Page 88 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

Chapter Twenty-One

The next day, Lord Singleton received a message.

Sybil had been paying a footman at the Clarendon Hotel for several months now to pretend that Lord Singleton rented rooms there when he was in London. Thus far, it had not proved fruitful.

But as of today, it was worth every shilling spent.

She was in the Fern Parlor battling a plant for a spot in the sunlight, that struggled to pierce the clouds and the coal fog and the thick window glass. Priya muttered over her notebook, a cup of tea spiced with cinnamon and cardamon steaming beside her. Parsnip the kitchen cat was entrenched with her own battle with the ferns.

“Did you know that Chiswick, Abbot, and Copperwhite were in debt?” Priya asked.

“Rather common in Mayfair,” Sybil replied.

“Yes, but we are talking thousands and thousands of pounds. Enough to make a man desperate.”

“And a man both dishonorable and desperate is never a good combination.”

“No, indeed.”

One of the new footmen stepped inside the parlor and paused. “Miss Taunton? Are you in here?”

“Take a sharp right at the potted lemon tree and then straight on into the ferns.”

He popped out between two fronds. “A message for you, miss.”

“Thank you. Do you need a map to get out again?”

“I can manage. I believe.” He did not sound certain as he turned on his heel and fought his way free of the jungle.

Sybil broke a simple wax seal with no recognizable crest. The paper inside held an even simpler message: Midnight. Come alone. Minos. And an address.

“I left Sophie and her friends in the ballroom with the knives,” Peony said, marching into the parlor in search of tea. “They are improving apace. But none of them can swim worth a damn.” Her hair was damp, wrapped in a turban, barely visible above the bank of plants near the sideboard. “Why is Sybil making that sound?”

“She just received a message,” Priya replied. “Everything all right?”

Sybil pushed through the leaves, ignoring the horrified clicking of Priya’s tongue. “A message from the Minos Society.”

Priya and Peony turned their attention on her at once, sharp and vengeful. “Oh?” Priya said.

“For Lord Singleton.”

“Oh!”

“There’s another word here, in the corner. Ariadne.”

Peony rolled her eyes. “Is that a password?”

“Must be.”

“Amateurs.”

Pierce poked his head into the room. “We found four chaps named Alfie,” he said without preamble. “One is an old man who likes to smash his cane into the culls who prey on the women working in Covent Garden. I gave him a blackthorn cane like they use back home. Does much more damage.”

“And the others?” Priya asked.

“The others are exactly the types to be hired in a pub by a man they don’t know for nefarious deeds.”

“That’s… too many.”