Chapter Twenty-Three
Thea was relieved at the group’s reception of Lady Blackwood. From the nodding of their heads and their looks of concern, Thea could tell that Ambrose and Emma believed the marchioness’ story. Thea sensed that even Gabriel was thawing toward his former comrade… although one would be hard pressed to tell from his demeanor.
He’d once again donned his mask of stoicism. Thea was beginning to see how a career in espionage might have shaped that particular tendency for Lady Blackwood, too, had retreated behind a façade of jaded sophistication. To Thea, the two ex-agents treated each other warily, like alley cats ready to attack if either encroached on the other’s territory.
Emma rang for refreshments, and Thea made her selection from the silver tiers of sandwiches and pastries before sitting next to Gabriel on the couch. He was summarizing the details of the chase through Covent Garden, concluding with the mysterious shooter who’d saved his life.
“You didn’t get a look at him?” Ambrose asked.
Gabriel shook his head. “I saw what might have been the tail of a black greatcoat. It happened too quickly. Whoever he was, he simply vanished.”
“Like a ghost,” Thea murmured.
“Do you think it was the Spectre?” Lady Blackwood’s violet gaze narrowed. “Silencing his own courier? If so, why didn’t he just shoot you instead?”
The thought of Gabriel being that close to harm churned Thea’s belly. He, however, treated his brush with death with utter sangfroid.
“A good question,” he said. “He had a clear shot. If he meant to kill me, I’d be dead.”
“Then we must conclude that whoever this stranger was, he meant to save you. It appears you have a secret benefactor,” Ambrose said. “A friend who wishes to remain anonymous.”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “I can’t think of who that might be.”
“Then I suggest we start with the facts we do know and work from there,” Ambrose said. “First, we know that the Spectre is after money. His blackmailing of Lady Blackwood is proof of this. It might also explain why he auctioned off Tremont’s blade.”
“So our suspect has a monetary motive,” Strathaven said with a nod. “What do we know about the financials of Heath and Davenport?”
“From what we’ve gathered, neither appear to be short of funds,” Ambrose admitted.
“The Davenports spend lavishly,” Marianne added, “and Heath inherited a fortune from an uncle—who was in coal, I believe.”
Mulling over the matter, Thea said, “At this point, the Spectre must fear being discovered. Perhaps he is stockpiling money so that he can flee.”
“An excellent point, Miss Kent.” Gabriel’s brows rose.
She heard and saw his surprise. Clearly, it would take time for him to get accustomed to the fact that she meant to be a true partner to him—the way Marianne was to Ambrose and Emma to Strathaven. What little she knew about Gabriel’s past led her to believe that his reluctance to involve her wasn’t because he saw her as weak; it was because he wasn’t used to having support of any kind. Certainly, he hadn’t received much growing up, and from what she’d gleaned, his marriage hadn’t been as ideal as everyone had supposed.
Was it any wonder that trusting didn't come easily for Gabriel?
Yet a relationship without trust was nothing. Thea felt a frisson of anxiety—and pushed it aside. He said he wanted trust to be part of our marriage. Over time, he’ll come to trust me.
Aloud, she said, “If he is indeed desperate for money, then he will likely contact Lady Blackwood again.” She turned to the marchioness. “Your secret may be safe until he gets what he wants.”
Lady Blackwood gave a tight nod.
“If he does contact you, my lady, you must let us know,” Ambrose said. “Blackmail only begets more blackmail. The only surefire way to stop the Spectre is to capture him.”
“I will do whatever is necessary to keep my secret.” Menace infused her words.
Gabriel turned to Mr. McLeod. “Have you anything to report on the other suspects?”
“Aye.” The Scot gulped down his tea before continuing. “Our ongoing reconnaissance corroborates that Heath’s a loaded cannon. His opium habit doesn’t help his stability. Our man Cooper infiltrated a meeting of rabble-rousers that Heath attends regularly. The topic of gunpowder came up.”
“The same weapon used in the attack on Tremont,” Ambrose said grimly.
“Aye. But according to Cooper, there’s no proof that the radicals have actually gotten their hands on any explosives. Mostly they just drink too much and run off at the gob.” McLeod popped a ham and watercress triangle into his mouth, chewing vigorously.
“Should we pay Heath a visit and question him?” Ambrose said.
“No,” Lady Blackwood said.
“Why not?” Thea asked.
“Tiberius is high-strung and spooks easily. If he scents danger, he’s going to run like a fox and then we’ll never find him.” She shook her head. “I say you wait. Continue to follow him. The minute you have solid proof of anything, you close in.”
“Tremont?” Ambrose said.
Gabriel gave a curt nod. “She’s right. We’ll have to keep monitoring him.”
“That leaves Cicero—Lord Davenport.” Ambrose sighed. “Now he’s a different breed altogether. We’ve tailed him for days, and his worse offense was a half-day visit to Bond Street while Parliament was in session. He’s either innocent or the most careful blighter alive.”
“If his speeches in the House of Lords are any indication, he is indeed a master of evasion,” Strathaven said wryly.
“So a head-on approach won’t work with him either, will it?” Thea said.
“He’d talk circles around us if we tried to interrogate him,” Gabriel said. “We’ll have to find another way to get proof.”
“As it happens, I have a plan.”
All eyes turned to Lady Blackwood.
“His wife holds a monthly luncheon for the charity she heads,” the marchioness went on. “The next one takes place tomorrow. I will attend and use the opportunity to search Davenport’s private domain.”
“But won’t Lord Davenport be suspicious if you show up?” Thea asked.
“I’ve done reconnaissance. Ladies who’ve attended the luncheon in the past say that he is never present. The Davenports are a fashionable couple and do not live in each other’s pockets.”
“It would be difficult for you to conduct a thorough search on your own. I’ll go with you,” Emma offered.
“Me too,” Thea said.
“The hell you will,” Gabriel and Strathaven growled in unison.
Emma sighed. “Now, darling, we’ve been through this before—”
“This is different. This is a murderer we’re talking about,” the duke said. “If you think I’m going to permit you to march alone into the lion’s den—”
“Emma won’t be alone. I’ll be there,” Thea said, “and Lady Blackwood too. We’ll have power in numbers.”
“Out of the question,” Gabriel grated out. “This plan is far too dangerous.”
“Not really. Lady Davenport’s luncheon is in the middle of the day, and Davenport won’t even be at home,” Thea said in reasonable tones. “We’ll be with a houseful of society ladies—what could possibly happen to us with all those witnesses? On the off chance that a servant finds me in Davenport’s study, I’ll just say I got lost.”
“I always say that I was looking for the retiring room,” Em put in. “In my experience, that prevents further questioning by footmen.”
Thea made mental note of her sister’s advice.
“I forbid it,” Strathaven said.
Emma’s chin angled up. Tension thickened in the room. The rustle of jonquil silk interrupted the silent standoff.
“I’ll take my leave before this gets bloody,” Lady Blackwood drawled. “Let me know what you decide. Even if it’s a last minute decision, you’ll still be guaranteed entrée.”
“Why is that?” Thea asked.
“Millicent Davenport is a snob who married above herself. She’s the daughter of George Clemens, one of London’s most brilliant legal minds but a solicitor nonetheless. Millicent’s most cherished ambition is to leave her roots behind. To have the opportunity to host a duchess at her luncheon?” Lady Blackwood gave Emma a pitying look. “She’ll be on you like a vine on a trellis, Your Grace.”
“That could be useful. Emma could distract Lady Davenport,” Thea said brightly, “while I search Cicero’s study.”
“You’re not going,” Gabriel said.
In soothing tones, Thea said, “We’ll talk about it later.”
“We can discuss it until hell freezes over, and you’re still not going.”
Thea decided to ignore him for now and talk to him later—in private.
“Let me see you to the door, Lady Blackwood,” she said instead.
In the foyer, she lay a hand on the marchioness’ arm. Beneath the other’s nonchalance, she sensed an agitated spirit.
“All will be well,” she said. “You’ll see.”
The lady’s smile was bleak. “I wish I had your faith. Unfortunately, reality has been my religion for far too long.”
“You are not alone in this. We’re here to help you, my lady.”
“Given everything you know about me, you might as well call me Pandora.” The raven-haired beauty studied her a moment, then said quietly, “Why do you wish to help me?”
“Because you are innocent. And you deserve justice,” Thea said in surprise.
The other’s violet eyes glimmered. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me innocent before. Even if it is not true,” she said, her voice catching, “I thank you for believing it.”
“But it is true. You mustn’t lose hope, Pandora.”
“Hope?” For an instant, the mask slid from the other’s face, and what lay underneath caused Thea’s heart to constrict. “My dear, that is the least of which I have to lose.”
Before she could reply, the marchioness slipped out the door.