Two

It felt like they waited for hours in the dimly lit parlor for Nightshade’s man. Angelique sat quietly, her eyelids dropping in the semidarkness. Portia almost envied the old woman her drowsiness as her disquiet steadily grew. The longer they sat unattended, the harder it was going to be to track Lily down.

Portia wondered if perhaps the rude little butler had simply gone to bed rather than informing his master of his guests. After making her hundredth turn at the fireplace, she took off toward the door at the opposite end of the room with purposeful strides, determined to go in search of someone herself.

Just as she neared the door, however, a figure appeared in the dark frame. The man made such a sudden and silent appearance Portia was nearly startled from her skin. As it was, she was under the force of such fierce momentum, she barely managed to stop herself from colliding with the man by bracing her hand hard on the doorframe.

She looked at the newcomer sharply. Her worry and impatience coalesced into anger now that he had finally appeared.

He was a rather nondescript man in his later years, perhaps in his fifties, with light hair that was going to gray, a pale, almost sickly complexion, a beard that had grown a bit bushy, and small, wire-rimmed spectacles. He was dressed in a brown suit with matching waistcoat and stood with sloped shoulders, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his coat.

Seemingly unconcerned with their near collision, he looked down at her from almost a foot above her with an expression that could only be classified as annoyed.

The longer she stood there staring up at him, the more annoyed he became, evidenced by the lowering of his untamed brows and the pursing of his thin mouth. And yet he was the one who had kept them waiting while her sister was dragged off to who knows where.

She pushed off from the doorframe and planted her hands on her hips.

“It is about time. Do you have any idea how long we have been waiting?”

The thick eyebrows shot up, reaching far above the top rim of his spectacles. “You have been waiting less than fifteen minutes,” he replied in an entirely unhurried tone. “Do you have any idea what time of night it is?”

“I would say it is nearing one o’clock in the morning, which should signify that our issue is of such importance it cannot wait until a more reasonable hour, which should in turn have pressed you to a more hasty response.”

The man made a sound in the back of his throat—a sort of abbreviated snort—then stared, saying nothing more. His lips pressed into such a tight line they lost all hint of color, and his eyes narrowed to a squint behind his spectacles.

“Portia, come sit. Allow the poor man into the room so we may conduct our business.”

Portia realized then that her challenging stance essentially blocked the doorway, keeping the newcomer stranded on the threshold. Executing a little snort of her own, Portia turned with a whip of her skirts and strode to where her great-aunt was pushing herself a bit straighter in the armchair. Rather than sitting—which she knew wouldn’t last long anyway—Portia took position beside the chair and waited for Nightshade’s man to step forward and take control of the situation.

Taking control was not how Portia would describe the man’s next actions.

After a slow glance at Angelique, he strolled into the room, keeping his hands in his pockets. He walked past the lit candelabra, his brows shooting upward again, as if the fact that they had lit the room was more of an affront than their untimely visit.

Portia studied him, irritated and curious.

This was the go-between for the highly skilled and ruthless Nightshade? He looked more like someone’s daft uncle or a confused schoolteacher.

“Mr. Honeycutt,” Angelique said, “we met once before, a few years ago—”

“Of course, Lady Chelmsworth,” Honeycutt interrupted without turning to face them as he wandered to the window overlooking the front street. “I recall our introduction. I assume tonight brings you here on another matter.”

Portia bristled at the impatience obvious in his tone. The man was sorely lacking in manners.

“Indeed. This is my great-niece, Miss Chadwick,” Angelique replied, waving an elegant hand toward Portia. “Her sister has been abducted tonight. Taken off the street and carried away. We need Nightshade to recover her.”

Portia watched Mr. Honeycutt carefully, expecting some sort of reaction to the news of a young lady being kidnapped in such a way. But he gave no acknowledgment at all, just continued to stare out the window with his shoulders slouched and his chin tucked to his chest.

Portia couldn’t stand any more of it.

“Mr. Honeycutt,” she began in a sharp tone, but just as she spoke, he turned around again and pinned her with a stare that stopped the rest of her words.

Something in his manner, his gaze, his sudden focus managed to suck the dissent right out of her. Somewhere deep within the ugly brown coat and sloped posture she detected a strong thread of competence. She rolled her lips in between her teeth in a way she hadn’t done since she was young and her mother had chastised her for her naughtiness…which was often.

After waiting long enough to be assured she would not be interrupting any further, Honeycutt shifted his attention back to Angelique. “Have you any idea who may have perpetrated the abduction or why?”

Angelique looked to Portia, giving her a nod.

During their drive across London, Portia had confessed to Angelique the truth about the mysterious loan and Hale’s recent threats. The Chadwicks had initially decided to keep the full nature of their dire circumstances from the lady’s knowledge rather than risk the possibility it might influence her decision to sponsor the younger sisters for the Season.

Portia straightened her spine and looked the man directly in the face. She realized it was vital he have all the information available if this Nightshade were to have any luck in tracking down where Lily had been taken, but it didn’t make it any easier to admit her family’s secrets to a stranger.

“Since my father’s death several months ago, my oldest sister, Emma, began receiving notes from someone named Mason Hale regarding an unpaid loan. Last night, my sister Lily—the one who was just abducted—was personally threatened by Hale. He stated we had two days to repay him in full, with interest. He indicated he would have his money, one way or another.” She paused, looking for some indication that Honeycutt was listening. He provided no reaction at all. “Hale gave us until tomorrow to get the money to him. We had a plan to come up with the amount, but something must have changed. Hale must have decided not to wait. Lily was the first to exit the carriage when we arrived home this evening. Before we knew what was happening, our driver was knocked unconscious, and my sister was tossed over the shoulder of a very large man who stuffed her into a carriage across the street. They were gone in a matter of moments.”

Honeycutt was silent and unmoving for several minutes.

“Does anyone else have any cause to take your sister? Vengeance, lust, greed?”

“Not that I know of,” Portia replied, less certain than she would have liked.

A sick rush of guilt settled in her stomach. She and Lily had not been talking as much as they used to. Portia had been so ill-humored since she had begun her debut Season, she had not been very attentive to her sister.

“Do you know of Mason Hale? Where to find him?” Portia asked when Honeycutt remained silent longer than she was comfortable with.

He narrowed his gaze in irritation again, and Portia stiffened. If he wasn’t so bloody tight-lipped, she wouldn’t be forced to press him.

“I will address the issue with my employer,” Honeycutt finally replied.

The man turned his gaze to Angelique again. “As you may recall, his services require a partial payment up front. The urgency of the matter will demand a substantial fee, my lady.”

The dowager countess grunted in acceptance and reached into her reticule for a small sack of coins. She handed them to Portia, their eyes meeting briefly as she did so. The old lady lived on a limited allowance from the present earl, and Portia certainly had no money.

This was the bluff her great-aunt had mentioned earlier.

Portia brought the sack of coins to Mr. Honeycutt, looking him directly in the eye as she came to stand before him.

“That is all I have on my person at the moment, Mr. Honeycutt,” Angelique explained. “I did not waste time going for more funds but came directly here, you understand. I can promise the full fee once my niece is returned safely home.”

Honeycutt glanced down at the small purse in Portia’s hand, making no move to take it from her.

Portia’s anxiety grew unbearable.

He had to accept it. Nightshade was their only option at this point. Precious time slid away with every second Honeycutt took to respond. Lily’s image flashed through Portia’s mind. Her sweet and gentle sister needed someone to take action.

Now.

Portia stepped toward Honeycutt, her anger over his obvious reticence forcing her hand. On impulse, she grasped his wrist and yanked his hand out of his pocket. Before he could resist, she pressed the purse into his large palm. Holding it there with both of her hands, she looked up into his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“You have to accept,” she said through a tight throat. “Nightshade has to find my sister. There is no other option.”

He glared at her with narrowed eyes.

Portia, full of fear and stubborn determination, refused to back down. She could feel the tension in his body…but it was more than annoyance, she realized. He possessed a sort of physical readiness she hadn’t noticed before, when his slow movements and careless posture had suggested a distinct lack of interest. His hand, enclosed in both of hers, felt stronger, more capable than she had expected. Standing close enough that she had to tip her head back to look into his face, she sensed something powerful emanating from him.

Something that forced a subtle shiver to course through her body.

She peered into his eyes. They were shadowed by his bushy brows and distorted by the glass of his spectacles, but she swore she saw something significant there. She tipped her head to the side and a frown creased her forehead as she focused her gaze—trying to discern just what it was that had caught her attention.

But then he curled his hand into a fist, claiming the purse before abruptly turning to walk away.

“I will get a message to my employer. I offer no guarantee.” Honeycutt paused in the doorway. “Return home. Word of the investigation will be sent to you there.”

“We will wait here for news,” Portia replied.

“Impossible. There is no telling how long it will take for my employer to discover your sister’s fate. It could be several hours. Or days.”

Portia thought of going back to the house and awaiting word. She thought of Emma returning and having to be advised of Lily’s abduction.

No. She could not go home without some solid results…even if she had to go out into the night and get them herself.

She folded her arms across her chest and squared her shoulders. “We will wait here.”

Honeycutt stopped in the threshold to glare back at her over his sloped shoulder. “You cannot.”

“We will,” she insisted with an insolent lift of her eyebrows, “unless you intend to cause a scene by physically forcing two screaming females from your home.” She smiled with false sweetness. “I received the impression you prefer to keep these dealings more discreet.”

For a brief second, the man seemed at a loss on how to handle Portia’s insistence. Then he gave a short grunt. “Do not expect any hospitality,” he muttered.

And then he was gone.