Chapter One
London, 1819
Charles disapproved of the lady on many levels, but he had to admit, Lady Mary Cavindish excelled at taking every insult she received and returning it in kind.
“Strait.” Hurst jerked his chin at the closed door leading to the manager’s office. The sunlight shining through the window behind him glistened off the recently polished hardwood floors surrounding his desk. “Verity and I are placing bets on who wins this mill, Summerset or Lady Mary.”
It had been a slow morning at the offices of the Bond Agency for Discreet Inquiries. The agency’s three investigators, himself, Walter Hurst, and Cyrus Verity, were all about, either doing paperwork or waiting for another case. Brogan Duffy, the remaining agent, was away on the Continent, enjoying his honeymoon.
“If I were a gambling man,” which he wasn’t, at least not at his workplace, “I would put my money on the lady.” Charles pursed his lips. “Our employer may insult his friend most convincingly, but he’s as soft as syllabub when it comes to women.”
“Oh ho, I’d love to see you say that to his face.” Verity chuckled.
Charles glanced at the door. No, that wouldn’t be something he’d say to the man’s face. Not only because Summerset was one of his employer’s and it wasn’t Charles’s place to make such a comment, but because Summerset, while indulgent with women, had been known to make more than one man disappear without a trace.
A string of insults was hurled between Lord Summerset and Lady Mary, interspersed with the soft murmurings of a third party trying to play mediator, and rather unsuccessfully at that.
A loud crash sounded behind the door, followed by an eerie silence. Charles exchanged uneasy glances with Verity and Hurst. He pressed his palms to his desk and started to rise. Heated voices erupted in the office once again, and Charles sank back down.
Whatever was happening in the manager’s office wasn’t his concern. He slid a sheaf of papers into an envelope then placed it in a drawer of his desk. He adjusted it until its corners matched those of the envelopes beneath before closing the drawer and locking it. The ring of thefts he was currently investigating was his concern. A concern he was no closer to solving, and reading through his notes for the hundredth time wasn’t getting him any closer.
He stood and reached for the jacket on the back of his chair. “I’m going out,” he told them. “Tell Wilberforce I’m running down a lead.”
“We’re going for drinks after work,” Hurst said. “The Motte and Bailey. Join us?”
“I’m busy, but thank you.” He shrugged into his jacket and tugged on its hems. “I’ll see—”
The door to the manager’s office swung open, and Wilberforce stepped out. “Strait. Come in here, please.” The manager rubbed his thigh, a pained look on his face.
Hurst and Verity tried to look busy shifting papers about, scribbling madly, but gleeful smiles edged their lips.
Arseholes.
Charles straightened the knot of his neckcloth and strode towards Wilberforce. He raised an eyebrow, but the manager just waved him inside and shut the door behind them.
Lord Summerset sat on Wilberforce’s desk, one silk-clad leg swishing back and forth like the tail of an angry cat. Two women sat before him. Charles recognized Lady Mary Cavindish at once. She was the aunt of one of the owners of the inquiry agency, and acted like blood to the other four.
The other woman he’d never seen. Small. Pale. His gaze slid past her to a pile of books and broken glass that lay heaped before a now empty bookcase. He wiped the curiosity from his face before turning to Summerset.
Standing straight, he clasped his hands behind his back. “You wanted to see me, my lord?”
“How are you men handling the case load with Duffy away?” Wilberforce asked.
“It’s fine, sir.” His skin prickled. He hadn’t been called in here to talk about his, Hurst’s, and Verity’s work levels. Something was amiss.
“And how is your investigation coming, Mr. Strait?” Summerset pulled a gold lorgnette from the embroidered pocket of his waistcoat and peered at him through it, making his blue eye seem owlishly large. “Any chance it will be ending soon? Perhaps even today?”
Wilberforce looked at the ceiling and sighed before limping to his chair behind the desk. He turned so his back was to the room and rested his bad leg on the windowsill.
The office manager had suffered an injury in childhood that still pained him to this day, but Charles had never asked him what had happened. Some things just weren’t done.
“No, sir,” Charles said. “I still haven’t been able to discover a connecting thread between the robberies.” Which was damned frustrating. There had been no guest who had attended each house party, no servant who had access to all the estates the thefts had occurred at. He wouldn’t have believed they were connected at all if it hadn’t been for that infernal souvenir the thief left at the scene of each of his crimes.
“You see? At an impasse.” Lady Mary jabbed the jeweled end of her cane at Summerset. “Miss Moore will be just the thing to shake some life into the investigation. I would like to see my gold walking stick again.” She adjusted the turban over her snowy white hair. “It was my father’s.”
“Miss Moore?” Charles asked.
Summerset pointed at the young lady seated next to Lady Mary. “Miss Cassandra Moore, a…particular friend of Lady Mary’s. She will be assisting you in the investigation.”
