“We’ll find him, m’lady.”
From the lips of a child to the ears of the Almighty.Charlotte prayed that would be so. Time was slipping away. Nicholas’s trial was scheduled to begin in two days.
She forced a smile. “Of course, we will—if only for Mr. Tyler’s sake. Lord Wrexford getsveryill-tempered when logic refuses to unravel a conundrum.”
Hawk’s expression remained solemn. “Raven says he gets angry because he doesn’t like to disappoint you.”
Her throat seized. Charlotte looked away, unable to muster any reply. The earl’s feelings weren’t a subject she dared contemplate right now. Life and Death. Hope and Fear. They were too entangled, too confusing. For now, all her thoughts must be on Nicholas and keeping him from the gallows.
“Ifyoudon’t wish to disappoint me,” she said lightly, “you’ll fly up to your aerie without further argument.”
He hesitated, then backed away and slipped out into the shadows.
Charlotte waited, listening for the creaks of the steps leading up to the attic. Satisfied, she extinguished the lamp and moved into the corridor.
A whispery snore from within McClellan’s bedchamber assured her that the maid was sleeping soundly. A few swiftstrides brought her to her own room, where she quickly undressed in the dark.Moleskin pants, threadbare coat, floppy cap—it took only a few moments for Charlotte to transform herself into a grubby street urchin.
After hiding the last errant wisps of hair under her cap, she tucked her boots under her arm and crept down to the kitchen, where a careful flick released the back door’s lock.
“Wrexford will have no cause for complaint,” she murmured as the night breeze tickled against her cheeks. The leaves rustled. A twig snapped. “In and out . . .” Quickening her pace, Charlotte crossed through the garden to the back wall. “I’m simply going to take a quick look to see if my hunch is right.”
* * *
Wrexford rapped on the trap of the hackney. “Stop—we’ll get out here.”
“It’s late and I’m thirsty,” groused Sheffield as he climbed down to the street. “Why are we walking the rest of the way to your town house?”
“Because,” growled the earl, “I need to think.” The trip to St. Giles had been a wild-goose chase.
“And you can’t do that sitting by the hearth with a glass of good Scottish malt in hand?”
“Stubble the whinging. It’s only a short way.” And moving his limbs might jog loose some forgotten clue. At the moment, he couldn’t think of what else to do.
Sheffield fell in step beside him, maintaining a tactful silence.
It was late, and Mayfair was sinking into slumber, the night sounds muffled by the swirls of fog ghosting in from the river. At the next turn, Wrexford cut through a narrow alleyway that led to Bruton Street and the north end of Berkeley Square. He paused at the far end, and then drew back into the shadows as he spotted a lone figure approaching.
As he shifted to check the other direction, he heard his friend draw in a sharp breath.
Wrexford fixed him with a questioning frown.
Sheffield waited for the figure to pass. A glimmer of moonlight showed his face had turned unnaturally pale. “It’s Lady Cordelia—”
“Sssshhh.” He didn’t wait to hear more. Taking his friend’s arm, he pulled him close. “Let us move quickly and quietly. When I give the signal, we’ll take her by surprise. It’s about time we get some bloody answers.”
A grim nod was Sheffield’s only response.
Easing out of the opening, the earl set off with a wraithlike stealth, hugging close to the buildings, where the muddled shadows hid their movements. Closer, closer—Lady Cordelia was making pursuit easy, he observed. Though she kept up a rapid pace, she never bothered to check on her surroundings, or whether anyone was following her.
A mistake. But perhaps she had grown overconfident in her cleverness.
The gap between them was closing. In another few strides, she would be within arm’s length. Wrexford hesitated, however, as she hurried through a turn and headed toward Berkeley Square.
What the devil is she up to?
Cordelia crossed the street and darted into the dark-hued foliage of the square’s central gardens. The earl waited a moment, then signaled for Sheffield to follow. It was dark beneath the tall plane trees, with only a scattering of starlight filtering through the leaves. Keeping to the grassy verge, he followed the softcrunch-crunchof her steps on the graveled footpath. She paused at a gap in the bushes and appeared to be surveying the town houses straight ahead.
One of which was his.
