“Oh,” Daniel added, “and I just thought you’d want to know that Mr. Davies just arrived.”
Hugo did laugh at that, but the sound had no amusement in it. “Was he by himself?”
“Er, no, he had Jac and Gary with him.”
As Daniel stared at him, Hugo couldn’t help noticing that the younger man looked almost as sick as he felt. “Are you unwell?” he asked as he strode from the card room and headed toward the grand staircase that led to the suites.
“Er, no,” Daniel said, trotting along beside him. “I’m fine, sir.”
Hugo started up the stairs and then stopped when he realized that Daniel was still with him. “Was there anything else you needed?”
“Uh, no, sir.”
“Well, then you’d best get back to the door. It is going to be one of those nights.” And then some.
Daniel hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes, of course sir.”
Hugo watched the younger man leave and then turned and resumed his journey. It was only one flight of stairs, but it felt like a thousand.
On the second-floor landing Hugo turned right and headed toward the Diamond Suite. It was the most opulent set of rooms in the men’s side of the house.
Like its name, the Diamond Suite glittered with crystal chandeliers, cut mirrors, and gilt furniture, aping the grandeur of Versailles.
Unbeknownst to many patrons, every room at Solange’s had a small, secret room attached—usually referred to as a panel crib in the brothel trade. In the rougher, less savory whorehouses a male employee often hid in a panel crib, waiting for an opportune moment to pop out and rob a punter. At Solange’s, the panel cribs had comfortable benches or chairs and were used by clients who paid to watch others.
Tonight, Hugo knew it would be Bev who was watching and that he’d wait to pop out until Hugo was balls-deep in his royal highness. Oh what a night of drama old Bev had planned!
Outside the Diamond Suite were the usual four guards. Hugo wondered if it was his imagination, or if Gibson gave him a harder-than-usual look.
He smiled. “Mr. Gibson.”
Gibson ignored his greeting. “You can go in now,” he said, nodding to one of the others to open the door.
Just like the time before, the duke was buttoning his breeches and Maisie was getting up off her knees when Hugo entered. Hugo dropped a low bow and forced a confident smirk he wasn’t feeling. He jerked a dismissive nod at Maisie.
“I hope Maisie was to your liking, your royal highness,” he said, the words for the whore’s ears.
“Yes indeed, lovely, quite lovely.” The duke’s bulbous blue eyes looked uncharacteristically sharp tonight, even though his voice was as lazy and languid as ever. He gestured for Hugo to come closer, and Hugo didn’t stop until he stood between the duke and the panel crib peephole.
Bev could probably still hear what he said, but Hugo was blocking both his and the duke’s faces. Hopefully it would take a few seconds for Bev to figure out that things weren’t going as planned.
Not that Hugo had known what he was going to do or say until the words began to pour out of him. “This is a trap, your royal highness,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Eh?” The duke cupped his hand to his ear. “What’s that?”
Hugo wanted to scream. Instead, he said in a marginally louder voice. “I said it’s a trap. There’s a man hiding behind a second of wall—right behind me—and he is going to—”
“Stop where you are!” The muffled yell came from the direction of the panel crib.
Both Hugo and the duke jerked at the sound of smashing glass, which was followed by a thud that seemed to shake the very building.
“You are under arrest by the order of His Majesty, King George III, for—” A deafening bang cut off the rest of the sentence.
Part of the wall exploded, showering the room with splinters of wood, just as the door to the suite flew open and Gibson and his three henchmen rushed in, using their bodies to form a wall between the panel crib and the duke. “Your royal highness—are you—”
“I’m fine,” the duke said. “Go help the others.” He didn’t take his eyes from Hugo’s face.
A strangled cry, some vulgar shouting, and another loud crash came from the other side of the wall.
“It sounds like they might need it,” the duke added drily.
Gibson jerked out a nod and his three men ran out into the hall. Gibson stationed himself just outside the door, leaving it open.
“My visits to Solange’s have always pleased me,” the duke said, loudly enough to be heard by anyone still listening. “As has your loyalty and respect for my privacy.” He paused, and then added in a far softer voice. “I knew you would not disappoint me, Hugo.”
That was a hell of a lot more than Hugo had known.
“I shall miss your services greatly.”
Hugo had always thought the duke was rather vapid. But right then, intelligence and resolution shone in his gaze.
Before Hugo could come up with a response another man in non-descript clothing arrived at the door and Gibson let him through.
“Well?” the duke demanded.
“All went as planned, sir.”
“The weapons?” the duke asked.
“Our agents seized the guns and captured seven men—two employed by Davies and five with the radicals. One man died while trying to escape and another got away, but we have reason to believe that he was badly injured and hope to apprehend him before the night is over.”
Hugo blinked. Guns? Radicals? What?
“What were their names?” the duke asked, straightening the cuffs on his coat.
“They refused to tell us.” The messenger’s smile was grim. “But we’ll find—”
“Hugo, you bloody bastard!” Bev and his four captors stopped in the open doorway. The crime lord’s lip was bleeding and one of his eyes was swelling.
Hugo forced an insouciant grin he was far from feeling and sauntered toward him. “Going
