I thanked John Spencer, took a hackney back to Covent Garden market. As I emerged onto Russel Street, two large men closed on either side of me. Startled from my thoughts, I quickened my pace, but they kept with me. They steered me toward a finely appointed carriage, and when I turned, a third man had closed behind me.
I raged, but they had me penned in. I could not flee without a fight. James Denis had gotten wiser. I wondered if he would call in his favor today.
I would know soon enough. The three bullies more or less loaded me into the carriage, and there I found Denis waiting.
Chapter Nineteen
His gloved hands rested on his elegant cane and he looked me over with cold eyes.
"Well," I said. "I am here. What do you want?"
"As blunt as ever. To answer you just as bluntly, nothing. Not yet."
The footmen closed the door, shutting me in the elegant, satin-lined box with the man I fervently despised. He was not very old-barely thirty if that, but he had already acquired more power than most dukes knew or understood.
"I have come to do you another good turn," Denis went on.
"Can I stop you?"
Sometimes, he smiled at my sallies, but today, his face remained mirthless.
He dipped his kid-gloved fingers inside his coat and pulled out two papers, each folded and sealed.
"I have information here that could be of great help to you, Captain. I offer to share it."
I eyed the crisp, folded sheets tucked between his gloved fingers. "Why should you believe I will be interested?"
His expression did not change. "I know."
I shifted uneasily. "For what price? I already agreed to what you asked for Mrs. Brandon."
"The same price. You aid me when I need it."
"You are keeping tally of favors?" I asked dryly. "Favors in the debit column versus favors in the credit?"
His brow lifted the slightest bit. "Exactly, Captain. You are perceptive. I told you before that I wanted to tame you, but that is not quite true. What I want is to own you utterly."
I regarded him in silence. Outside, the daily life of Russel Street went on, the wagoners moving through to Covent Garden market, vendors crying their wares, street girls teasing passing gentlemen.
For years, I had given my life to the King's army, and I had given myself and my loyalty to a man I had admired more than any other. That man had at the last spit upon me, and the King's army had not done much better.
My freedom from both had been bitter. A man who could not give himself to another was useless and alone. But I at least wanted to choose who received my loyalty. James Denis did not deserve it.
"You need have no interest in me," I tried. "I care nothing for your business and what you get up to."
His fingers twitched on his cane. "That is not what I perceive. You dislike me and what I do and I foresee a time when you will try to stand against me. I cannot afford that." He paused. "You should take my precautions as a compliment. You at present are my most formidable enemy."
I snorted. "I am a half-crippled man with no fortune. I can hardly be a threat to you."
"I disagree. But we digress." He held out the first paper. "This is the name of the house in which Lord Richard Eggleston has hidden himself."
I scowled at the stiff edge of the paper hovering before me. "That is no secret. Eggleston went to his country house in Oxfordshire."
"He did not. You took the evasive word of his butler as fact. He is not in Oxfordshire. He has gone to visit a paramour. I have written here the name of the paramour and the house in which they now dwell in lovers' bliss."
Denis's eyes were ice cold. He was handing me an answer, an important one. I had but to take it and know-and be obligated further to this man I reviled.
I think I hated him more at that moment than I had ever before.
In a swift movement, I jerked the paper from his fingers and broke the seal.
I had once remarked that Grenville had wasted half a sheet of expensive paper on a short letter. Denis had wasted one on one line-it listed a name, the name of a house, and the name of the county in which the house resided. Hertfordshire.
I stared at the words, dumbfounded. "Dear God."
Kenneth Spencer had gone there. And Pomeroy had sent no one to follow him, believing him to be traveling nowhere important. John Spencer had said his brother had gone to visit a school friend.
My pulse quickened. I looked from the paper to Denis, who looked, very slightly, satisfied.
I did not ask whether the information was accurate. I knew it was. Denis could uncover things with far more efficiency than any Bow Street Runner or exploring officer during the war.
He was holding out the second sheet of paper. I barely saw it, my head was so filled with implications of this new knowledge. One thing was certain-I had to go to Hertfordshire. Now.
"This," Denis continued, "concerns another matter entirely. It contains the direction of a lady called Collette Auberge."
I stared at him blankly. The name meant nothing to me.
He went on, "She used to call herself Carlotta Lacey."
I stilled. Thoughts of Eggleston slid away like water from my hand.
This was the real information he offered me. The whereabouts of the woman who had been my wife-might still be my wife. One fact crystallized, hardening into facets I could touch, could cut myself on.
She still lived.
All I had to do was take that paper, open it, and discover where she was.
"You bastard," I whispered.
He said nothing.
My hand trembled. I clenched it. I looked up at him, met his cold eyes.
"You are misinformed," I said, forcing my voice to be light. "I no longer require that information."
His eyes flickered the tiniest bit. In surprise? I felt a small amount of satisfaction. Not what you expected, was it?
Denis wanted me to crawl, even with greatest reluctance, but I would not.
He sat still for a second longer. Then he gave a faint shrug and slid the unbroken paper back into his pocket. "I will keep it safe for you," he said. "When you require it, you have only to ask."
Of course. If nothing else, he had learned how important the information was to me. He had a card he could hold until needed.
A few months ago, I had formed a half-crazed plan, borne of frustrated anger, to kill him. Even if I hanged for it. Later, I had realized how foolish I had been. Now, I wondered.
Perhaps he was right. I was dangerous. I was someone he did not control, might never control, and he did not like that.
He returned both hands to his cane. "Then good day to you, Captain," he said.
As though his minions had heard his cue, the door opened, and I was ushered out.
My emotions churned and tumbled as I returned home, packed my few belongings, and sent a note to Grenville. We must away at once. Lacey.
I knew the cryptic lines would catch his attention more speedily than an explanatory letter. It was uncharitable of me, but I took pleasure in summoning him the way he often peremptorily summoned me.
As I packed my shaving gear, Marianne wandered in. "Leaving again, Lacey?"
I looked up, ready with an irritated quip, but I saw her smile. She was goading me. "Yes," I answered shortly.
She wandered to my writing table. "An interesting journey? With Mr. Grenville, perhaps?"
"Not far. And yes, with Grenville."
I supposed she'd come to filch paper or ink, but under my nose, she opened my writing box, extracted a letter, and began to read.
The letter was one of Grenville's. I recognized the seal, a stylized "G" in red wax. I contemplated snatching it from her, then decided there was no harm. Grenville and I did not discuss dark secrets after all. I continued to pack, doing my best to ignore her.