Kate had become impossible to dislodge from his mind, and he was plagued by memories of her lingering warmth, the scent of citrus and lavender, and the feeling of her in his arms. He tried to banish the distractions, but like every other time, the effort proved useless.
He needed a distraction. Determined not to put off writing to his mother any longer, he opened the top drawer of his desk to retrieve a piece of stationery. He dipped a quill in the ink, the scratch as he wrote across the page familiar and oddly comforting. When he was finished, he sealed the letter and leftit for the servants to send. If his mother agreed to visit London, he would need to write to her favorite inn and reserve a room for her. She always preferred to stay at The White Oak when she traveled from her sister’s home.
James’s hand stilled.The White Oak.What if the meeting location referred not to a tree at all, but to a sign? A tavern’s noise and bustle would better conceal a shipment than a tree in an empty park. James stood up, ledgers and papers falling unheeded to the floor.
He had been hunting a tree when he should have been hunting a signboard.
He paced between the desk and the sofa. His mind spun. No innkeeper would call his establishment simply “The Oak.” It would be paired with something else. What word had the man in the library used?Grand.Large. But the word could also signify something else. Importance or authority, perhaps? He needed help.
He pulled the cord for Stephens, and his valet entered a few minutes later.
“Stephens, how familiar are you with taverns and inns in London?”
His valet looked at him quizzically. “As much as the next fellow, my lord.”
“Can you tell me every one you can think of with the wordoakin the name?”
Stephens stared at him, no doubt thinking his new employer had lost his mind. “Of course, my lord. If I may suggest, there is The Three Oaks just outside of town and The Oak & Shield east of here.”
James tamped down disappointment. Neither of those fit what the Frenchman had said. “Any others?”
“There is The Crown & Oak, but it is in the rookeries, my lord. It is not the sort of place where gentlemen would go.”
James’s lips tugged up in a smile. That had to be it. “Thank you for your assistance.” He held out the letter to his mother. “See that this goes out with the morning post, Stephens. Thank you.”
His valet bowed and retreated. Crown might be a Frenchman’s imprecise way of naming something grand or important, and the rookeries were exactly where James would expect illegal dealings to take place. It was where criminals and traitors moved unnoticed.
The rookeries were the most dangerous place in London. If he went tonight, there would be no one to pull him out if the night turned ugly. No one would even know where he had gone. He would be in a devilish fix.
But James was a man of action; to do nothing was impossible. And he was confident this path would finally lead to Henry’s killer.
He watched the fire burn low in the hearth. As the room filled with evening twilight, a smile of anticipation curved his lips, the decision made.
James William Campbell, the Earl of Brenton, was going to do something truly reckless.
The familiar thrill returned as James slipped out of the servants’ entrance, thick fog swallowing him. He made his way down the dark cobbled street and pulled his shabby wool coat tighter against the brisk wind. At least the rain had ceased, though he lamented the garment’s lack of proper buttons. Hopefully both he and his threadbare coat would make it home in one piece. Hedid not want to have to explain to Stephens why he was wearing such a coat or, even worse, why he needed it mended.
Casually glancing around to ensure he was not being followed, James headed east toward the notorious rookery where The Crown & Oak stood. Excitement raced through him from head to toe as he anticipated what lay ahead, but doubt caught at him. What would Kate think of his dangerous trade? Would she think it scandalous or daring? She had always welcomed an adventure when they were children. It didn’t matter what she thought, though. She could never be allowed to know, not when it would put her in danger.
A startled yell from a dark alleyway dragged his mind back to his surroundings. St. Giles Rookery was no place for a man lost in a daydream, and his thoughts of Kate—no matter how enticing—were a deadly distraction.
He kept to the edge of the pavement to avoid the eerie glow from the oil lamp on the corner. Any passerby would dismiss him, with his shuffling gait and homespun garb, complete with threadbare elbows and patches, but he could not take chances.
He wove down alleys and backstreets, taking a circuitous route. He knew when he was nearing The Crown & Oak. The closer he came, the louder the noise and the stronger the stench. More than once, he fought the urge to gag.
Refuse littered the street, and raucous laughter and angry voices spilled out from the crowded slums. He kept his head down and exaggerated his broken gait. No one cared about a half-drunk man here.
A quick glance at the dilapidated building in front of him confirmed he had found the correct place. The Crown & Oak. He eyed it suspiciously. The roof was sagging on one side, and the door hung precariously, as though it would blow off at the slightest gust of wind. The wood creaked beneath his worn bootsas he limped toward the entrance, using the movement as a guise to check his surroundings.
The street was almost empty, its few occupants paying him no mind. He slipped inside, the lights dim and the stench of unwashed bodies strong, choosing a table in the corner where he could watch the door and still overhear surrounding conversations.
A brawny woman wearing a dingy gray dress that hung off one shoulder approached him with a smile that was missing more than a few teeth. He hunched lower, hoping his disguise and disinterest would keep her from offering him more than a drink.
“Well, I ain’t seen ya ’ere afore,” she said with a hint of suggestion. She slid a little closer until their legs were nearly touching. “Wot can I get fer ya?”
“A pint o’ ale.” He tossed a coin onto the table.
“As you like, darlin’. Anything else ya be wantin’?” She was certainly not subtle in her hints.
