Page 104 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Nick’s smile widened.
“Who do you think kept things running in the East End while I was busy courting your fortune in the country?” the bastard tossed in. “Callahan made a fine substitute. Knew which palms to grease, which throats to squeeze.”
Alexandra whirled on Callahan. “You helped Nick steal my money and never said anything?”
“I didn’t even know you back then,” Callahan protested, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. He had a sudden, visceral memory of facing down a bear during a mission in Russia. This felt more dangerous. “You were the Earl of Kent’s sister, far removed from London, and certainly not the thorn in my backside you are now. I was just doing a favour for an old friend. You understand how it is. One minute, you’re sharing a pint; the next, you’re making plans with your mate to fleece an unsuspecting noblewoman. These things happen.”
This time, Alexandra rounded on Thorne. “Did you put him up to it? Planting himself in my path, playing helpful citizen so he could report my movements back to you?”
Nick’s brows shot up. “No. Actually, I nearly broke his teeth when I found out he was spending time with you. Thought he was trying to steal you away for himself.”
“Nick didn’t put me up to anything.” Callahan could feel a headache building behind his eyes. “He didn’t even know we were in contact until a few months ago. The likelihood of you both reconciling seemed a distant possibility at best. About as likely as the Queen taking up juggling or Parliament accomplishing something useful.”
Alexandra’s lips twitched, but she schooled her features back into a stern frown. “I haven’t forgiven you, Mr Callahan. I ought to have you horsewhipped. Or something worse. I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’ll accept the punishment for eternity, I’m sure.”
“We’ll discuss your betrayal later. There will be consequences. Lengthy, uncomfortable ones.” She took in his appearance. “You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.”
Callahan ran a hand through his hair, acutely aware of how he looked. Like something the cat dragged in, chewed up, and then regurgitated onto the carpet.
“I need to find two people in the East End. First one’s a man. Tall. Blond hair, blue eyes. Speaks with a local accent to outsiders, but French to his inner circle.” His throat tightened. “Second is Isabel Dumont.”
Nick looked exasperated. “The Frenchie? Again?” He reached for the whiskey decanter, poured a glass, and slid it across his desk. “If she’s been warming another man’s bed, there are less destructive ways to handle it. Drink. Fuck someone else. Move on.”
“She didn’t leave me for another man. She disappeared to protect me. Favreau has her.”
“Louis Favreau? Syndicate leader?” Nick’s playful demeanour vanished. “Damn.”
But Alexandra grinned. “Mr Callahan, are you suggesting you and Emma’s sister are involved? How delicious. Do tell me more. Spare no detail, no matter how sordid.”
“Do you ever feel tempted to gag her?” he asked Thorne. “Or is that just me?”
Nick ignored that. “Alex, get O’Sullivan,” he ordered, all business now. “We’ll need everyone. Check with your contacts in the brothels – see if any Syndicate men have been talking after they’ve had their fun. But keep it quiet. This one will take a delicate hand. And possibly a few well-placed bribes. Maybe a kidnapping or two. You know, the usual.”
“I’m aware of the protocol,” she said. “I was there when Syndicate assassins came for Isabel and Emma five months ago. Cracked one’s skull with a fireplace poker before helping to smuggle them away to a steamer. It was all very exciting. Much more interesting than garden parties, I must say.”
Nick muttered something that sounded like “bloodthirsty little savage” under his breath, but wisely refrained from further comment.
Alexandra returned her attention to Callahan, her earlier amusement fading into genuine concern. “Is Emma in any danger? Should I send word to James?”
“No.” The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. At least one of the Dumont sisters was safe. “She’s protected as the Countess of Kent. Isabel cut all ties with her. She won’t reach out until Favreau is in the ground.”
The lady exhaled and nodded. “All right. I’ll go see if the doxies have heard anything.”
As soon as she was gone, Thorne’s attention shifted back to Callahan. “I wasn’t aware your missing Frenchie got herself caught up in the Syndicate. Give me something to work with, or I’ll just start arming every man I’ve got.”
Callahan winced. “Isabel Dumont’s alias was Spectre.”
“Well, bugger me.” Thorne gave a low whistle. “You always did have particular tastes. What is it about women who could slit your throat that gets you so riled up? The danger? The thrill?”
“Says the man who married a woman capable of taking down trained assassins with a fireplace poker. I’d say we’re about even when it comes to dangerously competent women.”
Thorne chuckled. “Fair enough. But are you certain she’s not playing you? Running back to Favreau now that she got what she needed? I’m not trying to be cruel. But we need to consider it.”
“Would you go back to Whelan? Ever?” Callahan asked quietly. “For any reason that didn’t involve Alexandra’s life hanging in the balance?”
The answering silence was heavy with shared history. Nick had been the one to get them out of that nightmare. He’d taken the East End from Whelan and drove out his enforcers. They’d both spilled blood over it.
