Page 29 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Nonsense,” he said finally.
William studied him for a long moment. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re afraid of admitting what you want.”
Before Ambrose could respond, William glanced at his pocket watch.
“I should head home. I have some personal matters to attend to.” He gathered his winnings with a grin, then leaned closer and whispered, “Try not to lose too much money while you’re busy not thinking about certain women.”
Ambrose valued the way his friend had only taken to teasing him mildly when others could not overhear their conversation. Heknew that the situation could be worse. William could make a spectacle of Ambrose’s behavior or even let their shared secrets slip. But, as he had promised Emily what felt like eons ago, the Marquess of Fulton was the soul of discretion.
He waited until William disappeared into the crowd before making his own move.
He slipped through a side door and down a narrow staircase that led to the building’s lower level, a place where London’s less savory characters conducted business away from prying eyes.
Jonas Flint waited in the shadows, his scarred face barely visible in the dim lamplight. The man had once been a footpad, but his network of contacts made him invaluable for certain types of information gathering.
“Your Grace.” Flint touched his cap with mock deference. “Heard you might have work for me.”
Ambrose pulled a heavy purse from his coat. “Lord Peirce. I want to know everywhere he goes, everyone he sees, everything he does.”
“Following quality ain’t cheap.”
“I’m not paying for cheap.” Ambrose tossed the purse, which Flint caught with practiced ease. “I’m paying for thoroughness.”
Flint hefted the weight of the coins appreciatively. “How thorough we talking?”
“I want to know what he orders for breakfast. I want to know which tailor he visits. If he so much as changes his mind about which shoe to put on first, I want to hear about it.”
“That’s very thorough indeed.” Flint pocketed the purse. “May I ask why you’re so interested in his lordship’s daily habits?”
Ambrose’s expression darkened. “No, you may not.”
“Course not. Just helps to know what I’m looking for, is all.”
“You’re looking for leverage.” The word came out harsh, final. “Find me something I can use against him.”
Flint nodded slowly. “Leverage. That I can do. Give me a week, and I’ll have enough information to write his biography.”
As Flint melted back into the shadows, Ambrose felt a grim satisfaction settle in his chest.
Peirce thought he could simply sail away to France and escape the consequences of his actions.
He was wrong.
But even as Ambrose climbed the stairs back to the main gaming room, his thoughts strayed once again to Emily.
Was she thinking of him at all? Did she ever wonder what might have happened if he’d been brave enough to ask her to stay?
The questions followed him out into the London night, persistent as shadows and twice as unwelcome.
The next morning, the sisters were in Emily’s dressing room, admiring the dresses they’d bought for Emily that had just been delivered to the townhouse.
“The blue silk or the green?”
Ava held up two morning dresses, studying Emily’s reflection in the mirror. They’d insisted on helping her prepare for her first public appearance since returning to London—a modest shopping expedition to test the waters of society’s reaction.
“The blue,” Emily said absently, her fingers tracing the edge of the vanity table.
“The blue it is.” Ava draped the dress over a chair, then settled onto the window seat with the casual grace that made her such a success in society. “Though I must say, you seem rather detached for someone choosing her triumphant return ensemble.”
