Team?
He seemed anxious to get away, but before she could forget, Amelia reached out a hand.
“I do have one request,” she said. “If you don’t mind?”
It was obvious he hadn’t expected her to take him up on his offer so soon, but he straightened and waited. “Yes?”
“Could I have a hook and some yarn or thread?” And seeing that he didn’t comprehend her request, she added, “So that I can crochet.”
He tilted his head. “You are asking for another needle?”
“Not a needle, a hook.”
Bessie was nodding in approval. “I’ve got a few I can spare. Even Ladyships need to entertain themselves, don’t they. I’ll take care of it, Boss.”
But Mr. Beckworth’s gaze narrowed. “If you stab me in the ass with this one,” he said, “You’ll be sorry.”
Amelia’s mouth twisted at the vulgarity, but she tried to take it in stride. He was joking with her again.
She narrowed her gaze right back. “Don’t give me a reason to.”
THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS
Leopold stared at the two sheets of parchment laid out on his desk. The one on the left was marked with the bastardized version of Malum’s ducal seal—the letter ‘M’, embellished with the initials of his private club, the Domus Emporium. Malum’s own personal slight to his heritage.
Despite the fancy stationery, the writing was gibberish—as was intended.
The plain page on the right was covered with Fitz’s much neater writing—the message decoded.
According to Malum, upon arriving in London, rather than report Lady Amelia’s abduction to the authorities, Foxbourne and his wife had gone right to Crossings—accusing him of taking their daughter. One of the Rotten Rakes, by design, had been present to witness the confrontation. Crossings, devil that he was, had not denied his involvement in the kidnapping. Instead, he’d twisted it to his own advantage.
“Foxbourne is an idiot,” Leopold said.
Lady Amelia’s father was threatening to expose the illegal trade if Crossings didn’t hand over his daughter—but also the money he was due.
The marquess, it seemed, was still oblivious to Crossings’ power.
Malum had men watching Foxbourne’s Mayfair townhouse, and Crossings was being monitored as well. It was something of a stand-off, with both parties bluffing.
Because Crossings didn’t have Lady Amelia—Leopold did. Furthermore, the duke was running low on funds.
And for once, it seemed, the Rotten Rakes held all the cards.
After reading through the message, a slow smile stretched Leopold’s mouth.
“Good news, eh?” Fitz was leaning forward from the opposite side of Leopold’s desk.
“Promising,” Leopold answered. But he knew better than to count his chickens before the eggs had hatched, so to speak.
“I’ll send a message informing Malum that we’ve arrived, then?”
“Yes, but.” Reaching into his pocket, Leopold removed the trinket he’d kept in his pocket. “Send him this as well.”
At Fitz’s confusion, Leopold added, “It belongs to Lady Amelia. When the time comes, it will disprove Crossings’ claim.”
Looking slightly impressed, Fitz tucked it safely into one of his pockets. “Good thinking, Boss.”
Handing it off, Leopold refused to acknowledge an odd pang for letting go of it. Really, though, he ought to have sent it to London before.
