When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,120
of men to do jobs for you.”
“And they are good, but nowhere near as talented as you. Which is why I have previously employed you in matters of delicacy.”
“I’m sure I’m flattered.” She didn’t sound impressed.
“You should be.”
She gestured at her altered appearance. “I’m sorry, but as you can see, I’m already engaged to deal with a matter of delicacy for a client. Can’t be late.”
“You owe me.”
The faintest hint of irritation passed across her features before it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Indeed? And how have you come to this conclusion?”
“Your brother.”
“My brother?”
“Yes, your brother. You know, tall, dark, and troublesome. Owner of a delightful little gaming establishment. Married improbably to a brilliant blond—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand. “What does your presence here have to do with Alex?”
“Not so long ago, you requested information on his behalf. Information about murder—two murders, to be precise, connected to the Hutton name. Information that I provided.”
“I remember.”
“I am here hoping that you might repay the favor in kind.”
“You want information on a murder?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
Elise’s dark brows rose fractionally over the wire rims of her spectacles. “How very unlike you.”
King resumed his travels around the room, stopping in front of a set of towering bookcases. “If she hasn’t killed anyone yet, I suspect she might soon.”
“She?”
“She’s staying at the Four Cocks. Faint accent—French, I believe—black hair, an alarming aptitude with sharp, pointy weapons. Calls herself Adrestia.” He withdrew a volume from the shelves and read the title. Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, published anonymously. He opened it to a random page.
“Clearly, you do not need me if you already know where she is. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I specialize in finding those who do not wish to be found. If it’s information you’re after, you’d do better to ask Ivory.”
“The duchess is still somewhat displeased with me.”
Elise crossed her arms over her chest. “With good reason. Not so long ago, you kidnapped her sister-in-law and—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, I didn’t kidnap her, I was trying to keep her safe.” The book snapped shut with a report like a pistol. King frowned at the noise. Emotion achieved nothing, and this was the second time today he’d had to remind himself of that. He slid the volume back into its place and moderated his tone. “The foolish girl had put herself in a situation where she could have done far worse than a few days of my hospitality. You’re not the only ones schooled in the art of deception. I was trying to make a point she wouldn’t soon forget.”
“And what point was that?” Elise asked dubiously.
“That one must take great care in whom one trusts. Trust the wrong person and you’ll pay for that mistake forever.” His words came out with more force than he’d intended.
“I’ve wondered about that for a long time.” A new voice came from the door of the study.
King pivoted to find Ivory Harcourt, Duchess of Alderidge and the founding member of Chegarre & Associates, standing in the doorway. She was watching him with dark eyes, and her expression, like her partner’s, betrayed nothing.
“Duchess, you look beautiful as ever.”
She ignored his compliment. “I need not remind you that your actions put me in a difficult position.”
King lowered himself into one of the chairs by the hearth and crossed his booted foot over his knee. “Which you handled with the skill and ability I’ve always admired. Managing difficult positions is what you excel at, and as I expected, you did not disappoint.”
“Hmm.” Ivory advanced into the study, tucking a stray chestnut curl behind her ear. “Why not tell me this before now?”
King shrugged. “You never asked.”
Ivory smiled faintly. “I suppose I didn’t.”
“I assume you overheard our earlier conversation,” King said, returning to the matter at hand and gesturing in Elise’s direction.
“Yes.” Ivory leaned back against the desk next to her partner.
“Can you accommodate my request?” he pressed. He was aware of the time slipping by.
“This will discharge our debt to you on the Hutton affair?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” Ivory pushed herself away from the desk and came to sit in the chair opposite him, rearranging her skirts casually.
“I despise delay, Duchess.” King frowned. “You already know where the woman is staying—”
“I too, despise delay,” Ivory replied coolly. “I also despise the idea of bloodshed on this very fine rug should my husband return home to find you still here. He has not yet forgiven you for the incident with his sister and still harbors piratical