Page 48 of Wicked Designs
A sharp cry above was his only warning to sidestep asa chamber pot was emptied overhead. He moved into a yellow pool of light, bumping into a ragged whore.
“Care for a quickie, love?” The woman’s painted face was a mask of disease and hardship. Blankenship cursed and ducked back into the shelter of the shadows. Something squirmed under his boot. He kicked out, sending a rat scurrying. The next turn he took was down Dorset Street, his fingers curled around the handle of his pistol as he approached a tavern called The Black Boar’s Head.
The scrap of parchment in his pocket he’d received this afternoon had born the name of this tavern and a time for a meeting. Someone had known he needed help in acquiring the Parr girl and had suggested he come here to discuss an alternative to the legal means he had attempted and failed. He was too desperate not to try any method, even if it meant meeting a stranger here.
The moment the door swung open the scent of gin and unwashed bodies assailed him. His eyes watered and Blankenship nearly tossed his accounts.
He dodged a number of serving wenches, their breasts nearly toppling out of thin muslin bodices. Such low, dirty creatures held no appeal to him any longer. He craved soft, creamy skin, burnished gold hair and pale pink lips.
He craved Emily Parr.
Blankenship started to slide into a table near the door when something caught his eye. Near the back, a well-dressed man lounged at a table, one hand curled around a glass of gin. The other hand was fisted in the tangled mess of a woman’s hair as he urged her head up and down over his groin. Blankenship stifled a moan,then shifted uncomfortably, and adjusted his trousers. His greatest desire was to have Emily at his knees, wrapping her lips around his length and taking him so deep she gagged.
The man at the table arched his hips in release and shoved the woman away. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slunk away into a corner. The man held Blankenship’s gaze, fixed his trousers and smiled. It was a cold expression, one of frozen metal. A flick of his hand indicated that Blankenship should join him.
“You’ve been watching me.”
Blankenship was unable to hide his scowl. “You put on a distracting show.”
The man laughed again. Soft. Dangerous. “Sit. I believe you need help.”
The chair Blankenship took creaked in protest. “So it was you who sent me the note? Who are you?” He studied the other man. His long fingers were manicured, his hair styled, his clothing immaculate. A lord perhaps?
“Hugo Waverly.”
He’d heard the name before but couldn’t recall where.
“What interest do you have in my affairs?” His hand still rested on the gun tucked in his coat.
Waverly fixed cold brown eyes on him. “We share a common adversary, do we not?”
Blankenship’s gut twisted. Any man who knew of his affairs was a threat, yet a man like this might be a potential ally.
“I assume you mean the Duke of Essex?” Blankenshipleaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you have against him?”
“It’s personal. Suffice it to say I’d like to help. I know a man.” Waverly’s fingers danced on his shot glass as he swirled it in front of him, his eyes fixed on Blankenship. “He’s highly skilled. Eyes and ears everywhere. He specializes in retrievals of a delicate nature. If you pay him well, he can retrieve what is rightfully yours.” Waverly smiled. “And I’ll have the pleasure of knowing something was taken from Essex, something he loves.”
“You think he loves her?”
“I know nothing of any woman.” His sly gaze met Blankenship’s. “To my knowledge this involves a misappropriated piece of property, nothing more. Essex thinks he’s entitled to this property and you and I both know it isn’t his. That doesn’t change the fact that he cares for this…property.”
“Who’s this man?”
Waverly reached into his pocket and withdrew a slender slip of paper. He slid it across the table. Blankenship took it, stared at the name and address.
“I should add there is someone else you might find useful. Someone who is intimately familiar with Essex’s habits. You need only to consultTheQuizzing Glass Gazette’sLady Society column to determine her identity.”
Satisfied, Blankenship stood up to leave.
“Blankenship?”
His shoulders stiffened, but he stood facing Waverly.
“Essex especially hates it when the things he cares about arebroken.”
Once Godric concludedhis meeting with his solicitor, he and Ashton walked to the little jeweler’s shop on Regent Street he’d frequented in his earlier years. Godric examined the glittering trinkets from the window display—mulling, picking, debating. After an intense study, he chose a gold comb adorned with a butterfly, with an opal-colored body and mother-of-pearl wings.
Emily reminded him of a butterfly. She flew to her freedom each time he sought to capture her, but when he sat very, very still, she rewarded him with the most enchanting kisses meant for him alone.
