“That was beautiful, everything you said.” There was an expression in his eyes she didn’t know how to interpret. None of her other suitors had looked at her like that before, like he had just seen something new and entirely fascinating. “I would like to see some of your artwork sometime, if you would allow me to.”
“I—” She shook her head and frowned. “You wish toseeit?”
“How could I not after that impassioned speech?” That crooked smile took her breath away once more. “Please?”
“If you feel the same way when we are both next in London, I will show you.”
“Thank you. I would like that very much.”
“You should be careful,” she said, keeping her tone light and giving him a coquettish smile. “You’re making me believe you mean it.”
He held her gaze, and Louisa was aware, with her artist’s brain, that she found something about the juxtaposition of this man inordinately compelling. “I hope you will come to learn,” he said, not looking away, “that you can trust everything I tell you.”
Chapter Ten
PRESENT DAY
February 1815
Louisa wasted no time in finding out as much information about Knight as possible. Her man of business, Mr Upperton, was a man of considerable talent and, she suspected, unsavoury connections, and she tasked him with discovering from where Mr Knight had come.
In the meantime, she contemplated all the ways she could deprive him of his evidence against her. Without the pictures or letters, his proof held less weight, and so it was in that direction her thoughts turned. Thomas Hyatt was currently in Italy, which both gave her a modicum of grace—she doubted Knight would act without the corroborating word of an expert—and allowed her to focus her mind in one direction only.
How to break into Knight’s home.
Now she knew where the pictures were, she would be able to remove or destroy them easily enough. The letters would be harder, but she trusted she could locate them. What measures would he go to in order to hide the letters in his own home, anyway?
To that end, after some thought, she decided her best method of entry was to bribe one of the members of his household to let her through the door. From there, she trusted she could handle herself.
Infiltrating his household was more difficult than she had anticipated, but eventually one of her grooms got the ear of a pageboy, and the plan was set. When Mr Knight left the house, the pageboy was to send a note around to say so, and once the rest of the staff had gone to bed, he would leave a candle in one of the downstairs windows to say that the door was unlocked.
From there, Louisa would be on her own.
For several days, she waited on tenterhooks, attending as many engagements as always, but with a note to her servants to summon her immediately if they received word that Mr Knight had gone.
Eventually, on a mild March evening, at around eleven, she received the summons she had been waiting for.
Mr Knight lived on Lombard Street in the commercial district—not a fashionable address, and one where she trusted she would not be recognised. Just in case, however, she dressed in plain clothes lent to her by Lucy, her maid, and hired a hackney to take her a few streets away from the location.
“Wait here, if you please,” she said to the driver, an aged jarvey who looked at her with concern.
“Not sure you should be walking around alone, miss.”
She didn’t bother to correct him. “I’ll be perfectly well, thank you. I hope I won’t be too long—not past half an hour.”
“Yes, ma’am, if you’re sure.”
“Perfectly, thank you.” Composed and confident, she exited the vehicle and walked purposefully along the road until she came to Lombard Street. Many of the houses still had lights in the windows, and only a few were dark.
It was well past midnight by the time she came to Mr Knight’s house, only to find it sadly dark. According to her groom—who had been the only one to meet with the boy—the page had been quite clear: there would be a candle in one of the windows of the first floor. Yet there was nothing.
Perhaps the boy had merely forgotten the candle. She would hope he had not forgotten to unlock the door as he had asked.
Before she could approach the servants’ entrance, however, she noticed a figure on the other side of the road. He was tall, cloaked in a greatcoat that was open at the front to reveal a dark, modest coat. For an inexplicable moment, she had the impression it was Henry, and cursed herself for thinking of him when all she truly wanted to do was forget him.
The figure let out a curse and strode towards her, and her shock dissolved into horror.
“Henry,” she said as he approached, a scowl on his face. “What thedevilare you doing here?”
