His blue eyes were steady on her face. “I suppose it was when my own heart was broken.”
She sighed. “I suppose men and women aren’t so different after all, are we?”
He grinned. “Not at all.”
The hackney deposited Devin and Luke at the address Brutus had given him at Montfree’s. However, the moment they stepped to the ground and the carriage rolled away, Devin’s instincts went on high alert. He scanned the area around them, but there didn’t appear to be anyone lurking in the corners. However, it was the silence around them that was the most concerning. “Something’s not right.”
“Aye.” Luke lifted his face, as if scenting something in the air. He reached behind him and pulled a pistol out of the waistband of his trousers. “It’s a good thin’ I came prepared. An’ tha’ I came wit’ ye,” he added pointedly.
Devin reached into his boot and withdrew a dagger with a shiny, steel blade. “Aye. Me too. On both counts.” Clutching the weapon tightly in his grasp, he led the way into the row of lodgings. Brutus had told him that his residence was on the upper floors and something told him that he would need the protection the entire way.
Starting the slow, but steady ascent up the rickety staircase that had seen better days, he kept the knife at his side, while carefully observing the closed doors that he passed. Every nerve ending was on alert should someone rush at him with lethal intent, because he was faced with that same, unnerving silence he’d been faced with outside.
Thankfully, they reached the top landing without incident, but Devin wasn’t breathing a sigh of relief just yet. When he reached Brutus’s apartments, he glanced behind him to see Luke in position. It wasn’t the first time that they had faced possible adversity, but he prayed it would be the last. He was weary of a life where he had to continually look over his shoulder. He just wanted to spend a quiet life in country solitude, perhaps even look into becoming a farmer, with Constance and their family by his side. If there was a merciful God, that day would come to pass.
Luke stayed out of sight of the door as Devin gestured to the doorframe. It was broken, splinters hanging from the area of the knob, as if someone had entered by force.
Grimly, he realized that wasn’t a good sign. It would be a miracle if Brutus was even alive.
He carefully pushed the door open and found the initial room to be empty. He hesitated, searching for signs of a struggle—or blood—but there was nothing.
When he prepared to take another step, a boot suddenly shot out in front of him. He stumbled over it, but recovered quickly, turning his fall into a flip that had him jerking upward in a crouched position and ready to do battle.
However, when recognition struck him, Devin lowered his weapon and put his hands on his knees. “Thank God.”
Luke had been ready to rush at the assailant, but when he entered the room and saw Brutus, he shut the door behind him and holstered his pistol once again. “I’m surprised t’ see that yer still standin’.”
The former boxer offered a tight smile. Blood trickled from his temple, but otherwise, he didn’t appear to have any other injuries. “They tried t’ get me down, but I reminded them who I was right quick.”
“Was it Granelli’s men?” Devin had no doubt that the bouncer of Montfree’s was familiar with all sorts of unsavory visitors to the gaming hell, as well as the ones who prowled about the city in search of prey.
“Aye,” Brutus confirmed.
Now that the excitement had settled down, Devin wasted no time in asking what he had come there to find out. “I believe that Granelli isn’t working alone. That he’s attempting to ruin Mr. Plainview by some means of treachery, but I have yet to discern the reasons why. I came here hoping you might shed a bit of light on my current theory.”
Brutus crossed his arms with a frown. “What’s that?”
“Drennan told me that he was…involved in certain dealings with Sir Isaacson. It sounded as though the baronet was particularly interested in the patrons that frequented Montfree’s.” He paused. “Do you have any idea if he showed any interest in someone particular?”
Brutus nodded his head. “Oh, aye, that he did.”
Devin’s brows raised with interest. “Do you know his name? Or what he looked like?”
“Her name is Gwen Hollowell,” Brutus corrected.
Devin blinked. “He was after a woman?” He hadn’t considered that possibility, but he should have known it wouldn’t just be a man who had the wherewithal to spurn a man like Sir Isaacson into action. Nor that a female mind couldn’t be just as conniving. Constance had been firm proof of that.
“She was a former housemaid to the Countess of Tyne and she told me she has the proof to send Sir Isaacson to the gallows for the murder of her mistress.”
Devin’s ears instantly started ringing. Finally, he might have the means necessary to enact his revenge on the baronet while gaining justice for Annalise. His fists clenched in anticipation of that moment. “Where is she?”
Brutus shook his head. “I told her that I wouldn’t give away her location to anyone and I mean to keep that vow, even when it comes to you, Blackmore.” He lifted his chin, as if daring him to challenge his honor. “She was a good friend to my mother before she died and used to live in this very building, but when Granelli and his men started to come after her she had to flee. She spent a lot of time at Montfree’s where she knew I could watch over her, but she did ask me to convey a message to Madame Corressa.”
He stilled. “And what’s that?”
“She will be at the metamorphosis ball tonight and intends to seek her out.”
Constance stared at her reflection in the mirror and resisted the urge to tug at her starched, white cravat. While she admitted that the freedom of the black trousers, white silk stockings, and buckle shoes were much better without the confines of a corset and the layers of petticoats she had to don normally, she didn’t care that everything was bunched up around her neck. And the silver waistcoat and black jacket made her feel as though she couldn’t properly move her arms. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and a powdered wig sat upon her head and she resisted the urge to yank it off and scratch her irritated scalp. With a sigh, she supposed that gentlemen had discomforts for the sake of fashion, just as their counterparts did.
