save having to think up their own opinions, I imagine.'
I took a sip of the precious brandy in relief. 'In truth, it is your opinion I am seeking at this moment.'
'Not about that painting, surely.'
'No. I want to know about a gentleman who lives in Hanover Square.'
Grenville gave me an inquisitive look, and I saw a gleam of interest in his eye. I told him the tale, stopping here and there to wet my mouth with the brandy.
During the story, Grenville frowned into the depths of his glass, then, when I related Horne's mention of Denis and my speculations that Denis was a procurer, he sat down abruptly on one of the straight-backed chairs.
When I'd finished, Grenville said, 'My apologies, Lacey. I was eager for gossip and had no idea you'd been involved in something so tragic.'
'No matter. What do you know about Josiah Horne? The Thornton family, including Alice, believe Horne abducted Jane. Is it possible?'
Grenville rolled his glass between his palms. 'I've never heard anything against the man. Horne is an MP for Sussex. He's a widower who lives quietly, and as far as I know never raises a ruckus in Parliament. Not a political hothead. I rarely see him at social gatherings, and I can't name one person who truly knows him well.' He sipped brandy. 'You say he did not recognize Jane Thornton's name?'
'I would swear that he'd never heard of her. But maybe he knows her by another name.'
'Or he could be telling the truth.'
'But Mr. Thornton and Alice saw Jane go into the house.'
'They may have mistaken the house,' Grenville pointed out. 'Or Horne may not have known she'd come there at all. Perhaps her meeting was with someone else-the butler, the valet, the maid you saw.'
'Why are you trying to absolve him? He may have abducted the girl and ruined her. If she is not still with him, she will have nowhere to go but into a brothel or the streets.'
Grenville lifted his hand. 'Calm yourself, Lacey. I am merely pointing out possibilities. I know you disliked the man, and I cannot blame you for that if what you say is true. But before sending in the magistrate, you should first discover if he ever truly saw the girl at all.'
I drummed my fingers on the table beside me. 'Louisa Brandon said as much. I have an unfortunately rash temper.'
'So I have heard. Did you know, a colonel who frequents my club told me you'd once put a pistol to the head of another colonel and demanded he rescind one of his orders.' He regarded me with curiosity, as though hoping I'd regale him with the entire story.
'An order that would have killed all my men. I would not sacrifice them so that he might claim courage.'
I recalled that blustery winter day on the battlefield in Portugal, when my blood had boiled hot and a cavalry colonel had wet himself because he'd thought me insane enough to pull the trigger. Fortunately, the staff officers knew of the man's incompetence, and so I'd avoided an incident that could have wrecked my career. Watching my temper rise dismayed me-my vision would become clear and sharp, and a course of action, direct and plain, would present itself to me. Right and wrong became suddenly vivid; a complex situation would resolve into one bright point. Sometimes my rages cut right to the heart of a matter; at others, they only made things worse. Unfortunately, I could not always tell which was which.
Grenville rose and paced to the fireplace. 'Speaking of your rashness, I am going to give you a bit of advice concerning this James Denis.' He faced me. 'Have nothing to do with him. Pursue Horne if you must, but leave Denis out of it.'
I lifted my brows. 'Why? Who is Denis?'
Grenville hesitated, while shadows played on his angular face. 'James Denis is a dangerous man to know. Please take my word for it.'
He wanted me to stop asking questions, which ensured that I simply wanted to ask more. 'If that is so, why have I never heard of him?'
Grenville shrugged. 'He lives quietly.'
'So does Horne, you say.'
Grenville regarded me uncomfortably, as though wanting to deny he had the information I wanted. Then he gave a resigned sigh and set his crystal glass on the mantelpiece.
'I do not know who James Denis truly is,' he said. 'His father is rumored to have been a footman and his mother a lady of quality. I'm not certain I believe that. But despite his origins, Denis is now one of the wealthiest men in England. Dukes know him. The Prince Regent has no doubt hired him; you know what a mania the Prince has for art, especially when he's told the thing in question is impossible to acquire. I've asked the Prince point blank if he used Denis to find some of his collection, but he only gave me that coy look he has when he's trying to be clever.'
I'd never met the Prince Regent or seen him closer than from the back of a crowd that watched his coach travel down Pall Mall. The last time I'd spied his coach passing, the crowd had booed him and mud had splattered the side of his garish yellow carriage. The Regent's daughter, Princess Charlotte, was wildly popular, but the profligate Regent was barely tolerated. Grenville had told me tales of dining at Carleton House-on one occasion the dining table had been surrounded by a sparkling trough of water, through which fish had swum. Grenville had shaken his head while relating the anecdote, his expression pained.
'Well,' I said. 'I will meet Denis soon and discover what he is for myself. Horne wrote that he'd had an answer to our request for an appointment.'
Grenville turned swiftly, eyes wide. 'No, Lacey, don't go, not even for curiosity's sake. Denis is dangerous. Leave him alone.'
The directive, of course, only fueled my determination. 'Explain to me what he is then. A procurer? A smuggler?'
Grenville shook his head. 'I wish I knew. The man is elusive, even to someone as bothersome as me. I know that he has procurers and smugglers dancing his bidding. He obtains things, things that might be out of reach of the ordinary person. He is able to work seeming miracles to get exactly what his, shall we say, customer, wants.' Grenville paced again. 'Whenever he expresses interest in a bill or discussion in Parliament, funnily enough, the vote always seems to coincide with his interests. But I have never heard that he actually controls anyone. You never hear anything directly against Denis. He is that discreet.'
'Discreet enough so that his customer might not know the name of the young woman abducted for him?'
Grenville paced the length of the hearth rug then turned to me. 'Lacey, I beg you, do not openly accuse James Denis of abducting Miss Thornton. You would never get out again.'
'You speak as though you know him well. Does he have the honor of your acquaintance?'
Grenville colored. 'No. I was a-customer-once.'
The candle beside me guttered and died in a spattering of wax. 'Were you, indeed? This sounds interesting.'
'Yes. And, like you, I want to know all about a person before I commit myself. I made it my business to find out about Denis, and I did not like what I found.'
'Yet, you hired him.'
Grenville tapped his heel against a pattern of the rug. 'I had no choice. I wanted a particular painting that was in France during the war. In Bonaparte's personal collection, as a matter of fact. It belonged to an exiled French aristocrat, painted for him specially, he told me, and the man had tried everything to get it back.' Grenville continued to study the carpet. 'I offered to help him, and I had heard of Denis. I hired Denis to find and deliver the painting. Denis did.'
'Damned resourceful of him. How did he manage it?'
'I have no idea. And I never asked. The price was, as you might expect, very high.'
For some reason, I suddenly thought of the screen that Colonel Brandon had brought home with him from Spain. Its three panels depicted scenes of the holy family, done in gold leaf and ebony. I had no idea where he'd obtained it, but it was very old, and he prized it above all possessions. Louisa told me he'd set it in his private sitting room behind his bedchamber, a room few were allowed to enter. I'd always wondered where he'd stumbled upon the thing, which looked valuable beyond compare. I wondered now if he'd obtained it from someone like
