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“There is more. This woman told our man that two months ago, Fairford bought a girl from Boucher and that she has not been seen or heard from since. She said that, like her patron, many of Boucher’s clients decide to keep their ‘bought’ girls and set them up as proper mistresses, but that Fairford has purchased girls from Boucher twice while she was there. To her knowledge, he has not returned either of them, and no one has heard of his setting up a new mistress anywhere in London.”
“They simply disappeared?”
Henry nodded. If the idea of Sabrina marrying Fairford had been unacceptable before, it was truly terrifying now. “There is no evidence to prove that he has brought them to harm, but…”
“I agree. With all his secrecy, it does not bode well,” said Percy. “What of Childers? Is she somehow involved?”
“The man said he didn’t think so. She knows Fairford often goes somewhere besides his own home when he leaves her, but we think he keeps her ignorant of the details. One thing is certain. If he has bought girls from Boucher, he must be keeping another house somewhere in London. Thus far, he has not gone directly from Childers to visit it, which leads me to think he is switching carriages again—at Boucher’s.”
“In the front door and out through the back immediately after,” said Percy, nodding. “How do we go about proving it and finding this hideaway?”
“I’ve hired more men, enough to have one follow every carriage that departs Boucher’s from the time Fairford arrives. It’s the only way to catch him at his final destination.”
“Good lord, man,” gasped Percy. “Do you have any idea how many people visit that place a night? The expense of it! I certainly hope she is worth it.”
“Which leads me to the point of bringing you here. I need another favor, Percy. Sabrina won’t listen to me if I try to tell her anything about Fairford, but she might listen to someone else.”
“But she’ll know immediately that it comes from y—”
“I’ve said nothing of our association to her, and her mother and sisters would know nothing of it, either. Few people knew we were close friends before I left for India, and I haven’t been in London long enough for it to have become widely known. I need you to get close to her, gain her confidence so that when you let slip about Fairford, she becomes curious.”
“And then you wish me to spoon-feed her the information we’ve obtained.”
“Just so.”
“The moment she learns we are friends, it will be over. Everything I will have said will be discredited.”
“Yes, but by then she’ll hopefully be curious enough to continue digging on her own and perhaps start asking questions.”
“Do you really believe this will work?”
“There is only one way to know, and that is to try,” said Henry.
THE RUTLAND BALL
SABRINA KNEW EXACTLY why Fairford had broken off with Miss Bidewell—and she refused to be pressured into making a premature decision.
Her plan to obtain another suitor had to be implemented, and soon. It had to be someone she could like well enough, without there being a danger of further emotional attachment. And it had to be someone her current suitors would never perceive as a threat.
She searched the room and had selected a likely target when, much to her surprise, Lord Falloure approached her.
“My lady, how delightful to see you again. And how charming you look this evening.”
Confusion filled her. For five years every marriageable female’s mother had salivated over the possibility of a match with Falloure, yet none had succeeded in so much as getting him to come to tea. And here he stood before her, waiting with what looked like anticipation.
Had her name become that infamous? She eyed him with careful consideration. No one would ever imagine that he would come to scratch. Therefore neither Fairford or Henry would see him as a threat. Did she dare attempt the impossible? “Oh, dear! You gave me a start, Lord…?”
Though his smile remained, his nostrils pinched. “Falloure, my lady. We were introduced at the Westfield ball. I partnered you in a minuet.”
“Did you? I’ve attended so many balls and danced with so many gentlemen, you must forgive me if I do not recall.”
“You wound me to the heart.” He grinned, and his voice lowered suggestively. “Rare is the lady who doesn’t remember dancing with me.”
Suppressing a laugh, Sabrina appraised the man before her. Dressed fit to rival the king, the tall, slender dandy wore an exquisite jacket of violet silk embroidered with silver thread and embellished with jewels. Polished silver buttons marched in long, gleaming rows down his chest, and the long, elegant fingers peeking from beneath the frothy lace at his cuffs were heavy with rings. Even his shoes glittered with gems.
“Well, to be fair, I was likely a bit distracted,” she said at last.
“Oh?” He frowned. “And what, pray tell, could possibly distract you so?”
