conferred in hushed tones. The younger man from the embassy ran a hand through his hair, but nodded tightly to what his older colleague was saying. Then the older man clapped him in the back and, after talking briefly to a blowsy redhead, they both entered a private room with the woman. A courtesan or another conspirator?
Nathaniel pointed with his head and led her to the end of the corridor, turned left, and then turned again back around through a door and into a shadowy corridor that ran parallel to the main hallway they had just left. Here, gas lamps turned low burned at intervals, while tapestries depicting salacious scenes dotted the wall on the side of the bedchambers. Nathaniel counted the tapestries, stopping in front of the fourth one, and, to Alice’s amazement, simply slid the tapestry aside, revealing a small peephole. It was likely meant for titillation rather than espionage, but it served their purposes perfectly. From there, they could observe without being seen.
“How did you know this was here?” she whispered close to his ear.
His response, delivered in the same way, sent a tingle down her spine. “I found it during my earlier reconnaissance. Take a look.”
Alice peeked and gasped. It was immediately evident the Russians had realized the widow was gone and abandoned the search in favor of more self-serving pursuits.
“Anything?” Nathaniel murmured, his hand braced against the wall beside her shoulder, his lips brushing her ear.
She shook her head. “Let’s listen.”
Through the faintly warped glass, they watched the Russians shed their masks.
