“More than likely our shadow had something to do with that,” Gabriel muttered.
“Unfortunately, there’s more,” Logan added forbiddingly. “Madame Corressa is also missing. She hasn’t been seen since the night of the opera. Either at Huntington’s residence or the hotel where your rendezvous was to take place.”
Triana sank down across from Travell, completely stunned by this tragic turn of events.
“I’m afraid that’s not even the worst of it.” Travell added with a dismal tilt to his mouth. “The Regent has given us one week to apprehend the villains.” He paused meaningfully. “Or we shall be imprisoned for failure to comply with the Crown.”
“Bloody hell!” Gabriel gave a low growl of impatience and began to pace about the room.
Triana, on the other hand, was merely trying to comprehend the ramifications of it all. “I’m getting married at the end of the week,” she whispered woodenly.
Travell reached out to take her cold hands, anxiety turning to ice in her veins.
“Don’t worry, Tri,” he said with more conviction than she felt. “We haven’t failed to come through on a mission before, and I’ll be damned if I allow it to happen now. Wewillprevail.”
“We still have Ridge working on the codes,” Logan pointed out.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Codes?”
“From what we understand,” Travell explained. “The two ships communicate with a system of codes to determine what cove to meet at with the next shipment.”
“I see,” Gabriel murmured, a considering look on his face. “So we might yet be able to set up a raid.”
Travell nodded. “And Lord Palmerston assured me that he is working on gathering a team of soldiers to have at the ready.”
Gabriel ran a hand over his face, his knuckles brushing over the night’s growth of dark stubble. “Thank God. I can’t take much more of this infernal waiting.”
Triana flinched at his words, finding that they didn’t settle well. She rose to her feet. Without looking anyone in the eye, she murmured, “I imagine you have a lot to discuss.”
Triana walked away but not before she heard Gabriel snap in her wake, “Just tell me what I can do.”
***
There were eyes and ears everywhere.
They watched every move she made, but Constance Freewater was no fool. Long before she’d ever become the exclusive courtesan, Madame Corressa, she’d grown up on these very streets. If anyone thought she couldn’t spot a hired thug from a mile away, then they were sadly mistaken, and since it was easier to fight an enemy on your own turf, she had disappeared into the underground where she knew more than a few miscreants of her own.
She patted the shabby bonnet that covered her long, dark wig, and ducked down a dark alley. She lifted the hem of her dress with one hand, as she quickened her pace. The familiar, acrid scents of the rundown areas of the east side met her nostrils, but instead of the distaste many felt in such a situation, she smiled.
It was good to be home.
She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder and rushed around the corner of a crumbling boardinghouse only to stop abruptly as she ran straight into a solid chest.
“An’ where might ye be goin’ in such a rush, missy?” The man grinned maliciously and showed off a mouthful of rotting teeth before he grabbed her by the upper arms, the scar covering the left side of his face standing out in stark contrast to the dirt and grime. It was the same man who’d been her shadow for the past couple of days, one of the crewmen of theEvening Swan.
Her voice didn’t so much as waver as she looked right into that smug face and replied as cordially as if she might be asking for a second cup of tea, “Why, I don’t know what you mean. I was just taking a stroll.”
He threw his head back and laughed boisterously. “Th’ cap’n always said tha’ ye was a real spitfire.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, although she gave a cool smile. “Did he? Well, you may tell your captain to keep his opinions to himself and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.” She was careful to keep her expression carefully neutral as she gave a light sigh, “Then again, I don’t suppose you’ll have the chance.”
He turned toward the slight movement Constance caught out of the corner of her eye — but it was too late, for the knife was abruptly thrust into his ribcage. His face contorted with a mixture of shock and pain, as blood spurted out of his side like a sieve. He finally slid to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Constance glanced up at the man who remained standing and offered a wink. “Hallo, Bull.”
Her companion gave a single grunt in return, though for as long as she’d known him that was all the emotion he had ever shown. But he was faithful a friend as any could have in this city, and he never denied her request for assistance. Then again, she had practically grown up with him, so he was, in essence, the only family she really had.
“Now,” Constance said evenly, stepping over the corpse at her feet. “All we have to take care of is my meeting with Lady Triana at Mivart’s tomorrow afternoon. After that, I do believe I shall buy you a case of good Scottish whiskey — right after you pulverize your opponent in the ring at Grady’s.”
