my pockets, leaning back against the wall. My fingers brushed against the silk material, evoking a memory of what I’d discovered last night. Back in my room, I’d removed my suit jacket and gone to empty the pockets—only to realize my Codex business card, with my name on it, was missing. I had a sly suspicion about the perpetrator. I cursed beneath my breath—even as a smile caught me off-guard. Perhaps the reason I’d dropped a fake name had to do with a raven-haired siren who’d bewitched me completely, a new and not entirely unwelcome sensation.
Do you always try and kiss liars?
I didn’t, not ever. I did, however, spend a large portion of last evening fantasizing about the curve of her spine beneath my palm, her pliable muscles, her fire-hot skin, the hollow of her collarbone calling to me. I’d watched her seductively swaying hips with the stare of a starved man. My fingers were sore from the way I’d gripped my glass, a futile attempt to temper my response. By the time I’d made it to Eudora, I was off my game, dazzled.
Yet another new sensation.
I was potentially under the spell of a liar and a pickpocket, so why did she have to be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen?
“Mr. Fitzpatrick, how nice to see you again.” I turned fully at Eudora’s voice, caught her outstretched hand and slight blush. “Do you know Ms. Atwood?”
Goddammit to hell.
The beautiful liar stood next to Eudora Green looking as astonishing in the morning hours surrounded by tourists as she had in a grand ballroom framed by golden light.
“We also met last night,” Devon said. “Although I didn’t catch your name.”
The playful tug of her lips made me wonder if she’d read that card—knew my real name.
“Daniel Fitzpatrick,” I said, loosening the clench of my jaw.
“A pleasure.” Her smoky voice curved around the word pleasure, and I was keenly aware that I might have been caught in my own lie. I managed a nod, frustrated. Followed Eudora back into a room designed to look like the apartment Holmes and Watson shared in the stories.
“You’ve been busy this morning,” I said, by way of opening.
Eudora adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses and pressed a strand of hair back into her tight bun. “When you’re the president of such a prestigious society, people want to talk with you.”
“Especially given the news,” I said. “The auction, I mean.”
She brightened. “Ms. Atwood and I were just discussing it. She’s a fan all the way from America, like you. Except she’s been here for an entire month already.”
I filed that piece of information away to examine later. Hadn’t she told me she was in London because she’d lost something?
“I’m only here for the week, I’m afraid,” I said. “I’ll barely make the auction.”
“It’s dreadful news, really,” she said. “I tried to put on a brave face for everyone last night, but between you and me, there’s no way we’ll get those papers.”
I straightened my tie, crossing one leg over the other. “Bernard will be disappointed.”
“You’re a colleague of his?” she asked.
I quickly ran through the options of what could work and went with: “I am. From long ago. More an admirer than a colleague. Obviously not nearly as close to him as you are.”
A bit of preening. “We’ve always been close because of the Society.”
I looked around at the paraphernalia—the disguises, the violin, the glasses on the table. “How long have you been a member?”
“Oh, give or take thirty-five years,” she answered. “At the time, Nicholas was the president, and Bernard and I were lowly secretaries.”
“Nicholas… Markham?” I asked, remembering the man from the pictures.
“Yes,” she said. “Nicholas has since died. His grandson, Peter, now owns his bookshop. Adler’s. Peter is extremely active in the literary community here in London as well as our Society. He and Bernard are also close, given Bernard essentially watched him grow up.”
I faked a smile while mentally tagging the Markham family as potentially interesting. “How lovely. I love a good bookstore. What was the Society like back when you joined?”
Eudora fiddled with her blocky earrings—they were shaped like novels. “Secretive in a good way,” she said with a smug sigh. “It was much harder to gain entry. Code words, secret meetings, that kind of thing. We were a Society with more purpose then, not only lectures and conferences.”
Code words.
“Nicholas was an inspiring president, but things became even more cloak-and-dagger when Bernard took over. It was a fun time to be a fan, even