“All right,” he finally said. “Do I have your word, Yale?”
“You have it.” Just as a lady with lapis eyes had the rest of him.
Wyn left behind Lucas and the scents of wine and righteous indignation, but the sensation of profound loss he could not throw off. He went to Dover Street. It seemed likely he would die upon reaching the duke’s castle, and he wished all his business settled first.
The gold numbers and falcon-shaped knocker on the door of 14? glittered in the lamplight. Wyn rang the bell and the panel opened, revealing a giant ape of a man with a baby’s face.
“Evening, sir.”
“Is anyone in, or am I the lone bird in the roost tonight, Grimm?”
“Milord is within.”
“Grimm, I’ve an assignment for you. Are you available for the next several days?”
The Falcon Club’s hulking henchman nodded heavily. Wyn gave him the Savege’s house number, instructed him to keep watch until he arrived the following day and to learn from the morning tradesmen and servants what he could concerning newcomers in the household.
Grimm planted a hat atop his head. “You can count on Joseph Grimm, sir. None will harm her tonight.”
When Wyn turned from the closing door, the Falcon Club’s secretary stood in the parlor entrance.
“Welcome home, Yale.”
Wyn took Viscount Colin Gray’s extended hand. The nobleman’s clasp was like everything about him: powerful, steady, confident. Ten years ago Colin had found him at Cambridge, surpassing his masters in every subject, frustrated and restless like a caged animal fed on butchered meat while hungering for the hunt. Colin had brought him here, to help found an agency and do work for which he would rarely be thanked and never feted. Eager to make something of himself through the use of his intelligence, to prove his father and brothers wrong, Wyn had jumped at the chance.
“I have commandeered Grimm.” He released the viscount’s grasp and moved into the parlor, a modest, paneled chamber of quiet elegance that accommodated only five people. Five original members of the club, of which only he and Constance now remained along with Gray. But not for long.
The viscount moved to the sideboard. “What can I pour you?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
Gray’s steely blue eyes barely acknowledged the unprecedented moment. He poured and settled into a chair, glass in hand.
“What brings you here tonight, Yale? The need for Grimm only?”
“Alex Savege’s sister-in-law, Diantha Lucas, is being watched by a hireling of a nasty fellow. I need Grimm to keep her in sight until I can send you word that she is clear of danger.”
Gray nodded. “It was Diantha Lucas, then?”
“What was?”
The viscount stood and opened a small casket set on the mantel. From it he withdrew a folded sheet of foolscap and extended it to Wyn.
The hand crossing the paper was firm and feminine.
Attn: Secretary, The Falcon Club
14? Dover Street, London
Sir,
Despite the difficulties that my assistant faced on the road in following the member of your club that you call Raven, I do know the identity of this man. I will not disclose it here lest prying eyes intercept this message.
I am telling you this—rather than making it public to the people of England who deserve to know—because with Raven in Shropshire traveled a young lady of Quality. I am not interested in exposing innocent persons to the censure of society, only in uncovering injustice. I do not wish to bring Ignominy down upon the lady, yet I fear that if I reveal the identity of your fellow club member this lady will not escape unscathed. Thus, my hands are tied.
I felt it necessary to bring this to your attention, not only to inform you that I still wish to see your establishment exposed to the public for scrutiny, and its ledgers inspected, but also so that you will know I am quite sincere in my intentions. You, I think, know little of honor and less of gentility. But perhaps your friend, Raven, is another sort of man. I will rely upon it.
—LJ
Wyn folded the paper. “Then you and I needn’t dally in pleasantries any further. Clearly I am finished here, but I still need Grimm to watch her.”
Gray set the letter in the box and returned to his chair. “It will be his sole task until you say otherwise.” He took up his glass again. “But you needn’t be finished here.”
“I am to be dismissed from the club. I know this as well as you. Cut my jesses and set me free, finally, as you have intended these past several months.” The urgency pressing beneath his skin needed this finished now.
“The director has no wish to release you from service. You are valuable to this organization.”
“Come now, my lord. The Duke of Yarmouth is a pustule on the face of this kingdom and Lady Priscilla was a reprimand.” His heart raced. “Although really I didn’t mind it, as it provided me occasion to spend a delightful sojourn in a cramped hunting box in Manchester with a number of whoring gentlemen of little fashion and intelligence and no taste whatsoever in women.” And occasion to encounter a determined lady on a Mail Coach in the rain.
“Whether you wish to leave the club by your own volition is, of course, another matter,” Gray said as though he hadn’t spoken.
Wyn stared at the glass in the viscount’s hand. “You never jest, do you?”
“Rarely.” Gray’s face remained passive, his square jaw, proud nose, and serious regard the portrait of British power. “Do you truly wish to be jesting now?”
The fire crackled low on the grate, and on the street without, beyond the lead-reinforced windows of the Falcon Club’s headquarters, the muffled clatter of a carriage passed.
“The director did not choose this assignment for you as chastisement, Wyn. Yarmouth requested you specifically.”
Wyn sucked in his breath. He might have guessed it, but it made no sense.
“You have done admirable service for England. More than admirable. And you’ve made precious few mistakes.”
“Colin, you know precisely how many mistakes I have made.”
“One.” The viscount’s dark eyes snapped. “For this with Lady Justice cannot truly be accounted a mistake. That woman has had a watch on this building for nearly three years. Blackwood and Seton have not crossed the threshold in that time, and Constance comes cloaked and hooded in an unmarked carriage. I’ve little doubt Lady Justice knows my identity too and is merely awaiting the opportune moment to reveal it to the entire kingdom. But until that day I will continue our work. As you should.”
Gray knew. Not all, but he knew about Chloe’s death. The director knew much more, yet still he wanted him. But now it meant nothing to Wyn, not their praise or their grand designs for his future. Only the safety of a girl with lapis eyes mattered now.
“Colin, I thank you.” He bowed and left the club for the last time.
His flat was as he had left it earlier except in two details. Before his manservant departed for the night, as always he’d neatly prepared Wyn’s boots. And on the table by the hearth rested, as always, a full carafe of brandy and a single glass.
Wyn removed his coat and loosened his neck cloth as he walked to the table. The crystal decanter sparkled in the soft glow from the lamp. With hands steadier now than in months, he lifted the heavy stopper, and the rich aroma of the distilled wine lifted to him. It smelled remarkably good. But not as good as her. Not even close.
He took up the bottle and poured brandy into the glass. Swirling it, he appreciated the familiar weight in his hand, the comforting warmth of expectation, the knowledge that this glass, this decanter, would give him peace.
He lifted the tumbler to his lips and tilted the brandy back. It tasted like lamp oil and some distant memory of salvation. But he knew now what salvation truly tasted of, and the contents of this glass were not it.
