Page 53 of To Tempt a Scandalous Lord
“Darington mentioned that you’ve recovered with your recent illness—and I’m happy to see you hale—so I wagered you might be interested in the information I’ve gathered over the last month.”
Every inch of Niall’s skin suddenly hummed in attention. “Have you learned the author’s identity?”
Torres spread his palms. “I’ve learned much…but not that.”
“What have you learned then?” he groused.
“Your chapbook writer is a woman.” The Spaniard rolled his eyes while he waved a hand. “Or so it would seem, at least.”
Niall stared at the man for a long moment, his thoughts in disarray and his mouth slightly open. “Explain,” he finally demanded. Catching the other man’s narrowed eyes, he added, “Please.”
Propping his elbow on the seat back, Torres tilted his head to the side as he looked at him. “Do you remember the woman I passed on the walking path on Lower Brooks Street?”
“The Black woman?” At the other man’s nod, Niall said, “I do.”
“Well, I have been tracking her. Or trying to, at least. She is quite dodgy.” Torres snorted. “But I’ve managed to learn her name is Effia Assan.”
Niall sucked in a breath. He knew that name…but he couldn’t grasp from where.
“Miss Assan is employed by Charles Hughes. You recall I saw them together at the park?” At Niall’s grunt of assent, he continued, “From what I have been able to piece together, Miss Assan works with a group of writers, some of which write housekeeping columns, others parenting tips, and still another who pens short stories.”
“And one of these women pens the chapbooks?” Niall asked, trying hard to keep his impatience from souring his tone.
“I have not been able to ascertain that yet because a new tract has not released since before your illness.”
Right. Niall frowned, snatching up his pen to roll it through his fingers. How was it possible that a new tract had not released since he’d recovered? And more importantly, how had he not noticed?
“You’ve had a lot to deal with these last several weeks,” Torres said, arching his brow, “and thankfully the anonymous writer has given you a reprieve.”
“He has. Or I suppose I should sayshe.” How very interesting that Torres thought the writer who had been plaguing him for months was a woman. Niall would have to share that tidbit with his wife as she would no doubt have an interesting opinion to share. She always did. And he found he considered a topic a bit differently after she shared her thoughts on it, even if they still disagreed.
Halting his thoughts from traveling down that engrossing path, Niall cleared his throat. “So who are these women who write for Hughes?”
“Until I learn the identity of the chapbooks writer, I prefer not to say.”
Niall scowled. “Whyever not? You don’t owe them anonymity.”
“Don’t I?” Torres raised a palm. “If they’re not the culprit, there is no reason for their names to be bandied about.”
“YouknowI would not gossip about them,” Niall growled.
“I do know that,” the Spaniard said, crossing one leg over the other, a picture of relaxation. “But these women are risking a great deal simply by writing. Whether it’s sharing recipes or penning gothic stories, it’s possible their husbands and families are unaware of their pursuits, and I refuse to jeopardize their privacy if it is not necessary.”
It was a noble sentiment, but it vexed Niall like a burr in his breeches. Tossing his pen on the table, he leaned back and looked at the ceiling.
“Rest assured that I am surveilling Miss Assan and her group of writers.” Torres paused until Niall looked down and met his eyes. “As soon as a new tract is released, I will share what I know.”
Even hours later, Niall could not get Torres’s revelation from the forefront of his mind. It was a woman writing the political tracts that haunted him. It almost made sense that a woman’s skillfully crafted critiques had skewered his platform and caused him so much trouble since he knew another woman who had turned his life on its head.
“You are quite distracted this evening.”
Niall stiffened, his gaze darting to said woman. His wife.
With a glass of wine dangling from her fingertips and a whisper of a smile on her lips, Alicia regarded him. She was dressed in a lavender gown, the bodice unadorned with embellishments, but she did not need them for she was elegant and lovely.
Reaching for his own glass of wine, Niall fortified himself with a healthy mouthful. “I apologize if I’ve been an inattentive companion this night.”
“What’s captured your attention?” Alicia cocked her head. “Does it have anything to do with Señor Torres’s visit?”
