A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,16
“Not even now?”
“A lady must protect herself,” she said. “Who else will?”
Something about the way she asked the question sent a chill down his spine. Had she been unprotected? What sort of man had her husband been? Harry had so many questions, and he wasn’t going to ask a single one of them. Not tonight, anyway.
“You’re an astonishing woman, Lady Gresham,” he said softly. “What I require is someone of your intelligence—and discretion—to conduct a small investigation. I would like you to make an appointment with a fortune-teller.”
She blinked at him. “Why?”
“I believe she’s perpetrating some sort of swindle, but she won’t read fortunes for men.”
“Which is why you need me.” She nodded once. “Where do I go? Wait, you mentioned a fortune-teller when we met.”
“I did. She sees clients in a room at the back of The Ardent Rose perfumery. Near where we met on The Strand.”
“You said swindle. What kind, exactly?” Her hold on his arm shifted, her fingers curling around his sleeve more securely. “I mean, what should I expect?”
“She sells tonics, apparently, and I suspect they are no more than flavored water. If you’re able to purchase one, I’d like to see it and ascertain its contents. If she mentions any charities, I want to know which ones. Beyond that, she’s probably just filling her clients’ heads with enthralling nonsense so that they will return again and again, eager for her ‘counsel.’” He rolled his eyes.
“You’re skeptical of the mystic arts, then?”
He barked out a laugh. “There’s no such thing. Don’t tell me you believe in them?”
“Honestly, I’ve never given the topic much thought. I think I must now, however.” She straightened. “So I will pay this fortune-teller—”
“Madame Sybila,” he provided.
Lady Gresham smiled slyly. “Sybila—I believe that name means prophetess. How charming.”
Harry snorted, then coughed. “Forgive me.”
“I will visit Madame Sybila and ask her to read my fortune, and I will try to buy a tonic and ask about charities. Then I’ll report to you what occurred?”
“Exactly. You are going to be rather adept at this, I see.”
“Perhaps I’ll start my own inquiry office after Beatrix is wed.”
“You won’t remarry?” The question leapt from his mouth before he could stop it. “That’s none of my concern. You’re just rather…young.” And beautiful and intelligent. And far too engaging to be alone.
Who the hell was he to judge whether someone should be alone?
“I’ve been married, Mr. Sheffield. Once was quite enough, thank you.”
“You weren’t happy?”
“I wasn’t unhappy. But I find independence more to my liking.”
He understood that more than she could know. Though he was content to remain in the shadows with Lady Gresham, he started along the path with her once more.
“I’ll visit the perfumery to inquire about an appointment on Monday,” she said.
“Thank you. I shall compensate you for your time.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“It is, and I insist.” He winced inwardly. She was a lady and likely didn’t need the funds. Furthermore, most people of her rank found working for hire to be beneath them. “If you’ll allow it.”
“I will,” she said softly.
He slid a glance toward her and saw a smile teasing her mouth. She continued to surprise him. He suppressed the urge to smile in return.
They walked for a moment, the sounds of the soiree drifting over the garden, before she asked, “How shall I advise you of my progress?”
He didn’t want anyone at Bow Street to know he was employing a woman to help him, since some would not approve. “Send word to me at number seventeen Rupert Street.”
“That is your residence?” she asked.
“Yes, now you know where I live, should you wish to pay a call.” He steered her along the path back toward the house.
“Given our alliance, it seems I must.”
“For propriety’s sake, we should probably meet in public—such as at Gunter’s.”
She laughed. “Despite what you say, you are better at Society rules than I am. I don’t give a fig about propriety, but I suppose I should for Beatrix’s sake. I’ll send word, and then we can meet.”
He paused near the house. “Name the place and the time, and I’ll be there.”
Their gazes held for a moment, and he had the distinct impression they’d just been flirting. His sisters would be positively giddy if they knew. Hopefully, they never would.
“I hope I am able to be of assistance, Mr. Sheffield.”
“I am certain of it, Lady Gresham, and I am most grateful.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of her glove. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“The pleasure is