“For heaven’s sake!” Jackson said. “What now?”
The parlor door opened, and their butler entered carrying a silver tray with a single envelope.
“A letter, Your Grace,” the servant said.
“And?” Jackson snapped.
“And the messenger is waiting, sir.”
Curiosity took the edge off his frustration. Refusing to set down his wonderful wife, Jackson snatched the letter and broke the seal with one hand.
He read the contents.
Then read them again.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
Jackson dropped the letter onto a side table, his gut twisting. “I’ve been summoned by the Black Widow.” And at the exact perfect moment Sir Alexander had left... barely an hour after the woman had sent Jackson to intercept Anna’s cousin.
He smelled another game taking place, and Jackson wasn’t keen to know which piece he’d played on the board.
“Mrs. Dove-Lyon?” Anna made a face before gently patting his cheek. “If you need me with you... don’t ask. I’ll refuse.”
He laughed, his unease vanishing as she’d no doubt intended. “I see our declarations of adoration are at an end. And so soon.”
Anna scrunched her nose at him. “And what does Mrs. Dove-Lyon want now? Money? Blood? A sacrificial virgin?”
He smirked. “Good thing I fully plan to debauch you given the first available opportunity.”
“A very good thing,” she agreed with a saucy smile. She glanced at the letter on the table. “You might want to bring an expensive bottle of wine, anyway. Or a goat or two.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I shall have them all wrapped in gold and topped with big, red bows.”
“And then you’ll hurry home to thoroughly debauch your wife,” she ordered.
There was nothing else to say to that fine idea except, “Yes, General.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jackson stared downat the folded parchment Mrs. Dove-Lyon had placed on her desk between them. He wasn’t foolish enough to reach for it. “What is this?”
“A name and a gift,” she said, the jet beads stitched along her dark veil catching the lamplight as she sat back in her chair.
Jackson crossed his arms over his chest. “Anotherfavoryou wish to thrust upon me? No, thank you.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s veil shifted at the delicate tilt to the woman’s head. “Need I remind you how the last favor worked out? A man so clearly in wedded bliss need not be so stingy with his praise.”
Jackson grinned. No, he did not. “Your matchmaking prowess is unparalleled, madam.” He unfolded the foolscap and smoothed it open.
There, indeed, was a name written in delicate script:
Mr. Charles Bogart.
The man who’d come into the office after him not two hours ago.
Jackson flipped the page over. Nothing but blank space. He sent Mrs. Dove-Lyon a raised eyebrow. “I do believe a hint is in order. Is this man in need of a wife as well? I confess, if you arelooking for me to refer your services, not everything I relay will be flattering.”
“The man is a criminal, Your Grace. One for whom I believe you’ve been searching, going so far as to interrogate every maid, bouncer, and tiger within my employ.”
