Nicholas inwardly groaned. Based on his current run of luck, someone would recognise him and fetch the watchman.
Perhaps it was unwise to remain in London.
But along with the letters and the invoices Holland had mentioned—not all of them, he might add—he had found a note from Miss Thorndyke, drenched in lavender perfume, expressing her desire to see Charles at Grayswood Folly.
Was it a coincidence Mr Thorndyke had found the body?
Were Miss Thorndyke’s nerves frayed because she had witnessed her lover’s murder? Somehow, Nicholas had to find out.
They entered Fortune’s Den like repentant sinners might enter the dark realms of hell, keeping to the shadows to avoid the decadent lure of vice. Similar to Dante’s depiction, one floor catered to the greedy. With creaking beds and groans of pleasure, another epitomised the circle of lust.
“How can you stand living amongst the dissipated?” Nicholas whispered as they exited the stairs onto the second-floor landing.
Aaron’s snort rang with mockery. “If you’d slept in an alley at fifteen, your siblings clinging to you and crying from hunger, you wouldn’t ask that question.”
Nicholas inclined his head in apology. “When surrounded by such splendour, I often forget you dragged yourself up from the depths of despair.”
“I never forget, hence why you can’t stay here.”
“Your help tonight frees you of any obligation.”
They exchanged glances—a silent understanding.
The plod of footsteps on the attic stairs caught their attention.
Sigmund appeared, his head almost hitting the ceiling when he noticed two men in black lingering in the darkness. “Curse the devil to Hades! You gave me a fright.”
Nicholas grew instantly suspicious. “Doubtless, you were in the attic room searching through my things,” he said, though he had nothing of value, nothing but a grimy hat and a pile of dusty clothes.
Affronted, Sigmund puffed out his chest. “No, I took the prisoner food and refreshment. Theo won’t have anyone dying on his watch.”
Aaron stepped forward. “Prisoner? Why is there always trouble afoot whenever I leave for a few hours? We throw turds into the basement. We do not let them fester in Delphine’s room.”
Sigmund gestured to Nicholas. “A man came looking for St Clair. Naturally, I questioned him and soon realised it wasn’t a man but a woman wearing a dreadful disguise.”
“A woman?” Nicholas felt a stirring of unease.
Only one woman cared enough to find him.
“Mother of all hell, St Clair!” Aaron growled in frustration. “You told me no one followed you. You said no one knew you were here.”
Nicholas raised his hands in surrender. “I swear, no one but Denton knows I train in your basement. And I’m no fool. I’m wanted for murder. I made sure no one saw me leave the Black Lion.”
Aaron huffed. “Then she’s obviously a mystic able to conjure your whereabouts out of thin air. Sigmund, give me the damn key.” He snatched the key from his man and marched upstairs.
Before Aaron opened the door, Nicholas knew the mysterious woman was Helen. He could sense her presence, smell her unique scent as if she’d left it for him as a marker.
He followed Aaron into the candlelit room and came to stand next to the gilt-framed bed. He looked at Helen sleeping face-down on the mattress, his heart thumping against his ribs like shutters in a storm.
What the hell was she doing here?
How had she known where to find him?
And what the devil was she wearing?
“Peaches and honey,” Aaron drawled, his gaze drinking in Helen’s exquisite form. The beige breeches clung to her shapely bottom. Her hair was a cascade of gold against the white pillow—though it had been hacked with scissors and was notably shorter. “The lady is easy on the eye. Maybe I’ll keep her prisoner a while longer. I’ve never slept beside a woman, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Aaron was teasing, but that didn’t stop jealousy possessing Nicholas like a demon spirit. “Only if you want to brawl with me in the fight pit.”