Fear, perhaps. Or greed.
They rattled through London’s streets, the darkness outside the windows broken only by occasional gaslight. Bragg watched her with the patience of a spider who had already wrapped its prey.
“You understand what’s required?”
“You’ve made yourself quite clear.”
“Have I?” He leaned forward, close enough that she could see the broken veins mapping his nose. “The Duke of Calborough will be in a private suite at White’s this evening. Room twelve, at the back of the upper floor. I’ve arranged for him to receive a message that will bring him there at half past eleven.”
Louise’s stomach turned. “And I’m to be waiting.”
“Like a gift.” Bragg’s tongue darted across his lower lip. “You’ll ensure he stays. Engage his attention. Be accommodating.”
“You want me to seduce him.”
“I want you to give me leverage.” His voice hardened. “I don’t care how you accomplish it. Tears, temptation, or throwingyourself at his feet. But when I enter that room in one hour’s time, the Duke of Calborough will be in a compromising position. With you.”
The carriage slowed. Louise glimpsed a narrow alley, a servants’ entrance, shadows that seemed to swallow the light.
“What happens after?”
“After is not your concern.” Bragg rapped on the carriage roof. “Your concern is your sister. Your concern is doing exactly as I say. Do we understand each other?”
Louise thought of Emily sleeping peacefully in her bed. Of the terror in her small face when Bragg’s men had invaded their home. Of what would happen if she failed.
“We understand each other.”
“Excellent.” The carriage door opened, revealing a thin man in dark clothes waiting beside the alley entrance. “Mr. Finch will escort you inside. Remember, one hour. Make it count.”
Louise stepped out into the cold, and her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. The thin man gestured toward the servants’ door without a word. She followed him through a cramped corridor that smelled of grease and wine, up a narrow staircase, past doors behind which masculine laughter and the clink of glasses suggested entertainments she had no wish to imagine.
Finally, he stopped before a door marked with a small brass plate:12.
“Wait inside.” His voice scraped like rust. “Don’t try to leave.”
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Louise stood alone in a private suite more luxurious than anything left in Sulton House. Velvet curtains in deep burgundy. A fire crackled in the marble hearth. Crystal decanters glinted on a sideboard. And a chaise longue positioned with obvious intent near the room’s center.
Her reflection caught her eye in the mirror above the mantel. A stranger stared back. A woman in emerald silk with desperate eyes and trembling hands.
You can do this, she told herself.You must do this.
She moved to the sideboard and poured whisky into a glass, hoping the burn might steady her nerves. She coughed, eyes watering, and set the glass aside.
Think of Emily. Think of Emily. Think of Emily.
Minutes crawled past. The fire popped. Shadows danced across the walls.
Then footsteps approached in the corridor outside. Measured. Confident. The stride of a man who expected the world to accommodate his presence.
Louise’s heart slammed against her ribs. She smoothed her skirts with damp palms and lifted her chin, summoning every scrap of courage she possessed.
The handle turned.
The door swung open.
And Louise forgot how to breathe.
