“Lady Northcliffe. I have been hoping to learn more about your business.”
Her nervous fingers worked at her hair. “I am grateful for your interest, but I cannot discuss it now, Sir Ewan. I am looking for Northcliffe.”
“He’s down there in the street. Enjoying a cheroot with Colonel Black.” He smiled. “Smoking is frowned upon in the Assembly rooms.”
She stared at Sir Ewan uncertainly. Surely, he would not have seen her at the window. And if he had, he would put little store by it. She stepped past him to the open door and glanced out. A hand on her back urged her forward.
“Black seems to have gone, but your husband remains by the streetlamp. Do you see?”
A shadowy figure waited beyond the circle of light, the glow of his cheroot lighting up the dark.
It must be him, for he was not in any of the rooms. Eager to move away from Sir Ewan, she ran down the steps and hurried across the cobbles, as the thought came to her that she’d never seen Grant smoke. Of course, he could do so in men’s company. But this man was not tall enough to be Grant. She stopped, finding Sir Ewan behind her. The man tossed the cheroot away and stepped out of the shadows. Fury’s narrow, harsh face looked as if it was cut from stone.
She back away. “Where is Lord Northcliffe?” she asked breathlessly.
Fury moved, but the blow to her chin barely registered. Blackness enveloped her and she found herself falling into oblivion.
* * *
Sibella hurried up to Grant when he entered the front door after having seen Black off on his way back to London. “Mercy is trying to find you. She appears upset, she wouldn’t tell me why.”
Grant strode into the smoky, noisy atmosphere of the ballroom where a waltz was about to be called. He stared down at Lady Strathairn’s anxious face beneath the crystal chandelier. “I expected to find her here. We were to dance the waltz.”
“She went to the ladies withdrawing room to fix her hair. She should have been back by now.”
Grant tensed. Surely nothing could happen to her here? “Would you mind seeing if she is there?”
“Yes, of course.”
A moment later, Sibella emerged. “Mercy isn’t there. That’s odd. The maid said she hasn’t seen her. Perhaps she is looking for you in the billiard or the card rooms.”
Another frantic search failed to find her.
Grant’s blood turned cold. He had always feared that his work would place Mercy in danger. But surely, he was wrong. She would appear at any moment. Strathairn, Sibella’s husband, met them as they reentered the ballroom. “Did you not promise the waltz to me, my love?”
“I’m sorry, my dear. But Mercy seems to have disappeared.”
His fair brows rose. “Disappeared from the building?”
“We fear so. We cannot find her anywhere,” she said, as Grant began another tour of the room, searching the clusters of women on the benches along the walls. He returned with a worried shake of his head, his chest tight. Where was she?
“We will find her,” Strathairn said. “There is a crowd here tonight. We might have missed her. Sibella, perhaps it’s better if you leave this to Northcliffe and me. Mingle, my dear, and keep a sharp eye out for her. Ask subtly if anyone has seen her. We don’t want to cause a spectacle.”
“Very well.” With a concerned frown, Sibella moved away.
“Kind of you, Strathairn, but I can handle this.” Grant’s gaze raked the crowd, his heart beating madly. He didn’t want to be detained in conversation, he wanted to find Mercy.
“Would you give me a moment?” Strathairn asked. “Outside. I need to talk to you privately.”
“Outside?” Grant resisted. “I need to make inquiries, someone might have seen her.”
“I’ll keep it short.”
“You will need to.” As shock yielded to anger then cold fear, Grant followed him into the street where a chill breeze smelling of horse droppings whipped around them.
“You work for Black,” Strathairn baldly stated, as they watched a carriage rattle away.
Grant stared at him, what he knew of this man at odds with what he now suspected. John Haldane had married into the Brandreth family when he’d wed Sibella, the sister of Edward and Vaughn. He was aware of Strathairn’s distinguished work in the House of Lords, and that his marquessate was bestowed on him by the king for an act of valor. “You were an intelligence agent?”
