“I must find him as a matter of urgency. I have information that may help with his current situation.”
“Is that so?” came the smooth as velvet reply.
“I have reason to believe he is here.”
The heartbreaker shrugged. “How do I know you speak in earnest, madam? You may be a woman obsessed, out to lure St Clair into your trap, keen to see him leg shackled.”
She was more than obsessed.
More than keen to drag Nicholas before the altar.
“Were that the case, I would not be dressed like a dandy.” Helen sighed, unsure why she’d thought finding Nicholas would be easy. “Pay it no mind. If helping a lady in distress proves troublesome, I shall wait outside in the hope he arrives soon.”
She turned on her heel, but Mr Chance wrapped his fingers around her wrist to delay her departure. “A gentleman does not throw a lady to the wolves. Sigmund will show you upstairs, where you may wait until my brother Aaron returns.” He stroked his thumb back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm that played havoc with her senses. “I’m sure he will be pleased to answer your questions.”
Helen snatched her hand from his grasp. “Thank you, sir.”
Mr Chance studied her intently. “Sigmund will show you upstairs.” He muttered something in Sigmund’s ear and watched her until she disappeared onto the first-floor landing.
Sigmund led her to the attic room, a beautiful space decorated in a calming cream and pale blue. The folding screen sported a heavenly scene of white clouds and smiling cherubs. The gilt furnishings added an opulent air like one might find in the King’s own chamber.
One did not need to be an enquiry agent to know it was a woman’s room. A silk robe hung on the armoire door. Pretty perfume bottles littered the dressing table. Hints of rose and geranium scented the air.
The pile of men’s clothes on the floor ruined the scene.
She recognised the waistcoat draped over the bed. It was blue with silver embroidery. Identical to the one Nicholas had carried before kissing her last night. Every instinct urged her to bring the garment to her nose and inhale his scent. But another thought took precedence.
“Whose room is this?” she said, her voice breaking as her mind conjured a host of lewd scenarios. Nicholas felt so comfortable in the woman’s chamber he had stripped naked.
“Delphine’s.”
Delphine? The name sounded exotic.
“And those are Mr St Clair’s clothes.” It was a statement, not a question. “He wore that waistcoat last night.” When he’d devoured her mouth and given her every reason to believe they had a future.
Sigmund’s silence was the only confirmation she needed.
She turned to face the hulk of a man, but he escaped out onto the landing and gabbled, “Mr Chance will visit you shortly.”
“Wait.” She rushed to the door, but he slammed it shut and turned the key, leaving her imprisoned inside the exquisite boudoir, leaving her to consider if she really knew Nicholas St Clair at all.
ChapterEleven
“Consider the debt paid.” Nicholas followed Aaron Chance through the graveyard of St James’ church, Aldgate. They cut a pathway through the weeds and broken headstones, past a few vagabonds who felt safer sleeping next to a corpse than in a dank alley. “I shall find new lodgings tomorrow.”
It was dark, the sound of the rustling trees like the eerie whispers of the dead. Indeed, he was relieved to hear the din of drunken revelry in the distance. The irony being that some men who lost at Fortune’s tables were not long for the grave.
“Maybe you should head to Bedford.” Aaron gestured to the six-foot wall they had to scale. “You have all the documentation you need to investigate Charles Holland’s claim.”
Tonight, they had dressed in black and forced their way into Holland’s home in Wigmore Street. The only staff—a maid and a footman—were drunk on gin and too busy frolicking in bed to notice the intruders.
“The midwife is likely dead. The owners of the house Robert Holland rented have surely met their maker, too.” Nicholas could question the housekeeper at Oakmere, but doubted he could trust her word.
“Someone will know of the scandal. Gossip is like the pox. It spreads quickly from one generation to the next until every bugger has had a dose.” Aaron dug the tip of his boot into a gap in the brickwork and vaulted the wall with ease.
Nicholas followed, relieved to land on his feet.
“We’ll take the back stairs,” Aaron said. “There are bound to be men you know at the card tables tonight.”