The landlord greeted him, all clean apron and clasped hands. “Sir, we have a room ready for you.”
“Good.” Expecting a small, cramped, worn room, Andrew followed him upstairs to a spacious chamber filled with well-cared for antiques. The four-poster bed was unlike anything he had ever slept in, and he had more room here than in his own bedroom at home.
As soon as the innkeeper had gone, Andrew rounded on Bull. “Whose idea was this?”
The man’s thick eyebrows rose, and he took a heavy step back. “What? I’m sorry, sir, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“If I’m not mistaken, this is the best bedroom. Weren’t we supposed to be traveling quietly? Why not travel with six liveried servants and crests displayed?” If he asked for a modest room now, he’d draw even more attention to himself. “I can only pray nobody makes inquiries about visitors in the town. We are hunting spies!” He slapped his clenched fist down on his open palm. “What do you think spies do?” He took care not to raise his voice, but he longed to let rip, roar his anger. He’d traveled two days for this?
“Sir, there are plenty of inns in town, some grander than this.” Although red in the face, Bull only bowed his head. He must have been accustomed to petulant aristocrats.
“I see.” Andrew glanced out of the window at the glorious view of the harbor. “Who was sent to bespeak a room?”
“Smith, sir.”
The other burly footman had ridden ahead. They were serving their masters the best way they knew. It had probably not occurred to him to ask for a smaller, less notable chamber.
“Never mind.”
They had ordered the best room in the house because that was what they always did. He would never have done so. Yet another difference between his life and Darius’s and another reason for them to remain apart, if he needed one.
Sadly, he did need another reason. He had enough to build a wall strong enough to prevent him climbing it.
“Very well.” He had been told to take the two footmen into his confidence, so he would. “I am to meet Bartolini later this evening. You will guide me to the place and keep me safe, or so I understand.”
Smith nodded. “We are here to take your orders, sir.”
“You’ve been told this is a matter of national importance. If necessary, we will let Bartolini go, as long as we have the list. But we must secure that and ensure he hasn’t done something as foolish as memorizing it.”
“Lord Darius told us to capture the man, sir.”
“If we can do it without imperiling the list. Let me hand him the money and secure the list before we move to take him. Got that?”
Smith bowed his head. “Yes, sir. Lord Darius did tell me you’re in charge of this, and we are to take our orders from you.”
Skilled though he was, Andrew couldn’t interpret Smith’s expression. He had no idea if the man approved of the orders, but he did not care. As long as they did what they came here for, he would never have to see this man or his counterpart again.
“We are to meet Bartolini in a courtyard. I dislike that. I would rather meet him somewhere more public.”
Smith nodded. “I agree, sir, but we do not have any contact with the man before the meeting. Bull has gone to find the place and will report back.”
Sighing, Andrew moved away to find his nightshirt and shaving gear and to shake out his spare shirt. “We may as well eat. We’ll need sustenance.”
Night fell early at this time of year. Sitting by the wide window in his bedroom, Andrew watched the sun sinking over the horizon. This was a larger and better appointed room than at his home. Perhaps he should spend more time looking for a larger house after all. He could afford it.
That was, if the hemorrhage of clients halted soon. When he got back, he would discover how much damage the caricature had done to him. Who would have thought a mere drawing could cause so much damage?
Would he take it back? Yes, and he had done so, but he had to face the truth. The caricature would not have happened if there was not some truth in the story. He cared for Darius, and while he thought he’d done a good job of concealing it, someone had noticed. Several “someones,” most likely at the ball. Should he turn his back and deny everything?
He still had no answer to that. For his daughter’s sake and for his livelihood, he should. Do the right thing, face reality, all the spine-stiffening words he’d told himself since he’d discovered his partiality.
Yet he was tired, so tired of hiding what he was, of denying his desires. Darius was not the only man he had felt a tendre for over the years, but he was the least resistible.
A knock at the door alerted him to the time. He rose and dragged his greatcoat off the chair, taking care to button it. Hefting the loaded pistols from the bedside table, he tested their weight and then tucked them in his pockets, one in each to keep his balance steady. His skill lay in words, not violence, but he needed to appear fully armed and dangerous for this encounter. He didn’t feel dangerous at all, but he could put on a good show. That was, after all, his job.
After pulling on his gloves and finding his hat, he was ready. As ready as he would get, anyway.
When he opened the door to his room, he found two ruffians waiting for him, their clothes dark, shabby, and nondescript. Totally unlike their neat footman attire. They left the inn, passing by the tap room raucous with laughter and shouting, the gust of beer and tobacco overwhelming in its intensity.
Outside, the smell changed to that of the sea. Salt-laden fresh air blended with aromas of tar, rotting fish, and other scents Andrew could not identify. Andrew huddled inside his greatcoat as the wind cut through him. London, set in a valley, crammed with humanity, all burning coal and timber fires never grew this chilly. He liked it. It helped to brace him against the ordeal to come. He set his jaw, but his throat and stomach tensed, making him wish he had not eaten so heartily earlier.
Darius and the two footmen would take this in their stride, he was sure.
“Thought I’d pop ’im,” Smith muttered. “Got my nightstick in my pocket.”
After he had dismissed the possibility of innuendo, Andrew inferred the man was talking about a cudgel. “Only if we have to. Last resort,” he said.
Smith growled, but his “Yes, sir,” signaled obedience.
“Don’t like this yard,” Bull put in. “Dark, lonely, not near anywhere. Our orders are to look after you, sir. Get the list, pay the man, and then we’ll take ’im if we can. Then we go. I’ve got a watchman looking the other way while we use his lockup.”
“Good. That will be useful.” Andrew had vaguely considered tying their prisoner up and making him spend the night in the carriage, guarded by Smith or Bull. A lockup would serve the purpose much better. “How much did you have to pay him?”
“Not a lot. Master gave me some guineas for expenses.”