Sebastian continued talking while the Colonel did all this. “There is correspondence between two other notable names, claiming that Birchwood may be one of the more influential figures in the criminal organization. It all makes sense, given his socialstanding. He is in a perfect position to hide in plain sight. He just did not expect me to pose as a gambling partner tonight.”
The Colonel took a moment to briefly look over the documents before lifting his gaze to Sebastian. A small smile of praise lifted the corners of his mouth. It was scarcely there, but Sebastian would take what he could get.
“As always, Halshore,” he said, having long dropped formalities with those in service to the Crown. Here, titles did not exist, only the job they served to complete. “You have played your role well. However, I cannot help but wonder, why not expose the man yourself?”
Sebastian let a fabrication slip from his tongue with ease. “Because my duty is to the Crown, and I believe that all information should be submitted before I level an accusation at any man.”
“Good,” Colonel Learmonth said, as if he expected such an answer. “Very good. Now, get some rest. I will alert you when we are ready to move. An arrest must be made. If what you say is true, and we can produce the evidence, the Marquess of Birchwood deserves to be publicly disgraced.”
“Good night, Colonel.” Sebastian nodded once again, understanding when he was dismissed.
Smiling, he left the Colonel’s townhouse and returned to his own, knowing sleep would not come easily. Now that he had allbut captured Betula, Lord Birchwood, and sent him to Newgate Prison, Sebastian was free to think of Lady Phoebe.
Once he entered the townhouse, Sebastian crept down the hall, careful not to wake Mrs. Vale or the rest of the staff. He moved quietly toward the last room…the small library…and slipped inside.
He took the book he’d read to Lady Phoebe that night off the shelf, dropped his overcoat to the floor, then sat on one side of the latticed partition and began to read aloud.
“The temperature was oppressive, but the lady felt no heat, save for that which pooled between her burning loins.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Come on!” Genevieve cried excitedly, yanking Phoebe’s hand, tugging her away from her parents.
“Wait!” Phoebe shouted, panicked at leaving her parents’ side upon their warning, but her friend was already pulling her away.
“We cannot miss the lift-off!”
Phoebe glanced back at her parents, but her focus quickly returned to the hot-air balloon that was deflated on the field before her. The grassland that had been reserved for the day’s fair was filled with members of theton. She noticed several notable Earls and Marquesses with their wives, people that Lord Birchwood had pointed out upon their entry.
But behind her, he still lingered. She had hoped Birchwood would go to join the others who he found worthy of mentioning but instead he strolled with her parents.
The Earl and Countess of Tripleton had their arms linked. From a distance, they looked like the perfecttoncouple, even if they sought out different things. Her father had always wanted to make more connections and gain more business associates; her mother had always wanted to be captivating. She was not happy if every head did not turn and look when she entered a room.
“Phoebe,” her mother snapped loudly, pulling Phoebe out of her introspective state. “Stay at my side, like I ordered.”
“Aunt Myrtle!” Genevieve whined. “Please! We are young ladies. We must be at the forefront to attract suitors!”
“It seems that you have forgotten, Niece, but my daughter is already betrothed,” Phoebe’s mother answered coolly. “Do not drag her along with you as though she were your plaything. If you wish to catch a husband by making a spectacle of yourself, that is your prerogative. But Phoebe will be a Marchioness soon enough, so she does not need the attention of other suitors.”
“Please, Auntie Myrtle,” Genevieve said helplessly. “I need Phoebe’s help.” Then, her eyes got that sparkle in them that meant she was about to say something to appease Phoebe’s mother. “After all, she is the youngest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Tripleton. Your matchmaking skills are renowned. Who can forget that you have already seen two daughters successfully wed! Surely, you will not begrudge me for wanting Phoebe by my side.” She lowered her chin and simpered a bit. “The Tripleton name will bolster my own reputation. It is what your own sister would have wanted, Auntie.”
Phoebe cringed at the mention of her siblings. Her sisters were eight and ten years older than her, and had long ago eloped with their husbands. While Phoebe had spent her youth in the countryside, her sisters had married and moved to other continents that Phoebe would likely never be able to dream of seeing. But…
It worked.
The flattery worked on her mother and father, for if there was anything to prompt their acceptance of releasing Phoebe from their side it was the promise of seeing yet another young lady they knew making an advantageous marriage match.
Anything to enhance the Tripleton name, Phoebe thought privately.
“Fine,” her father finally decided. “Just—report back to us shortly and do not stray out of sight.”
“Hold on.” Lord Birchwood stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “I do not agree to this arrangement.” He clucked his tongue and smoothed back a lock of his hair which had a wind-blown look to it today. “Such frivolity.” He turned his eyes on the Earl and Countess. “I must have my betrothed on my arm. I cannot let her wander off toward a foolish science exhibit like a fickle girl who thinks the thing might actually fly. Truly, who believes in such nonsense? We do not have the knowledge for this.”
“I assure you, Lord Birchwood, a great deal of research has gone into this,” Genevieve said bravely. “My father assured me so.”
Lord Birchwood only scowled at her as Genevieve tugged Phoebe closer to her protectively.
“Please? I do not want to go closer alone, and she is my cousin. I have every right to have Phoebe at my side.” Genevieve made her voice whinier, a tactic that made Phoebe bite back laughter. Her cousin was truly playing up her desperation. “Please, Uncle, Aunt!”
