The Perfect Poison Page 22

  Her eyes widened. “Yes.”

  He allowed himself to relax. “Well then, why not make it legal?”

  Excitement brightened her expression in a very satisfactory manner. She glowed.

  “What a wonderful notion,” she said enthusiastically. “I will have to think about it, of course.”

  “You always seemed the decisive sort to me.”

  “Yes, but this decision is so binding. So formal. So legal.”

  “Well, yes. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

  “But I’m almost certain I can promise you that my answer will be yes.”

  He allowed himself to relax a little. “Good.”

  “After all, the chance to be a full partner in your agency is simply too thrilling to pass up.”

  “What?”

  “I can see it now.” She held up both hands, framing an invisible image. “Bromley and Jones.”

  He sat forward, unable to believe what he had just heard. “What the hell?”

  “I understand, you would prefer Jones and Bromley. You did found the firm, after all. But one must consider the marketing aspects of these arrangements. Bromley and Jones has a certain ring to it. It is somehow more rhythmic.”

  “If you think for one minute that I’m going to call this firm Bromley and Jones, you can damn well think again. That is not what I’m talking about and you know it.”

  “Oh, very well, if you’re going to be difficult about it, Jones and Bromley it is. But that is my last offer.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Oh, dear, I’m afraid we will have to continue these negotiations some other time.” She rose quickly. “It is getting late. I must go home.”

  “Damn it, Lucinda—”

  “There is the Wrothmere ball tonight. So many details to see to. I believe Victoria said the hairdresser would arrive at two.” She gave him a vivid smile. “Don’t worry, I’m certain that once you grow accustomed to the sound of Bromley and Jones, you will like it.”

  THIRTY

  “THE THING IS, MISS PATRICIA IS SUCH AN INTELLIGENT woman,” Edmund said. Seething frustration underlined every word. “Why can’t she see for herself that none of that bunch of fawning dandies is right for her? Half are only after her inheritance, and the other half are dazzled by her looks. Not one of them is truly in love with her.”

  “If you’re asking me to explain what a woman wants in a husband and why she wants it, you’ve got the wrong man.” Caleb splashed some sherry into a glass. “Ask me something simple such as the probability that a deranged scientist named Basil Hulsey is at this very moment working on a new version of the founder’s formula. I’m good at things like that.”

  He braced himself to drink some of the sherry. He disliked sherry intensely, especially the cloyingly sweet sort that Lucinda evidently preferred. But his choice of beverage was limited. He and Edmund were in Lucinda’s library and sherry was the only option available. Lucinda and Patricia were upstairs dressing for the ball. Victoria was with them, supervising the last-minute details.

  Edmund had been prowling the room. He paused, momentarily distracted. “Have you had any luck at all in tracking Hulsey?”

  “Some.” Caleb lounged on the side of Lucinda’s desk. “But not nearly enough.” He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “I’m hoping for a little more tonight.”

  “What do you expect to learn this evening?”

  “I have an appointment with the second kidnapper.”

  “You found him?” Excitement briefly replaced the simmering irritation in Edmund’s eyes. “He agreed to meet with you?”

  “Not exactly. Young Kit came to see me an hour ago. He said the man has been seen in a certain tavern drinking himself into a stupor every night since his associate died. My plan, such as it is, is to confront him this evening. I’m hoping that the element of surprise will work in my favor.”

  Edmund frowned. “You should not go alone. Take me with you.”

  “No. I need you to keep watch over Patricia and Lucinda.”

  “Then take someone else along. One of your cousins, perhaps.”

  “According to Kit, the man is a nervous wreck, as it is. Evidently the experience of watching his partner die has greatly unnerved him. Having two strangers approach him would very likely send him fleeing into the night and then I’d have to track him down all over again. No, this kind of situation is best handled with a degree of delicacy.”

  “If you say so.” Edmund was not entirely satisfied but he did not pursue the issue. He resumed his pacing. “Do you really believe that Lady Milden knows what she’s about with her matchmaking?”

  “I have no notion.” He drank a little more of the bad sherry and then gave up on it altogether. He set the glass aside. “She’s only been in the business for a very short time. There hasn’t been time to judge her skill.”

  “It could take years to find out if she actually does have a talent for it. In the meantime, Miss Patricia might very well find herself wed to a brute or a fortune hunter. Her life will be ruined. Riverton, especially, strikes me as a nasty piece of work. I doubt he’d stop at anything to marry an heiress.”

  Caleb thought about that for a couple of minutes while he watched Edmund wear a path in the carpet.

  “Miss Patricia is not exactly an heiress,” he said neutrally. “My understanding is that she will inherit a comfortable income but certainly not a great fortune.”

  “All I know is that her income, whatever it is, looks very enticing to Riverton. I swear, if I have to listen to him tell her one more time how passionate he is about archaeology I will make him disappear out the nearest window.”

  “You seem to be very concerned with Miss Patricia’s future happiness,” Caleb observed. “I was under the impression that you thought her approach to marriage was rather cold-blooded.”

  Edmund’s expression darkened. “That’s just it, Miss Patricia is not a cold woman. Quite the opposite, in fact. I fear that in her anxiety not to be misled by her emotions, she is going against her own warm-hearted nature. This so-called scientific approach to finding a suitable husband is nonsense. Have you seen that damned list of requirements she gave Lady Milden?”

  “I believe she did mention her criteria, yes.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking about it. “Evidently she got the idea from Miss Bromley.”

  Bromley & Jones. How in blazes had Lucinda come up with that? She was far too intelligent to have misunderstood his offer this afternoon. If she did not want to marry him, why not come right out and say so? Why all that silly chatter about becoming a partner in his firm?

  Unless she had misunderstood him. Good Lord. Was it possible that he had not been clear?

  “The man she is looking for does not exist,” Edmund announced.

  “What?” Caleb forced himself to pay attention to Edmund. “Right. The list. Evidently Lady Milden had no trouble collecting a sizable number of suitable suitors.”

  “But they are all wrong for Miss Patricia, every last one of them,” Edmund insisted.

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “Positive. I feel it is my duty to save Miss Patricia but she will not listen to me. I swear, she treats me as though I were a guard dog. She is forever either giving me orders or patting me on the head.”

  “She pats you on the head?”

  “Figuratively speaking.”

  “I see,” Caleb said.

  He got the uneasy feeling he was supposed to come up with something mature and helpful in the way of masculine advice but nothing sprang to mind. Possibly because he was still trying to come up with some good advice for himself on the same subject.

  Bromley & Jones.

  Perhaps that damned list was the real problem. He was willing to concede that he did not meet all of Lucinda’s requirements in a husband but she had admitted that they made an excellent team. She certainly appeared to be physically attracted to him, as well.

  Was it possible those factors were not enough to
convince her to compromise? Did he have to exhibit every single damned characteristic she had enumerated on that bloody list? Devil take it, was he going to have to develop a cheerful and positive temperament? Some things were beyond the grasp of even the most powerful talent.

  An affair was all very well in the short term but he did not care for the element of uncertainty in such a relationship. What if a man who met Lucinda’s precise specifications showed up someday and swept her off her feet with seductive talk of the mysteries of fern reproduction or the sensual aspects of pistils and pollination?

  Victoria swept into the room, Lucinda and Patricia in her wake.

  “We are ready, gentlemen,” she announced with the air of a commander about to order troops into battle.

  Caleb automatically straightened away from the desk. He was vaguely aware of Edmund coming to an abrupt halt and turning to face the women.

  There was a short period of stark silence while both of them gazed at the ladies.

  Lucinda frowned. “Is there something wrong, Mr. Jones?”

  He realized he was staring. He could not help it. She was enthralling in a deep violet gown trimmed with velvet ribbons and discreetly placed crystals that caught the light. Long, snug-fitting gloves emphasized the graceful shape of her arms. A velvet band at her throat was trimmed with more of the brilliant crystals.

  He knew then that he was destined to feel this thrill of energy and intimacy whenever she entered the room for the rest of his life. This is right. You belong with me. To hell with your perfect husband. If he is ever foolish enough to show up, I’ll make certain he disappears.

  Good Lord, he was starting to sound like Fletcher. But he meant every word. This was probably not the right time to say as much aloud, however.

  When in doubt, fall back on good manners.

  He pulled himself together, crossed the room, took Lucinda’s gloved hand and bowed.

  “No,” he said. “There is nothing wrong. I was momentarily stunned, that’s all. You and Miss Patricia look quite spectacular this evening. Don’t you agree, Fletcher?”

  Edmund gave a small start as though he, too, had just recovered from a trance. He went forward to take Patricia’s hand and managed a formal bow.

  “Lovely,” he said. He sounded as though his throat had suddenly become tight. “You look like a fairy-tale princess in that aqua gown.”

  Patricia blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”

  Victoria cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. “Mr. Fletcher, you will accompany Patricia and me in my carriage. Mr. Jones will escort Lucinda in her vehicle. In the wake of that recent piece in the Flying Intelligencer, it is critical that he is seen conducting Lucinda into the ballroom tonight.”

  Lucinda made a face. “Really, I don’t think this is necessary.”

  “Never argue with an expert,” Caleb said. He used his grip on her hand to tuck her arm under his.

  They went into the front hall where Mrs. Shute opened the door. The two carriages waited in the street. Caleb followed Lucinda into the shadowy interior of her small vehicle and sat down across from her.

  “What has happened?” Lucinda asked immediately.

  “What?”

  “I can tell that something has occurred,” she said. “There is a new kind of tension in your aura. You did take another cup or two of the tisane this evening as I instructed, did you not?”

  “I fear your tisane, remarkable though it is, will have little effect on the current source of my tension.”

  “But you told me you found it soothing.”

  “It certainly is when it comes to dealing with poison. What I am feeling now, however, has nothing to do with that damned notebook.”

  “What is it, then? Perhaps I have another remedy.”

  He smiled. “As it happens, you do. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to take more than a small dose.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her; a fast, hard, possessive kiss.

  “That will have to do for now,” he said, sitting back before she could even begin to respond. “I have some news.”

  He told her about the message from Kit and his intention to meet with the kidnapper. She was immediately alarmed.

  “You must not go to see him alone,” she said. “Take Mr. Fletcher with you.”

  “He made the same suggestion. I will tell you the same thing I told him. His job is to watch over you and Miss Patricia. I will be fine on my own.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Yes. But I’m sure there will be no need to resort to a weapon. Don’t worry about me. I will escort you into the ballroom. We will take a turn on the floor so that everyone can see us, and then I will slip away for an hour or so. I’ll be back in plenty of time to take you home.”

  “You are dressed for the ballroom, not for meeting a villain in a dockside tavern.”

  “Believe it or not, I gave that matter some thought,” he said. “I have an overcoat and a hat that will conceal my formal clothes.”

  “I don’t like this plan.” In the light of the carriage lamps her face was shadowed with concern. “I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “Credit me with some talent, my sweet. I estimate the probability that the meeting with the kidnapper will prove uneventful to be upward of ninety-three percent.”

  “That leaves a seven percent margin for error.” She gripped her fan very tightly. “Promise me you will be careful, Caleb.”

  “I will do better than that. You have my word that I will show up in time to dance another waltz with you before I take you home from the ball.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  “HE’S A DEMON, I TELL YOU.” PERRETT PAUSED LONG enough to take another swig of gin. He wiped his mouth with the filthy sleeve of his coat. Leaning a little farther across the table, he lowered his voice. “Straight from hell. Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Wings like a giant bat. Claws instead of fingers. Eyes glowed like hot coals, they did.”

  Caleb doubted the description was entirely accurate but it was clear that Perrett had been badly frightened. He was also surprisingly desperate to talk about his terrifying experience to a stranger. Caleb got the impression that the kidnapper’s associates had concluded that their comrade had lost his wits and now treated him like a lunatic. When Perrett had discovered someone who was willing to take his tale seriously, the floodgates had opened.

  They were seated in a booth at the back of the lightly crowded tavern. Caleb was well aware that the heavy scarf, low-crowned hat, long coat and boots he wore were an imperfect disguise but they would serve. He was certain that no one on the premises would be able to describe him in any detail later. That was all that mattered.

  “You say this demon hired you to kidnap Miss Bromley?” Caleb asked.

  Perrett scowled. “Here now, who said anything about kidnapping? It was just a simple, straightforward business arrangement. The bastard told us he was a recruiter for a certain establishment that provides respectable women to entertain gentlemen. You know the sort. There’s a demand for genteel ladies amongst a certain clientele.”

  “I see.”

  “Never understood it, myself. Give me a lusty girl who learned her trade on the streets. A wench like that knows what she’s about when it comes to pleasuring a man. Respectable females are, generally speaking, unskilled labor. Waste of money, if you ask me.”

  “The man who employed you didn’t want just any respectable female, though, did he? He paid you to bring him Miss Bromley.”

  Perrett shrugged. “That’s generally how it works. The customer selects a particular female, usually one who doesn’t have much in the way of family or money or a husband who might go to the police. Standard contract. We got half up front, the rest payable upon delivery of the merchandise.”

  “Why did you meet with your customer a second time when you knew you couldn’t produce Miss Bromley?”

  “Figured he’d understand the problem when we told him what had happened and giv
e us a commission for some other female to replace Bromley. It wasn’t our fault we couldn’t snatch her. The witch threw some kind of burning powder in our faces. Sharpy and I thought we were going to go blind and choke to death right there on the street.”

  “But the customer wasn’t interested in giving you any more commissions, I take it?”

  “No.” Perrett shuddered. “Got all worked up about it. Said something nonsensical about death being the price of failure when you worked for the Circle. Sharpy and me, we figured he was a bit mad, if you want to know the truth. Then he went and used some kind of magic to kill Sharpy.” Perrett’s eyes watered. “Weren’t no call for that. Not like we’d done him any harm. Hell, we were the ones who was injured on the job.”

  The sharp thrill of knowing swept through Caleb. Deep within the crystal maze he had constructed an entire passage suddenly glowed. He was headed in the right direction.

  “The demon used the word Circle ?” he asked carefully.

  “Aye.” Perrett’s broad shoulders quivered. He drank some more gin to steady his nerves and then lowered the bottle. “Some kind of gang, I reckon.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “Gentlemen form partnerships for business purposes same as the rest of us. The only difference is that they meet in exclusive clubs instead of taverns and alleys to make their plans, and they use fancy words like consortiums and societies instead of gangs to describe their operations.”

  “Yes,” Caleb said. “They do.” Lately the word that came to mind when he contemplated Basil Hulsey and the small group of traitors he was convinced were operating within the Arcane Society was cabal.

  “But Sharpy and me, we didn’t know we were employed by any gang of gentlemen called the Circle. Bloody hell, we thought we were working for one man, the demon. Except we didn’t know he was a demon, of course. Never would have done business with him if we’d known that.”

  “Did he tell you anything else about the Circle?”

  Perrett shook his head. “No. Nothing. Just looked real hard at Sharpy. That’s when poor Sharpy started to scream. I was suddenly more scared than I’ve ever been in my life. I knew for sure that whatever the bastard was doing to Sharpy, he was going to do to me next. I swear, I could feel something in the air. Like little shocks of electricity. I knew I couldn’t help Sharpy, so I ran for my life.”