Page 116 of A Scot Is Not Enough
“I don’t want it.”
To which Fielding’s jaw dropped.
“His Grace knows,” Alexander said. “I informed the duke that I can no longer fulfill my duties for the crown.” He glanced at the window where light rain sprinkled the glass. “Another duty calls.”
Excitement hummed in his veins. He was free, and he had the lovely Scotswoman to thank for it. Because of her, invigorating changes were afoot.
He opened the door and swung it wide, voices spilling past him. Clerks and witnesses milled about. The magistrate would be at his bench until midnight because criminals thrived in the dark.
“There’s corruption in Bow Street,” Alexander said. “You need to clean it up.”
“Berry and MacDaniel.”
Fielding eyed him shrewdly, patiently. It couldn’t be easy to learn his most productive thief takers were rotten. It was equally possible Fielding suspected Berry and MacDaniel of misdeeds.
“You sent me out to learn the truth, and I did. The problem is, you don’t like what I found.”
The old crow leaned heavily on his cane. “Lady Justice has a mind of her own.”
“On that, we can agree.”
Alexander was ready to do some cleanup of his own. He touched his hat in salute and walked out into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Swynford House sparkled as St. James houses do when polished for a ball. Gauze hung in the arches imbued with delicate papier-mâché birds and butterflies to mimic the late Sir Hans Sloane’s collection. Potted trees and plants added to the appeal. Cecelia strolled Flora and Fauna Hall with Alexander, who was entertaining her with a recounting of female prudery as per Mr. Burton.
Alexander raised his hand shoulder-high.
“According to Burton, the nearly sainted civically aware women are this level of prudishness. Which includes museum enthusiasts. Women who are so tedious a man wouldn’t want to grope them in the dark.”
She laughed and spoke intimately behind her fan. “We should find an alcove and test that theory.”
“Shall we do that before or after you find thesgian-dubh?”
She snatched a glass of champagne from an obliging footman and sipped, the bubbles tickling her throat.
“I am at your disposal until half past nine, sir.”
She and Alexander would separate half an hour before she took the knife. He would go abovestairs, giving him a plausible alibi in case anything went wrong. It was something she’d insisted. He knew her plan up until the plaid silk petticoat and stomacher. If all went well, the diversion wouldn’t be necessary.
“You make a tempting chambermaid,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
Forest green silk shimmered in candlelight. A white apron pinned to her bodice covered her to her hem (hiding petticoats and stomacher painted a Clanranald MacDonald silk) with a mobcap finishing her costume.
“Your costume suits you,” she said.
He dressed as a knight with breastplate armor complete with tunic, hose, and pointy-toed medieval boots.
“Last time I wore this”—he tapped his champagne flute to his metal chest—“I was at university.”
“A sign you need to have more fun, play more cricket matches, and attend more parties, and the like.”
They dipped into a library filled with fantastical items from nature. Treelike coral and giant turtle shells bigger than her bathtub were on tables. They stopped to admire a Guinea butterfly in Muscovy glass.
“Being with you is the most fun I’ve ever had.”
