Jasper had avoided Clementine for several days, rehearsing what he must say to her, but he needed to discuss the information he’d learned from his mother’s informant so they could formulate a course of action. He planned for that discussion to take place in his office, in a professional manner. The time had come to make it clear to Clementine that their involvement must now be limited to business. They were no longer lovers.
Yes, he’d told her that after she broke off their engagement, but this time he meant it. Besides, since ending their engagement, she’d not shown the slightest hint of jealousy when he took other women to his bed. Pursuing marriage was different, true, but she’d no right to be angry with him. Once, he’d offered her all he was. He wasn’t the one who’d ended it.
He strode through the club, nodding to those few poor sods who found themselves in a gambling hell in the middle of the day. He didn’t see Clementine on the floor, so he made his way into the back corridor and knocked on her office door. No answer came. Jasper grimaced, glancing at her bedchamber door. Clementine usually had only one thing on her mind when she lingered in bed until midday.
Steeling his resolve, he moved down the hallway to her bedroom door. Each of them had one at the Aspen. They often worked late nights or entertained, both one another and others.
Jasper would have to turn his chamber at the Aspen into another storage room, or a sitting room for Clementine. Not only wouldn’t he be inviting anyone to share his bed, he intended to be home every evening, once he convinced Madelina to accept his suit.
He knocked on Clementine’s door. No reply came. He knocked again. After a long moment, he cracked open the door, knowing it wouldn’t be locked, and stuck his head in. The room stood empty. The remnants of a fire flickered in the grate.
Frowning, he returned to the door leading into Clementine’s office. He opened it, as well, to be sure. Again, only furnishings met his seeking gaze. He crossed to his office, then the little parlor, his chamber. Clementine was nowhere to be found.
Annoyance and relief warred within him. He’d resolved to have what he suspected would be a difficult conversation, one he knew must come. After days of avoiding Clementine, he’d readied to speak with her, and now couldn’t. Frustration surged foremost, yet the sense of reprieve at Clementine’s absence couldn’t be denied.
He strode back to his office. Rapid footfall sounded in the hall behind him, too heavy a tread to be Clementine. Jasper turned to find one of the men who watched the coaching inns for him hurrying up the hall.
“Mister Mclintock.” The man bowed. “Sir, there’s a couple outside the Bull and Mouth asking after their niece. They say her cases arrived on the coach, but she’s nowhere to be found. I thought I best come tell you, sir.”
Elation surged through Jasper at the long-awaited news. After his mother’s informant told him the only place he could count on finding Madam Dequenne was her sorting house, where newly abducted women were taken, he’d set a discrete watch on the place and on as many of the coaching inns as he could. His mother’s source said the two tasks the madam never delegated were the inspection and allocation of each new acquisition.
“Has anyone reported in from the sorting house?” Jasper asked. Would she go immediately now that a girl had been taken?
As if in answer, another of his men rushed in. Sighting Jasper, he hurried down the hall. “Sir, a carriage arrived at the building you told us to watch and someone went in. She had her hood up, but I could tell by the walk it was a woman.”
He would finally catch her. “Have my horse made ready,” he ordered. “Gather up anyone who’s about and find them mounts.” How long would Madam Dequenne spend deciding the girl’s fate? “Ready everyone you can, but speed is more important than numbers.” Jasper frowned. “And bring some rope if we’ve any handy.”
“Yes, sir.” The men bowed and then jogged back down the hall.
Jasper went to his office and loaded a pistol. He hoped not to need it, but there was no way to know how many men and what sort accompanied Madam Dequenne. He grabbed his coat, forwent his hat, and headed for the Aspen’s back door.
Jasper led his men, half a dozen in total, down increasingly narrow streets. He had to sacrifice time for safety, his mount’s hooves unsteady on the broken cobbles. Gritting his teeth at the delay, he finally turned onto the lane he sought. Madam Dequenne’s sorting house was located halfway down. As he drew near, Jasper spotted a door standing wide.
That gaping maw filling him with sudden unease. Jasper leapt from his saddle and quickly secured his mount to a rusty hitching post. Gesturing his men to follow, he rushed inside to find a short hall. In moments, it spilled him out into a lushly decorated room. By the glow of candlelight, three men lay prone on a large axminster carpet. Across from Jasper, a masked young man slammed the hilt of a knife into a fourth man’s jaw. The man’s head snapped back, his eyes rolled skyward, and he crumpled beside an elegant mahogany desk. There was no one else in the room.
“Little Hook, what are you doing here?” Jasper cried. Were the men on the floor the madam’s? They didn’t look like the watch. Where was Madam Dequenne?
“Mclintock.” Little Hook’s mouth pulled into a nearly feral grimace. “I should have known you would come to save her.”
Jasper lunged forward. If he couldn’t have Madam Dequenne, he would get answers from the masked youth. The watch wouldn’t arrive to save Little Hook this time.
The lithe young man dodged back. Jasper dove for him again. Little Hook ducked under his arms, in the direction of a second door. Jasper’s men surged into the room. Beyond the doorway Little Hook maneuvered toward, Jasper caught sight of a staircase leading down.
“Sir?” one of his men cried.
“I can handle the boy. Get down the steps,” Jasper ordered, skirting left to cut Little Hook off. “Bring back anyone you find.” Had the madam gone that way? Did Little Hook seek to follow her, or to prevent Jasper from doing so?
His men clattered down the staircase.
The worry on Little Hook’s face made Jasper wonder what his men would find. The youth dove at him.
At the last minute, Little Hook changed trajectory to angle around Jasper rather than barrel into him. Jasper brought an elbow down on the boy’s back. He’d been waiting for the move.
Little Hook twisted, turning what should have flattened him into a glancing blow. His fist snaked out. Jasper tried to swivel out of the way but took a hard punch to the side.
They both jumped back, arms spread wide. Little Hook still held a knife, but kept his hold reversed, using the hilt to augment his fists rather than trying to draw blood with the blade. Recalling the uncocked pistol of their first encounter, Jasper wondered at the compunction.
They circled. Little Hook feinted. Jasper’s whole body longed to take the bait, to lunge in, but he held back. A moment later, he tried a similar gambit. Little Hook didn’t flinch.
