Page 71 of A Fearless Heart
“Didn’t they tell you?”
“Who?”
“Any of the servants. You’re the one who got them hired.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? The Disrep—that is, your servants are good at what they do, and that means not carrying tales about their employer. So you’ll have to tell me what happened.”
She moved to the couch and he sat next to her as she related the incident.
“Damn. Too much, too soon,” he said afterward. “I should have known. But you’d done so well the whole day.” He brushed a curl away from her forehead, his fingertips lingering in a tiny caress. “You must have just been through more than you could take.”
“It was supper. A supper party of one. And I simply…lost it.” Cady shook her head in disgust, and the curl bounced back.
He patiently brushed it away again. “You have to take things slowly, blossom. I’m sorry I pushed you to come here and then left you at the door. But now that I’m a little more presentable, that won’t be an issue. I’m going to be here when you need me.”
“Gabe, you’re not my nursemaid. You have far more important work to do.”
“Wedo,” he corrected. “But for now, you’ll stay here. I’ll return later today with more information about the most recent poisoning of MacCuley, and we’ll figure it out from there.”
Chapter 26
Gabe was dressed in hisnormal kit for the city—normal, that was, for his identity as Mr Gabriel Courtenay, the son of a lord. That meant the well-tailored jacket, the crisp white shirt, the leather shoes that pinched his right pinky toe, and all the rest. Gabe strove to wear the most average attire possible for a man of his rank. He wasn’t a dandy and he wasn’t a slob. His newly cut hair and shaven face actually left him feeling a bit exposed. He preferred to be forgettable.
In the neighborhood just next to St James, Gabe rang at the address Cady had given him for Trevor. The door was opened by a footman (a very formidable footman) and he stepped inside…only to find himself in a sort of glass cage. The foyer had been altered so it was not more than ten feet on a side. A wall had been erected to separate the immediate entry from the rest of the house. Panes of frosted glass allowed some light to pass through, but obscured the details of who or what might lie beyond.
“You are not a member,” the footman said.
“No,” Gabe admitted. “I didn’t realize this was a club. I’m hoping to find Trevor Osbourne, Lord Calder, that is. Is he here?”
“I could find out, sir,” the footman said, not committing to anything. “Your name?”
Gabe told him.
“Very good, sir.”
He then left Gabe standing in the strange glassed-in room while he went in search of Trevor. The room was deceptive—it didn’t look like a prison, but the doors were heavy and bolted, and even the glass panes were all quite small. If Gabe broke one, he still couldn’t get through the wooden frame. Odd.
A few moments later, the footman returned. “Follow me, sir.”
Gabe was led by the footman (guard?) to a room just off the main foyer, which was conspicuously quiet and unpopulated for a club.
“In here, sir,” he said, holding the door open. “His lordship will join you shortly.”
He closed the door firmly after Gabe entered, and the point was made. Wandering around would not be tolerated.
With nothing else to do, Gabe examined his new surroundings. The walls were beige, the ceiling was beige, the drapes were beige, the carpet was beige. He sat down on a beige divan, and ran his hand along the edge of a table made of a beige-toned wood.
The walls were free of distracting art (actually, any art at all). Only a few sconces held candles (of beige wax). There wasn’t even a mirror. The shelves on either side of the fireplace contained only a small number of books, bound in beige cloth. Curious, Gabe got up and walked over to the books. He pulled one from the shelf and flipped through it. Blank.
He snorted. Someone went to a lot of trouble to achieve an effect of total plainness.
Behind him, the door squeaked open. A man walked in, wearing an outfit that would make Brummell jealous, especially since this man had the height and build to carry it well. He possessed the same chestnut hair and the same deep brown eyes as Cady, but his expression was world-weary. Even the flicker of curiosity seemed antagonistic.
“Lord Calder?” Gabe asked politely.
“For now. Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Gabriel Courtenay. I’m a friend to Cady,” he said, using her pet name to make it clear that he really did know her. “I hope that makes us allies.”
