Into The Hall Of Vice. Anabelle BryantЧитать онлайн книгу.
question of your faithful attendance here at this mind-numbing, stodgy little card party, when you surely possess more spirit. What motivates you to return week after week when you could be dancing at a soiree or blushing in a ballroom corner with an attentive suitor? You are a diamond of the first water, a rare bloom for some fortunate gentleman to pluck.’
Her heart pounded with a beat of panic as he stepped closer. She had no desire to be plucked. At least not at the moment, and never would it be Lord Winton who accomplished the plucking. ‘I could ask you the same.’
‘I’m flattered by your high opinion.’
She wrinkled her nose at his vainglorious misinterpretation but remained silent. Only two paces separated them now. He searched her expression and she purposely kept it bland. The stone wall at his back had an unlatched wrought-iron gate where she could escape if need be, but she doubted Winton would exercise poor judgement. By his own admission, her brother was a powerful man and she knew Winton curried his favour.
‘I wonder, lovely Gemma,’ he gentled his tone and advanced a step, ‘if His Grace would be interested to learn you attend this gathering to ferret out information concerning your father’s untimely death.’
Caught by surprise, she inhaled a sharp breath, though she recovered soon after. ‘Nonsense, and I take offence at the mention of my dear father’s passing.’ Her voice quivered with emotion.
‘Come now. You don’t believe me obtuse.’ He shook his head in the negative. ‘I’ve overheard your discreet enquiries and noticed several endearing attempts to steer conversation in an interesting, though particular, direction. I only mention it so I may be of service.’
He offered her a half-smile that brought to mind a wolf who invited the sheep to join him for dinner. Something was amiss. Had Winton watched her weekly? Every word, each suggestion? Whenever she’d grown uncomfortable with the weight of his stare, she’d assumed it was his lascivious nature and nothing more. How much did he know and could he be trusted? Desperate for any scrap of information, there could be something learned if she heard him out, but would he in turn report her activity to Kent? Above all things, her brother could never know the true reason she attended Loo like it was religion class. He’d already caged her in under the guise of protection. What horrid Fate would life become if Kent lost trust in her altogether?
‘What do you want?’ She couldn’t be more direct, anxious to return indoors where happenings proved more predictable.
‘Straight to the point.’ He slanted her an appreciative glance. ‘All I wish is the chance to know you better. To spend time in your company.’
Befriend my brother, no doubt. Advance your social standing. Align your ambitions. Increase your reputation. But she didn’t voice these plentiful conclusions and instead set her lips in a firm line to keep the accusations captive.
‘Oh, I know the wheels are spinning inside your lovely brain, but the longer we stay outside, the more opportunity we offer those indoors to speculate about our absence and conjure unsavoury gossip. Let’s keep this simple. I’ll kindly tell you something I’ve learned of that evening in exchange for a kiss.’
He couldn’t have surprised her more had he doused her with a bucket of cold water, his proposition the last thing she’d expected, and her expression must have revealed the shock.
‘Don’t look surprised. Surely you own a pier glass, Gemma. You are a fair-haired beauty beyond compare. I find, despite my best efforts, you occupy my thoughts.’
His voice had gentled considerably; still, better sense took hold, warning his flattery could only be intended as subterfuge in service of a greater goal.
‘How do I know you will tell me the truth? You offer me a bit of information that I have no way of pursuing until after I grant your request. I’m not so blinded by your flummery that I would make a bargain with the devil.’ She held his gaze with the question, her chin notched higher.
He chuckled this time, long and thoroughly, as if bemused at how easily she’d turned the tables. ‘Very well then.’ He eyed the house to secure no one watched from a window or ventured outside. ‘I will extend you a boon, this first bit of information gratis. When you discover I tell the truth, be prepared to remit payment next Friday and do wear the pink gown with the white embroidery. It brings out the green in your eyes like a right English rose.’ He stepped towards the slate path, his back turned for less than a moment. ‘Your father visited Miss Devonshire in her home on the corner of Edith Avenue in Charing Cross the night of his death.’ He nodded, assured and self-congratulatory, as if he wished to lock the information into her brain. ‘I will see you next Friday night.’ Then he left and she stared after him, bewildered by the rapid turn of events, intrigued by the first clue she’d gleaned concerning her father’s unnatural departure, and anxious to devise some way to learn more.
Cole locked Charlatan’s stall, housed within the supervision of Marleybone Livery, and began his walk home. It was a clear, starry night and despite his jaunt to Covent Garden, meant to chase away perpetual restlessness, he couldn’t shake the disquieting agitation that hummed within. He needed distraction. Something meaningful to define his purpose. Of late it seemed he helped everyone except himself.
For half a breath he considered visiting the Underworld, the gaming hell he owned and operated with two associates, Maxwell Sinclair and Luke Reese, but in a last-minute decision he aimed towards home in desperate need of a solid night’s rest. Besides, it was his turn to be absent from the hell. More and more he was at a loss to fill time outside of work and sleep, the latent distractedness one of the reasons he’d ventured to Covent Garden in the first place, though his better sense told him to make a different choice. He did have other interests.
Sinclair and Luke were occupied with personal pursuits and seemed not to notice his lack of focus. Recently he’d obtained information Sin needed to resolve an important issue and likewise volunteered to assist Luke as he searched for his lost son, but as far as his own life’s goal was concerned, Cole remained at odds.
In regular routine, he followed the side alley leading to Seymour Street where he conveniently jumped the fence which bordered some upper’s flower garden. This access cut across the property on to Wigmore where he kept his apartments. He inwardly cringed whenever someone referred to his address, a bastard set up in a fine neighbourhood of snobbery, but he worked hard and strove for better things, aware investment in prime real estate proved smart business.
This evening the streets were noisier than usual and, as he approached the plot where he trespassed as habit, he noticed two servants arguing behind the house. What they debated he dared not examine too closely.
He harboured no worries of being caught trespassing, able to assume an assortment of identities to ensure he’d continue on his way. Survival had taught him a bevy of skills which required few articles of disguise. With imitation at the ready, he could play the offended aristocrat, bleary-eyed sot, or passion-dazed cod’s head just returned from a lover’s assignation. How easily he’d hoodwinked myriad peers, preying on their arrogance and impatience to create distance from him. With certainty, it was the single worthwhile skill he’d gained from an unscrupulous youth on the slum-riddled streets of the city’s underbelly.
Still, a note of disappointment accompanied the conclusion. With the servants outside he’d need to find an alternate route away from the property he’d meant to dissect, which was laden with abundant honeysuckle and lavender in full bloom, the fragrance of the shrubbery an immediate balm and particular favourite.
Anticipating his unexpected detour, he plucked a cluster of blooms that poked through the fence and placed it between his lips to chew on the stem. He shrugged away regret and sidled behind a thick stone wall which created a barrier to his left. Then he skimmed low to skirt the perimeter in search of a gate or fence to hurdle. He’d almost reached the corner when he overheard voices on the other side. Slowing his steps to remain undetected, he kept an ear to the conversation, noting the dulcet tones