When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,119
to downfall.” Her smile hadn’t slipped, her face still a mask of amused serenity.
King inhaled sharply. He might not know who this woman was, but he knew what she was—one who understood what lurked in the dark corners of the soul. Like recognized like, after all.
“May I have the pleasure of your name?” he asked abruptly.
“Is this something you need?”
He almost smiled. Perhaps her name was something he did need. Given that he still lingered in an alley, asking questions that he would never get real answers to, maybe he was betraying a weakness. Not one that would ever lead to his downfall, of course, but a weakness nonetheless. “Possibly,” he replied.
The dark angel tilted her head, her long, ebony braid sliding over her shoulder. She considered him for so long that King didn’t think she was going to answer.
“Adrestia,” she said finally.
An ancient name steeped in legends of goddesses and divine retribution. It suited her here, in this moment, armed and dressed as she was. But it was not her real name. King would have bet everything he owned on that. Because again, like recognized like. “Thank you.”
“I hope it was worth it.” She smiled at him again, and before he could say anything further, she simply slipped from the shadows of the alley out into the darkening street.
King did not watch her go but turned on his heel and stalked across the uneven, mucky stones to where his carriage still sat, careful not to look behind him. Litchfield Street was oddly empty at this time, caught between day and night and devoid of the creatures who inhabited both.
Two of his men, who had been watching from their posts, met him as he approached the carriage. They were quick and clever, two of his best.
“Do the bodies need disposing of?” The tallest gestured past him in the direction of the alley.
“No,” King said. “They are not dead. Merely stupid. But the woman—she left just before me. Do you see her now? Men’s trousers and coat, knife and rapier at her waist.”
His men nodded, two sets of hard eyes tracking over King’s shoulder. “Yes.”
“Follow her. Tell me where she goes. What she does, whom she speaks to.”
“Of course.”
“Do not let her see you. I can’t guarantee she won’t gut you where you stand if she catches you.”
“Yessir.” His men melted into the deepening shadows of Litchfield, and King pulled open his carriage door.
“To Helmsdale?” his driver asked from up top.
King paused, checking his pocket watch. “No,” he said. “To Covent Square first.”
Chapter 2
“Well, isn’t this domestic.”
The woman looked up from where she sat near the hearth, poring over what appeared to be a heavy ledger. She didn’t betray surprise, nor had King expected her to. Whatever thoughts Elise Ellery might possess were hidden expertly behind a mask of bland neutrality. And a moustache. And a wig and a truly awful pair of spectacles.
“King.” She closed the ledger and stood, leaning against the edge of the study desk. “I’d say it’s a pleasure but it rarely is.”
“You look well.” He examined Elise’s flawless disguise. “Of all your personas, I do believe I fancy this one best. Doddering doctors are always underestimated.”
She ignored his comment. “You might consider knocking next time.”
“I do believe we’ve had this discussion before,” he said, setting his walking stick by the door and wandering into the study. “You admonish me, I counsel you to improve your security, and in the end nothing changes.” He picked up a small card from the pile that rested in a crystal bowl on the desk. Chegarre & Associates. A firm dedicated to managing and shrouding all manner of sordid scandal and other unsavory business for clients wealthy enough to afford its services. A firm in which the woman before him was a dedicated partner.
“What do you want?” Elise set the ledger on the chair behind her.
“Brandy,” King suggested. “French, preferably, but I’d settle for Spanish.”
She ignored that too. “Ashland is not here.”
“Mmm.” King set the card back in the bowl and moved to examine the engraved face of the tall clock that ticked away the seconds. As he always did when he spoke with the wife of the man he considered the closest thing he had to a friend, he wondered just how much she really knew about how that friendship had come to be. “I have no business with your husband today, though you might pass along my regards. I came seeking you.”