The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

Vane stared at the craven oaf. Perhaps he should give the lord a beating. Teach him a lesson. “If you didn’t send the letter asking I come here, then who did?”

A feminine chuckle sliced through the air. Lady Cornell stepped out of the shadows and aimed a pistol at her husband. “I think you’ll find that was me.”

Chapter Nineteen

Five minutes had passed since Ross entered the museum, yet every second felt like an hour. In her mind, Estelle concocted a host of scenarios. Lord Cornell, a jealous, obsessed husband, lay in wait ready to blow a hole in Ross’ chest. Or would Ross creep up on the man, punch him for his past misdeeds, deliver a fatal blow that would see him swing from the gallows?

Was it a trap?

An ambush?

With heightened anxiety, she opened the carriage door and stepped down to the pavement. Wickett climbed down from his box and was at her side before a word left her lips.

“I know what you’re thinking, miss, and his lordship will have my hide if I don’t persuade you to step back inside the carriage.”

“Something is wrong, Wickett.” Whether it be intuition or the bitter chill in the air, a shiver raced from Estelle’s neck to her navel. “I can sense it.”

From the flash of alarm in his eyes, she knew he sensed it, too.

“His lordship knows how to handle himself. I know I shouldn’t say this, but he enjoys a good fight.”

Estelle recalled tracing her finger over the scars on his arm and chest though she had been too preoccupied to ask how he came by them.

“Lord Trevane told me he was fighting in the alley on the night we met.”

Wickett pursed his lips. “That was one night out of many. He likes to prove no one can hurt him. Wounds heal. Scars fade. Still, nothing seems to calm the torment raging inside.”

Was she to blame for that? she wondered.

“Then we must go after him before he does something he may live to regret.” Something that might see them separated for far longer than eight years.

Wickett shook his head. “He’s calmer this last week. Happen he’ll think twice before taking any unnecessary risks.”

Estelle was about to protest when a figure appeared from the shadows. The man was tall and dark with a menacing aura which she attributed to the beaver hat concealing his eyes and the broad shoulders accentuated by the capes of his greatcoat.

Wickett straightened at her side, his hand sliding covertly into his coat.

The man approached them, pushed up the brim of his hat with a walking cane which she considered was more a weapon than an aid to help with one’s balance. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Mr Joseph?” Wickett relaxed his shoulders and sighed. “I could ask you the same.”

Mr Joseph glanced back over his shoulder before stepping closer. “I’m waiting for the constable and the chief magistrate. But there’s no time. You’d best get his lordship out of there.”

Panic flared.

“Where? The museum?” Wickett frowned. “Lord Trevane is meeting Lord Cornell.”

“God damn.” Mr Joseph hit the ground with his walking cane. “Sorry, miss, for cursing.”

“Pay it no mind.” She had heard far worse from Faucheux. “If you summoned the magistrate, then you must know Lord Trevane is in danger.” How could this man know of Cornell’s letter when they had received it less than an hour ago?

“Lord Cornell is a crook. After Lord Trevane asked me to watch him, I followed Cornell to St Leonard’s in Shoreditch. He met a man there, a jeweller named Morris, and they made an exchange. Turns out it’s one of many.”

“An exchange?” she said, wondering what on earth he was talking about and what this had to do with Ross.

“Seems Cornell is doing more in there than studying old relics,” Mr Joseph said. “He’s swapping priceless gems for paste.”

Estelle might have been shocked, but she’d heard of titled men involved in smuggling. Why not theft on a grand scale? “And you’re worried because the magistrate will want to know why Lord Trevane is in the muse