Julius dug his fingers into the armrests. Liverpool had been known to make people disappear. But if that were the case, there would be no need to display Ashworth’s painting. And if Liverpool were behind the disappearance, it wasn’t something he would likely discuss with Julius.
“When?” he asked.
“Between midnight and three this morning.”
Julius raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very defined timeframe.”
Liverpool shrugged. “The men I had on her made their rounds every three hours. They saw her in her bed at midnight. She was gone when they came by for their next sweep. Along with her housekeeper, butler, and groom.”
“Did she fear prosecution? Retribution?” A blackmailer played a dangerous game. She would have been wise to take precautions.
“Perhaps.” Liverpool eyed him through a haze of smoke. “Or perhaps she returned to her employers.”
Julius considered the man. Was he suggesting a blackmailing ring? “Have other gentlemen been extorted?”
“Yes.” Liverpool lifted the lid on an inkwell and tapped the cigar’s ashes into the bowl. “But that’s not unusual in itself. People will always seek to control powerful men. But a pattern seems to have developed over the past year. Certain members of the House of Lords have changed their votes most unexpectedly. I believe there is more to it than a group of people seeking to line their pockets. They’re looking to control the government.”
Julius rose and paced the room. “A crime ring with the intent to infiltrate the House of Lords?”
“Yes.”
“That’s ambitious.”
Liverpool sucked in another lungful of smoke and blew out a line of rings. “Yes,” he agreed. “Since the Treaty of Paris has been signed, I don’t believe the threat comes from across the channel. I think it internal.”
Placing his hands on the back of the settee, Julius leaned forward. “You wish me to investigate?”
Liverpool rose and tossed the cigar out the window. “I need you to find Mrs. Westmont. You are my retrieval expert, after all. And when you find her, find out who she works for. The security of England depends upon it.”
Not too grave a task then. Julius pressed his lips tight. “I’ll look into it.”
“Good.” Liverpool held out his hand, and Julius grasped it.
“I might need help,” Julius warned.
“Yes, I assumed you’d pull in your friends for aid.” The man strolled to the door. “But keep this quiet. No one other than the men who have already worked for the Crown. And Rothchild?”
Liverpool stared at him, his hand on the door’s latch. “It wouldn’t do to have my investigator succumb to blackmail. You’d do well to avoid your more unsavory haunts.”
Julius kept his face impassive. It wasn’t a heavily-guarded secret that he was a member of The Black Rose. Nor that he liked practicing his ropework on the women there. He wasn’t ashamed of his proclivities. And he damn sure wasn’t going to be told where he could or could not visit. “The unsavory haunts might be just the places I need to go in order to uncover a ring of blackmailers.”
“Indeed.” Liverpool drummed his fingers over the top of the brass door handle, his gaze never wavering. After several seconds, he nodded. “If you get caught up in it, the disgrace will be your own. The government won’t be taken down with you.”
“I never thought otherwise.”
Julius let the other man exit before following him out. Collecting his greatcoat, he strode from the home.
He stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the night sky, breathing deeply. The tension in his shoulders eased as it always did when he escaped into the fresh air, but that crawling feeling, like ants skittering over his skin, remained. A feeling that was only relieved in one way.
It had been over two months since he’d enjoyed the pleasures The Black Rose had to offer. Over two months since a cable of hemp had slid through his fingers. There had been only one woman he’d fantasized binding of late. One face he’d visualized in the dead of night as he took himself in hand. But Amanda would detest a rope prison as much as he. She could never partner in his rope play. His fantasies would remain in his head.
But, by God’s teeth, he could imagine the thick rope crossing Amanda’s creamy skin. The positions he could restrain her in, making her open, wanting. His cock thickened, and Julius pressed on his silk pantaloons.
Damn, tight pants. Another reason to dislike the necessity of attending balls.
He should focus on the task at hand, not the woman he would be a right bastard if he bedded. He had his work cut out for him. He and his friends were trained as spies, not investigators, two different skill-sets. And with Marcus gone, their group of five was down a man.
He needed to clear his head if he was going to find the Widow Westmont. Needed to remove Miss Wilcox from his mind for good. Replace the fantasy of her with the reality of a willing woman.
