“Prove it.” She tipped her head to the side. “Consider it as part of your training, an exercise you must pass.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand the objective,” he queried.
“Sneak up on me.”
“Now?” He frowned.
“Heavens, no. I’m expecting it right now. I couldn’t very well be caught by surprise if I’m expecting something, can I?” She glanced heavenward as if pleading with the Almighty for patience in dealing with his density.
“Understood,” Emerson answered, knowing it might be the biggest challenge he’d faced in a while.
A grin spread across his face.
“Ah, that’s what I was looking for,” she remarked, grinning in return.
He sobered slightly, his mind working quickly, trying to follow her trails of thought that seemed so foreign. “And what’s that?”
“The smile of a predator. But let me tell you a secret.” She lowered her tone. “The real predators have the prey come to them… So I’ll let you think about which one of us will be which.” She gave a wink, straightened, and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“When?” Emerson called out as she walked away.
“You’ll know.” She waved her hand in the air and then disappeared behind a garden wall.
“Well, that was certainly interesting,” he muttered to himself, turning toward home. He had the feeling it was just the first day of many where he’d be saying the very same thing.
Chapter Three
Jaxsen had been tailing Wessix for the entire evening, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. According to their source, which was very possibly faulty based on the current situation, Wessix was to receive a missive regarding what information was needed by the men wishing to free Napoleon from his island prison.
Good mercy, why would anyone wish to free the devil himself?
Jaxsen poured a tankard of ale and set it on a wooden serving tray. Her gaze took in the gentry milling about in the dimly lit gambling hall. There were gentlemen wearing wool coats lined with gold buttons, those buttons stretched across fat bellies. Their gaze greedily watched the gaming tables. Resentment welled within her, but she bit back the reaction. It wasn’t helpful, the resentment. It would only make her distracted, careless, and it was too often that her very life depended her senses being sharp. Her gaze flickered to Wessix, noting the way the man lifted his chin as another gentleman slapped his back, then reached forward, extending his hand. It was only a moment, but a flash of white caught the dim light and winked at her — a note. Wessix’s handshake was a bit overlong to be inconspicuous. The man must have struggled to retrieve the small piece of paper without making a scene, not realizing that those who would care about it would notice. Those it didn’t matter to wouldn’t give it a second thought. That was often what made her job easier — people’s actions made their intent obvious, not to those who didn’t care, but to the ones who did. He tucked the missive into his right breast pocket. It would simply take a single shove to give her access.
Lifting the tray, she slid around the wooden bar and dodged a gentleman’s — if he could be called that — grab at her ass and counted her steps.
Five steps to the left. She winked at the gangly boy hovering at the billiards table, too young to intervene with the older gentleman, yet old enough to be interested in a woman and brash about it.
Four breaths later, she quirked a brow and licked her lips as she caught the gaze of the man to the table that bordered where Wessix played Hazard.
Three seconds later, she stretched the tray high on her fingers and curved her back as if it ached, giving the gentlemen a full view of her silhouette. It was too easy sometimes.
Two men followed her with their eyes and then their feet as they responded to her earlier flirtations. As if realizing they were after the same target, each increased his pace. The younger was slightly drunk, and the quick stride had him off balance, bumping her rather than bowing, giving her the perfect opportunity for…
One tankard of ale to spill on the floor at the feet at the Hazard table, causing the men to stand and try to save their beloved Hessian boots from the spray.
Which was exactly opening she needed to bump into Wessix, apologize, and slip her hand in and out of his jacket, stealing the missive she’d seen him tuck in there exactly two minutes previously.
She excused herself with the guise of mopping up the mess, but as she passed through the kitchens, she tossed the tray on the table and walked out the back.
The torches were lit, giving a garish glow to the cobbled streets as she walked in the shadows. The hackney coach would be two blocks away waiting for her. As the black carriage came into view, she increased her pace. At the last streetlamp before the carriage, she paused and opened the missive, reading the script quickly.
Alighting the carriage, she gave an address to the coachman, then settled in as the horses moved forward. She lifted her pocket watch from her side, and as they passed another streetlamp, she grinned when she read the time.
It was lovely when little details came together.
A block before her true destination, the hackney coach rolled to a stop. The lovely Mayfair District was silent as everyone was either at one party or all at home for the evening. It was helpful in some ways. One could always find the people of quality, unless they had more underhanded motives.
And then they hid in the shadows as often as they hid in broad daylight.
