“Count, you are finished with your conversation with Lord Ledderbey?” Lord Tramondeley asked, feigning innocence.
“Quite,” Damiano said, hurrying past them. He raced into the ballroom and stopped short. The chair the sketch artist had been sitting in was empty. He walked over, attempting to seem casual, as Lady Marchfield was still overseeing Lord Marchfield’s sketch. From what he could see, Lady Marchfield was determined to capture Lord Marchfield smiling but it was proving difficult.
His own sketch was nowhere to be found. Wherever that fellow had gone, he taken his papers and his graphite and charcoals with him.He approached the nearest artist. “Where has your friend gone? The one who sat right there?”
The artist shrugged. “Lord Tramondeley said something to him and then he was up sticks and gone.”
“Up sticks?”
“You know, gone.”
Damiano presumed the sticks in question were the graphite and charcoals, and that phrase was particular to artists. He turned on his heel and made his way back to the drawing room, determined to locate that artist and his sticks. He must get that sketch back.
He had expected he would find what he’d left—people milling around aimlessly. Rather, they seemed to be playing some stupid game.
“We’re playing Lookabout, Count,” Lady Letitia said.
Damiano all but ignored her. The English were famous for running around like idiots and calling it a game. Just now, several people were seated while the others walked around peering at everything.
“It’s a letter opener we seek,” Lady Felicity said. “The duke hid it for us.”
“Hah,” the duke said, “they tried to convince me to sit for a sketch, so I had to think fast and suggest a game.”
Lady Valor suddenly sat down, so he presumed that was what was done when one located the letter opener. He made his way to Tramondeley, who was still looking.
“Lord Tramondeley, I went to the ballroom to find my sketch artist, as I have decided I do not prefer what he has composed, but he is not there.”
“Oh yes, him. He was taken ill and left. I suppose he’ll still want to be paid.”
“But where is the sketch?”
“The sketch? Well if he did not leave it behind, he must have taken it.”
“Taken it where?” Damiano said.
“To wherever he lives, I suppose. We used an agency to hire the artists, so I really have no idea.”
“I see,” Damiano said. He did not press further, as he did not wish to give away his hand.
“In any case, the sketch will come back to you after it’s framed and then you can do what you like with it. Throw it into a fire if you don’t care for it.”
Damiano would like to throw Tramondeley into a fire. As it was, there was not much he could do about it. He was certain he would get a framed sketch. What he was not certain about was whether Tramondeley would have any copies of the portrait made and, if he did, what he would use them for.
He was really beginning to think that the safest course would be to put an end to Tramondeley. He had wavered when it had just been the question of whether or not he was the Mosquito. The risk had not seemed equal to the benefit.
Now, however, it did.
Tramondeley was making strides with Lady Valor. Tramondeley was likely running a dangerous network of spies. Tramondeley had arranged to capture his likeness.
Tramondeley suddenly gone from the world would solve a whole host of problems. He would just have to plan it carefully. It could not be anywhere near this house, as Damiano had not been fooled by the men attempting to casually mill around out of doors. They were clearly hired guards, which gave further credence to the idea that Tramondeley was a deeper character than he seemed.
Somewhere crowded and chaotic might be ideal. If Tramondeley went to the pleasure gardens it could be done. A sharp knife in a crowd, hitting just the right spot in the back, would take care of everything.
Damiano rubbed his chin. The prince’s party would be the mostcrowded event of the season. Nobody would ever expect something to happen there. It would be dark and crowded in the gardens. As long as he was not disinvited over that item in the newspaper, it could be done. Even if he was, it might be done. There was nothing better than thousands of people to hide what one was doing.
*
Valor was delightedwith the Cornwall party. Lord Tramondeley had set up such an interesting way to spend an evening. First the sketches, and then the Lookabout game. As well, his cook was really very good, she had adored the small pastry shells filled with strawberry cream. She had even imagined that Lord Tramondeley might have had them specially for her. She’d mentioned once that she adored strawberries and then when they’d made an appearance he’d motioned the footman holding the tray over to her.
