Chapter Two
Going straight from the theatre to Boodle’s men’s club, Adam sought the table where his friends were certain to be playing cards. As expected, his brother Frederick, Duke of Thornton, and Colin, Marquess of Markham were deep in their pockets in a game of faro with three other club members.
His brother noticed him first. “You didn’t expect us to wait for you, did you?”
“No, Thorn, of course not.” Unable to go into detail with the other card players there, Adam said simply, “I was watching our friend perform.”
“You’ve taken up with an actress, then?” Mr. Grayson was the oldest man at the table, owner of a shipping company and, as such, was looked down on by the more prideful people of the aristocracy. Thorn and Markham had little care about where their winnings came from. A win was a win, regardless of the lineage of the loser.
“Ah, perhaps I should.” Adam wished he had Markham’s knack for a quick quip. He pulled up a chair, hoping the game would end soon, or Markham and Thorn would join him a more private setting. Biting the fingertip of his leather glove, he tugged it off and studied his finger in better light. There was only a small ring of swelling around the pin prick wound, and the skin around it was merely pink, yet it stung to high heavens.
“Smash your hand again, Adam? Your lack of grace astounds me.” Markham placed his bet on the next hand, grinning.
“No, I upset the creature that had decided to make itself at home inside my collar.” Embarrassed at being exposed as weak, he tugged his glove on and glanced at the clock on a nearby table. 2:15. He might wait several more hours before the game ended and he could speak to Thorn and Markham alone.
In truth, Adam would prefer to go home and handle Boiselle on his own, but knew how foolish that idea was. Pierre Boiselle was an experienced spy, and a skilled one, as he was here in London living as Mr. Tilney without raising suspicion. His English was flawless, unaccented, and his manner unassuming, so he only drew attention to himself when he was on stage.
That perplexed Adam—why put himself center stage, so to speak, when trying to keep from being discovered? Either Boiselle believed everyone would assume him to be innocent because of this, or the person he communicated with was also connected to the theatre. Another actor, perhaps? Adam needed to find an excuse to be there each night to see who the man interacted with.
The card game broke up shortly after three, and only Thorn and Markham remained at the table with Adam. After they pocketed their winnings, Thorn asked, “What news do you bring?”
“Boiselle left unnoticed, but I spoke with a girl who works backstage. If I befriend her, I have an excuse to be there nightly.”
“Do you think he’d be so foolish as to meet with someone in such a public place? There are too many stagehands around.” Markham nodded to the banker, dismissing him, then brushed something off his sleeve.
“That’s precisely why it makes the perfect cover. Patrons wander in and out unnoticed, slipping into dressing rooms and such. If the messenger was a lady, she’d cause absolutely no distraction.”
“I fail to see how seeing a woman leave his dressing room proves anything other than he’s a lucky bastard.” Thorn said. “If she’s carrying an encrypted message it might help, but by the time you found the note and we decipher it, the information would be out of date.”
“There’s where you both can help.” Adam glanced from on to the other. “Seduce the messenger to see if she carries a return message.”
“I’m as eager as you to see the man punished for the death of our uncle, but not at the expense of my reputation.” Thorn and Adam pinned Markham with their gazes.
“What? Just because they call me the Miscreant, I have to sacrifice my evenings in trite flirtation?” Markham shook his head. “No. Find another way I might help you. Have you even seen a woman in his dressing room?”
Adam ducked his head.
“I thought not.”
Thorn swept back his thick brown hair, leaning back in his chair. “I’m as eager as you are to avenge our uncle’s death. Wellington was generous to let you take on the case, given your closeness to the situation. You must bottle up your emotions and think clearly. One of the others can watch the theatre. You’re the image of Uncle Fitzwilliam; Boiselle’s bound to recognize you.”
Adam waved at a passing footman to bring him a whisky. The faces of his aunt and their children never left him. He felt their pain more strongly than his own. Aunt Caroline still didn’t know what her husband had really been doing in Almeida, Portugal, the year before. She’d believed him to be traveling regarding an investment, not aiding General Lord Wellington.
Working beside his uncle before his death, Adam asked Wellington to allow him to continue their pursuit of Pierre Boiselle, and received orders to do so. In the year since, he’d left Almeida, following the Frenchman to Spain, London, Paris, and back to London. Feeling like a failure, Adam hadn’t found any proof of Boiselle being one of Napoleon’s spies. But he knew in his heart who was responsible for Uncle Fitzwilliam’s death.
At some point in the future, Adam looked forward to telling her and his cousins about their uncle’s heroic acts, but doing so now would put too many people in danger. Their cousins, aged twelve and fourteen, might try to enlist in the army once they were old enough. They had no need for the income, given their allowances, but their passion for revenge could make them take unnecessary risks.
His own risks weren’t unnecessary—he’d already been spying for the King the three years prior. He knew how to keep himself safe, and put as few other people in danger as possible, including Thorn. His brother’s safety was paramount—he held the family title. As much as his friends and fellow spies claimed to be working for their King, Adam fought to protect his family.
Thorn raised his glass and took a swallow. “Where is Boiselle during the day?”
“Sleeping, like the majority of the ton,” Adam answered.
“Are you certain? Wouldn’t that be the perfect time for him to move about unnoticed? Even the footpads wait until dark to prey, so the watchmen are more prevalent.”
Adam stood. “I have a footman observing the comings and goings at Boiselle’s home. I just can’t be in enough places to keep my eye on the man when he isn’t performing. I’ll find a way, however.” He began to walk away, but Thorn stopped him.
“You know we’ll help you when you have something more specific you need. Take more of my men, as many as you require. Our best chance is to find the evidence we need while he’s here in London.”
Nodding, Adam left the club. Thorn felt the loss of their uncle as deeply as Adam did, but he’d always been the more circumspect of the two brothers. Adam had continually earned the disapproval of their father and their professors, although their friends, including Markham, cheered him on. Sometimes he wondered if they laughed at him, not with him, but it mattered little. He spent little time attempting to please others.
He yawned. The streets were quiet, only the occasional carriage driving past. He flagged down a hack to take him home, and planned to sleep very late once he got there.