"Anyway," Will said, patting Alex on the back. "Look at the time, me boy. Let's leave your mother and her friend to their plottin'."
"Don't you dare. You're here to provide a male opinion on matters."
Will muttered something that sounded like, "I'd rather jump into an entire pit of snakes, thanks very much."
"Just listen. I volunteered your services."
"For what?"
Adele bit her lip. "There's a slight problem I'm having. It's not uncommon knowledge that my husband spends his nights away from home, but we made an agreement—"
"Stop right there," Will warned. "It ain't any of my business."
"Oh, Will. Stop being such a prude," Lena chided. "If this were the Warren, you'd be all up in Blade's secrets, regardless of your antiquated notions."
"This isn't the Warren. And Malloryn ain't Blade."
"Agreed," Adele said. "He has much better taste in waistcoats than the Devil of Whitechapel, to begin with."
"Waistcoats aside—"
"Lord Devoncourt said I didn't know what my husband was getting up to of nights. Indeed, he was almost nasty about it," Adele blurted. "But Malloryn promised he'd set his mistress aside. And yet, he's always off somewhere at night. I don't know where he goes."
"And I said what we needed was someone who could track him," Lena said. "Like Will."
"Will could," her husband replied, "but Will ain't goin' to do anythin' of the sort."
Lena turned big brown eyes upon him. "I hate seeing Adele so out of sorts. I know you don't want to get involved, but what if this isn't merely the result of Malloryn dallying with a mistress? What if he's in some sort of trouble? You heard what Adele said. Devoncourt practically threatened him."
"If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's the fact that Malloryn is more 'an capable of handlin' himself."
"Please?"
Adele watched with fascination. She could practically see the fierce verwulfen rogue turning into a little puddle of mush at his wife's feet.
What would it be like to have a man so enamored of her that way?
"I will make it worth your while," Lena whispered. "No application of Madame Vexley's Liniment required."
"What the hell is Madame Vexley's Liniment?" he growled, as if to maintain his fearsome reputation.
"See," Lena told Adele pointedly. "I told you it's hogwash. Completely unnecessary."
"You do not wish to know," Adele advised, when the verwulfen ambassador looked as if he was going to pursue said topic.
"Adele was there for me during my confinement, when I was so worried Alex was going to be born with the loupe," Lena said, touching his arm. "She was the one who defended your name in society when Lord Maddesley was trying to claim you were nothing more than a beast. I owe her, Will."
"Fine," Will growled. He tipped his head to Adele. "I'll follow him tonight. But if I catch wind of a mistress, then I am done with this mad plan. Understood?"
"Understood. Thank you!" she said, her shoulders slumping in relief.
Finally.
She'd have some answers.
Even if they weren't necessarily the ones she might desire.
Chapter 9
It was Byrnes who brought Malloryn the news.
There was a body in Clerkenwell, and the Guild Master of the Nighthawks had requested his presence.
Unusual in itself, for the Nighthawks were comprised of rogue blue bloods that'd never been accepted into the Echelon. They were London's law enforcement, and a dead body was something they dealt with on a regular basis.
Which meant there was something out of the ordinary about this one.
Malloryn took a hack through the hubbub of the late afternoon street, accompanied by Byrnes, who was uncharacteristically quiet. Only the cracking of Byrnes's knuckles broke the silence.
A wall of Nighthawks had cordoned off the street ahead of them, so they were forced to disembark and walk the rest of the way.
He could scent the blood before he even arrived.
Garrett Reed, the Guild Master of the Nighthawks, strode forward to meet them, wearing his harsh black leather body armor. Though young, he held himself with the confidence of a man who knew what he was doing, and Malloryn had been one of the first dukes on the Council to approve his posting.
"Your Grace."
"Master Reed," Malloryn said, tilting his head.
"Byrnes." This greeting was a touch more effusive.
The pair of them clasped hands—old friends—as Malloryn peered impatiently past them.
"Garrett. I hear you need a little help solving a case?" Byrnes drawled. "Getting rusty in your old age?"
"Hardly." The Guild Master's mouth thinned. "But we thought you'd want a look at this one."
"Why?" Malloryn asked.
The Guild Master and his wife were aware of the work the Company of Rogues undertook.
This had to be Balfour's doing.
"Because it's a message for you, Your Grace," Garrett said. "This way."
He led the pair of them past a doctor, waiting with his mortuary trolley, and the crime scene investigator who'd replaced Ava at the Nighthawks.
Fog clung to the alleyway, and blood scented the air.
The stale scent of death filled Malloryn's nostrils as everything fell quiet. He'd seen death in many incarnations, but he knew this one would be bad, judging from the way several of the Nighthawks wouldn't meet his gaze.
"We don't know who she is," Garrett murmured. "But we will."
Malloryn knelt in the alleyway beside the dead girl's body, fog wafting away from his knees as he examined her and the crime scene. He'd been wrong. This wasn't vicious or overly violent, but strangely clean. Almost economical. No, it wasn't the manner of death that had made the others drop their eyes.
Barely hours old, judging by the congealed blood staining her white gown. She'd been shot right through the heart somewhere else and placed here, for him.
He looked at her face then.
Smoothed the black hair from her forehead so he could get a better glimpse of her.
Heart-shaped face. Blue sightless eyes, staring forever into an overcast sky. Pretty white gown that reminded him of something a debutante might wear.
It was like looking at a ghost.