Something was wrong.Verywrong. More wrong than simply losing a few guineas at roulette. “Miss Hart, perhaps it would be best if we?—”
Then she exhaled a great heave of breath and along with it a great, wet sob. Here, at Chaz’s roulette table, the woman began weeping. “Oh, why can nothing go right?” she blubbered.
Archie took Miss Hart by the shoulders and met her square in the eyes. What he saw there weren’t tears of sadness or loss, but rather tears of anger and frustration.
Right.
He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and set a brisk pace as he marched her outside and down the street, the first golden rays of dawn streaking across the morning sky. He pulled her into the first deserted alcove they came to and made her face him.
“Now,” he said, stern, “what the devil is going on? Tell me.” He could deliver a lordly command when circumstances called for it. Like now.
She swiped tears away with the back of her hand and sniffled. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Archie wasn’t particularly bothered. He had experience in dealing with stubborn females—namely two stubborn sisters and a stubborn cousin, to boot. “You see, I have a basic inability to stay out of other people’s business. Let’s start with the simplest question first. Why were you on the Five Graces stage pretending to be an Italian contessa?”
The woman before him suddenly looked tired and vulnerable, wearied not simply by a long night and a great explosion of emotion, but by life itself. He sensed a relenting in her.
“So thehaute tonwill let me sing for it.”
His brow lifted in surprise. “Why? For money? Is that why you were playing roulette as if your life depended on it? If that’s all you need, then go to Paris or Italy and open your mouth. You’ll be a sensation overnight.”
She shook her head. She looked…defeated. Archie didn’t like that one single bit.
“I need to gain entry into a room with someone in London,” she said.
“Someone?”
“A man.”
“A man?” He would stand here all day and pry the entire story from her word by word, if that was what ittook. “Forgive my forwardness, but with your looks, you could find yourself in a room with any man you like with a crook of your little finger.”
She exhaled a wearied sigh. “A lord.”
“My statement stands.”
Miss Hart rolled her eyes toward the brightening sky.Good.It felt right that her spunk was returning.
“At the risk of sounding repetitive,” he said, “I’ll ask again.Why?”
Her gaze followed the slow, lumbering progress of a donkey cart. Archie didn’t think she would answer. Then she said, “My father is an apothecary, from a long line of apothecaries. With each generation, the business has become more successful. Papa was approached by a lord with an opportunity.”
She appeared to be bracing herself for what came next. Archie felt himself doing the same.
“This lord knew for a fact that the royal apothecary would be going into retirement soon. If Papa wanted his name considered for the position, this lord would mention him.” Her jaw clenched and released. “For a small fee.”
Archie saw how this would go. “Which wasn’t small for anyone not an aristocrat.”
She nodded. “Large enough to put a business in danger of bankruptcy.”
“But it would be worth it to secure royal patronage.”
“Which the lord guaranteed.”
“He took your father’s money.”
“And Papa never heard from him again. Then…”
“Then?”
