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Silverton was already inside the dim drawing room, being ushered toward a cluster of red-velvet upholstered seats by Maggie Montgomery herself,when he was hailed by the familiar, gravelly voice.
Inwardly, he groaned as he perceived in the gloom, Lord Debenham. The viscount was lounging on a sofa with a girl on his lap, but he pushed her off when he struck up conversation with his erstwhile colleague. “Can’t say I’ve seen you here before, Silverton. Drowning your sorrows after Miss Bunting’s rejection, eh? So, what are you in the mood for? I can recommend the little dark-haired fairy over there. Daisy. A poppet, ain’t she, except I don’t like to share.”
Silverton gave a considered nod as he lowered himself into a chair. Debenham must be half corked. He didn’t usually talk like this, but Debenham was a strange man. He liked things on his terms, and was likely to become as prickly as a hedgehog if he felt he was being snubbed. It was one of the many odd characteristics Silverton had included in his reports to the Foreign Office over the past year.
So Silverton grunted and replied, “I don’t like to share either.” He felt reluctant to put his desires into words when Maggie sidled up to him with a large brandy and a simpering smile. “Here you are, Lord Silverton. Now, what else takes your fancy? We have Brenda over in that corner. She’s quite new and already very popular with the gentlemen.”
Nash cast his gaze over a somewhat gaunt young woman with very pale hair and skin. She returned his look with a knowing gaze, and Silverton turned away. “I’m in the mood for a fresh country lass,” he said, hating the way the words sounded.
“Not my taste,” Debenham remarked, leaning over. “A bit of polish, I say, never goes astray.”
“A country lass. Well now, we have Susan. She arrived only last week. Barely broken in and, like Brenda, already so popular with the gentlemen—”
“Dorcas comes highly recommended. Is she available?”
“I’m afraid Dorcas is with a customer.” Mrs. Montgomery looked regretful. “I do think you’ll like Brenda, though.”
Silverton appeared to consider this. “Perhaps I’ll finish my drink and wait for Dorcas.”
“She might be some time, my Lord. What about—”
“No, Lord Debenham and I have some catching up to do. I’ll while away a little time and then see.”
“As you wish.”
With an inward sigh, Silverton raised his glass to Debenham. He could have thought of better companions, but perhaps this was fortuitous. He usually saw Debenham when he was in his cups with his fellow radical miscreants, and while their plots to turn the country upside down were being hatched. Not that there’d been anything of a serious nature that Silverton could report. Too many agendas, wild ideas, and incompatible personalities. Debenham liked to bully; Buzby was easily offended and quick to anger, and Smythe had too many crazy ideas.
Silverton suspected they’d lost focus after the whispers they were implicated in the attempted assassination of Lord Castlereagh. Others had taken the rap for that, and Debenham was protected by his status, but the rumors had persisted.
Silverton knew they’d been frightened when the missing letter rumored to have been written by Sir Aubrey’s late wife before her suicide had reappeared. In fact, it had been produced by Miss Partington, who had burned it one evening in a supper box at Vauxhall—the evening she admitted spending with Lord Debenham, which had led to her being forced to wed the villainous viscount in order to salvage what remained of her reputation.
There the matter might have ended had Silverton not been contacted several months later by a colleague, Sir William Keane, on the evening of Sir William’s departure from England for a posting in Constantinople, saying that the real letter had been recovered. Lady Debenham had in fact burned in the supper bo
x at Vauxhall while Debenham’s secretary, Ralph Tunley, was purported to have in his possession the real one. On its own, however, the letter was not sufficient to provide the evidence the Foreign Office needed to bring the suspected radicals, traitors, and would-be assassins to trial though it was vital to the case they were trying to build.
Finding sufficient evidence was Silverton’s job though it appeared that, these days, Debenham was more interested in reversing his parlous fortunes than toppling the government.
Daisy sashayed over to Debenham’s side and skimmed her fingertips the length of his arm. Their eyes met, and Silverton could feel the heat between them. Briefly, he wondered how Lady Debenham was spending her evening. She’d been large with child when he and Kitty had visited not long before. Debenham was a man of strong appetites and little tenderness. Silverton felt a touch sorry for the haughty beauty, who was no doubt used to being feted as a rarity and now was relegated to the shadows.
“My Lord, Dorcas is now available if you’re still of a mind, though there are lots of other lovely girls who would be only too pleased to ensure you have a...memorable evening.”
Silverton rose, ignoring her last comment. “Miss Dorcas? I’m most interested to meet the young lady,” he murmured. He thought it best to sound salacious, and then wished he hadn’t. It really didn’t sound too good to his own ears.
Maggie Montgomery preceded him along a short corridor from the drawing room, and then up a flight of stairs. Rooms led off another long corridor, and he heard the sound of pleasure echoing from within. Much of it must be feigned, he decided.
When Mrs. Montgomery opened the door to a small bedroom, he was struck by the utter forlornness of the young girl who sat on the pink satin coverlet at the end of a large bed.
“Dorcas, Lord Silverton has a special desire to see you. Do treat him well.”
Even Silverton heard the threat in the words, and was sensitive enough to discern the split second of utter weariness that weighed down the girl, before she turned with a forced bright smile upon her ruddy countenance.
“Wot a pleasure, m’Lord. Thank yer, Mrs. Montgomery. I’ll make sure ‘tis an evenin’ ‘e won’t forget.”
She rose from the bed, and again Silverton sensed the effort it cost her. He stood at the doorway and smiled back at her. She was a pretty girl with soft brown hair and large, soulful eyes. He had the impression she’d lost weight suddenly, and that it didn’t suit her as much as the soft curves of the country lass Kitty described.
With a pang, he imagined Kitty and Dorcas sharing their excitement when they’d first met at Mrs. Mobbs’s, and he shuddered at his little friend’s feelings if, and when, she learned of the horrors Dorcas had endured since they’d parted.
“Wot’s yer pleasure, m’Lord?” She was going through the motions, pushing up her breasts as if for his perusal as she half reclined on the bed.
