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The cape was ripped off her head as she sat on the floor of the carriage, her knees aching from landing on the hard surface. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, her mask dangling from its ribbons, resting on her heaving chest.
She sucked in a deep breath as she stared into the eyes of her stepbrother, sitting next to Mr. Daniel Lyons, both men grinning with satisfaction.
“Welcome back, sister.”
17
Dante sat behind Driscoll’s desk in the office, tamping down his need to yawn, while Lady McDaniel continued her tirade about a missing necklace.
“My lady, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do about your missing necklace right now. There are over a hundred people downstairs and conducting a proper search would be impossible. Can you tell me the last time you saw your necklace?”
Frankly, he found it hard to believe that the necklace she described could fall off her neck without her immediately noticing it.
“I didn’t notice it missing until I returned from the ladies’ retiring room.”
Dante glanced at the clock on Driscoll’s desk. “And am I to assume you checked there before summoning me?”
She lifted her chin as if he were a ninnyhammer. “Of course.”
“Good. Then we will begin to usher guests out shortly. I suggest you return to your home and we will do a thorough search first thing in the morning when the light is better and the room empty. I will send word to you as soon as we find it.”
Lady McDaniel stood, taking her husband’s hand as she rose. She used the opportunity to look down at him, which was a favorite pastime of ladies of the ton, since they never wanted him to forget he was a bastard and not accepted in polite society. Unless they were attempting to lure him to their bed, then the interaction was quite different.
“Very well. However, I must tell you if the piece is not returned by ten in the morning next, I will summon Scotland Yard.”
Dante nodded and clutching the rough sketch he’d made from Lady McDaniel’s description of the necklace, followed them out the door, reminding himself once again of the reasons they did not permit ladies in the club.
The footmen and security guards had done a good job of clearing out the room while he’d conversed with Lady McDaniel. He personally ushered the couple out the door with further assurance that the necklace would be found.
He walked slowly through the room and eyed the table with the bottles of liquor and decided a drink was just the thing to bring the night to an end. For some reason this ball had not gone as well as other years. Possibly because Hunt was only able to stay a short time and Driscoll was tied up with Home Office business, leaving him with the burden by himself.
He filled a glass and leaned against the wall. “Summon all the employees,” he said to Marcus as he returned from escorting the last of the guests out the door. Lord Bentworth had a bit of a problem leaving and Marcus had to encourage him to let the night go.
Once they had all gathered, Dante stood on the third step of the staircase and addressed them. “We had an expensive necklace go missing tonight. Tomorrow I want everyone down here by nine o’clock—yes in the morning,” he grinned at the moans. “We will need to do a complete search of the building.”
He waved at the group, his eyes glancing around the room. “Off to bed with you. Once the necklace has been found we will clean up this mess. No need to do it tonight.”
The employees quickly disbursed, leaving him still sipping his brandy and cursing all necklaces and the self-important ladies who wore them. Especially those worn by women who visited his club and lost them.
While he was cursing women, he might as well include Miss Amelia Pence since she occupied the bedroom where he could stay for the night instead of trudging home only to return early in the morning.
He then realized she was not at the meeting he just held. She did look a bit uncomfortable the last time he saw her, so most likely she retired early. With a loud, ungentlemanly yawn, he left the building and returned home.
* * *
Driscoll threw down the pencil, removed his spectacles and rubbed his very tired eyes. The decoding was not going well. He and the other two men who had been brought in to work on it were as baffled as they had been at the beginning.
Mr. Michael Taylor and Sir Stuart Wilson had been as enthusiastic about delving into the project as he when they’d begun. It was always enjoyable to use one’s brain to thwart another man’s idea of coding.
A full week and a half later they were still stymied. As bad as that frustration was to abide, the endless notes from Sir Phillip inquiring as to their progress only added to the tension in the room.
The most successful part of the project was acknowledging to himself that not only did he miss Amelia as much as he thought he would, but he was more determined than ever to have a serious conversation with her about their future. And yes. He’d decided they had a future. Together. Soon.
But presently there seemed a good possibility that the future he intended would happen when they were too old to stand before the vicar. Or climb into bed.
“I think I have something,” Sir Stuart almost shouted.
Driscoll and Michael jumped up and leaned over Sir Stuart’s shoulder. “What have you found?” Driscoll asked.
