Page 4 of Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society 3)

No, this was nothing to do with coin and everything to do with principal. Aunt Iris intended to share her wealth far more widely than giving it to one illegitimate son who had only sprung up since Iris’s death. There had been several charities close to her heart who stood to inherit, not to mention the church on her estate and her favored servants. None of them saw a shilling according to the will, and it had taken several days for Blake to even comprehend that. Had Foster talked her out of her plans to share her wealth? Was there something more sinister? Had he paid off the solicitor perhaps?

Whatever it was, if Mr. Long could not get to the heart of the matter, it would have to be up to Blake.

The fragrance of lilacs returned and he straightened his spine. A woman with pouting, red-painted lips and heavily lined eyes pressed a hand to his chest and leaned in. He wouldn’t have felt her slip something into his jacket had it not been for her pointed look down. To anyone outside of the interaction, it would look as though the redhead was propositioning him.

“That is the information,” she whispered when she leaned in. “There is more should you need it but it will cost more.”

“I’ll send it through Long,” he murmured. “I want all the information you can get.”

She nodded, letting a sultry smile slip across her lips. “I can give you more than information if you wish.”

He closed his eyes briefly. He loved redheads. Well, he loved all women. Red, fair, dark. But he didn’t have time for a dalliance thanks to damned Foster. “Another time perhaps.”

She shrugged and moved on. A shout from one of the tables prevented him from drawing out the paper she’d pressed into his inside pocket and he glanced at the young boy as he shoved his winnings into his pockets.

The boy looked in his direction and when their gazes met, a strange jolt of something like recognition speared through him. The boy’s eyes widened and he hastened to thrust the coin and notes of promises into the oversized jacket.

Blake narrowed his gaze. His gut twinged. He had an instinct about the boy.

Briefly touching the outside of his pocket, feeling for the shape of his most treasured possession, he sighed.

Blake never, ever ignored his instincts.

Chapter Three

“Thank you, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure,” Demeter uttered in the low tones she had adopted as part of her disguise as she scraped up her winnings, ignoring the puffed red cheeks of the Italian gentleman opposite her.

He’d been more of a competitor than she’d anticipated. Still, she’d bested him and would be depositing a sizeable amount into the coffers of the hospital for deaf children tomorrow.

A tremor rippled up her spine. She stilled halfway through sifting the coins into one of the many pockets in her jacket and glanced up.

Her heart gave a sharp leap against her ribcage when she met his gaze. She swallowed hard.

Blake.

He headed directly for her.

Surely he did not recognize her? Whilst they might have spent plenty of time out in Society together, she could count their actual conversations on one hand. She kept to herself and he’d never paid attention to her. Why would he? She was a wallflower.

Or worse.

She blended so seamlessly with the walls that she might as well not exist. She preferred it that way. At least then she did not have to converse on tired matters like the weather or Lady Hartley’s new wallpapers or how this ball is much more pleasant than that ball. Words had not always come easily to her and she’d far rather save them for interesting and educational conversation.

But she was most certainly not interested in conversing with Blake right now, regardless of the content. He could not discover her. Not here.

She grabbed the last few coins, fisted them in her hand, tugged down the ugly floppy hat she refused to remove and twisted sharply away from the table. Pressing through the crowds of people, her heart thudded so hard she felt it in her throat.

Perhaps he had not been coming for her. Perhaps he was simply heading in her direction and it was a coincidence. Demeter didn’t really believe in coincidences but the chances of him identifying her were slim. Aunt Sarah helped her put together an excellent disguise and her slender frame meant there was little need to bind her breasts or disguise a curving waistline. Combined with her sharp jawline, even she did not recognize herself as anything other than a young man when she looked in the mirror.

She shoved the final coins into the outer pocket of her jacket and, keeping her head low, she forced her way through a crowd of excitable young men who smelled of brandy and the impending air of money lost.

She inhaled deeply when she emerged onto the road before the building. Chimneys bilged their smoke into the sky, cutting through the clear, star-speckled heavens and clogging the air. The rest of the buildings were smaller than Pidgeon’s, all put together in a haphazard fashion of sloping roofs and angled walls.

Once upon a time, this area would have been a small village with the gaming hell acting as an assembly hall but now the region had been absorbed into London, neighborhoods like this had become home to anything licentious, including taverns and brothels. Her sisters would have a fit if they knew she was here but Aunt Sarah had vowed to keep her activity a secret. Besides, no one would bother her as a man and goodness knew, her sisters had done plenty of daring things in pursuit of investigations. This might not be trying to solve a murder or capture a forger but she had a noble reason for her activities.

Demeter kept up a brisk pace, pausing only briefly to glance behind. Blake was nowhere to be seen and only a few people lingered in the road, none of them paying attention to her.

“There. See,” she told herself. “All is well.”

---