“Marcus Stanwick paid me a visit last night.”
“Why?” The disembodied voice came from the deepest shadows in the farthest corner of the dimly lit area. It was a game he played, as though not being seen made him more formidable or menacing. She suspected it had something to do with the fact that the top of his head barely reached her shoulder. Or perhaps it was the hunch of his back. Men could be such sensitive creatures. Especially this one. He went by many names, but she referred to him as O.
“He wished to know if his father had ever confided in me regarding the planned assassination, if I might know some information that could help him track down those involved in the plot.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I knew nothing.”
“Good. We don’t need him mucking up our plans.”
“It may be a bit late for that. He asked if I was familiar with Lucifer.”
“Devil take him.” In his agitation, he came partially into the wavering light provided by a half-dozen torches nestled in iron sconces on the stone walls. The alcove, one of many in a network of tunnels beneath the city, had few amenities but hidden away as it was lent itself well to clandestine endeavors, especially those that involved nefarious plots to end the reign of a queen. “What did you tell him?”
She sighed with impatience at his constantly questioning that to which he should already know the answer. They were a few months shy of having worked together for two years. By now he should fully comprehend that she had the wherewithal to know what she was doing. “What do you think I told him? Nothing.”
“And he believed you?”
“Why would he not?”
His smile was the sort that might make a more delicate flower’s skin crawl. But she was immune to that sort of thing. She had no feelings whatsoever. Theheartless harlotthey called her—if they bothered to call her anything at all, those who thought themselves above her in station. Although she’d certainlyfeltsomething troubling, a reawakening of aspects to her she’d thought long dead, as she’d sat across from Marcus Stanwick.
“I wonder if it might be to our advantage for me to get a little closer to him,” she said as flatly as possible, even though the mere thought of seeing Stanwick again caused her heart to beat a little harder and her stomach to quiver as though it was suddenly home to an assembly of acrobats, tumbling and jumping and messing about. “Determine all that he does know or suspect.”
“He’s unimportant and we’re closer than ever to accomplishing our goal.” He walked to a table that had probably seen two hundred years, and it wobbled as he lifted something off it. “There is to be an...affairat Lord Podmore’s Wednesday next. I’ve secured you an invitation. No names will be asked. Everyone will be wearing a mask. It is our hope that you will find the opportunity to search his study for what we seek.”
“If it is there, I will find it.” She should leave matters as they were, should leave him where he stood, but couldn’t shake off the sense that Marcus Stanwick might prove to be a danger by interfering with their plans. “Stanwick believes the plot to assassinate Victoria is still afoot.”
That sly grin again. “We shall soon prove him correct.”
Chapter 3
It wasn’t often that Esme disobeyed orders, but in the two nights that had passed since Stanwick invaded her home—her peace—she’d been unable to rid herself of thoughts of him. He possessed a hunger, a way of prowling about like a caged animal waiting for the moment when it could break free of its constraints—and God help anyone in his path once he gained his freedom.
Her gut told her that O had the wrong of it. Stanwick might provide some answers. She’d allowed him to interrogate her, while she’d questioned him little. Truth be told, she was now standing across the street from the Fair and Spare because she’d come to realize that the man had somehow managed to steal her wits not two minutes after she’d greeted him in her parlor. With his commanding presence or his devilishlyhandsome features or the depth of his loneliness, one that she’d recognized only because it mirrored her own. She couldn’t afford to become close to anyone, to let so much as a solitary person mean anything at all to her. Danger was her stock-in-trade.
However, it wouldn’t limit itself to her but would reach out with deadly tentacles to destroy anyone for whom she had a care. Therefore, it had been years since she’d known the warmth of a gentle touch, since she’d enclosed her heart in ice and her soul had evolved into little more than a shell that allowed her to do what was demanded of her without remorse or regret. She was like a cog in a machine at a factory—she had a single purpose and saw to it with an intense focus until nothing else mattered.
Marcus Stanwick, however, was a distraction. She needed to know the reason, needed to understand what it was her survival instincts were striving to tell her.
After crossing the street, she marched up the steps to the broad, towering man who barred entrance. She imagined him hefting a broadsword while dressed in the pelts of animals he’d slain. Habit had her calculating how she would take him down if need be. “Let me pass.”
“Ye gots to show me yer membership card.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Ye wants to be a member then.”
“No.” She had no use for a place where people gathered to enjoy each other’s company. She arched a brow. “I want in.”
He furrowed his brow. “I can only let in members and them wot’s want to be.”
“I need to have a word with Mr. Stanwick.”
“’Bout membership?”
She gave him a hard glare that promised retribution.
