There you are. Thought I might find you down here.” Elise strolled into the kitchen, where Ivory was nursing a cup of warmed milk laced liberally with whiskey. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” Ivory admitted.
A full twenty-four hours had passed since Ivory had last seen Elise sitting at the gaming tables in her brother’s club. A full twenty-four hours had passed since Maximus Harcourt left her with promises that had her in a constant state of anticipation and longing.
She might never sleep again. At least not without dreams that left her restless and aroused.
But that was what happened when she let a man like Alderidge get under her skin. And now he was the only thing she could think of. Which was ridiculous and not a little embarrassing. She considered herself a woman of the world. Level-headed, self-possessed, intelligent. Not given to flights of fancy. But what she was feeling right now was unlike anything she had ever experienced. As though she had stepped off the edge of a cliff and was hurtling through space, unconcerned and uncaring where the bottom might be.
“Duchess?”
Startled, Ivory looked up to find Elise waving a hand in front of her face.
“Are you all right? You looked like you were a million miles away.”
Not a million miles. Just at the East India Docks with a pirate captain.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine.” She flushed and grasped for a change in topic. “Where were you?”
Elise shrugged and moved away, disappearing into the pantry. “At work.” Her voice was muffled. She made a sound of glee and emerged with a cloth-covered plate of scones. “In addition to helping you hide bodies, I am also an actress, in case you’ve forgotten. And some of us,” Elise said, uncovering the plate and putting it on the table, “still practice our craft on a stage and not in the middle of a gentleman’s club.” She sat down across from Ivory on a polished bench, selected a scone, and took an enormous bite with an appreciative sigh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
A pair of hazel eyes widened, and Elise nearly choked. “Surely you jest.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Let me refresh your memory then. It involved a duke, your mouth, and his hands on your—”
Despite her discomfiture, heat built instantly within her. “You saw that.”
“Half the people in the club saw that.”
Ivory groaned.
“Well, maybe I’m exaggerating. I doubt very many saw that. But I was watching. Because that is what I do.”
“I thought Alderidge was going to kill someone. I was trying to distract him.”
“Well, it worked. He didn’t kill anyone.” She had finished her scone and was reaching for another. “Or did he?”
Ivory shook her head. “Not that I am aware of. Yet.”
“Well, if the Viscount Stafford washes up against the bridge pilings in the morning, we’ll know you should have taken Alderidge home, tied him to your bed, and finished whatever you started.”
Ivory willed her expression to remain neutral, yet failed spectacularly, judging from Elise’s expression and the grin that was creeping across her face.
“Tell me he wasn’t a gentleman, Duchess.” It was said with glee.
Ivory wasn’t ready to discuss Maximus Harcourt and his promises with Elise just yet. “Don’t be absurd. Alderidge understood that what happened in the club wasn’t…real. I do not get involved with clients. Ever.”
Elise made a rude noise. “You both did a good job of convincing me otherwise. I saw the way he looked at you in that club, Duchess. And there was nothing pretend about it.”
“Do you have anything relevant that you’d like to add to this case that isn’t your opinion?” Ivory asked. She was not going to discuss what had happened last night. Or what might happen in the nights to come.
“Is the Duke of Alderidge still a client?” Elise asked innocently.
“No, as a matter of fact, he is not. His secretary settled his bill promptly this morning.”
“Well then, I have no idea what you’re waiting for, Duchess. Why you’re still sitting here and not tying His Grace—”
“Stop. Please.”
Elise gazed at her, and Ivory knew her face was flaming. “What is different about this man?” she asked.
“Your brother asked the same thing. And I’ll tell you what I told him. Nothing.”
“Is it because he doesn’t know who you used to be?”
“What? Why would that matter?”
“Because he has no interest in the Ivory who once graced great stages and who men competed to own. Because he has no interest in the Ivory who became the Duchess of Knightley. He simply wants…you. Just as you are now.”
Ivory stared into her cup. Elise saw too much, which made her unnerving. And made her invaluable.
Elise leaned forward and perused the remaining scones on the plate. “Lady Beatrice was having an affair with Debarry, wasn’t she?”
She was giving Ivory a reprieve, and they both knew it. “Yes.”
“I was right!” Elise crowed.
“What’s more, his lordship had apparently fallen madly in love with her. Even wanted to marry her.”
“You don’t say?” Elise sobered slightly. “Debarry’s death must have been a horrible shock. I can see why Lady Beatrice panicked so completely.”
“Mmmm.”
“The duke must have been relieved. Well, perhaps relieved is the wrong word. No one wants to know that much about a sibling’s sexual escapades, believe me.”
“Mmmm.”
Elise narrowed her eyes. “Stop mmmm-ing me. I know that look too well.”
“She’s leaving London.” There was still something about that that bothered Ivory.
“Who?”
“Lady Beatrice.”
Elise paused with her hand halfway to the plate, startled. “How do you know that?”
“She sent Alderidge a second message last night. Apologizing for her actions and asking him not to look for her.”
“Hmph. Well, I can understand that. I wouldn’t much want that man hunting me down for indiscretions either.” She chose a scone as her eyes narrowed. “And what do you mean second message? When did she send the first one?”
Ivory related the contents of the first note that had been delivered to the duke, and the circumstances of its delivery.
“So Lady Beatrice was lucky enough to have an unidentified gentleman at the ball help her escape from the house and send messages on her behalf. His Grace should probably be sending him a thank-you.” Elise paused. “Did you suggest that Alderidge leave London altogether as well? Lady Beatrice might be persuaded to return home earlier if her brother is not ominously lurking in some dark corner of the house just waiting to pounce. You’ll have to kiss the duke again once he finds his sister in order to keep him from killing her—”
“What did you say?” Ivory sat straight up.
“I said you’ll have to kiss the duke again—”
“No, before that.”
“That an unidentified man from the ball had helped Lady Beatrice.”
“Why from the ball?”
Elise blinked. “Well, someone must have told her Alderidge was back. She wrote a note to her brother, not to Lady Helen, in the wee hours of the morning. And the only people who knew the duke was in London were the people who would have seen him at his ball. The duke said he came directly from the docks to his house, and it’s not like there was a parade organized through the streets of London to herald his return.”
Ivory groaned. That was a detail that never should have slipped by her. Why had she missed that?
Because you’ve been distracted by Maximus Harcourt ever since Maximus Harcourt stepped into your life.
Elise tore a piece from her scone, her head tipped in thought. “Whoever it was likely smuggled Lady Beatrice to his home, or somewhere close. He probably left and came back, but his absence may not have been noted if he wasn’t gone long.”
“You’re right.” Ivory stood, stepping over the bench. “I need a guest list. I have a general description of the man, at least enough to exclude a large number of more, er, substantial guests. We can start visiting the mews behind each of their homes. Beatrice did not walk very far in her chemise. Somewhere there is a driver or a groom who saw something.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find the duke.”
“But it’s the middle of the night.”
“Which is why I am not going to Lady Helen’s.” Ivory was already at the door.
“Do you want to take some red silk ribbons with you?” Elise called after her, and Ivory could hear the smirk that lay beneath her words.
* * *
After dropping Ivory at her door last night, Max had considered going straight to the docks, but in the end he’d gone back to his home in St James’s. Whether it was guilt or his inability to avoid what was his responsibility, he couldn’t run away from the difficult conversation that was waiting for him with Helen. It was best to deal with unpleasantness immediately. Procrastination never did anyone any favors.
He had crept into his silent house and slept a few hours before being wakened by the dawn. He was waiting in the morning room when his aunt came down, and once she was seated, he told her everything as he knew it. There was no point in leaving out any of the details, or trying to soften the blow. His aunt deserved to know the truth. All of it.
She absorbed his words with her usual silent stoicism. He couldn’t for the life of him tell what she was feeling. Angry? Disappointed? Or possibly both. At Beatrice and himself. He’d offered to stay to keep her company, but she’d declined. In fact, she’d suggested it would be better if he stayed somewhere else for a few days.
Max had returned to the East India Docks and thrown himself into his work that had been neglected. Luckily, most of his crew were ashore, enjoying their hard-earned money in other pursuits. The few who were keeping an eye on the Odyssey seemed to sense his agitation and gave him a wide berth. There was a reason he hired smart men.
There had been customs officials to deal with, supplies to order, and a full report to be reviewed on the condition of the ship and the repairs required. He’d inspected sails, caulking, and cannons. He’d even spent time unearthing the letters his sister had sent him over the years, skimming the most recent for clues that might tell him where she had fled, but he’d come up empty-handed.
As darkness fell he’d tried to find rest within the familiar confines of his cabin, but sleep had eluded him. The small hours of the morning had found him pacing the upper decks of the Odyssey, his thoughts swinging wildly between Ivory Moore and his sister, who was still missing.
He wanted Ivory. With an intensity that unsettled him. Yet how could he allow himself the luxury of pursuing pleasure when Beatrice was still out there somewhere? If he were an honorable man, a good man, a decent brother, he would be doing everything in his power to make sure she was safe. Not chasing his own selfish desires.
He had thought he could give Beatrice her space and trust that she would come back when she was ready. Except, he finally admitted to himself, he couldn’t.
Not that he would chase after her or show up somewhere, demanding that she return home with him. He didn’t want to spook her further. But he needed to know where she was. Just so he could keep a careful eye on her welfare from a distance. Make sure she had somewhere safe to stay. Enough to eat. Until she was ready to come back.
He didn’t care about Debarry or that she’d had an affair with him. Well, he cared, but he certainly wasn’t going to disown Bea over it. Her judgment had been horrific—she’d been reckless and selfish and unthinking—but she was still his sister. He still loved her.
The Odyssey was moored directly to the wharves, and the ship was unnaturally still. Protected as it was from the currents and the wind, there wasn’t even the slap of water against the hull to break up the silence of the night. Tonight it was cold and clear, the moon creating strange shapes and shadows all around him. A light fog drifted around the forest of masts within the basin, giving the illusion of a moonlit fleet flying through the clouds. It was almost eerie.
Max knew that by dawn the docks would come alive, and the sounds of men and beasts starting their daily toils would echo across the basin and bounce off the looming walls of the warehouses that ringed the docks. People would go on about their daily lives.
And somewhere out there, Beatrice still eluded him.
He jammed his hands into his pockets, his fingers finding a square of heavy paper. He drew the card out of his pocket, smoothing out a corner that had been bent. No matter how he looked at it, he still needed Ivory. Not for himself, but for his sister. Needed her cleverness, her resources, her calm assurances. He needed—
“Your Grace?”
Max’s heart shot into his throat, and he spun, his hand going to the blade strapped firmly at his waist.
Ivory Moore was standing on the deck, the hood of her cloak pushed back, the moonlight illuminating her hair and her face. It was as if she had appeared, summoned simply by his thoughts. Instantly he found himself fighting the impulsive, powerful part of him that was demanding he simply sweep her up into his arms and carry her belowdecks. The part of him demanding that he take her now and kiss her senseless and make good on every promise he had given her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked instead, the decent, honorable part of him winning the battle. For now.
“Looking for you.”
An unholy shiver of pleasure traveled straight down his spine before he froze. “Alone? At this time of the night? Are you out of your mind?”
“You’re still up.”
“And so are half the thieves and murderers in London.”
Ivory smiled faintly. “I know half the thieves and murderers in London, Your Grace. Most of them have worked for me at one time or another.”
“So what are you doing here?”
She was silent for a moment. “I’m still worried about your sister.”
His heart squeezed. “That makes two of us.”
“The person who delivered that note was at your ball,” she said suddenly. “Whoever he was who helped your sister, and dropped off her messages, he was there. There is no other way your sister could have known to write that note to you.”
Max started. Of course.
“Your aunt will have a complete guest list. Once I have it, I will go through it and make a list of possible candidates. If I can determine who helped Lady Beatrice, I might be able to discover where she has gone.”
Max dropped his head, his initial spurt of optimism fading in the face of reality. “Even if you determine the identity of the man who helped Bea, it would seem to me that this individual is solely in her corner. I highly doubt that he will tell me where she has gone.”
“You might be surprised at the information I can extract from individuals when required.”
Max looked at her sharply, a chill chasing its way across his skin, but she was staring serenely out at the water. He wasn’t sure what to say to that, but images of racks and other diabolical torture devices flashed before his eyes.
“I keep them in the basement,” she said without looking at him. “In the space behind the kitchen and the pantries.”
“Keep what?”
“My prisoners and all of my instruments of torture. That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” She was smiling faintly, and Max realized she was teasing him.
“Your sense of humor is deeply unsettling, Miss Moore,” he remarked, though he was grinning despite himself as he said it.
“So you’ve mentioned.” She turned, another smile playing at her lips. “I am a businesswoman, Your Grace, not a Spanish Inquisitor. Information is a commodity, just like anything else.” She paused. “Besides, I stopped using the rack months ago.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, whatever teasing had been in her voice fading.
“For what?” What could she possibly have to be sorry for?
“For not realizing sooner that whoever helped your sister was at that ball.”
“I didn’t catch it either.”
“Yes, but it is my job not to miss details like that.”
Max stared down at her, her eyes glittering in the moonlight. “I’m glad you’re here,” was all he said.
She reached for him, and he took her hands and gathered her against him. He felt her arms slip around his waist, and her head rested against his chest. It wasn’t an embrace of passion, but one of partnership. It was strange, this sudden realization that, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t truly alone.
“We’ll find her,” she whispered. “I promise.”
They stood like that for a timeless minute, the silence around them complete. Until somewhere on the starboard side of the Odyssey, footsteps could be heard across the deserted docks, followed by the sound of someone singing loudly, at a drunken volume that was enough for the sound to reach them high up on the deck. Whoever was walking beside the sleeping ships was in a very buoyant mood. Max cocked his head as the person drew closer to where the Odyssey was moored. He couldn’t make out words, but the song that reached his ears was familiar. He’d heard it recently. On the steps of a church. In Ivory’s study.
Against him Ivory had gone completely still. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“‘V’adoro, pupille.’”
“Coincidence?” Max asked.
She pulled away from him. “There are no such thing as coincidences in my business, Your Grace.”
* * *
They’d moved silently to the rail, and in the pale moonlight, a man came into view, shreds of dissipating fog swirling around his booted feet. He was wearing a thick coat, and his hair gleamed wetly in the moonlight, having been slicked back from his face. A dark beard covered his lower jaw, and he was weaving slightly, as though he was drunk. Ivory strained to make out the man’s features. The docks were dangerous at night. Not many people chose to walk alone. And certainly not while drunk.
The notes of the melody rose and fell. There was no way such an obscure opera aria would be hummed twice in two days by two different men. Well, anything was possible, Ivory corrected herself. Though the odds of such a happenstance were unlikely. And she always deferred to the odds.
“Black,” Alderidge whispered.
“What?”
“That man. That’s Richard Black. Captain of the Azores.”
“You know him?”
“Yes.” There was a catch of hesitation.
“Who is Richard Black?” The man had drawn closer yet, and Ivory could see that his coat was hanging open. In his hand an old-fashioned tricorne swung, some sort of feather in the brim bobbing with each step he took. Occasionally the man would start to list to one side, before correcting his gait with the extra care of someone who was well in his cups.
“He captains an Indiaman for the company, same as me. His ship will be moored here somewhere.”
“He a friend?”
“Sort of. Not exactly.”
“What does not exactly mean?”
“Black is a bit of an…entrepreneur. He smuggles a fair amount of cargo to England that never makes it onto company manifests. Or any type of manifest, for that matter.”
“Like what?”
“Stolen art and antiquities. Opium. Liquor. Persian carpets. Rare fabrics. It changes based on demand.”
“Hmph.” Ivory absorbed this information. “And yet you look the other way?”
“Black has a web of informants throughout the ports from here to Bombay. He is a trader of information as well as goods—a man who seems to have an ear everywhere. The routes we navigate are dangerous. So long as I have information that allows me to keep my men and my ships safe, what Black chooses to put in his holds is not my concern.”
“Ah. This captain—does he know Beatrice?”
Alderidge shook his head. “No. At least I can’t imagine so. I’ve never spoken about her to him.”
“Never? Not even in passing?”
“No.”
“Not even at the bottom of a good bottle of rum?”
Alderidge scowled at her. “No.”
“You sure?” Ivory was searching for a possible connection. This man fit the general description Collette had given them. And he was whistling the same obscure aria. Was it possible that this was the person who had helped Bea?
“Yes, I’m sure.” There was an edge to the duke’s voice now. “We’re not exactly drinking partners.”
A thought struck Ivory. “Bea said in her last message that she was leaving London. Do you suppose she might have appealed to this captain for passage to India?”
Beside her she heard Alderidge suck in his breath. “Oh God.”
“You said she’s asked you to take her to India. Do you think it’s possible she decided to take matters into her own hands?”
“She wouldn’t,” the duke breathed.
“Wouldn’t she? If that was her plan and your sister is anything like you, it may be a wonder if she isn’t already halfway there by now.”
Beside her Alderidge was silent, tension rolling off him in palpable waves.
“Did you ever mention this captain to Beatrice? In a letter? In conversation?”
“Yes,” he said tightly. “She loved to hear of the infamous Captain Black and his exploits. I embellished them for her benefit.”
“He wasn’t at your ball, was he?”
“Of course he wasn’t.” Alderidge stopped. “At least, I didn’t see him at the ball.”
Ivory peered out again. The captain had almost drawn even with the Odyssey, and his gait was becoming increasingly more erratic. Suddenly Ivory became aware of three men closing in on the drunken captain from behind, and they were clearly not drunk.
“He’s got company,” Ivory whispered.
Alderidge grunted and the sound of steel sliding from its sheath hissed near her ear.
“What are you going to do?” Ivory whispered.
“I can’t stand by and watch while he gets his fool throat slit.”
The hunters were drawing nearer to their prey. The sound of blades being drawn finally alerted Black that something was not quite right. He spun, and the thieves checked their speed, spreading out to surround their quarry.
The captain drew his own blade in a fluid movement, suddenly looking a whole lot less intoxicated than he had a second ago.
“The bastard is toying with them.” Alderidge groaned.
“What?”
“He’s stone-cold sober and obviously looking for a fight,” he muttered, letting the tip of his blade drop.
The thieves were edging closer. One of them called out to another.
“Those are the Harris brothers,” Ivory said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Those thieves”—she gestured at the three men now circling like wolves—“are not your average dockside riffraff. All long veterans of Wellington’s army. The French never did manage to kill them, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. And now they’ve found themselves without work, like so many other soldiers.”
“You know them?”
“Like I told you, Your Grace, half the thieves in London have worked for me at one time or another.”
Black seemed to have suddenly realized that he wasn’t facing a ragged group of inexperienced thieves. He crouched defensively as the first one came at him. He parried, with the skill of an accomplished swordsman, though he was forced a step closer to the water. The thief retreated, and the second one came at him with the same result.
“The Harrises usually work the Finish by my place,” Ivory told Alderidge, making her way down the deck to where long planks connected the ship to the dock.
“The what?” He was on her heels.
“The coffeehouse at the end of the square. Near the market. Where all the drunken aristocrats with fat purses wind up at the end of their escapades, trying to flush the alcohol from their veins with copious amounts of terrible coffee.” She shook her head. “Not sure why they are so far afield tonight, though I can only assume that the captain here has enough on him to make the distance worth it. But no matter how good Black is with that blade, I can guarantee that this will not end well for him.”
“Idiot,” the duke grumbled as the sound of steel clashing against steel bounced off the walls of the warehouses. He and Ivory had reached firm footing on the docks and were advancing, unnoticed. Alderidge reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her behind him.
“Your Grace,” Ivory began, trying to regain her position.
“Don’t Your Grace me,” he snapped at her, deftly planting his bulk between her and the combatants. “This will get dangerous. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Ivory rolled her eyes, even as something warm and exhilarating rushed through her body. “Your sentiments, Your Grace, are admirable but—”
“Stay,” he barked.
“Oh, for the love of God,” Ivory muttered. She put two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle.
Alderidge jerked and swore. “What the hell are you doing?” He glared at her before shoving her behind him again.
She had drawn the attention of all four men, and the three thieves withdrew slightly, the better to assess the new threat. Black regained the ground he had lost.
“Captain Harcourt,” Black called out, somewhat breathless, but with his bravado firmly in place. “What brings you out here on such a fine night?”
“The possibility of watching your ego finally get the best of you.”
The captain bent and retrieved his tricorne from where it had fallen to the ground. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Ivory shoved past Max. “As competent as you are with that blade, you’re not going to fight your way out of this, Captain Black,” she said briskly. “I know it, you know it, and they know it.” She gestured at the thieves still waiting, giving the tallest a slight warning shake of her head as she saw recognition flash in his eyes. “And so I have a business proposal for you.”
Black straightened, staring at Ivory as though she had appeared in a puff of smoke. “You know my name, my lady, but I do not have the privilege of yours. And I always make it my business to know the names of beautiful women.” He bowed and swept his hat in front of him with his free hand.
The gesture was ridiculous, and Ivory almost laughed out loud. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Captain. Now pay the men, and go about your business. I suspect you’ll find them quite reasonable.”
“I will do no such thing,” the captain said indignantly. “That is akin to highway robbery.”
“It is the price of underestimating your opponents, Captain,” Ivory said.
Black gazed at her, his eyes as dark as the night. “Wherever did you find her, Harcourt?” he asked. “She is rather…charming.”
Ivory heaved a sigh. “I was told you were usually smarter than this, Captain.”
Black’s eyes darted to where Alderidge stood. To his credit, the duke was watching the scene unfold with what looked like detached amusement.
“Have you got nothing to say, Harcourt?” he asked insolently.
“Not really.” Alderidge shrugged. “The lady has pretty much said everything that needs to be said.”
“And since when do you let a woman speak for you?”
“Since she’s right.”
Ivory kept her eyes trained on the captain, afraid to look at Alderidge.
The captain swore in disgust. “Very well, you bastards.” He yanked a small purse from his waist. “This is all I’ve got.” He threw it at the tallest thief, who caught it deftly. The thief weighed it in his hand.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Captain,” Ivory said in a bored voice.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The rest of it.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Ivory shrugged. “Very well. We’ll let these gentlemen find it.” She crossed her arms.
The Harris brothers advanced menacingly.
Black uttered a string of curses that did justice to his profession. “Oh, very well,” he snarled. A second purse, twice the size, followed the first. The tallest thief considered it.
“Enough for the night?” Ivory asked him.
“Aye. It’ll do.” The thief smiled at her through his beard. “An’ a good evening to you, Duchess,” he said, before he and his companions vanished into the night.
“You planned that!” Black was staring at her, the thief’s address having made him realize that they knew her.
“I most certainly did not.” Ivory’s lips thinned. “I’m not in the habit of planning small-scale robberies at the East India Docks.”
“But you knew them.”
“Of course I knew them,” Ivory snapped. “What sort of idiot would put herself in between an obnoxious captain and three thieves with swords unless she knew who the winning team was going to be?”
The captain blinked at her a few times before he threw his head back and laughed. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and jammed his tricorne back on his head. “I think I’m in love,” he cackled. “What would it take to convince you to have dinner with me, my lady? Or breakfast?”
“Sod off, Black,” Alderidge said.
“Ah, Captain Harcourt finally finds his voice!” Black sheathed his sword and stepped toward the two of them. “I must confess, I rather thought you’d be at one of your fancy house parties, all dressed up in your fancy clothes. Your Grace.” He said the last mockingly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I’m looking for a woman,” Alderidge said.
“A woman? What, this one isn’t enough for you?” Black’s eyes touched on Ivory lightly before swinging back to the duke.
“This woman would have been seeking passage out of England, perhaps. Sometime in the last two days.”
“And why the hell would I tell you anything, Harcourt?” Black asked. “Information has a price.”
“We just saved your life,” Alderidge reminded him rudely.
“No, my money saved my life,” Black corrected him. “And I have to confess, I am rather peeved that it took so much.”
“I’ll replace it tenfold if you can provide me with the information I seek. I have money.”
“Yes, yes, I know that. Unfortunately, so do I. I don’t need your money, Harcourt.”
“Dinner then,” Ivory spoke up.
Genuine interest sparked in Black’s eye. “With you?”
“Unless you’d prefer to spend your time over wine and roast chicken with Captain Harcourt.”
“No, I most certainly would not. Too upstanding for my tastes.” His eyes traveled the length of Ivory, though she saw only curiosity in his expression. “But you intrigue me. You have yourself a deal.”
“There is no deal,” Alderidge nearly shouted.
“You were doing better when the lady was speaking for you, Harcourt,” the captain said rudely.
Ivory cleared her throat. “Tell the duke what you know. Then we can decide how much that information is worth.”
Black was looking at her with delight. “My God, she isn’t charming, Harcourt, she’s positively enchanting.” He rubbed his hands together. “I must insist on a name first. As a show of good faith. Surely that’s fair.”
“Miss Moore.”
“Miss Moore,” Black repeated. “A fine start to a beautiful…friendship. And what shall I call you over dessert?”
“Depends what you have to tell Captain Harcourt.”
Black’s face fell slightly, and he heaved a sigh. “Very well. No woman has been on the docks in the past two days looking for passage.”
“Are you sure?” Alderidge demanded.
“Of course I’m sure.” Black looked insulted. “I know everything that goes on on these docks. I make it my business to know. I pay people to tell me what goes on.”
“Dammit,” Alderidge swore.
“What were you singing earlier?” Ivory asked quietly.
Black’s expression went blank. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were singing.” Ivory sang the opening of the aria. “What was it?”
Black shook his head, even as he gazed at Ivory curiously. “I have no idea.”
“If you don’t know what it was, where did you hear it?”
The captain’s eyes shuttered suddenly, as if a wall had come down.
“The lady asked you a question, Black,” the duke growled. He was examining the tip of his blade with his fingers.
“Don’t remember.”
“Think hard, Captain.” Ivory raised a brow.
“That might cost you more than just dinner, Miss Moore.”
Before Ivory could say a thing, Alderidge had the captain by the throat, his blade pressed to the man’s neck. She blinked, both stunned and impressed by how fast Alderidge had moved.
“Bloody hell, Harcourt, what’s wrong with you?” Black demanded.
“That song. What is it?”
“Have you lost your mind?” The captain was struggling against Alderidge’s superior size and strength.
“The song. What is it?”
“I don’t know!” Black snapped, looking just as furious now as Alderidge. “It was something I heard a chap humming. It was catchy. I haven’t been able it get it out of my head all day. Now get your hands off me.”
“Where did you hear it?” Ivory asked.
“What does it matter?”
“Where?” Alderidge demanded, the blade pressing against soft flesh.
Black winced. “When I was making a delivery today.”
“Which was where?”
“Why would I tell you—”
“Where?”
“He heard it at Helmsdale House,” Ivory said, everything suddenly very, very clear. Her heart dropped to her toes.
Black jerked in shock and then flinched as Alderidge’s blade bit into the top layer of his skin. “How do you know that?”
“The delivery you were making. Stolen antiquities taken from a cave in the desert. You sold them to King, didn’t you? For his auction.”
Black’s eyes were wide. “Who are you?”
Ivory ignored him. “The man you heard humming that tune, what did he look like?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”
“You were paying enough.”
Black made a noise of frustration. “Average. He wasn’t big, like this hulking gorilla here.” He strained against the choke hold Alderidge still had him in. “Just another cove making a delivery like me.”
“You don’t know his name?”
“I make it a point not to know. I just obtain the requested merchandise and deliver it in a timely fashion.”
“Where is this Helmsdale House?” Alderidge had been listening, but now it would seem his patience was at an end and he wanted answers.
“Just north of London. Not far from Kentish Town. It is owned by King,” Ivory told him.
Alderidge was looking over Black’s shoulder at Ivory. “And this King. Who is he? That night at the club, you told me King was a businessman.”
Black made some sort of wheezing gasp of laughter. “And I’m a Russian czar.” His laughter stopped with a strangled grunt as the duke tightened his hold.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Alderidge growled.
“He’s a fence,” Ivory said flatly. “Of the most elite sort. He caters to the very wealthy and very privileged. He specializes in stolen art and antiquities, but he will buy and sell anything that will make him a profit. Jewelry, narcotics, horses, even real estate. More than one peer has sought him out, desperate to trade a family treasure for quick cash, or to sell something he never should have had in the first place. King’s tentacles reach equally deep into the underworld as they do upward into the ranks of society. The man has no conscience.”
“And this auction—what is it?”
“It is how King sells his inventory. His auctions are held annually, at the height of the London season. The event is by invitation only, and the men who attend are collectors with deep pockets and little regard for the law. Because it isn’t enough just to sell. He—”
“Pits these men against each other. Each vying not only to possess something, but to ensure another can’t.” Alderidge finished her thought.
Ivory nodded. “Exactly.”
The duke suddenly let the man down with a thump, and Black staggered slightly before righting himself. Alderidge produced a small miniature from his pocket. “This girl. Did you see her there?”
Black straightened his coat and his collar and gave the duke a dark look. “That was entirely uncalled for, Harcourt. I might remember that the next time I get word that there is a fleet of pirates around the Cape waiting to welcome the Odyssey and pick her bones clean.”
“The girl. Tell me if you saw her there.” The words were tight. “Please.”
Black drew in a deep breath and held out his hand for the miniature. He tipped it toward the moonlight and frowned. “I can’t tell. I need a better light.”
Alderidge muttered something under his breath and disappeared.
Black watched Alderidge retreat before he turned to Ivory. “Whatever you think you want with King, Miss Moore, I must, in good conscience, advise that you reconsider and keep your distance. It is true that my business with King has been quite lucrative, but I would no sooner turn my back on him than I would a jackal.”
Ivory considered him. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because, Miss Moore, you seem like a rather…fascinating woman. It would be a shame should anything unfortunate befall you.”
“Is this another attempt at flattery, Captain Black?”
“No, it’s not. It’s a warning. King is mercurial. Unpredictable. And people who complicate King’s life have a habit of disappearing.”
Ivory held his gaze, silent.
“But you already knew that.” Black was watching her speculatively.
“I am well acquainted with King and his business practices,” Ivory admitted.
“Hmmm. Do you know, I believe that.” Black paused, his eyes shrewd, before he suddenly grinned. “If—when you tire of Harcourt, please remember me. Whatever is in my power to give you is yours.”
“Do not make promises you don’t intend to keep,” said Ivory.
“I never make promises lightly, Miss Moore.” Black’s expression was serious.
“Mmmm. So if I needed you to—”
“To tell us if you saw the girl in the miniature.” Alderidge had returned with a lantern, slightly out of breath and frowning fiercely. He held it up near Black and gestured at the little painting still in his hand. “Did you see her there?”
Black looked away from Ivory reluctantly and returned his attention to the miniature he still had in his hand. “Yes. Yes, I believe she was there.”
“Thank God.” Alderidge blew out a breath. “You’re sure?”
Black shrugged slightly, though something about his body language had changed. “As sure as I can be from a little painting.”
“She has blond hair, lighter than mine. About your height. Greyish eyes. A mole on the left side of her face, high on her cheek.”
“Yes. She was there.” The words sounded stilted now.
“Was she there with that gentleman?” Ivory asked into the silence. “The one who was humming?”
“You could say that.” The captain was watching Alderidge.
“Please clarify,” Ivory said, stepping closer to Black.
“The gentleman brought her there.”
“I don’t understand. Was she his guest? Is she to attend this auction that this man is having?” The duke’s early relief was giving way to confusion. He set the lantern down at their feet.
“No.” The captain’s eyes slid to Ivory. “She is to be part of the auction tomorrow night.”
A cold finger of dread slithered down her spine. “She is for sale.”
“Yes. That was my understanding.” The captain was edging away from Alderidge, who had gone completely still. Black made a moue of distaste. “A bad business, that.”
“You left her there?” The duke’s voice was barely audible.
Black held up his hands. “None of my concern what goes on in those fancy rich houses. Men like what they like.”
Alderidge lunged toward Black, but this time the captain had anticipated it. He evaded the duke by a hair. “I only saw the girl once before I left. Heard the man say she would be kept where she couldn’t cause trouble and brought back to Helmsdale tomorrow night for the auction. She’s to be a grand finale of sorts.”
Ivory felt bile rise in her throat. “Did you hear her say anything?”
“No. Silent as a church mouse, that one.”
“And you left her there?” Alderidge repeated again, and this time there was fury in his voice. “Knowing why she was there?”
“I get paid to provide objects,” Black said harshly. “Bits of porcelain and jade and gold. Baubles worn by people who have been dead for centuries. Paintings created by more dead people. Things for men whose pocketbooks are only exceeded by their greed and their desire to own something that no one else can. I grew up in the slums of Liverpool, Harcourt. Every day that I can go to sleep warm and without hunger gnawing at my insides is a good day for me. I’ve done what I need to do to get here, and I will continue to do so. I won’t apologize for it. That girl will survive, because she will have to. Just like I did.”
“That was my sister.”
Black’s ferocious expression slackened. “I beg your pardon?”
“The blonde is my sister. She’s been missing for two days.” The duke looked like he would happily tear Black in two.
“I didn’t know.” Black looked genuinely discomfited.
Ivory stepped in between the two men. “Of course you didn’t.”
“What can I do?”
“You could supply us with details,” Ivory said, marshaling her wits. “Captain Harcourt agrees not to slit your throat and feed you to his beloved sharks. In return, you will agree to tell us everything you can remember so that his sister, whom you left to her fate, might be returned safely to his care.” She looked between the two men. “Are we agreed?”