Page 24 of Love Abandoned

Chapter Eleven

A mistress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers; and, when it is over, any thing but friends.

—Byron,The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals

Walford sat backin his chair, pressing his fingers together contemplatively. Richard had given him the note earlier and had waited not so patiently for him to return from the Home Office. He’d wanted to accompany Walford, but Walford hadn’t thought it wise at this point. Richard rubbed his forehead, not for the first time baffled by the entire situation. That he was participating in some sort of espionage seemed ludicrous, yet here he was.

“I know you are willing to do this, Thornwood. Lord knows the undersecretary would like you to go through with it. But Beckett’s unable to provide a field agent on this short of notice, and I’m not at all comfortable with you doing it alone,” Walford said. “The problem is if I go with you, she might not be forthcoming.”

“I’m sure I’ll be safe enough. As safe as a man can be in a brothel, since I’ll have my clothes on,” Richard joked, trying to lighten the growing tension. He did believe he’d be safe, but it was an odd game they played, and he didn’t know the rules.

“Yes, safe enough, I suppose.” He either missed Richard’s jest or chose to ignore it. “Still, there’s always the possibility that you’re not.” Walford grunted, tugging on his bottom lip pensively, then slapped his palms on the arms of his chair. “I see no way around it but for me to go too. You must have some sort of backup.” Walford waved a servant over. “A pencil and stationery. And coffee.” He looked at Richard. “It could prove to be a long night.”

When the servant dropped the paper by, Walford leaned forward. “I took the liberty of strolling past Mrs. Tate’s on my return.” He drew a rough square to represent the brothel. “There are several doorways I can tuck myself into. Here.” He tapped the page, smudging the graphite. “And here.” He scratched anxon the square. “You must go in through the door on the right and leave by the same door. Do not let her convince you otherwise.” He drew several more lines. “These are the alleys. Too many for me to watch. We don’t know if she has accomplices, and I’ll not have you surprised by an attack.

“When you come out, you stroll my way and duck into the doorway, here, with me. We’ll wait a minute to see if you’re followed, and if all is clear, you’ll stay and watch the front. I’ll head around back. I doubt she’ll be allowed to use the front door, so your job will be to note who goes in. If she comes out the back, I’ll see where she goes.”

“Should I push her for her source?” Richard asked, relieved that Walford had taken charge of the situation but concerned he was taking on far more risk than Richard was himself.

“Gently probe, but don’t scare her. If she has genuine intelligence, the Home Office wants to open the line of communication. They can use all the help they can get on the peninsula. It seems Wellesley’s regular lines have been drying up lately, and he is preparing his spring campaign.”

“And what of you? What if there are accomplices out back?” Richard had not meant to drag Walford into anything dangerous. Of course, it had not been his intention to put himself in jeopardy either.

Walford grinned. “You forget I sullied my hands for four years on the continent. I can take care of myself. Besides, I’ve no intention of tangling with anyone.”

“Be sure keeping an eye out is all you do. You have a child on the way now. A responsibility.”

Walford’s grin grew bigger. “That I do.” He stood, grabbed the paper, and tossed it on the fire. “I shall head home for a few hours with my current favorite responsibility. I’ll be in position before you arrive. Don’t look my way,” he said and winked before walking away.

Richard chuckled. He couldn’t blame Walford for considering him an amateur sleuth. Stealth and secrets were not a part of his world. Politics. Law. Investments. Those were his specialties, his areas of expertise and comfort. Spying was entirely ungentlemanly but, he had to admit, rather titillating. He’d felt a strange wave of excitement when Walford was outlining the plan.

He had hours ahead of him and did not want to return to the house. How could he with this evening hanging over his head? But he’d already been sitting for hours and was restless. Richard stood and stretched, shaking his sleeping foot until it began to tingle awake. He stared at it. He knew exactly what he could do to pass some time. He headed down the stairs and out the door, waiting while a footman found him a hackney coach.

“To Wood’s.” Richard climbed in cheerfully, exceptionally pleased with himself.

*

Richard stepped fromthe coach and pulled his collar tighter. The night was typical of January, cold and wet with a thick fog curling around the few lampposts that dotted the street, muting the already dim lighting. All the better to keep Walford hidden, although the dampness was devilishly miserable for standing around in. He resisted glancing in Walford’s direction despite that the temptation was strong.

He waited as another hackney stopped in front of the building, and two young men fell out, laughing boisterously, holding each other up. A bit early to be in their cups, but Richard supposed such were the foibles of youth. It was the very same weakness that had led him to Patricia in the first place and, ultimately, his current situation. They rapped on the door. A doorman opened it immediately, and the two tumbled in. Richard caught a glimpse of a gaudy entrance hall before the door closed again.

Well, there was nothing for it but to put the game in motion. He crossed the road and knocked on the door. The doorman opened it, quickly surveyed Richard, and stood back with a slight bow, letting Richard in. Richard took off his hat and brushed at the droplets before handing it to the man. “Lord Thornwood,” he said authoritatively.

“My lord,” the man said, bowing more deeply this time. “Welcome.” He pulled a bell cord, and two footmen arrived immediately, assisting Richard in removing his outerwear before leading him through the house. They stopped at a drawing room in the back.

“Do sit down, my lord.”

Richard stepped into the room. A sad attempt at anArabian Nightstheme, it had seen better days. Frayed silks draped faded daybeds; chipped chair legs bolstered lumpy chairs. He walked across a carpet that had had its share of wear and chose the sturdiest-looking chair to sit on. The stale smell of booze mingled with cigars and the distinct odor of sweat. He swallowed a rise of bile. What had he gotten himself into?

“Lord Thornwood. What a pleasure it is to have you grace my fair establishment.” The woman was not altogether unpleasing, but she was as faded as the room. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a woman so well endowed, but for certain he wasseeingone now. She’d barely managed to contain her ample bosom, and he worried it might spill out if she were to bend over. She smiled seductively, and he realized she’d misinterpreted his stare for interest, not astonishment.

He cleared his throat and looked at the carpet. He’d expected Patricia to be readily available and was not sure if he should ask directly about her or not. A footman returned with a tray, setting it on the table beside the chair. The woman sashayed across the room and sat across from him. When she leaned to pour, he looked away, not wanting to see the entirety of her assets. Her laugh was as subtle as her attire as she handed him a glass.

“Our finest port, reserved for our finest gentlemen,” she said as she examined him, measuring his worth. “Forgive my manners, my lord. Mrs. Tate at your service. What is it you’d like this evening?”

It would appear she was unaware of his reason for being there, so he presumed he’d better not mention Patricia lest he reveal something he should not.

“It’s early, so you can have your pick. Light, dark. Small, big. Young, old. Name your type, and I am sure we can find someone to fit your fancy.”

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