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For now, though, she needed to focus on escaping. After counting to two minutes, she decided it was safe and struggled out from under the table and hurried down the hallway, allowing herself a long breath when she rounded the corner and ran into no one. She might not have discovered anything but at least she had not been caught.
***
There were people who would visit the new crescent shaped housing in Bath and declare it one of the most pleasant places to live, especially in comparison to London where one could be walking through a pleasant park and end up in a slum within moments. Criminals and the wealthy rubbed shoulders in the strangest of places in Town.
Those visitors were yet to visit areas such as Corn Street, however, where houses were crammed together, leaving little light slipping in between the buildings during the day and almost pitch dark at night. In these areas, there were plenty of gaming dens and inns and pubs where unsavory characters could be found.
Cillian had hoped to find Marshall in one of them.
Heneededto find Marshall in one of them.
How could he sit around and wait to see what the man did next? If he was willing to break windows and send threats on rocks…
Cillian shook his head and unfurled a fist as he strode toward the club on Broad Street. If he were Marshall, he would not be so foolish as to spend time at one of the gentleman’s clubs where the husband of the wife he’d just accosted could find him with ease. But Cillian was running out of options.
Usually Marshall lived in London, and he didn’t have a house here. As far as Cillian knew, the man hadn’t returned since Mary’s disappearance. Cillian curled a lip. Probably wanted to put as much distance between himself and his crime as possible. The man had to be somewhere, though.
And Cillian needed to put a stop to this. One way or another.
The club was as empty of his quarry as the pubs. The night wore on and even the hardiest of drinkers and gamblers were giving up for the night and walking unsteadily along the streets to wave to a hackney or their drivers. Cillian pressed on, wishing he had his horse but aware it would have either been stolen or drawn far too much attention in the poorer parts of Bath. He hoped there would be a hack available for him by the time he left Bath, or it would be a long walk home and he didn’t want Ivy fretting.
He stopped outside the only other club in Bath. He could count on one finger the amount of gentleman’s clubs he was a member of and that had only been thanks to his cousin. He’d never once spent time in one and from his brief visit years ago, he never wanted to either. As near as he could tell, it involved sitting around, drinking and patting oneself on the back. If he sat still for that long, he’d likely go mad.
“Yes?” A man that reminded Cillian far too much of a captain he once loathed peered at him from behind a desk at the front entrance of the building. A white moustache clung to his lip and twitched in annoyance whilst a slightly hooded gaze met Cillian’s coolly.
Behind him, dusky green walls were filled with portraits of men in white wigs and who Cillian assumed were old members. He heard male chatter and laughter coming from the room to the right through an open door.
Something about the club made every muscle in Cillian’s body tense. Perhaps it was the highly polished marble floors that had to be worth thousands or the scent of expensive tobacco or the realization he would never, ever feel comfortable somewhere like this, viscount or not.
“I’m looking for a man—Mr. Harry Marshall.”
The man’s moustache twitched.
“I was told he might be here,” he lied.
“We do not give out the names of guests, sir.” Twitch.
“Even to a member?”
“Are you a member, sir?” Twitch. Twitch.
Cillian sighed. He was getting close to wanting to tear that moustache from the damned man’s lips.
“No, but I could be. I am the new Viscount Harcourt.”
As the man perused Cillian’s no doubt ruffled and slightly dirtied appearance with a leisurely gaze, Cillian peered around the corner to try to see into the main room. The moustache stepped cleanly into his view.
“Membership is by application only and you must have at least one recommendation by another member, my lord.”
Jaw tight, Cillian eyed him. “Surely you would not deny entry to a member of the nobility?” Cillian affected a tone that made him want to jump in the nearest river and clean himself off.
“Sorry, my lord. Those are our rules.”
“Perhaps you can just check if Mr. Marshall is here. I only need a moment—”
“Sorry, my lord.”
Cillian debated the man. He could fling him aside or even push past. He wouldn’t get a recommendation from anyone to join here, nor did he desire to do so. He could wait outside too, see if Harry did emerge but what were the chances—
