She set her glass aside and turned to stare at the shimmying flames in the hearth.
Wrexford didn’t interrupt her brooding. His own thoughts were none too steady. He hated seeing the look of vulnerability lurking in the shadows beneath her lashes.
And yet he wasn’t sure how to help. The recent moment of profound connection between them—the fleeting kiss, the murmurs, however oblique, of feelings for each other—now seemed more tenuous. He had drawn back, not wanting to crowd her as she wrestled with all the difficult decisions to make about the future. And she, too, had seemed to put some distance between them.
Perhaps all his sharp edges were beginning to chafe against her sensibilities—
The sound of hurried steps in the corridor suddenlyintruded on his thoughts. He looked up just as Sheffield flung open the door.
“Westmorly is a damnably difficult fellow to track down,” announced his friend. “But I’ve located his current lodging. He’s taken room at a small hotel just off Russell Square.” Spotting Charlotte, he gave a nod. “Good evening, milady,” he added, politely ignoring the fact that she was dressed in the grubby togs of an urchin.
“Mr. Sheffield,” ackowledged Charlotte as she uncrossed her booted legs and slid down from her perch on his desk.
Wrexford glance at the mantel clock. “Given the hour, we may find him at home.”
“Unless he’s gambling at one of the less salubrious spots in Town,” said Sheffield.
“I’m willling to take a chance on that.” He rose. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Charlotte—”
Her eyes darkened. “I’ll play the lady within the mansions of Mayfair, Wrexford. But don’t think I mean to surrender my independence outside of the gilded cage.” She tugged at the brim of her hat. “I’m coming with you.”
Charlotte watched a scowl take hold of his features. “It might be useful for me to look around the area,” she added quickly. “Perhaps one of the street sweeps has noticed Westmorly’s nocturnal movements and whether he’s accompanied by any companions.”
A glimmer of understanding flashed in the earl’s eyes. She released a silent breath, grateful that he grasped how much it chafed her to feel helpless while he and the others were pursuing promising leads.
“That makes some sense,” he allowed. “Come, we’ll go through the mews and take my carriage as far as Montague Place.”
The ride passed with little conversation. Sheffield was unnaturally silent, noted Charlotte, as she watched him frombeneath the brim of her hat. He looked pensive rather than angry. But given her own unsettled state of mind, she didn’t dare hazard a guess as to why.
Shadows flitted around them as they descended from the carriage. Most of the windows of the houses lining the narrow street were dark, and the few widely spaced streetlights cast naught but a weak aureole of light. Sheffield led the way, cutting through a back alley and approaching a squat grey granite building through the small swath of unpruned garden that sat at its rear.
“Westmorly has a set of rooms on the top floor,” he whispered, pointing up at a pair of dormer windows set in the slate tiling of the lower slope.
It looked black as Hades behind the mullioned glass.
“It looks like he’s either out or asleep.” Wrexford moved to the scullery door. Pulling a thin metal probe from his boot, he made short work of opening the lock.
Charlotte followed him and Sheffield inside. “I should come with you. If he’s in, I’ll simply slink away,” she explained. “If he’s not, it’s important that I have a look around. My eyes see things that yours don’t.”
The earl didn’t argue.
“The main stairs are this way,” indicated Sheffield. “There’s no one on duty at the front desk at this hour. The residents all have keys, so they can come and go during the evening.”
A single sconce was burning in the corridor, its lone flame doing little to lighten the gloom. It was quiet, thought Charlotte, cocking an ear and listening for the sounds of movement on the floors above.Too quiet.She felt a prickling at the back of her neck.
The reception area was deserted. Wrexford paused only long enough to pick up a candlestick and strike a spark to the wick. Cupping the flame, he started up the treads, taking them two at a time.
As Charlotte reached the next landing, she heard ascrabbling behind one of the closed doors and a bolt being thrown into place.
Up they climbed, the darkness wrapping around them like a shroud. The air turned thick and seemed to stick in her lungs.
On reaching the top floor, Sheffield wordlessly pointed to the door on the left.
Wrexford fisted his gloved hand and knocked.
The echo died away, leaving the landing quiet as a crypt.
He rapped again, and waited, impatiently shifting his weight from foot to foot. On getting no response, he tried the latch.
