His black brow raised. “The wife of Cadwalader’s superior?”
She nodded.
“Perhaps…” A scarred knuckle rasped against his stubbled cheek as he placed down his glass, skulked to the vast walnut cabinet and unhooked a chain from around his neck. Two dangling keys were inserted into its sturdy locks and turned simultaneously.
Solely once had she seen into this cabinet. The contents were ordered, methodical, and held all the secrets of theTon. Rumour told he’d eyes and ears on every street – lads and servants, coachmen and courtesans.
A small card was withdrawn and handed to her.
The script was neat. Refined.
Lady Twyford.
Seen in St Giles. Meets with a man named Roberts.
Upstairs room in Bowl Tavern.
Lovers?
Amelia swallowed, stood and paced. That was it then. Lady Twyford was their traitor. But was her husband, Sir Edmund, a part of it? And if not, how did she obtain the Home Office documents?
“But how can we get past Sir Edmund to confront her?” she muttered almost to herself. “The lady never leaves the house.”
“Not entirely true.” The Prince perched on his desk, “When in Town, she attends the theatre. Drury Lane. Her husband rents a box Wednesday eves.”
That was tomorrow.
And how did he know all this?
“Anything on Sir Edmund?”
“I leave the Home Office laggards well alone and they do the same with me.”
Of course.
“And just one more…”
His glare was black as a crow’s wing.
“Anything on the Brotherhood of Ravens?”
“You know I only deal in theTon’s secrets.”
Doubting that very much, she nevertheless nodded. “Well, that’s all, Prince. I owe yo–”
“No.” He stood, lifted her carpetbag and closed her hand around the handle. “You will never owe me, Amelia.”
“I’m grateful then.” She smiled. “But even so, if you ever need anything of me, send word.”
Within the glint of candlelight, she discerned a small hitch of lip. “Cadwalader didn’t want you up here with me. Why would that be?”
She produced a nonchalant shrug. “We are just working together.”
“He has a danger to him under all that prinking clobber. A warrior. A good man. But beware, Amelia… He wants you.”
An odd feverishness overcame her cheeks. “I’m quite sure you are wrong.” It was true Hugh had kissed her once or…thrice, but surely it had meant less than naught to him. “He’s used to prettier, more worldly and aristocratic ladies than I.”
“You don’t know your own worth, Amelia. All of us here missed you when you left.”
