As if distance from London would bank Amanda’s fire for justice. Liverpool might have his finger in every pie, know what every citizen was up to, but he didn’t understand the female mind.
Julius gripped the back of the chair and looked the man in the eye. “As I said, I’m fine. And Sutton is busy trying to keep The Black Rose operational. He’s placed a supposed friend of Madame Sable’s in there as manager to try to divert suspicion.”
Liverpool snorted. “That’s not likely. I’m certain whoever is in charge of the blackmailing ring already knows she’s been picked up. The group is too canny to believe her letter expressing a sudden desire for travel.” Picking up his cigar, he tapped off the ash and stuck it between his lips, sucking hard. “I wonder if they’ll try to influence the new manager.”
“We can only wait and see.” Julius gathered his coat. “In the meantime, I’ve put people on Lord Hanford, see if any of his associates meet the description of Madame Sable’s associate. And I’ll try to find out if he’s been withdrawing large sums recently. He could be a victim, too.”
“Thankfully the man isn’t on any private committees in Parliament. He doesn’t have much more knowledge than the general public on matters of state.” He blew out a long stream of smoke. “Keep his involvement in this as quiet as possible. And let’s keep him out of the papers, too. Which means—”
“No more letters to the editor baiting him.” Shrugging into his coat, Julius set his mouth in a grim line. That was much easier said than done. Amanda’s fight over reform was the only thing to bring a spark back into her eye. That and their nightly romps. But he couldn’t keep her tied to his bed permanently. No matter how appealing the idea.
“Tell Montague I know of some men who wouldn’t hold Miss Wilcox’s past against her.” Liverpool shrugged. “As you said, she has no husband to control her. If he wants her married off and out of his hair, have him contact me when he returns from his bridal tour.”
Julius bit back a snarl. That wasn’t going to happen. Amanda wasn’t going to be married off, not to one of Liverpool’s yes-men. And any man who wouldn’t mind her past could hardly be of the quality that she deserved.
He turned to leave, and Liverpool stopped him. “One last thing, Rothchild. You no longer have to search for Mrs. Westmont.”
“You’ve found her?”
“Her body.” Liverpool took a sip of his drink. “She was dragged out of the Thames a week ago. I only received the information today.”
Julius swallowed. He knew how difficult it could be to identify a body pulled from the water. The distortions that took place on soft flesh. The bits the fish took away. He could only guess as to who put her there.
With a nod, he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. He wanted to slam the whole damn place down. All of London’s clubs were filled with smug men and even smugger servants. Knowing they had life by the balls; not caring how the other half lived. A footman leapt to open the front door before him, and Julius growled. How could a class of men who couldn’t even open their own doors rule the world?
He stopped on the sidewalk, the cold night air burning his lungs as he sucked it down. He raised his face to the skies and wished the light rain pelting his face could rinse the taint of his meeting away. Liverpool was right. He wasn’t a reformer. Julius could see the injustices, but he wasn’t the man trying to change them. If he saw a weaker man being beaten, or a woman being abused, he was only too happy to step in. Bloodying his knuckles, breaking noses, those were the fights he was good at. That he enjoyed. But fighting an entire system …?
He waved his carriage off, not wanting to face the prospect of being cooped up for the ride home. Flipping the collar of his coat up to block out the drizzle, he turned his steps towards Montague’s townhouse, letting the wind and rain cool his anger.
But the loathing didn’t fade. He wasn’t the man to fight the system. But apparently he was the man to block Amanda from her fight. He hated doing it, but Liverpool was right. It was necessary. Change on the scale Amanda wanted would take years, if it ever happened. The threat from the blackmailing ring was immediate. And if they were using Lord Hanford, Julius needed to make sure the man stayed out of the public eye as much as possible.
Amanda’s calling him out by name hadn’t been helpful. Perhaps Hanford wouldn’t have been so quick to take offense if she hadn’t. But she was a reasonable woman, he consoled himself. Eager to help him with his task. She’d understand why she had to stop writing her opinion pieces.
And if Julius believed that, he knew as much about the female mind as Liverpool.
Chapter Fourteen
A floorboard creaked, and Amanda called out, “Hullo? Is anybody there?”
It was the second time she’d asked, and like before only silence greeted her. Standing from the small desk in her bedchamber, she picked up her candle and crept to her door. She stretched her hand to the latch, pulse pounding, and jerked it back.
She was being silly. Houses settled. Boards creaked. It didn’t mean there was anyone lurking outside her door, peering through the keyhole, ready to burst in on her with a knife in his hand and murder in his eyes.
She twisted the lock in the door and stumbled back. Her imagination was running wild. But with the wind howling outside, rain pounding against her window, and Julius gone out, it was a night for dark inventions. The friendly blaze in her hearth wasn’t enough to dispel the gloom.
Reggie snored on her bed, apparently unconcerned of the potential for nighttime intruders. Amanda returned to her desk, ignoring the shadows thrown into the corners from her flickering candle. She was used to the dark. The dark was her friend.
Another squeak, and her shoulder blades slammed together. Just the house settling.
There was a loud thud, and the door rattled in its frame. A curse followed.
Leaving the candle on the desk, she flew to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open. Julius stood in front of her, rubbing his nose. He pushed past her, frowning.
“Why the devil is your door locked? Is someone here?” He paced to each corner, looking behind chairs and curtains.
Amanda scowled. “Who would be here? Mr. Carter?” She shouldn’t blame Julius for being suspicious. Since they’d started their affair, she’d never locked her door. “How long were you lurking out there? The creaking floors … concerned me.”
“I just arrived home.” He flopped into her armchair and stretched his legs out to the fire. His silk waistcoat pulled tight across his chest. “It was probably just one of Marcus’s many servants, creeping about. We should go to my house. We’d have more privacy.”
