Page 18 of A Deal with the Devil

“Thank you.”

“Do stop being so polite—it’s disconcerting.”

Kitty relaxed her very stiff, very proper posture. A little.

Priya nodded at her thoughtfully. “You are not out in Society, I gather?”

“My father is barely a baron, and mostly by chance. He invented something no one will discuss that the king and his men found useful in the war. But he is now thoroughly paupered,” Kitty replied drily. “So, no.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“You are not missing much. And anyway, you are far more useful to me if you are not a debutante.”

“A spinster, more like.”

“Even better.” Priya grinned.

Kitty smiled back. “I suppose so.”

“You could stay here, you know. With your sister. You would be safer.”

“I would,” Kitty agreed. “But she wouldn’t.”

“Oh dear.”

“What is it?”

“I’m beginning to like you. That won’t do at all.”

“I did think about running,” Kitty admitted. “But we’d never be able to stop, and I don’t have the funds to keep us safe on the road for more than a week at most. We could ruin her, of course, demolish her reputation, but Portsmouth…”

“Would still have his revenge.” Priya tucked a sprig of rosemary into her apron. Kitty had never seen rosemary grow to the size of a small tree before. “I’m afraid you’re quite correct on that score. He has already told half of Mayfair that he is marrying your sister. That alone is enough to guarantee the outcome in his mind.”

Kitty swore. He would never let them get away now. Not with his pride so thoroughly in the mix.

“I wish I had more to offer,” Priya muttered. “We have been trying to find proper evidence to damn him, but there’s nothing so far. I do so hate it when they are clever. I can tell you that his last wife is not officially dead—she is missing.”

Kitty perked up. “Really?” If she could find Lady Portsmouth, Evie would be safe. The House of Lords and Parliament did not look favorably upon bigamy. Murder, they turned a blind eye to.

“There’s not much to go on. Lady Caroline Portsmouth has done an excellent job of disappearing, for which I applaud her.”

“Unless Portsmouth is behind it.”

“Unless that, yes. And he is great friends with the Marquis of Eastbourne. They are thick as thieves, which I cannot like.”

The same marquis who had imprisoned several women in his cellars in order to control their fortunes.

Kitty was in over her head.

“I won’t send you in unarmed,” Priya murmured.

A small thrill of excitement snuck through Kitty’s anxiety-tensed muscles. “I would love a weapon. Something pointy.”

“Matilda will sort you out. In the meantime, I suggest you stay far away from this house. I’m not certain Portsmouth wouldn’t think to have us watched. We are not popular with Eastbourne’s friends. We make them nervous,” Priya said smugly. “You cannot be seen anywhere nearby.”

“I understand.” Kitty was in no less dire circumstances, but she did feel less tossed about, less hopeless. She understood a little better now the way Clara had spoken about the society, and about Priya.

“I do wish I could do more, but my Spinsters are spread very thin at the moment and our newest member is far too green to go up against someone like Portsmouth. Oh, and Kitty?”

She paused in the doorway. “Yes?”

“How well do you know Lord Birmingham?”

“Devil? As well as you’d expect, which is not at all.”

“Careful there.”

When Lady Priya Langdon, Keeper of the Secrets of the Most Powerful People in England, told you to be careful—you’d best be careful.