* * *
Lucy veered away from the incredibly glamorous Mrs.Forrest and her besotted companion the moment she saw that Thorne was distracted.
Since they’d arrived, Lucy had been carefully tracking the comings and goings of the staff, the women who wound between the tables with trays of drinks and the burly men whose job seemed to be standing against walls and looking large at the rowdier guests.She’d noted that the green velvet wall hangings obscured several doorways, and she aimed for the one in the wall near the balcony where she’d ascertained that the scarred, intimidating owner of the club still stood.
Most of the women who worked the Sharpe’s floor had passed through that doorway at some point in the evening, and Lucy surmised that their dressing room must be situated in that hidden hallway.
When Thorne told her about Mr.Rook, Lucy had entertained a brief thought of sneaking up to his office to rifle through his desk and check his records for anything that might lead her to The Gentle Rogue’s true identity.
But on further reflection—and after shivering through the chill imparted by Mr.Rook’s distant, wintry gaze—Lucy had decided that the best source of information in any building truly was the women who worked there.The women who strolled the card room offering their company to the gaming gentlemen, for a price—and the unseen women who did all the invisible labor of cleaning, washing, straightening and tidying up after the nightly bacchanals.
All her focus on reaching the doorway where Lucy hoped to find a serving girl or two who might be willing to speak with her, Lucy startled badly when a gentleman materialized beside her with a brief bow and a bland, “My lady.”
Lucy jumped a mile, heart rabbiting in her chest.She hadn’t noticed him at all.
Perhaps because he was entirely, almost aggressively unnoticeable.Average height, with a round face emphasized by the way he’d slicked his hair straight back to reveal symmetrical, forgettable features.His hair and eyes were both a nondescript brown; even his voice was in the middle of the range, neither deep nor high in that breathless way some dandies affected.
“I beg your pardon,” Lucy said, for want of anything better.“Do we know each other?”
In fact, he did look vaguely familiar.Lucy frowned, trying to place him.
“We have not been introduced,” he said pleasantly, “though I certainly know you.Lady Lucy Lively.”
A frisson of unease tickled down Lucy’s spine.“That’s right.And you are?”
He bowed again.“Sir Colin Semple, at your service.”
Sir Colin Semple.The name clicked, and Lucy took the man in with new eyes.This was the agent of the Crown who’d been bothering her publisher for information about the author of theMidnight Riderseries.
About Lucy.
It seemed he’d found her.
Pulse speeding, Lucy worked to keep her sudden tension off her face and out of her voice.“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Colin, but I’m afraid I am right in the middle of some pressing business, so if you’ll excuse me…”
She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a murmured, “A moment of your time, my lady.I wanted to speak with you about The Gentle Rogue.”
“The highwayman?”Lucy forced a light laugh.“What about him?”
Sir Colin cocked his head like an inquisitive bird.He had eyes like a bird’s too, Lucy realized, perturbed.
His eyes were oddly bright and flat.Emotionless.They betrayed not a hint of triumph when he replied, “As the author ofThe Midnight Rider, I would say you possess more insight than most into The Gentle Rogue.Wouldn’t you agree?”
Lucy caught her breath.She could try to brazen it out, but as she studied the agent’s affectless demeanor, she realized there was no point.He knew.
Tossing her head, Lucy drew herself up to her full, not-inconsiderable height.She had an inch or two on Sir Colin and used them to look down her nose at him.“I can’t think how you discovered my little secret, Sir Colin—I’m certain my publisher, Mr.Singh, would not have told you.For if it had been he, I can only assume he would have made sure you understood.”
“Understood what, my lady?”
Lucy gave him a pitying look.“The Midnight Rideris a work of fiction,” she said gently.“That means it’s not real.I’m ever so sorry to disappoint a fan, but?—”
“I’m not a fan,” Sir Colin interrupted.His face still held that blankly agreeable expression.“What I am, Lady Lucy, is thorough.It’s what sets me apart as an investigator, I believe.When I need information, I look until I find it.I look in places no one else would consider…for instance, a barely fictionalized account of a highwayman written in the same style as a series of anonymous articles published from April of 1819 to April of 1821 inThe London Observator.Those articles corresponded, on multiple occasions, to the actions of the real, live highwayman I’ve been tasked with apprehending.”
The tips of Lucy’s fingers felt chilled; there seemed not quite enough air.“What an odd thing to say.Are you implying— I vow, I don’t know what youcouldbe implying, sir.”
That quizzical head cock again.Why did it make a feeling close to panic rise in Lucy’s chest?
It was because she’d seen it before, Lucy realized with a start.At Gunter’s, that day when Thornecliff took her there and they’d been seated before a group of waiting customers.This man had been one of them.
