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“Mr. Summerville.”

“You know him?” Edmond did not bother to hide his surprise.

“Only by sight.” The Runner shrugged. “I always make it my business to keep track of those gentlemen who are having difficulties with the creditors. You never know when a merchant might hire me to keep track of his customer.”

“Why the devil would a merchant want you to keep track of his customer?”

“To make certain they do not slip out of the country without paying their debts.”

“Ah.”

Chesterfield’s lips gave a faint twitch, as if aware of Edmond’s distaste at the thought of being spied upon by his tailor.

“Do you wish me to keep an eye on Summerville?”

“More than just an eye, Chesterfield.” Edmond leaned forward, folding his arms on the desk. “I do not want this man to sneeze without you being aware of it. I want you to make a list of where he goes, who he meets with, and if possible, who he owes money to. I also want his properties searched and any reference to the Duke of Huntley or Meadowland brought directly to me.”

Chesterfield considered for a long moment, clearly caught off guard by Edmond’s numerous demands.

“It will take a number of men…”

Edmond once again reached into the desk and pulled out a small leather bag filled with coins.

“Hire as many as you need. Just ensure that Summerville does not realize he is being followed or watched.”

With a practiced efficiency, the Runner captured the bag and tucked it beneath his jacket.

“You have my word, he will never suspect a thing. I will keep in contact by leaving a message with the pub keeper at the Drake’s Nest near the docks. Do you know the place?”

Edmond’s lips twisted. “No, but I do not doubt that my manservant, Boris, will. He possesses an uncanny ability to locate a vast number of unsavory pubs.”

With a nod, Chesterfield rose smoothly to his feet. “Tell him to introduce himself as Teddy Pinkston and he will be given a packet of whatever information I have collected.”

Edmond committed the name to memory as he lifted himself from his chair. “What if I need to contact you?”

“Have a red rose delivered to La Russa at the King’s Theatre. She will arrange a meeting.”

Edmond lifted a brow at the mention of the talented opera singer who had taken London by storm. What her connection to the Runner might be defied his imagination.

“You have clearly done this sort of thing before,” he murmured, well impressed by the man’s discreet organization.

The faintest smile touched Chesterfield’s lips. “That, my lord, is a secret I shall take to my grave.”

IT WAS NEARING THE DINNER hour when the door to Brianna’s bedchamber was at last thrust open.

“Janet, at last.” Rising from the cushioned window seat, she pressed a hand to her heart, realizing just how horridly lost she had felt sitting in the vast, empty house all alone. “I was beginning to fear you had been kidnapped.”

“Not far from it.”

With a frown, Brianna moved forward in concern. “Are you well? You have not been hurt—” Her words broke off as she neared the door and spotted the boxes piled in the long hallway. “Whatever is all this?”

With a rather mysterious smile, Janet bent down to collect a number of the gaily wrapped packages.

“The bare necessities of what ye’ll be needing over the next few weeks,” she informed the baffled Brianna, depositing the packages on the bed. “Tomorrow yer commanded to visit the dressmakers and order a new wardrobe seeing as ye’ll need to be properly fitted.”

Tugging at the silver bows, Brianna opened the boxes to reveal the astonishing bounty. There were shifts made of the finest silk and edged with Brussels lace. There were whale-bone corsets, and stockings that had been embroidered with delicate flowers. There were also a dozen bonnets trimmed with satin ribbons and sprigged net with matching cloaks in all shades and fabrics. Janet busily toted in the remaining boxes that revealed soft calfskin boots and various slippers that Brianna itched to try on.

“Commanded to visit the dressmakers?” Backing away from the beautiful treasures that now consumed most of the bed, Brianna glared at her maid in confusion. “What are you talking about?”


Tags: Rosemary Rogers Russian Connection Historical