Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

“Very well, Madame, I will do as you wish. I am very discreet. And, as for justice, we will discuss it when the time comes, oui?”

Aphrodite took a shaky breath and nodded jerkily, strands of her curling dark hair loosening from its pins. “Thank you, mon ami. I feel better now. I am afraid, oh yes, I am afraid, but this is the right thing to do. This is the thing I must do.”

Sebastian rose and took her hand, pressing his lips lightly to her elegant ringed fingers. “I will return to you when I have news, Madame.”

She was distracted, but she smiled as he moved to leave the room. “Thank you, Mr. Thorne.”

Sebastian’s steps were quick and light, and as he opened the door, the woman outside stepped back with a gasp. Dark hair, a pretty face, a mouth that was designed to smile. “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” she said in an attractive Irish lilt. “I have a message for Madame, and I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt.”

She was watching him, a combination of wariness and flirtatiousness in her gaze. Sebastian had that effect on women—they liked what they saw, but at the same time they sensed he wasn’t easily tamed.

Aphrodite spoke behind him. “Maeve? Is something wrong?”

“The champagne, Madame. I think it has gone bad—the guests are complaining.”

Aphrodite clicked her tongue in annoyance. Sebastian bowed again and left them to domestic matters, but the Irishwoman’s face remained with him. Perhaps what Maeve had said was true; she was simply being polite by waiting outside the door. But Sebastian had learned to be cautious, and he suspected she was eavesdropping. That in itself was not a serious offense—she might simply be curious, with nothing sinister in her actions—but he promised himself that he would be far more vigilant the next time he visited Aphrodite’s Club.

Right now he had work to do.

His blood began to stir as he contemplated the chase. The role of hunter came naturally to Sebastian. It amused him, too, that those high-society types who treated him with contempt and refused to speak to him in everyday life were forced to be polite to him when they wanted to hire Mr. Thorne.

Dancing with the devil, he called it to himself, and while none of them enjoyed it, plenty of the highborn rich had been his partners. Mr. Thorne was useful in a difficult situation, and no one remembered that he had another life, had been another man, eight years ago. Why should they care? They simply wanted him to do their dirty work for them and then disappear into whatever alleyway he’d crawled out of.

And that was fine with him, because he’d lost the ability to be the man he’d once been. That man had gone forever. And Sebastian had no intention of bringing him back.

Chapter 1

Yorkshire

Several weeks later

Sebastian settled himself more comfortably upon his hired hack. In the bracing cold he followed his companion across the bleak Yorkshire moors, hoping he was getting closer to whoever had planned the kidnapping of Aphrodite’s daughters.

He always found the northern light different. More diffused and atmospheric, in a way that made him think of worlds beyond this one. Or perhaps that was just because of the landscape; miles of lonely moorland and rocky outcrops and not a sign of habitation. He glanced sideways at his companion. The man—Hal—was dressed in rough clothing that was none too clean, but he rode as if he knew where he was going. Hal was the village blacksmith, and Sebastian had found him in the village inn, eager and willing to talk. His eagerness had increased when Sebastian offered him the chance to earn ten guineas, five before and five afterward. He’d be a fool, Sebastian thought, to renege on the deal and lose out on the second portion, and Hal didn’t look like a fool.

“T’ Gypsy camp is over the hill,” Hal called out now, his unshaven face flushed from the cold. “The man you wa

nt’ll come out to meet us. As I told you before, Mrs. Slater and he were as thick as thieves. Every day they’d be in the inn, whispering, plotting I called it. If anyone knows owt of where she’s gone, sir, then it’ll be that Gypsy.”

“And Mrs. Slater’s husband?”

Hal shrugged. “Didn’t see much of him.”

“Was there anyone else she associated with, apart from her husband and this Gypsy fellow?”

“No, but sometimes she got letters. Letters all the way from Lon’on.”

Sebastian nodded. It was as he thought. Mrs. Slater was taking her orders from someone else. He was hoping that the Gypsy he was on his way to meet was another link in the chain that would eventually lead him back to the real mastermind behind the kidnapping of Aphrodite’s daughters. The name that the courtesan already knew but couldn’t tell him.

“Not far now.” Hal’s voice drifted back to him. “Aye, there he is!”

They had climbed a rise, and below them lay a verdant green valley. Sebastian admired it a moment, before following Hal’s pointing finger to the horseman waiting on the far side, on top of another bleak, limestone tor. It crossed his mind that there were no birds about—this part of the moor was very quiet indeed—but it was only a passing thought. He was more concerned with the meeting ahead of him; his heartbeat quickened with anticipation.

They started down into the valley at a trot, and then suddenly Hal drew up, cursing, and dismounted. “Damn me, my horse’s lame,” he said, when Sebastian circled back to see what was the matter. “Could be nowt more than a stone in his shoe.” He prepared to inspect the animal’s hooves. “Don’t you worry about me, sir, you go ahead. The man you want is waiting.”

Sebastian met his eyes, trying to read them, but there was nothing to read. Either Hal was a practiced liar or he was telling the truth. Whichever it was, Sebastian had come too far now to go back. “Very well,” he said. Then, just in case there was something devious afoot: “If you’re not being true with me I will come after you.”

Hal’s gaze shifted nervously, but his voice was firm. “I am true to my principles, sir. You can’t ask more than that of a man.”