Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

Which raised the question of what she was really hiding.

But intriguing as that conundrum was, he had another more pressing matter to deal with at the moment.

Taking the steps of the carved staircase two at a time—a lapse in manners that earned a reproving stare from the head footman stationed in the entrance hall—he made a quick check of his pocketwatch. He was going to be late, though not unconscionably so. Thorncroft would expect no less. They were both becoming familiar with each other’s habits.

His were likely more irritating, he thought with an inward smile. However, the other man had no choice but to tolerate them.

Once on the street, he flagged down a hackney and arrived at St. James’s Street just a few minutes past midnight.

“How kind of you to show up,” said Thorncroft, looking up from perusing a sheaf of papers.

Devlin closed the door to the private meeting room and poured himself a drink from the decanter set on the sideboard. “A passable port,” he said after a meditative swallow. “But given the distance I’m being asked to travel, you might have chosen a better vintage.”

“Beggars can’t be choosy,” retorted the other man.

Taking a seat in the facing armchair, Devlin stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I wouldn’t have to dance for my supper if you weren’t such a nipcheese about paying me for my services.”

“You are well compensated for your efforts, Lord Davenport. Perhaps if you curtailed your other habits, you would have more blunt in your pocket.”

“My other habits, as you so charmingly refer to them, have proved exceedingly useful to you in the past.”

“Some of them,” stressed Thorncroft. “However, let us not waste time in trading barbs. I’ve several papers here that you must read. For obvious reasons, I can’t allow them to leave the room.”

Devlin heaved a pained sigh.

“You do know how to read, don’t you?”

“It will cost you extra.”

Thorncroft stifled a snort of laughter. “I shudder to think what you would charge if I asked you to look at the original German versions.”

“Best not to ask,” agreed Devlin as he accepted a handful of documents. “All these? Ye gods, pour me another drink.”

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the intermittent crackle of paper. A half hour passed before he looked up. “The prince appears to be a thoroughly amiable, if thoroughly feather-headed fellow. Who would want him dead?”

“That is what we are hiring you to find out,” answered Thorncroft a little testily. “We aren’t sure that anyone does. The report the Foreign Office received is awfully vague, but given that the fellow is a relative of our Royal family, we have to take the threat seriously. To begin with, there are any number of Scottish radicals who would like nothing better than to foment a crisis by striking a blow at the British Crown.”

“With the King mired in madness and the Prince Regent even more of a wastrel than I am, the Scots should simply sit back and let House of Hanover destroy itself.”

Thorncroft waggled a warning finger. “Watch your tongue, lest I have you arrested for sedition.”

Devlin shrugged.

“The Scots are not the only potential threat,” went on Thorncroft. “As you should know, Russia and the Kingdom of Saxony are our key Eastern allies in the fight against France. However, their rulers are currently at each other’s throats over some sliver of land, and the prince may be used as a pawn in the squabble. We can’t afford to have any ill befall him on British soil, lest the entire region blow up like a powder keg in our face.”

Devlin reread one of the documents. “According to your envoy’s report, there may be a paid instigator within the prince’s hunting entourage.”

“Perhaps. Several French émigrés will also be attending the party, so we can’t overlook the fact that one of them may be an agent of Bonaparte.”

“Or he may have a spurned mistress who is out for blood.” He tapped his fingertips together. “In other words, you haven’t uncovered any real clue, so I must consider everyone a suspect.”

“Yes. But in truth, it is more than likely you will have nothing to do but drink and flirt for the coming month.”

“And freeze my bones in the damp, desolate moors,” muttered Devlin.

“Whisky will chase the chill from your blood,” quipped Thorncroft. “And the Countess of Dunbar is inviting a number of ladies from London to visit, so I’m sure you’ll find someone willing to warm your bed.” He paused. “Apparently two rich heiresses will be among the guests. If for once you play your cards with some skill, you may end up with a long-term solution for your money problems.”

“The question is whether the price I would have to pay is worth the blunt. What makes you think I wish to be encumbered with a wife?”