1
London
January 1829
WHEN THE HACKNEY halted, Lady Zoe Keane drew her veil aside and peered out the murky window to survey the building standing opposite Covent Garden Theater.
This couldn’t be Manton’s Investigations. It was too plain and ordinary for the famous Duke’s Men, for pity’s sake! No horses standing at the ready to dash off to danger? No imposing sign with gilt lettering?
“Are you sure this is their offices?” she asked Ralph, her footman, as he helped her out.
“Aye, milady. It’s the address you gave me: twenty-nine Bow Street.”
When the brittle cold needled her cheeks, she adjusted her veil over her face. She mustn’t be recognized entering an office full of men, and certainly not this office. “It doesn’t look right somehow.”
“Or safe.” He glanced warily at the rough neighborhood. “If your father knew I’d brought you to such a low part of town he’d kick me out the door, he would.”
“No, indeed. I would never allow that.” As Mama used to say, a lady got what she wanted by speaking with authority . . . even if her knees were knocking beneath her wool gown. “Besides, how will he find out? You accompanied me on my walk in St. James’s Park, that’s all. He’ll never learn any different.”
He mustn’t, because he would almost certainly guess why she’d sought out an investigator. Then, like the former army major that he was, he would institute draconian measures to keep her close. She couldn’t let that happen just when she was beginning to learn the truth. She wouldn’t!
“I shan’t be here long,” she added. “We’ll easily arrive home in time for dinner, and no one will be the wiser.”
“If you say so, milady.”
“I do appreciate this, you know. I’d never wish for you to get into trouble.”
He sighed. “I know, milady.”
She meant it, too. She liked Ralph, who’d served as her personal footman ever since Mama’s death last winter. From the beginning, he’d felt sorry for Zoe, “the poor motherless lass.” And if sometimes she used that to her advantage rather shamelessly, it was only because she had no choice. Time was running out. She’d already had to wait months for Papa to bring her and Aunt Flo to London so she could maneuver this secret meeting in the first place.
They climbed to the top of the steps, and Ralph knocked on the door. It took forever for someone to come. She adjusted her cloak, shifted her reticule to her other hand, stamped snow off her boots.
At last the door swung open, to reveal a gaunt fellow wearing an antiquated suit of bottle-green silk and a puce waistcoat, who appeared to be headed out the door.
“Mr. Shaw!” she cried, both startled and delighted to see him again so soon.
He peered at her veiled face. “Do I know you, madam?”
“It’s ‘your ladyship,’ if you please,” Ralph corrected him.
As Mr. Shaw bristled, Zoe jumped in. “We haven’t been introduced, sir, but I saw you in Much Ado About Nothing last night and thought you were marvelous. I’ve never witnessed an actor play Dogberry so feelingly.”
His demeanor softened. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Lady Zoe Keane, and I’m scheduled to meet with the Duke’s Men at three p.m.”
It wasn’t too much of a lie. A few months ago she’d caught the well-known investigators orchestrating a pretend theft in order to capture a kidnapper. In exchange for her silence, they’d agreed to do her a favor at some future date.
That date was now.
She only hoped they’d remember. Mr. Dominick Manton, the owner, and Mr. Victor Cale, one of his men, both seemed responsible fellows who would honor their promises.
Mr. Tristan Bonnaud, however . . .
She tensed. That bullying scoundrel had caught her by surprise, and she hated that. Why, he hadn’t even wanted to agree to the bargain! No telling what he would do if things were left to him.
“Have you just been here to see the investigators?” she asked Mr. Shaw, wondering why he continued to block their way in.
He grimaced. “Alas, no. I am employed here. Acting is my second profession at present. My first one is as butler and sometime clerk to Mr. Manton.”
Oh, dear. She only hoped he wasn’t privy to his employer’s meeting schedule. “In that case, perhaps you should announce me.” When he stiffened, she added hastily, “I would be most honored. What a pity that I didn’t expect you to be here, for then I would have brought my playbill for you to autograph.”
Given how he arched his eyebrows, that was probably laying it on a bit thick. “What a pity indeed,” he said. But thankfully he ushered them inside anyway.
Removing her cloak and veiled hat, she surveyed the foyer. This was more like what she’d expected: simple but elegant mahogany furniture; a beautiful, if inexpensive, Spanish rug; and nice damask draperies of a pale yellow. The decor could still use a bit of dash—perhaps some ancient daggers on the walls for effect, but then she always liked more dash than other people.
Besides, the newspapers told enough daring tales about the Duke’s Men to make up for any lack of dash in their offices. It was said that they could find anyone. She dearly hoped that was true.
“I don’t believe any of the gentlemen are present at the moment.” Mr. Shaw kept eyeing the front door with a peculiar expression of longing. “They must have forgotten your appointment. Perhaps you should return later.”
“Oh, but that’s impossible!” she burst out.
When his gaze swung to hers, newly suspicious, she cringed. Why must she always speak the first thing that came into her head? No matter how she tried to behave as Mama had taught her, sometimes her mouth just did whatever it wanted, and to hell with the consequences.
She winced. Not hell. Ladies didn’t so much as think the word hell, not even ladies whose papas used the word regularly while teaching their daughters how to manage the estates they would one day inherit.
Sucking in a breath, she added sweetly, “I can’t imagine that the famous Duke’s Men would forget an appointment. Perhaps they came in the back.”
After all the risks she’d taken to meet with them, the thought of being thwarted just because they were all out investigating made her want to scream.
He sighed. “Wait here. I’ll see if anyone’s in.” He darted up the stairs like a spider up a web.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Ralph grumbled, “Still don’t see why you want to consult with investigators. Your father would gladly find out whatever you wish to know.”
Oh, no, he wouldn’t. She’d already determined that. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing that will get you into any trouble.”
It was only the entirety of her future, but she wasn’t about to go into that with Ralph. None of the servants could ever know of this.
The door opened behind her. “Well, well, what have we here?”
She froze. She would recognize that voice anywhere. Oh, botheration, why did it have to be him?
Steadying herself for battle, she faced Mr. Bonnaud . . . only to be struck speechless by the sight of him.
This wasn’t the Mr. Bonnaud she’d encountered in the woods near Kinlaw when she’d extracted her promise from the Duke’s Men. That fellow had been barrel-chested, thick waisted, and rough looking, with a floppy hat and a beard that hid most of his face.
Belatedly she remembered his saying on that day that he was wearing a disguise. She hadn’t believed him.
She did now. Because the man before her wasn’t remotely burly or bearded or badly dressed. He was lean and handsome and garbed almost fashionably, if one could call a sober riding coat of dark gray wool, a plain black waistcoat, tight buff trousers, and scuffed boots fashionable.
Not that any woman would care about his clothes when his broad shoulders and his muscular thighs filled them out so well. Heaven help her.
Then he removed his top hat of gray beaver to reveal a profusion of thick black curls worthy of a Greek god, and she had to suck down a sigh. Though Mr. Bonnaud’s face wasn’t remotely Mediterranean—his nose was too narrow and his jaw too finely crafted—the combination of his features with his hair was stunning. Absolutely stunning.
No wonder his name was so often linked to beautiful actresses and dancers. With those fierce blue eyes and that seducer’s shapely mouth, he probably spent half his time in bed with willing females.
The images that rose in her mind made her curse her wild imagination. Ladies weren’t supposed to think about that either.
He looked closely at her, and recognition leapt in those splendid eyes. “Lady Zoe,” he said, bowing.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bonnaud.”
He crooked up one eyebrow. “Finally decided to call in your favor, did you?”
With a furtive glance at Ralph, who watched the exchange most avidly, she said, “I wish to consult with you and your companions, yes.”
Just then Mr. Shaw returned. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Bonnaud. Is Mr. Manton with you?”
“He’s tying up some loose ends, but he said he’d be along shortly.”
Mr. Shaw nodded to her. “This lady claims to have an appointment with the . . . er . . . Duke’s Men.”
She watched Mr. Bonnaud warily, preparing herself for anything. So when he had the audacity to wink at her, it took her off guard—and sent a little thrill along her spine that was too annoying for words.
“She does indeed,” he said, eyes agleam. “A rather long-standing one. Don’t worry, Shaw—I can see you’re impatient to be off to rehearsal. I’ll take care of her ladyship.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Shaw said, then rushed out the door.
Mr. Bonnaud gestured to the stairs. “Shall we adjourn to the office?”
Ralph jumped up, and Zoe said hastily, “Wait down here for me, Ralph.”
“But my lady—”
She handed him her hat and cloak. “I’ve already met Mr. Bonnaud and his fellow investigators, and I promise they can be trusted.”
Or some of them could, though it looked for now as if she was stuck with the one she wasn’t sure about. Not that it mattered. She was desperate enough to settle for Mr. Bonnaud.
Lifting her skirts, she headed for the stairs, feeling the man fall into step behind her. Only when they were past the landing and well out of sight and earshot of Ralph did she say in a low voice, “I prefer to wait until the head of the Duke’s Men is also present before proceeding.”
“Do you?” he drawled. “Then let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to get on Dom’s good side, stop calling us ‘The Duke’s Men.’ He hates when people refer to the business he built himself as if it were an extension of His Grace’s empire.”
How odd. “One would think he’d relish his connection to a duke.”
Mr. Bonnaud snorted. “Not everyone is as enamored of your sort as you might think, my lady.”
The contempt in his voice irritated her, especially given her reasons for being here. “Is that why you tried to shoot me the last time we met?” It still rankled that he’d not only managed to rattle her but had kept rattling her even after it became clear he was no threat.
“I didn’t try to shoot you,” he said. “I only threatened to shoot you.”
“Three times. And the first time, you waved your pistol in my face.”
“It wasn’t loaded.”
She paused on the stairs to glare down at him. “So you deliberately put me in fear for my life?”
He smirked at her. “Served you right. You shouldn’t have been galloping after men who were reputedly in pursuit of a thief.”
The heat rising in her cheeks made her scowl. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, curse it! “I had good reason for that.”
He took another step up, putting him far too close. “Do tell.”
Staring into his eyes was only marginally less alarming than staring down the barrel of his pistol had been months ago. And good heavens, he was tall. Even standing two steps below her, he met her gaze easily.
It did something rather startling to her insides.
She tipped up her chin. “I’m not saying anything until your brother is here. Just in case you threaten to shoot me again.”
Amusement leapt in his gaze. “I only do that when you’re interfering in matters beyond your concern.”
“You don’t understand. I had to—”
“Quiet,” he ordered, cocking his head to one side.
Just as she was about to protest his arrogance, she heard sounds of conversation below.
“Dom is here.” Mr. Bonnaud nodded toward the top of the stairs. “So unless you want him to think we were dallying in the staircase, I suggest we continue up.”
She blinked at him. “Dallying? Dallying, mind you?” She turned to march up the last few steps. “As if I would ever, in a million years, dally with you.” She wouldn’t. Really, she wouldn’t!
His low chuckle behind her put the lie to her words. “Never say never, my lady. A vow like that is sure to come back to bite you in the arse. Which would be a shame, given that you have such a fine one.”
Oh, Lord, he was staring at her bottom.
Wait, how dare he stare at her bottom?
The second they moved into a long hallway, she turned to give him a firm setdown. Then she froze at the sight of his smug expression. He was deliberately trying to provoke her, the sly devil, just as when he threatened to shoot her.
This time she wouldn’t let him succeed. She cast him a pitying smile. “And here I’d heard that you were so witty and charming toward the fair sex, Mr. Bonnaud. How disappointing to discover you have only the coarsest notion of how to compliment a lady.”
To her enormous satisfaction, that wiped the smugness right off his face. “The operative word is ‘lady.’” He bore down on her, an edge in his voice. “And since you seem to be a lady in name only, given your penchant for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong—”
“Lady Zoe?” Mr. Manton appeared at the top of the stairs. He glanced from her to Mr. Bonnaud, who instantly went rigid.
She couldn’t resist a smile of triumph. It was rather satisfying to watch him caught off guard for once.
Turning to his half brother, she offered her hand. “Mr. Manton. How good to see you again.”
Sparing a veiled glance for Mr. Bonnaud, he shook her hand. “Under much better circumstances than last time, fortunately.”
All too aware of Mr. Bonnaud’s hard gaze on her, she smiled brightly. “I was delighted to hear that you and your fellow investigators routed the true villains eventually.” There, that sounded perfectly cordial and ladylike and all the things Mr. Bonnaud said she wasn’t. “I was also pleased to learn that they were given the justice they deserved.”
“Indeed they were. We much appreciate your discretion in that matter, too, I assure you.”
Her pulse pounded. “So you remember your promise.”
“Of course. What’s more, I’m pleased to honor it.” He gestured toward a nearby open doorway. “Why don’t we discuss the matter in my study?”
“Thank you.” As he led her in the room, she felt his brother fall into step behind her, no doubt staring at her “fine” arse again.
Let him stare. Now that she knew he only did it to provoke her, she refused to let it bother her. It’s not as if he meant anything by it. He did, after all, have a string of beauties trailing after him throughout London, and she wasn’t widely acclaimed a beauty herself.
Oh, men flirted with her often enough, but that was to be expected. She was rich, after all, and her inheritance was substantial. She would much rather they flirted with her because they found her interesting, but barring that, she wouldn’t mind being admired for her more feminine attributes.
Unfortunately, English gentlemen weren’t generally attracted to olive-skinned women with foreign-looking features, no matter how much Mama had always praised her “exotic” appearance. And her aunt, Mama’s sister, despaired of her clothing choices, claiming that they had a bit too much dash for good society.
Zoe sighed. Even if by some chance Mr. Bonnaud didn’t mind any of that and actually found her attractive, it didn’t matter. He hardly seemed the marrying sort. And she had too much at stake to be interested in the other sort—scoundrels and rakes and rogues. No matter how handsome and daring they were.
“So,” Mr. Manton said as he gestured to a chair and took his own seat behind the desk, “what do you want from me and my fellow investigators?”
Having circled around to lean against the wall nearest the desk, Mr. Bonnaud leveled her with his disapproving stare. But at least he wasn’t smirking at her anymore.
She looked at Mr. Manton, and the enormity of what she was about to reveal hit her. For half a second, she reconsidered her decision. If the Duke’s Men ever let slip even a tenth of what she was about to tell them, her future would be over and her family’s estate, Windborough, would be lost forever.
“My lady?” Mr. Manton prodded. “Why are you here?”
Then again, it might be lost forever if she didn’t involve them. Truly, she had no choice.
She gripped her reticule in her hands and fought for calm. “I need you to find my real parents.”