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“Tell me, you, at least, have a lead as to the whereabouts of Her Royal Highness’s necklace,” the Prime Minister said in exacting tones.
Grand sucked in a steadying breath before responding. He wished he had known then what he knew now of the intricacies of keeping a mistress in London society.
“Permit me to say, before we go further, I would prefer not to be the one required to speak to Lady Jenest. I do not think my doing so would be wise. We both know the woman lacks discretion. Yet, I completely understand the necessity of interviewing her Ladyship in this matter.” He sighed heavily, “I am grieved to say, my Lord, that no one appears to know anything of someone attempting to sell the gems as individual jewels, rather than in a gold setting, as we thought the person might do, nor selling the necklace itself.”
Liverpool’s frown lines deepened.
“Just as I feared.” He placed his fork upon the plate. “It sounds as if we are to squeeze out a suspect, we must search where only the lowest of the low dare to venture.”
Grand did not like the sound of the charge, obviously being dumped into his lap.
“I will claim a few hours of sleep and then return to the streets,” he assured.
Liverpool wiped his mouth with the serviette.
“As I said to the Prince Regent, although I had hoped for a ready resolution, I have an idea of someone who may be of assistance to us. I will send over the person’s directions after I have made arrangements for your house call.”
With that, the country’s Prime Minister strode from the room. Within seconds, the door leading to the street closed behind him.
Grand sat looking down at his plate of food in stunned silence. He did not want to know what Lord Liverpool planned for him.
“Not much chance of sleep,” he grumbled, “as my good name and reputation is on the line.” He took a long draught of the coffee. “I wonder what his Lordship has in mind for me.”
******
Grandison glanced about him as he stepped down from his carriage in the early afternoon sun. He could easily imagine his name being bandied about at a variety of soirées this evening if anyone of importance observed him entering this unassuming town house on Milk Street. Likely, many would think he had taken the woman within as his latest mistress, but, in truth, he chose his mistresses based on their circumspection equally as well as their ability to please him. That was a lesson he had learned at the hands of Lady Jenest. The notoriety associated with the woman within would not meet his exacting standards for his mistresses to be removed from the public’s eye.
The house before him was unremarkable, as likely was its mistress, he told himself. Liverpool had sent his message saying the Prime Minister had secured the services of none other than the daughter of Brook’s Crook.
“If the most notorious thief operating in England is on his way to a penal colony, we must satisfy ourselves with the likes of Thomas Everley’s daughter and pray that the lady is as skilled in her father’s trade as Lord Hampton assures me she is. If nothing less, Miss Everley possesses connections we do not have.”
“A woman,” Grand uttered the words as if they were a curse. “What connections to Lord Hampton does she possess?” The idea bothered him more than he would like, for he knew Hampton to be quite elderly. Surely the woman within was not Lord Hampton’s mistress. “What does that say of me if she is?” he argued aloud, as he approached the door. “You do not want her for your own. Lord, you have not even laid eyes upon her! And the idea that a woman might ‘assist’ me is ridiculous! What might she know, other than how best to steal a necklace, not how to return it!” He shook his head in disbelief. “She is no more than a plague upon my patience. I have no doubt that is exactly how she will prove to be.”
With a sigh of resignation, he released the knocker on the door and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
He was just about to pound on the door with his fist, when it swung open, and, like it or not, for the briefest of seconds, Grandison forgot to breathe. Before him stood the most handsome woman he had ever beheld. Tall, certainly taller than most, yet, still significantly shorter than he. Slender, though womanly curves were quite evident. Hair the colour of burnt gold, worn in a heavy braid at the nape of her neck. Pale green eyes.
A small frown lifted her brows and brought him from his stupor. His own frown formed when he realised that she wore a simple dress of forest green. “Not the daughter, but rather a servant,” his mind announced. He never consorted with servant girls, no matter how fair of face they might be.
He extended his hand, presenting the girl with his card.
“Lord Harlow to speak to Miss Everley.”
Her brows hitched higher, and a knowing smile graced her lips.
“You were expected, my Lord. Please follow me.”
As he stepped inside, she brushed past him, briefly touching his elbow in an innocent movement that had him inhaling the fresh scent of lemons.
She turned on her heels and led the way along the passageway to a small room at the back of the house. Stepping aside to permit him to enter the room first, Grand expected to find Miss Everley waiting for him, but a quick scan of the room said it was empty.
Turning to face the servant, his brows drew together as he said, “Might you fetch your mistress?”
“There is no need,” she said as she walked past him, only slightly bumping him as she came to stand before a comfortable-looking wing chair. “For I am she.” She gestured to a seat nearby. “Please be seated, my Lord.”
