Page 118 of The Dueling Duchess

Guy put the mop in the battered bucket and gestured for her to follow. He unlocked the door to the alley and held it open.

Once they were outside he shut the door and then leaned against it. “I’m all ears.”

Angus suddenly took flight, drafting sharply upward before he made it to the busy street.

“Where’s he going?” Guy asked.

“Wherever he wants,” Blade said, leaning against the rough brick wall, a knife already in her hand. “Angus is his own bird.”

Guy snorted. “Very well. So what did you learn?”

“I’m not going to tell you everything I found out.”

“Is this a standard response to the people who pay you?”

“Oh, are you paying me?” she asked, looking mildly amused.

“I assumed I was.”

Blade reached beneath her cloak and pulled out an oilskin-wrapped packet, which she held toward him.

He looked at it and frowned. “What is it?”

“It’s the contract for the sale of the Blanchet designs.”

“She sold her father’s designs to him?” Guy demanded. “How the devil did you get your hands on the actual contract? Did you break in somewhere to steal this? Will somebody be laying an information against me for hiring you to do this?”

“You needn’t worry—it wasn’t me. Angus did it.”

Guy’s jaw sagged. “Angus? He—No, that’s impossible.” He stared at her expressionless face. “Isn’t it?”

She laughed, the sound rusty, as if it wasn’t something she did often.

“You’re bamming me, aren’t you.”

“Just a bit,” she said, smirking. “After Cecile signed the contract, she moved to Boston.”

“Why?”

“That’s something I’m not telling you.”

Guy swallowed his annoyance and said,. “Fine. Go on.”

“Cecile lived in Boston for almost ten years. She returned to England because Blanchard stopped sending her payments for her part of the gunsmithing business.”

“Because he closed it?”

“That was what he claimed. But really, he stopped making guns almost immediately after Cecile left.”

Guy shook his head. “Why would he do that?”

“Because Curtis and his wife didn’t want to soil their hands with trade.”

“How do you know all this?” Guy asked, more than a little awed.

“Blanchard’s servants hate him, which means they aren’t exactly loyal.”

“Why do they hate him?”