A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,77
his crimes.”
Dearborn looked between Harry and Remy. “But we don’t really know if he’s responsible for that fire. Wasn’t there another man you were looking into?”
Harry nodded as he leaned back, one hand curled around the base of his tankard. “Frost. I spoke with Thorpe at Hatton Garden, and he confirmed Frost is in charge in Saffron Hill.”
“I did the same,” Remy said with a short laugh. “But not with Thorpe. It seems Frost is less of a menace than Partridge was. He doesn’t own any flash houses, just receiver shops. And he doesn’t press children into his gang. Though he makes it enticing to work for him. He’s quite magnanimous, from what I hear.”
“Still a criminal,” Harry said brusquely.
“Definitely.”
“Do you think he’s the one who started the fire?” Dearborn asked. “Instead of the Vicar, I mean.”
Harry exhaled. “It’s possible. I want to talk to him. He should be easier to find than the Vicar, eh?”
“One would think,” Remy agreed. “I’ll try to find him too. One of us will run him to ground.”
Harry picked up his tankard. “Bring him to Bow Street.”
“Will do,” Remy said, clacking his ale against Harry’s.
Dearborn rushed to add his to the toast, then they all drank.
Harry dropped his mug to the table. “How are Alice and the children, Remy?”
“Loud.” Remy chuckled. “How is your family? Any new women they’re hoping to match you with?” He sniggered.
“Yes, but I think I’ve set them straight. Again.”
Dearborn ran a hand through his hair. “My mother does the same thing. Lately, she keeps trying to pair me off with the girl down the lane.” He shook his head. “It’s so bad, I don’t want to go round there!”
“Harry’s a glutton,” Remy said. “He still goes to his parents’ for dinner every week.”
“Not quite every week.”
“Who’s the young lady this time?” Remy asked. “Another chit whose father is too high in the instep to see her wed to a Runner, even if he is the son of an earl?”
Harry pulled out his pocket watch in an effort to avoid this conversation. “I need to be going.”
Remy grinned as he leaned over and stage-whispered to Dearborn, “That’s Harry’s blatant attempt to avoid discussing it. Which tells me the chit is maybe worth a second look.” He winked at Harry.
Finishing his ale, Harry stood. “See you later, lads.” He shook his head, smiling before dropping coins on the table and taking himself off.
Selina was worth a second, third, and fourth look. And he’d be damned if he was going to discuss her with Remy and Dearborn. Or with his family. What they shared was special.
It was also tenuous. They’d made no promises, no assurances, and there were no expectations—at least on his part. He’d wager she had none either.
For now, that was perfect. But would it remain that way?
After dinner, Rafe sent a coach to fetch Selina to his new house on Upper Brook Street. An imposing structure with a grand Palladian façade, it was beyond anything Selina could have imagined.
Inside, she followed Rafe’s butler into the ground floor sitting room. The size and grandeur were awe-inspiring. She couldn’t believe this was his.
The sitting room boasted a large fireplace, windows that looked out to the substantial garden behind the house, and two seating areas—one clustered in the center of the room and another near the windows that included a round table. Several paintings stood against the walls, clearly waiting to be hung.
She felt small and strange.
“Lady Gresham, welcome,” Rafe said as he strode into the sitting room.
Selina snorted into a laugh. “This is excessive, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” He surveyed the room, then looked back to her. “Wait until you see the drawing room upstairs—it’s not finished yet. Nothing is, really. But we’re working on it.”
She wanted to know how he could possibly afford all this, but also didn’t want to ask for specifics. Not yet. Maybe they would get to a point where they were open with each other.
Maybe they wouldn’t.
Instead, she focused on the reason for her visit. “I’ve been trying to see you.”
“I know. I got your note. As you can see, I’ve been busy.” He’d finally sent her a message that afternoon, inviting her to come here to his new house.
“Are you going to host a ball?”
He frowned. “Do you think I should?”
Selina threw up her hands. “How should I know? I infiltrated Society for one purpose—to promote Beatrix. Once that is finished, I’ll be done, thank goodness.”
“You don’t like London?” he asked. “Society, I mean. London is