“Huh, I’ve never noticed it before.” The man turned back to her. “Well, Miss Lucy Middleton, I am Matthew Reeves, and this is my club. Thank you for the interesting tidbit, but I must be going.”
“Actually, I have a question about this place. Perhaps you could indulge me for just a moment.”
Mr. Reeves smiled and stepped toward her. “I suppose I have a moment for such a beautiful lady on this fine morning.”
“Lucy?” A loud exclamation rang through the air.
She and Mr. Reeves both turned. Hart was striding toward them from up the street.
He came to stop in front of her a moment later. “Lucy, what in god’s name are you doing here?” Taking her arm, he pulled her to his side before turning to glare at Mr. Reeves.
But the man appeared nonplussed by Hart’s scowl. He tipped his hat. “The lady and I were just having a lovely discussion about this here symbol. The Knot of…”
“Isis,” Lucy supplied. “I was just about to ask Mr. Reeves if he knew any history of this building. Has your establishment been here long?”
Hart’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, but he did not let go of her upper arm, keeping her anchored next to him.
If the quirk of Mr. Reeves’s lips was any indication, he noticed this as well. “I’ve owned the Blue Angel for five years, but the building itself belongs to my silent partner, Mr. Seaton. In fact, he owns everything on this block and the next. Perhaps he would know more about the building’s idiosyncrasies, like your symbol up there.”
“Do you know where we might find Mr. Seaton?” Hart asked.
“Not really,” Mr. Reeves replied.
“Oh please, Mr. Reeves. We just want to ask him a few questions. I must satisfy my curiosity about why this symbol is on this particular building.”
“She is quite tenacious when she is trying to figure something out. You should see her play chess,” Hart added.
Mr. Reeves looked back at her. Lucy cast him a wide-eyed and innocent look.
He sighed. “I honestly don’t know where he keeps a residence, but he does stop in here regularly. I suppose I could give him your card and a message when I see him next.”
Hart reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim silver case, extracting from it a calling card. He passed it to Mr. Reeves. “Please ask him to contact me.”
Mr. Reeves’s eyebrows shot up as he read the name on the card. No doubt, he wondered what the Duke of Hartwick was doing on the east side.
But he slipped it into his pocket and gave Lucy a wide smile. “Good day, Miss Middleton.” Then he strode off down the street.
“Lucy Eleanor Middleton, what do you think you are doing?” Hart glowered down at her. “This neighborhood is no place for a lady. Especially alone!”
She deliberately took a step back out of his grip. “The same thing you are doing here, I imagine. Following the clue we found out about last night.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, sending her own glare his way. “And besides, my coachman is right there.” She waved across the street at Hugh, who stood feeding an apple to her carriage horse.
He tipped his cap. “You ready to go, miss?”
“Yes, I am,” she called back. Then she turned to cross the street.
Hart immediately fell in step beside her. “Lucy, you should have left the investigating up to me. This is my problem.” He opened the door to the coach. Then he cupped her cheek with one hand. “Please, don’t put yourself at risk.”
The urge to lean into his touch was immediate, so instead, she pulled back. “I was curious, just as you were. Hart, having someone trying to kill you is more than just aproblem.” She poked her finger at his chest. “And even though I am currently cross with you, I do care whether or not you die.” Then before she could weaken in her resolve to stay angry with him, she stepped up into the carriage. “Good day, Your Grace.”
Chapter Thirteen
Aman steppedfrom the shadowed alley next to the Blue Angel. He drew in a long inhale from his thin cheroot as he walked into the sunshine and contemplated the tall, imposing form of the Duke of Hartwick. He watched the duke walk away down the pavement before heading in the opposite direction. It took about twenty minutes to reach the Mayfair mansion. When he entered the man’s study unannounced, an older gentleman startled from where he sat in his leather upholstered chair.
“Dear God, Seaton, why must you always appear from thin air? How do you even get past the staff anyway?” the gentleman muttered.
He shrugged. “It’s why I get paid so well.”
“Drink?” the man gestured to the side table where a decanter of brandy sat with a pair of crystal glasses.
