The passages were soon teeming with people, the air rich with chatter, perfume, and the rustle of silk. For many, the promenade seemed as important as the play itself. It provided an opportunity to display jewels and exchange gossip. Steele drew glances and whispers wherever we passed, though he paid them no heed.
At the far end, I glimpsed the crowd pressing eagerly toward the refreshment saloon. Steele followed my glance, and his mouth tightened. “Would you care for something to drink?” he asked.
“Punch would be welcome,” I admitted, though the thought of forcing my way into that crowd made me shrink.
Following my gaze, he said, “We wouldn’t want to wade into that crush.”
“No, indeed.”
“I’ll have my footman bring something directly.” A brief signal over his shoulder and a word to his manservant, who’d ridden to the theatre next to the coachman, and the matter was well in hand.
We had gone but a short distance when a deep voice hailed him. “Steele! Well met, Your Grace.”
A broad-shouldered gentleman approached, accompanied by two ladies—one with the composed dignity of experience, the other fresh with youth. Steele’s expression warmed with recognition as he extended his hand. “Greystowe. Out for a bit of amusement?”
The gentleman replied with a genial laugh, “We snatch our pleasures where we may. May I present my wife, Lady Greystowe, and daughter, Lady Honora?”
Lady Greystowe inclined her head with quiet dignity, while his daughter dropped a graceful curtsy. She was radiant in white silk, her eyes bright with curiosity as they alighted on Steele and me.
Steele performed our introductions with due courtesy. Lady Lavinia and I offered our greetings in return.
Lady Honora cast a fleeting glance toward the young gentleman hovering just behind her parents—a glance that spoke of eagerness and perhaps something more. “May I present Mr. Carleton?” she said brightly, turning half toward him.
Greystowe’s smile tightened as his hand settled firmly on her arm. “Mr. Carleton requires no introduction here.” The words, though lightly spoken, carried the unmistakable chill of reproof.
Color touched Honora’s cheeks, and she lowered her gaze, retreating into silence with the docility expected of a daughter. Yet the glance she stole from beneath her lashes toward Mr. Carleton was not so easily suppressed.
I felt a pang of sympathy. Honora could not have been more than seventeen, still at the threshold between girlhoodand womanhood. Her father’s disapproval of Carleton might curb her tongue, but not her heart. And hearts, once awakened, seldom obeyed reason.
After a few more minutes of polite conversation, Steele excused us, and we returned to his box, where our refreshments awaited us. The rest of the evening passed smoothly, Society’s curiosity giving way to the drama onstage until at last the curtain fell to thunderous applause.
Amid the departing crowd, we made our way back to the carriage, where our conversation lingered on the play. Before long, Lady Lavinia declared herself pleasantly fatigued. “You must set me down at my own door, Steele. I shall be quite content with a cup of tea and my bed.”
“As you wish, Aunt,” he replied with the faintest smile. “You have borne Society’s gaze with more grace than I.”
After we saw her safely inside her home, the carriage door closed, and the night grew quieter about Steele and me. For the first time all evening, we were alone.
He leaned back against the cushions, his gaze steady upon me. “I had thought to offer you a quiet supper before returning you to Rosehaven. But it is late.”
I hesitated. Grosvenor Square loomed in my mind. Inquisitive eyes watched at every window, and tongues were quick to wag. “At Steele House?”
He shook his head, that rare flicker of amusement lighting his eyes. “Hardly. Every curtain twitches there. I keep another house in Belgravia. Few know of it, and fewer still have cause to watch. There, we might dine in peace.”
My breath caught—not at the suggestion itself, but at the way he said we. For all the risks, the thought of a supper with him away from prying eyes was more tempting than I cared to admit.
I met his gaze, the promise in it unmistakable. “Yes,” I said softly. “I should like that very much.”
Chapter
Five
A Meeting with Caleb Finch
After my late-night supper with Steele, I arrived home to find a note from Finch suggesting a meeting at eleven the next day. The following morning, after a leisurely breakfast in bed, I set out to meet with him.
It took over an hour for the hackney to arrive at Hatton Garden. But then it was the busy morning hours. Even through the pane I could smell the district—coal smoke and damp stone, hot metal from a smithy somewhere nearby, and the faint, astringent tang of cheap gin sluiced across a step.
The driver twisted on the box to look down at me, while rain glistened on the brim of his hat. “Here y’are, miss—ma’am,” he corrected himself after taking in my veil and the better sort of bonnet beneath it. Having been recognized when I’d been up and about during my previous investigations, I’d decided to disguise myself to prevent that from happening again. The dark veil obscured my features, and the bonnet hid my tightly pinned bright copper hair. I just hoped that would be enough.
