on the stage,” Lionel said, striking a pose designed to make the girls laugh, which, gratifyingly, they did.
“You should have, Mr. Mercer,” Ivy said, clapping her hands. “You would have been spectacular.”
“Do you think?” Lionel batted his eyes, playing along with the charming girls. In fact, he would rather have died than take to the stage. Not only was the theater Everett Jewel’s realm—and heaven already knew how much of a disaster it was for him and Everett to be anywhere near each other in the best of times—but Lionel preferred to play out his dramas in private performances.
“I want to be on stage someday,” Merrily—one of the girls who had been rescued after the kidnapping ring had been uncovered—said, imitating Lionel’s pose.
“I dare say you would make a delightful actress,” Lionel told her. He meant it, though he would never voice his reasons for thinking so. Merrily had been rescued from a brothel, and it was clear to Lionel that she’d learned the art of pretending to enjoy herself while secretly seething that so many theatrical professionals had.
That thought magically set the gears in his mind working once more. Inspiration crackled through him like a Roman candle. Of the three villainous noblemen at the center of the kidnapping ring, Castleford was the one who adored the theater, but Eastleigh had just as much of a fondness for spectacle. If he was in London, he wouldn’t be able to sit idly by, locked away in some shuttered townhouse. He would want to be entertained, no matter what the risk. Lionel knew more than a few men who enjoyed private entertainments of the kind Eastleigh enjoyed, men who might have seen Eastleigh recently and been sworn to secrecy as to his whereabouts.
Secrecy, however, had never stopped Lionel’s particular friends from telling him whatever he wanted to know. In fact, Lionel had made his way through university and through life using a steady currency of charm, pleasure, and secrets. The connections he’d established in years past continued to serve him well, even though he had long since given up that game.
That thought dashed the moment of hope and cleverness that had put a mysterious grin on his face, driving his awareness back to the writhing discomfort in every fiber of his body. Pleasure and secrets had their price, and he would be paying it for the rest of his likely short life.
“My darlings.” He stood, putting every last ounce of effort into making the motion look smooth and graceful when, in fact, the simple act of moving made him want to grind his teeth in pain. “I’m afraid you’ll have to continue this reading on your own. I’ve just realized that I might have resources as my disposal to track down the horrid men who have put you and your friends in danger.”
Betsy and Ivy groaned in disappointment, but Merrily looked suddenly grave, her eyes burning with a desire for vengeance.
“I promise you I will return as soon as I can,” Lionel went on, stepping away from the table.
“I hope you find them, Mr. Mercer,” Merrily called after him as Lionel searched to see where David had gone.
Lionel glanced over his shoulder, meeting Merrily’s eyes as though she were as much of an adult as he was. After all she’d been through, she was. “Don’t worry.” His voice dropped to a deadly timbre. “They’ll pay.”
Merrily nodded in understanding, and Lionel moved on, heading across the room to where David had resumed interviewing a table of children. The men responsible for the kidnapping ring would most certainly pay, and for more than just their most recent crimes. Eastleigh and Castleford were some of the vilest creatures Lionel had ever had the displeasure to know, but Chisolm existed in his own category of evil. Bringing Chisolm to justice and making him pay was more than a mission he’d been sent on by Lord Clerkenwell, it was personal. So, deeply personal.
“I need you to pay a call on an old friend with me,” Lionel said when he reached the table where David sat.
David glanced slowly up at him, irritation at being interrupted in the middle of his work flickering around him as though he were circled by tiny, dancing flames. “I beg your pardon?” he asked in the voice he usually reserved for noblemen who thought they were better than him.
Lionel fought hard not to be stung by David’s coldness. It was understandable, given what he was certain David thought was its cause. “I’ve just