“The Duke of Chiltern.”
Cordelia’s face tightened, twisting and contorting into something malicious. She pierced him with a vicious glare. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He shrugged, apparently not concerned in the least if she believed him. “Doubt me if you wish, although you might regret it if you do. If you want to marry a man who would like nothing more than to see you hanged…”
“Enough!” She shouted with enough force to tear down the walls. “Get out of my house, you arrogant bastard!”
He smiled tolerantly. “You might reconsider how you speak to me, my lady, or
have you already forgotten our little… arrangement?” While she continued to seethe, her nails digging into her palms, he turned and headed for the door. At the frame, he paused and glanced back at her. “It wouldn’t be wise to push me too far.”
“Is that a threat?”
There was a cruel twist to his lips. “Merely a promise.” And with those parting words, he made his departure, leaving Cordelia in a rage fit enough to call down the heavens. With agitated strides, she paced her sitting room, all the while formulating a new plan.
By the time she was through, not only would Gabriel and his little whore feel her wrath — but so would the others who had forgotten their place.
Chapter Eighteen
Mivart’s Hotel was a new establishment located in the heart of the Mayfair District at number 51 Brook Street. To the onlooker, it appeared as a nothing more than a conventional terraced house, but it was quickly becoming a popular destination for tourists and the populace alike.
But as Triana stepped down from the hackney, she felt the familiar pangs of nervousness take hold. At Chiltern Hall, Travell had told her what she needed to try and find out, the key factors of that conversation replaying in her mind as she mentally prepared herself for the meeting that could either break — or crush — this perilous investigation.
At least there’s no pressure, she thought dryly, pausing as her hand was caught in a firm grip. She looked back at Gabriel. “You’ll be fine, and rest assured, I will be near should you need me.”
She gave a light nod as he released her, the imprint of his touch burning into her skin as the hackney drove around the corner onto Davies Street, where they would wait for her return.
The interior of the hotel was elegantly furnished; however, Triana didn’t take the time to appreciate her surroundings, and instead concentrated on finding Room 208. She walked upstairs to the second floor and made her way down the proper corridor, forcing her pace to remain steady, if not a bit brisk. After all, it wouldn’t help matters to draw undue attention to herself.
Triana found herself standing in front of the appropriate door, and after a quick glance around the deserted hallway, she raised her hand and knocked.
Less than a minute passed before the door behind her opened — Room 209 — and she felt the familiar prickling of alarm trail down her spine — right before a hand covered her mouth and dragged her inside. At first, she was too shocked to even cry out. But as her eyes became adjusted to the semi-darkened room, she focused on the shadowy silhouette before her. After a moment, recognition flared and she sagged in relief.
“You may release her,” Madame Corressa instructed. “I don’t believe our guest will scream now.”
The rough hand instantly fell away, and Triana glanced at her captor, feeling the blood drain from her face. A big, brutish giant of a man, he returned to stand by the door, arms crossed, like some sort of sentinel.
“Don’t mind, Bull. He has that effect on everyone, although he’s as loyal as they come.” With a slight smile, her green eyes shrewd, but welcoming, Madame Corressa patted her strawberry blond hair and held up a crystal decanter filled with a dark liquid. “Sherry?”
Triana gratefully accepted the glass that was handed to her and took a hearty gulp. While she normally declined spirits, she needed something to calm her frazzled nerves after being promptly frightened out of her wits.
“I’m sure you understand my heightened need for security,” The other woman remarked. She gestured to their surroundings, and added, “A woman in my position can’t be too careful.”
“I understand, Miss Freewater.” Triana’s voice shook slightly, so she took another sip of her drink.
“Surely we can dispense with the formalities, Triana. After all, I thought we were friends?”
At her raised brow, Triana nodded her agreement.
“Splendid.” Constance gave a satisfied smile and settled back in her chair. “Now, as you can imagine, my time is very limited, so let’s get to the point of your visit, shall we?”
“Of course.” Triana concurred, only too happy to put a swift end to this meeting. While Madame Corressa herself was rather imposing, she felt decidedly uncomfortable with her bodyguard standing nearby. Not to mention this entire situation in general. “I understand you were…” She paused, not sure how to continue, then finally found the word. “…associated with the captain of theEvening Swanand might be privy to some valuable information regarding some…” Again, she was uncertain how to phrase it. “Er… nocturnal activities.”
Madame Corressa eyed Triana with an amused tilt to her lips. “If what you are trying to say is if I was Captain Hildegard’s mistress, then yes, that is true. As for anything else…” She tilted her head to the side and regarded her guest closely. “What makes you think I should trust you with my secrets?”
Triana answered in all honesty. “It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Ah, isn’t it always?” Constance offered a wan smile. “Surely you can do better than that.” Leaning forward, she narrowed her green gaze. “How about you tell me why you really want to know?”
