Renard didn’t have time to gawk at the dark hair and big eyes of Camille’s companion from the Quickners’ party; his mind was consumed with Camille.
“Explain yourself,” he said to Madam. “How could my duchess be in danger?”
Both women turned to him in surprise, but it was the younger one who smirked and said cryptically, “Damn. Scarlet was right.” She glanced Madam’s way. “How bad is it?”
Madam ushered them inside the club and closed the door, dropping her voice despite the deserted hall. “The club’s seal is missing, and so is Hawkins.”
The girl swore. “Where would he go? The Underground?”
“Lucien revoked his membership.”
“What about East End?”
“The place is too large to search.”
“You think he’s next?”
“I fear so.”
Renard swallowed his impatience as the women talked in riddles. “One of you, tell me what the hell. Is. Going. On.”
“Two options,” the girl said, holding up her pointer and thumb. “Either that scumbag oaf Hawkins learned not to bellow when he walks and stole the seal without a soul knowing in hopes of luring Camille into a trap, or...”
“Or?”
The girl glanced at Madam and back. “Or a killer is back on the streets and looking for revenge for unknown reasons.” Her young face changed to a hard mask. “A shadow I owe a slice and swift push off a roof.”
Renard shot Madam a hard glare, remembering what Camille had confessed about Madam’s secret ledger and what must have been the other woman’s suspicions. “I had nothing to do with any of that.”
Madam swallowed hard, an expression of guilt falling over her features. “Understood.” She nodded. “If Angel agreed to marry you, she believes in your innocence.”
Renard didn’t ask of which crime he’d been accused. “Now...” He bit back a growl, his waning patience slipping awayinto dark anger. “How is the duchess mixed up with this missing seal? And why does the connection put her in danger?”
“As I said, the seal is kept hidden,” Madam said. “No one knew about its location but the two of us. The fact that it was used to send that letter to you, today of all days—when I am expected to meet with the club’s suppliers and would be unavailable until late this evening—means someone wanted you sufficiently out of the way.”
“Any way the seal was forged?”
Madam shook her head. “It was made by the finest engineer in Europe. No one could forge with such precision.”
Renard snorted. “I’ve a man living on the docks who could.”
“Mr. Gregori Whitney?”
Renard turned to the older woman sharply.
Madam smiled smugly. “Then no, you don’t.”
Way to go, crackpot. “And Camille?”
Madam wrung her hands, an action that left Renard’s insides likewise.
“The bodies, Hawkins’s disappearance, the club, you, everything comes back to her.” Madam’s voice lowered. “The question is, Your Grace, do you know where your duchess is presently?”
“At our home in the country. Probably still abed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Unexpected.”
