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“Nice spot for a tumble, Stryker,” Ramsey said, indicating the pool of fetid liquid lapping at his attacker’s head.
“Get that there sword away from me.” Stryker shoved at the blade to no avail.
“Tell me, Stryker,” Ramsey drawled. “Is this any way for Madame Fouchet to treat her friends? Attacking me in a dark alley?”
“You ain’t no friend of the madame’s. A cove like you ain’t no friend to nobody.”
Ramsey raised a brow in bemusement. “Well, that may be true, but what have I done to engender this response?” He gestured to the club fallen from Stryker’s hand, lying tantalizingly close but just out of reach.
“Ye know what ye did. Swindled Madame out of five thousand in blunt, ye did.”
“Did I?” Ramsey pushed a button on the hilt and retracted the blade. “I thought that was payment for services rendered. Get up, Stryker, and take me to her.”
Stryker rose warily to his feet. “She don’t want to see you.”
“And I don’t want to see her, but I have a feeling she’ll warm to me once she sees the gift I’ve brought. Come on, now. Don’t drag your feet.”
Stryker limped to the end of the blind alley, making his clumsy way through the darkness until they reached a vee with a door on one side. Above, the buildings crouched over them like hungry gargoyles. Ramsey ignored the feeling of unease and watched as Stryker gave a brisk knock on the scuffed black door. A moment later metal scraped against wood and a sliver as wide and long as a letter opener appeared at eye level.
Stryker spoke to the pair of eyes that materialized. “Lord Sedgwick here to see Madame.” He sneered on the wordlord,making it sound more like a curse than a courtesy title.
The eyes blinked once and the sliver closed. Silence reigned for a long moment. Ramsey shifted, aware that if Madame Fouchet did not want to see him, he had no recourse. He could stand out here all night, bang on the door until his fist bled, and she could easily ignore him.
What then? Pawn the necklace? Give it to Lady McCullough? What the hell did she want it for anyway? The question had niggled him from the moment she entered the duchess’s room and he realized she was breaking into Her Grace’s jewelry box. Doing a damn good job of it as well. When had she learned such skills? Certainly not from her dead husband.
More important, why did she ply those skills now? Did she need money? She could easily marry again. Men practically tripped over their own feet when she cast those cornflower-blue eyes of hers upon them. She didn’t have to resort to theft.
Not everyone had such a choice.
Stryker turned to look at him, undoubtedly to shoo him away, when the sound of locks turning and metal screeching rent the alley’s eerie stillness. The door swung open, and a corridor with stairs at the end yawned before him.
“Enter,” a raspy voice said from the shadows. “Madame waits in her chambers.”
Ramsey started forward, familiar with the location of Madame’s chambers. The sound of the door clanging shut behind him made him cringe ever so slightly, but he kept on walking.
The interior of the abode he entered—Ramsey hesitated to call it a home, though he supposed that was what it was—was nothing like the dilapidated alley he had left behind. The décor here was sumptuous, from the plush Turkish rugs to the medallions on the freshly painted ceilings. Not that he could appreciate the luxurious surroundings. Madame kept the place dark and gloomy. The brilliant chandeliers hung in every room were dark ghosts. Shadows crept along the walls, obscuring the paintings and paper hung there. Chairs, side tables, and various other furnishings crouched in the corridor’s recesses. Ramsey imagined he could see the gleam of their polished wood, though it might have been the reflection of a cat’s eyes. Madame had several felines.
When he reached the stairs, he took them two at a time, eager now to complete this task. He could think of a dozen places he would rather be at the moment—at the top of the list was the bed of some winsome wench. At the bottom was lying in a sewer covered in grime. Even the worst sewer grime ranked above what he was about to face.
He reached the top of the stairs and paused before a closed door. It was equally gloomy here, the landing lit by a faltering wall sconce, but this area had the added menace of Madame’s scent—a cloying rotted rose fragrance that turned his stomach.
He tapped on the door and pushed it open, feeling the heat wash over him as soon as he stepped inside. Despite the mild weather, the fireplace blazed. But at least this room was brighter. Lamps lit the area around a chaise longue. On the black velvet furnishing, a handsome woman reclined. She was tall and broad shouldered, her ebony hair swept into an elaborate twist that reminded him of a snake. Her face was painted and her white shoulders bare as the sleeves of her loose gown had slipped down about her elbows. He could see the hint of the corset she wore beneath and knew it would be cinched tight to give her the appearance of a smaller waist.
She was not a young woman, but neither did she look her age, which Ramsey estimated to be between forty and forty-five. In her hand she held a book, and she did not look up from its pages as he entered. Neither did she cease stroking the black cat lying beside her. “I didn’t ask for you,” she said, her voice tinged with a soupçon of French. “I should swat you flat, like a fly, for annoying me.” She turned a page.
Ramsey closed the door and leaned against it. “I promise the annoyance is worth it.”
“A gift?” She set down the book and trained her yellow-tinted cat’s eyes on him. “There’s very little from you that I want.” Her gaze assessed him frankly. “Very little I have not already tasted.”
Ramsey pushed down the surge of anger—he would save it for later—and reached into his coat for the necklace. He’d wrapped it in a handkerchief, and now as she watched, feigning disinterest, he allowed the white cloth to flutter away. The necklace trickled through his fingertips, dangling gracefully in the light, while he scrutinized her face and saw the almost imperceptible widening of her eyes.
“What is it?” she asked, pointedly looking down to study her nails.
“You know what it is.” He would not allow her to rile him.
She glanced at him again. “You managed to steal it away from the Duchess of Beaumont?”
“Just now. Tonight. The duke hosted a ball.”
