Page 27 of A Perfect Gentleman

“It’ll cost you.”

She nodded, feeling on firmer ground now. “I presumed so. How much do you want?”

“Five hundred pounds.”

“Five hundred! Are you mad? That is a great deal of money.”

“What I know is worth a great deal,” he responded. “And this time make sure Montclair isn’t with you. You don’t want him to hear this.”

“Why not? Really, you cannot expect me to simply hand over that much money without any idea what I’m paying for.”

“Don’t you think it’s worth it to find out about his father’s embezzling money? And Thurston Price’s involvement in it?”

Abigail froze. “What? What are you talking about?”

“No, that’s all you’ll get until you pay me. Bring the money tomorrow night to the Crimson Pirate.”

“The Crimson Pirate?”

“It’s a tavern. Any hack will know where it is. I’ll meet you outside it. Same time—nine o’clock.”

“No. Wait. That’s impossible.”

“You better make it possible.”

“I can’t. I haven’t that large a sum of money simply lying about my room. I have to make arrangements at the bank. It will take a couple of days, and they will be closed Sunday, of course. I cannot possibly have it before Monday evening.” In fact, Abby was certain she would be able to withdraw the sum the next morning, but she had to take control of this issue. She could not let him dictate all the terms. It was always better to give oneself time to think, and besides, she wasn’t about to change her plans for tomorrow night.

He hesitated before giving in. “Very well, Monday night, then. The Crimson Pirate. Nine o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You better.” He released her, pushing her at the same time so that she stumbled forward and had to catch herself against the wall.

Abigail whipped around, but he was already almost to the end of the corridor. All she could see was the back of a medium-size man in a hat, and then he was gone down the stairs at the end. She stood there, one hand against the wall, struggling to bring her whirling thoughts back into order.

Graeme’s father? Embezzling money? The idea was mind-boggling. She had met the man only a few times and in the most formal of circumstances, but he had seemed like an older version of Graeme—handsome, polite, and honorable. Still, she supposed that desperation over losing his family fortune could have driven him to commit a crime.

It was, sadly, far easier to believe that her own father had been involved. She had never heard of Thurston Price doing anything that was outright illegal, but his legal activities often skirted the edges of the law—and definitely went over that line morally. He would be careful to keep himself out of trouble, but he would be unlikely to show the same concern for Graeme’s father.

Frowning, Abby continued to her room and unlocked the door, her fingers shaky on the key. Did Graeme know about his father’s embezzlement? She doubted it. She imagined his father would have gone to great efforts to hide the secret from his loved ones.

She planned to do the same. Graeme was so proud, so concerned about his family’s name, so dutiful and honorable that she feared it would devastate him to learn that his father had stolen money. And, selfishly, she couldn’t bear for him to discover that her father had had anything to do with it. Graeme already despised Thurston and was apt to tar her with the same brush. It made her quail to think how Graeme would feel about her if he found out her father had led Lord Reginald to do something dishonorable.

Abigail began to pace. David Prescott might know the truth; he had worked for her father at the time. She wished she could ask him about the matter, but she couldn’t take that risk. It was likely David was unaware of the embezzlement—her father was not a man to share his plans—which meant she would only reveal Reginald’s misdeeds to David. The two men already disliked each other. David was the last person Graeme would want privy to a scandalous family secret.

Abby thought back to her encounter. She had been too frightened at the time to pay attention, but looking back on it now, she realized that she had learned some details about the man. For one thing, he was not any taller than she was. His voice had been right behind her ear. The glimpse she had had of him as he ran away had confirmed that he was not large.

He had not spoken in the rounded, crystal-clear tones of the upper crust, but his speech had indicated an educated man. He had worn a suit and hat much like Graeme or David or other gentlemen wore, marking him as one who if he worked did so with his wits, not his hands.

A clerk or lawyer or teacher or journalist. He could be an enterprising reporter who had somehow dug up the facts. Or a clerk who worked in the business from which the money had been embezzled. An attorney who dealt with that business or with Reginald . . . although it seemed a little absurd to think of one of those dignified fellows in a robe and wig going about blackmailing people.

Unfortunately, the information she had managed to glean didn’t really help her. Even if she could figure out the man’s identity, it wouldn’t stop him from telling everyone what Graeme’s father—and hers—had done. She could not allow that to happen.

Obviously he wanted money in payment for not revealing the damning information. She could provide that. It likely would be only the first of many more demands. But she would find some way to deal with that later. Tomorrow she would be visiting the bank.

Graeme offered his arm politely to his grandmother and started up the wide stone steps to the theater. He was certain the evening would prove to be a tremendous bore. He was not in the mood for a farce. His life already provided enough of that.

He wondered if Abigail would be here this evening. It would be annoying and distracting, making it even harder to keep his mind on the play. He glanced around the lobby. It was filled with the usual crowd, women in glittering jewels and elegant gowns, men in starkly formal black-and-white. Everyone came to the theater more to be seen than to watch the performance.