“Air… just need… air…”
“Let’s get you outside,” Em said.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Davenport,” Pandora said.
The three of them left the townhouse.
“We’ll get you home straightaway,” Emma fretted, “and call for Dr. Abernathy—”
“I’m fine,” Thea said in her normal voice.
“You are?” Her sister blinked. “But back there… what happened?”
“I was improvising.” Thea felt absurdly proud of herself.
Pandora’s lips curved. “As I suspected from the first, you are a lady of hidden talents.”
Just then, Thea caught sight of a mob-capped figure leaving from the servant’s entrance several yards away. The woman paused, tugging the fichu from her neck, crumpling it in her hand. Shoulders hunched, she began walking in the opposite direction.
Thea gave her sister a hopeful look. “Couldn’t you use another maid?”
“Let’s talk to her,” Em said.
Thea and Emma approached the young woman, who bobbed a startled curtsy and identified herself as Sara Tully. Miss Tully eagerly accepted Emma’s card and direction, promising to come by the house for an interview. They were saying goodbye when Gabriel’s carriage arrived. He jumped down from the vehicle with predatory grace. His grey gaze went from Thea to the departing Miss Tully.
“Who was that?” he said, frowning.
“A new acquaintance,” she said.
He tipped her chin up with a gloved hand, his eyes radiating concern. “How did things go in there?”
“Splendidly, thanks to Miss Kent’s ingenuity,” Pandora said. “She’ll explain in the carriage.”
***
“Lord Davenport will see you now.”
The secretary led Gabriel, Strathaven, and Kent into well-appointed chambers paneled in dark wood. Sun shone through the mullioned windows, gleaming off heavy furniture and the burgundy carpet of Oriental design. The secretary closed the door discreetly behind him.
Rising from a carved desk, Lord Cecil Davenport came over to greet them. Tall, fit, possessed of patrician features made even more distinguished by the greying at his temples, the viscount was every inch the polished politician. His light blue eyes showed polite curiosity and nothing more.
Cicero had always been a master of disguising his true intent.
“Gentlemen.” He bowed. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“We’re here to talk about blackmail,” Gabriel said.
Davenport’s brows lifted, his gaze skirting for the briefest instant toward Strathaven and Kent. He adopted a puzzled smile. “Is this some sort of jest, Lord Tremont?”
“No jest, Cicero,” he said steadily.
The other’s tone remained light. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Now I’m a very busy man and—”
“We found the blackmail notes in your study. In the hidden compartment of your desk.” Despite the volatile situation, Gabriel felt a flash of pride at Thea’s cleverness. She continued to amaze him with the depth of her spirit and strength. “You are being blackmailed by the Spectre,” he said.
A faint crack showed in Davenport’s composure. At his sides, his manicured hands curled.
“There had better be a good reason for you betraying our code of anonymity. What do you want, Trajan?” he said in level tones.
