Tony never showed.
Jack had been looking for him ever since. Tony had said he was from London, and although he made his living as a sailor, his dream was to be a writer. He penned what he called “stories for the masses” whilst he worked on an epic masterpiece about the plight of the working class. He mentioned having a muse: a Scheherazade, who breathed life into his stories and made them so popular that they sold out at bookshops in the Strand.
Those clues had eventually led Jack to the infamous Scheherazade at the Academy of Venus…whose real name was Xenia Loveday. During Jack’s search of her tumble-down flat, he’d found a keepsake portrait of a fellow matching the sailor in Calais to a tee. The name “Anthony Quinton” had been written on the back, surrounded by doodled hearts. From there, Jack discovered that Tony Quinton had gone missing, and Miss Loveday had enlisted the help of his older brother Gilbert to look for him.
With any luck, the pair would lead Jack to Tony. Then he could discover what the First Flame was plotting and put an end to it. He would fulfill his duty and protect his beloved. After that, he would get the hell away from London. He didn’t trust himself around his wife. With her, he had a primal urge to bear his soul, including his ugliest secrets…which would only result in disaster.
The only solution was to get away.
From the temptation of Lottie and the life that had never been his.
“Charlie, we weren’t expecting you!” Fiona exclaimed the next morning.
Charlie could see that this was true. Fi’s fiery curls looked disheveled, and the skirts of her leaf-green walking dress were wrinkled, as if they’d recently been bunched by an impatient hand. Behind her, Hawksmoor was discreetly adjusting his crumpled cravat. It did not take a seasoned investigator to deduce what the pair had been up to before Charlie had shown up unannounced on their doorstep.
The couple’s marital bliss reminded Charlie of her own encounter last night.
From the day we met, there hasn’t been anyone else—only you.
Sebastian’s revelation had wreaked havoc upon her senses. She’d barely slept or eaten, too consumed by his admission. Why had he been faithful to her? Why had he left? How had he managed to remain celibate fortwelve years…and what did he want from her now?
What do I want?
Obviously, time hadn’t diminished their physical attraction. Desire was one thing, however, and emotional entanglement another. While she couldn’t deny that Sebastian affected her senses like no other, she knew better than to trust him.
Then why do I still feel a pull toward him? As if he were gravity and I some hapless object inexorably drawn toward him? I burn to know all his secrets even though I shouldn’t care.
She also had to face the discomfiting fact that she’d allowed her personal feelings to get in the way of the case. Because of Sebastian, she had lost track of Xenia Loveday. Luckily, Devlin had picked up the trail, following Quinton and Miss Loveday to one of the group rooms. A whore had planted herself in the spot nearest to them, barring Devlin from eavesdropping. However, he had tracked Quinton afterward to a coaching inn. The latter had secured a pair of tickets for Hastings, a village near the Sussex coast, leaving in two days’ time. He had expressed interest in visiting a pub there that a friend had recommended, one owned by someone named Simon Legg.
“That would be the Legg & Arms,”the innkeeper had replied.“On All Saints’ Street and a treat not to be missed.”
Was this a tryst Quinton was planning? Away from London, from the life he’d built here with Amara, would he show his true fickle colors? Or did this getaway have another purpose? Last night, Miss Loveday had mentioned that some fellow was depending on her and Quinton; who was this mysterious man?
Charlie would get the answers to those questions. Yet she knew that Sebastian had an interest in them too. She had to be prepared to deal with his interference, and the best way to do it was to arm herself…with knowledge.
She air-kissed her protegee’s cheeks. “I apologize for my impromptu and unfashionably early visit. I have a confidential matter I wish to discuss.”
“You are welcome any time,” Fi said.
She exchanged a look with her husband.
“Splendid to see you, Lady Fayne.” The Earl of Hawksmoor bowed. “I shall leave you ladies to?—”
“Actually, it is you I wish to talk to, my lord,” Charlie said.
“Me?” The earl furrowed his brow.
Fi looked equally surprised. “What business do you have with Hawksmoor?”
“I should like to consult him on a matter involving his professional expertise.”
Fiona and her lord shared another look before she closed the door and led the way to the sitting area. She and Charlie shared a settee whilst Hawksmoor folded his long frame into an adjacent wingchair. Fi distributed the tea, and Charlie took a breath before plunging in.
“This matter is a personal one,” she said. “I trust you can be discreet?”
“Knowing what you do of my profession,” Hawksmoor said wryly, “do you doubt it?”
The earl had done an excellent job of convincing Society that he was an unassuming scholar. Fiona hadn’t suspected his covert activities—nor he hers—when they’d agreed to a marriage of convenience. Then they’d fallen in love, and their professional and personal lives had collided in a most spectacular fashion.
