“I am surprised to see you at this place,” said the geminus. “Trading is ongoing at the Exchange, and yet you are here.”
Without looking up from the map, Leo replied, “My time is my own. How I spend it is my choice.”
The geminus gave another indulgent chuckle. “Of course. One cannot engage in business every waking moment. Yet ...”
“Yet?”
“Now that you possess knowledge of Lord Overbury’s imminent disaster, would you not be better served putting that knowledge to use?”
“Counterinvest.” Leo straightened and pulled the map of the Caribbean out of the stand once more. He had seen Overbury’s plantation destroyed by storm, a future calamity that could easily be taken advantage of. His ever-present hunger stirred at the thought.
“At the very least,” agreed the geminus. “My master knows how exceedingly clever you are at exploiting weakness.” When Leo did not immediately respond, the geminus continued. “It was clear that Overbury had no love for you, nor others of your class. Had it not been for your advantageous marriage to an aristocrat, you would never have been invited into his home. Indeed, I overheard him say to Lord Devere that he wasn’t surprised by your use of sleight of hand, since it is the perfect skill for someone born of the streets. And that you deserved a wife who came to you very nearly a beggar.”
Familiar hot rage poured through Leo, its origin somewhere between his shoulder blades and spreading throughout his body, tight and burning. He looked down to see that he had crushed the map he held. “I did not see you there last night.”
“I am often close.”
The calm that had enveloped Leo all morning singed away. Overbury’s insult could not stand. The slur against Leo was no surprise, but that Overbury dared to slander Anne ... “The beef-fed bastard won’t live out the rest of the day.” He stalked toward the curtain, ready to race to the man’s doorstep and punch him bloody.
“Hold, sir.” The geminus stepped into his path. “There are more effective ways of hurting Lord Overbury. Ways that will keep you out of Tyburn, and ensure the nobleman’s suffering.”
Leo fought for calm. Damn it, the geminus was right. Though Leo craved blood, money might serve the same purpose. He could manipulate the marketplace against Overbury, ensuring that his loss would be even greater. If Leo acted prudently, he could make certain that the nobleman’s losses gutted his estate. Overbury might not be forced to become a mudlark, scavenging in the slime-draped banks of the Thames, but he’d feel his fall, and painfully.
Today’s plan had been to finish at the map shop, then return home to present Anne with an abundance of gifts. He thought to gladly accept her thanks by taking her to bed, and so pass the day in communion with her body. That plan could not stand. Overbury must be crushed, and Anne avenged.
He stepped around the geminus. “I set out for the Exchange now.”
“Sir? Were you speaking to me?” The proprietor held the curtain back and peered into the chamber with a cautious expression.
“I was talking to my—” Leo turned, and frowned. The geminus was gone.
“To ...” The shopkeeper’s gaze slid to the crumpled map, his eyes widening. “Afraid you are going to have to pay for that, sir.”
Leo always carried cash. He unfolded several banknotes and shoved them into the proprietor’s hands, and the man sputtered his surprise.
“This is too much!”
“For the ruined map, and more. I want your finest wares delivered to my home. The globe and any other map you feel would please a devoted scholar of cartography. Anything you believe is the best, I want. And if that cash isn’t enough, bill me for the rest.”
As the shopkeeper babbled in thanks, Leo scribbled his direction on a piece of paper. Then he strode from the shop. He was known as the Demon of the Exchange. Today, he would be the Demon of Vengeance.
Anne accepted the dish of tea from Lady Kirton with a murmured thanks. She and the countess sat in a little parlor, a small table bearing an even smaller plate of biscuits between them. Anne nibbled on one of the biscuits. It was stale.
The parlor itself was a fine enough room, with a portrait of Lady Kirton’s favorite spaniel taking pride of place on the wall, but it was clear this room was not often used for entertaining callers. A larger, more elegant chamber served more frequently for guests. Anne had seen it as she had been led up by the footman. She did not merit the better parlor.
“Married life must agree with you, my dear.” Lady Kirton eyed Anne over the rim of her dish. “I have seldom seen you looking so well. Though you do appear a little tired.”
Anne fought not to blush. She did feel different today, weary but full of wild energy. It was all she could do to keep seated. Images from the previous night—and early this morning—kept stealing into her thoughts. Leo’s hands. His mouth. His ... cock. All bringing her pleasure. And she had given him pleasure, too.
He had kept her thoroughly, deliciously occupied, and if that had not exhausted her, then her troubling dream would have. Normally, when she did recall her dreams, they faded over the course of the day. Not so this one. Anne could still feel sticky blood on her feet, could describe in detail every pleat in the Roman priestess’s gown, and remembered all that had been said.
He has never seen the Dark One’s true face. And on the day he does, it will be too late.
“Mrs. Bailey?”
Anne’s attention snapped back to the present. “Apologies, my lady. Indeed, I am a little weary, but I find your company altogether delightful.”
“The first weeks of marriage can be quite taxing.” The older woman spoke from wellsprings of experience. “In time, the novelty wears off, and we wives are left in blessed peace.”
Anne hoped not. The more she knew of Leo, the more of him she wanted. And it seemed the feeling was mutual.
How very different her marriage was from others of her class! How full of wonderful potential! It exceeded her every expectation.
Yet her memories were darkened by the dream that had followed. That temple. The images of an evil being bringing death and destruction. And the awful storm being slammed into her body.
Anne gulped at her tea, striving for warmth. “I have heard that a husband’s interest wavers.”
“If one is fortunate.” Lady Kirton smiled thinly. Having met the ill-tempered Lord Kirton, Anne could understand why it was preferable to keep him at a distance.
“For the present,” Anne said, “I do enjoy having my husband’s favor.”
The countess sniffed. “Though he lacks any sort of breeding, when it comes to fortune and appearance, your husband is generously endowed.”
It took Anne’s supreme force of will to keep from saying something extremely unpleasant. She had a purpose here, and could not allow herself distractions.
“Though I know in time he will behave as all men do, in the interim I strive to keep things amusing between us.” She affected a conspiratorial giggle. “Shall I tell you how?”
Lady Kirton’s veneer of polite boredom fell away, and she leaned in close. “Yes, do.”
“I like to play little practical jokes on him.”
Though clearly this was not quite the response the countess had been hoping for, she still looked interested. “Practical jokes?”
“Mr. Bailey is so very observant. It amuses me to see what he does and does not notice. For example, I replace his brandy with sherry and his Bordeaux with burgundy.”
“I’m surprised a man of his pedigree knows the difference.”
Anne dug her nails into her hand to stop herself from slapping Lady Kirton. “He notices. And there is another trifling game I like to play.” She edged closer and lowered her voice. “Money is indeed a pressing concern of his.”