Page 30 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
“I shall await your visit.” With luck, it would be several days before she saw him again. She needed distance. Time to untangle what he had said from what he still refused to say. She had come for answers but was leaving more confused and adrift than ever.
As she and Tess took the short walk home, she forced her mind away from James and back to the mystery. The note from Hugh’s saddlebags had led to the library, the coded parchment to the tavern, and the newspapers seemed to hover at the edge of it all.
Her thoughts drifted back to the wagon in the alley and the partially covered crates, the faint scent of salt clinging to the wood, The Great Dover Shipping Company stamped clearly on the side . . . and the almost invisible mark of a familiar oak leaf scorched near the bottom corner.
She had seen it then without truly seeing it.
She came to a sudden halt on the pavement. The answers might be elusive, but of one thing she was certain. She had made no promise to James, and she had every intention of seeing this through.
Her next step was unmistakable—whether James approved or not. It was time to pack her trunk.
Chapter 11
James
James opened his eyes to a world that, for the first time in three days, was not defined by pain. The doctor’s mandate to stay abed had been unavoidable and irksome. James had spent much of the time in fitful sleep and endured the noxious draught that Mrs. Bates insisted would do him wonders. She added extra honey, but despite the lingering taste, he dared not refuse. He would rather face a dueling pistol than her wrath.
He had spent the remaining time attempting to determine the identity of the names on Henry’s list and how they connected to the delivery at the tavern. He was unsuccessful on every count. Being confined to his bed had limited what he could do, and he was done writing discreet inquiries. He needed to be out, gathering answers himself.
Worse than being trapped at home was knowing there was at least one person who would not sit idle while mysteries went unsolved.
Despite her recklessness, he was forced to admit that Kate’s courage and intelligence were maddeningly attractive. She wasproving to be a far more intriguing complication than he had anticipated.
The memories came in a rush. Dancing at the ball, holding her behind library curtains, seeing her concern for his injury. Her expression upon seeing him in his nightshirt made him grin, but he caught himself and wiped it away. Yes, he was most certainly in trouble where Kate was concerned.
He rubbed a hand over three days’ worth of stubble. It was time to rejoin the living.
A few hours later, with help from his new valet, Stephens, he looked into the mirror and saw a changed man. Doctor Brathwall had assured him he no longer needed to wear the bandage. The lump had subsided and was now hidden beneath his hair. With his face freshly shaven, his snowy-white cravat tied to perfection, his dark blue morning coat and tan breeches impeccable, one might never suspect he had suffered an injury unless they looked closely enough to detect the strain that lingered around his eyes.
Much of the tension came from worrying about Kate. He had assumed she had outgrown her reckless impulses, but her presence at the tavern and the determined glint in her eyes during her visit made him wary. He needed to see her, to hear her promise she was done entangling herself. He was also overdue for a visit to Hugh, a convenient excuse to see Kate as well. He was quickly learning that Kate did not like being watched over.
But first he had business at White’s. One of his associates worked at the gentlemen’s club and had a talent for overhearing useful things, and James had no intention of wasting another day in bed while Henry’s killer roamed free.
The distant rumbling of thunder warned that the dark sky was about to break. James paused outside his door, tugging on his gloves as he glanced at the clouds. Despite the impendingstorm, after three long days in bed, he had no desire to be cramped in a hackney.
The brief walk to White’s restored much of his equilibrium. He proceeded up the front steps of the white stone building, nodding to the porter at the door before continuing on to the main rooms. He had no interest in the betting book or the gambling tables today, but there was no escaping small talk with acquaintances along the way. He sat at a small table partially hidden in the afternoon shadows. Anthony would know where to find him.
Before he had even settled into the chair, a young servant with cropped dark hair and a face that still carried traces of boyhood approached the table.
“Lord Brenton, how may I assist you today?”
“A cup of tea with honey, please, Anthony.”
When the servant returned, he took careful time to prepare the tea. “I haven’t seen you here in a while, my lord. Word around the club was that you were occupying yourself with wedding preparations.”
Anthony gave James a lopsided grin as he passed him the teacup. James sighed. Kate was not wrong when she said their expected betrothal was the worst-kept secret in London.
James cleared his throat. “Yes, well, not quite yet. But there is something I am hoping you can help me with today.”
Anthony produced a small towel and meticulously wiped down the table, leaning closer under the guise of his duties. No one was nearby, but James lowered his voice anyway.
“Does the name The Sentinel mean anything to you?”
Anthony froze before continuing to clean the nonexistent spill.
“I’ve heard rumors, mostly from my cousin and his friends who work at the docks. They say he is ruthless and won’t let anyone stand in his way.”
“Do you know who he is?”
