"Perhaps this will provide a clue?"
Stunned, he watched as she removed adaggerfrom her reticule. "Where the bloody hell did you get that?"
"Instead of staying put, I searched the area where the man was hiding," she said pertly. She handed the weapon over. "It has an odd stamp on the handle. Some sort of an animal—a bear, perhaps?"
Gavin's blood turned cold. He'd seen that particular emblem before. "Not a bear. A lion."
The mark of Robbie Lyon, to be exact.
20
Lookingat Lord Petersby's flawless countenance in the moonlight, Miss Priscilla Farnham heard herself say the words she never thought she would.
"It's not you, it's me..."
—fromThe Perils of Priscilla, an inspired manuscript by P. R. Fines
Beneath the blazing brilliance of hundreds of candles, the quadrille seemed to go on forever. Preoccupied, Percy missed a step and aimed an apologetic smile at her partner. She couldn't stop thinking about Gavin. After giving him the dagger she'd found, she'd pressed him for more information.Someone wants me dead. He'd said it in the off-handed manner one might use to request the passing of a salt cellar.Briefly, he'd told her about the competing gaming houses in Covent Garden and how any one of them could be behind the attacks.
Then he'd chucked her under the chin.Don't worry, buttercup. I can take care of myself.
She didn't doubt it. Yet if he was in danger, she wanted to help him. After all, she had assisted in warding off the villains at Vauxhall, and she had found the dagger in the bookshop, hadn't she? Apparently, the clue pointed to one of the club owners, a man named Robbie Lyon. Gavin had said he'd be looking into the matter.
If only I could see him tomorrow night as planned.
But she'd had to postpone her weekly meeting with Gavin. As luck would have it, Lisbett had returned, and upon learning of Tottie'slaissez-fairechaperonage (no doubt from Violet), the housekeeper was keeping an eagle eye on Percy. For the last few days, Percy had made every effort to be on her best behavior so as not to rouse suspicion. She would have to prepare a sterling excuse to be out of the house next Friday night.
At the moment, however, she had another mission to accomplish. 'Twas one she was not looking forward to. As the dance finally came to an end and her beleaguered dancing partner hobbled off, she scanned the sweltering ballroom. She found her target standing by the punch table; as usual, he was surrounded by a gaggle of giggling debutantes. Sighing, she made her way over and entered the fray.
"Good evening, Miss Fines." Bestowing a smile upon her, Lord Portland bowed his pomaded auburn head and made the introductions.
Razor sharp smiles greeted Percy as she curtsied to the titled ladies. She wished she could tell them that she only wanted to borrow the viscount for a few minutes and would bring him right back. After a few minutes of listening to the debs snipe at each other in an attempt to gain Portland's attention, she summoned up her courage and said, "My, it is stuffy in here, isn't it?"
The other women glared at her, their fans beating the air.
Portland made a clearing sound in his throat. "Would you care for a turn in the garden, Miss Fines?"
"If you would be so kind, sir," Percy murmured.
The viscount took his leave of the group, and Percy could feel the daggered glances following them as they exited through the double doors onto the veranda overlooking the dark gardens. Due to a chilly night breeze, they had the space to themselves. Portland led her to a secluded bench in the far corner, hidden from the general view by a row of potted bushes. Percy's throat fluttered with nervousness as she sat and arranged her peach chiffon skirts.
Portland remained standing, one elbow upon the balustrade in a casual yet affected stance. Against the velvety night sky, the moonlight gleaming on his perfectly coiffed curls, he looked more like a storybook prince than ever.
In sum: pretty, flat, and uninteresting.
She flushed with guilt. It wasn't Lord Portland's fault that she'd developed a taste for complexity not found in faerie tales. That she now yearned for the kind found in real life, where heroes might masquerade as villains. And love might take the guise of a scandalous wager.
Inhaling deeply, she told herself that she owed Portland the courtesy of honesty. Though nothing had transpired between them, she didn't want to encourage him any further. He spoke before she did.
"Will your chaperone worry with you gone?" he said.
Unlikely, since Tottie was currently taking a nap in the retiring room. "Lady Tottenham, um, trusts my judgment," Percy said.
Portland cleared his throat. "Well then, Miss Fines, I believe I know why you sought me out this evening."
"You... do?"
"This has been coming for some time now, has it not?" he said. "I will not say I am surprised."
